On Hair*

One of the many things I learned during my time as a receptionist at the day spa where I used to work (along with how to pretend to be my boss and attempt to have the title to her father's house changed to her name) (that really happened) is that when you get pregnant, your hair stops falling out. For some reason I stored this information deep in the recesses of my brain, and when I finally became pregnant several years later, I found myself checking the drain obsessively to see if the aesthetician who told me this was right (I actually doubted her, because she also told me that if I plucked my eyebrows for long enough, they would stop growing back, when in fact my body appears to have responded to my years of plucking with a pissy vengeance, sprouting stray hairs faster and more scraggly than ever before). Sure enough, she was-- about five months into my pregnancy, my drain was hair-free, a fact I took a weird and perverse pleasure in.

What she failed to tell me, though I should have guessed, is that once you stop being pregnant, all the hairs that had been desperately clinging on for dear life during the past few months fall out at once, leaving gross, damp, hamster-sized wads on the shower floor, much to my shame and, quite frankly, alarm. Because okay, that was all fine and good in the first few weeks post-partum, but seriously, it's been three months now. Since I have definitely already lost enough hair to create several different sassy styles for William Shatner (I like to think that he would use my hair as his "goin' out" 'do), I'm a little concerned that it will only be a matter of time before I am that scary woman with the gaping bald spot that everyone is trying desperately to avoid looking at.

Also concerning is Addie's newfound interest in using my hair as a handle-- specifically, the hair at the nape of my neck, which somehow always seems to escape even the tightest ponytail. So lately I've been toying the idea of returning to my old-school short hairdo, which I rocked with varying degrees of success throughout the course of my life. This is news that seems to be met with an overwhelming degree of disgust when mentioned to most parties, as though I were suggesting simply braiding my armpit hair and artfully draping it across my scalp. And I admit, there is a degree of risk associated with this move. It could turn out great, like this:

 Or it could go horribly wrong. Like fifth-grade bathrobe Victorian blouse giant denim purse wrong:

Any thoughts or advice, or tips on how to keep Addie from using my neck hair as a bridle, would be greatly appreciated.

*Let me just tell you that I spent about 20 minutes trying to come up with a clever title for this post, even going so far as to take the lazy man's titling scheme and Googling "hair quotes"; this pulled up about seventeen different links to Jessica Simpson's hair extensions line, at which point I just gave up. Evidently, though, there are many quotable things being said about this product. Good for you, Jessica Simpson!

Add-Z

I noticed right away that Addie was not a fan of lullabies-- I tried my entire repertoire, stocked with standards (including the actually-quite-ominous-if-you-really-listen-to-the-lyrics "Rock-a-bye Baby"), Muppets classics, and every song ever to reference the concept of sleep, and she responded with either complete apathy or actual displeasure, as if my rendition of "I'm So Tired" by the Beatles were stabbing her aurally in the eardrums. Singing, it seemed, was not her thing, which was quite the downer, since it is one of maybe four things I am actually good at.

It wasn't until we accidentally switched from her Addie-approved playlist to a general shuffle of my music library that we stumbled upon the answer-- Addie, it seems, loves rap music. Specifically, she loves Jay-Z, and even more specifically, she loves "99 Problems," a scathing critique of the music industry and racial stereotyping, which is evidently hilarious to babies. Luckily, I am also in possession of some awesome rap skills, so I was able to accommodate her new-found passion for rhyme-spitting.

Jay-Z is no Raffi, I guess, but if it keeps her happy, I'm totally down. That is, until she starts, you know, speaking English. Then, Jay-Z will likely be off the table.

She's got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one

Fifteen Pounds of Awesome

The name "Eight Pounds of Awesome" is a misnomer-- at no point in her life did Addie weigh exactly eight pounds. She was born eight pounds, two ounces; lost a huge amount of weight in the first three days, leading to Epic Panic ("We'll have a skeleton baby!" I cried. "The kids at day care will call her Skeletor, and constantly attempt to vanquish her with the power of Greyskull!"), and has, ever since, been making up for her waifish first week with an unchecked eating spree that has, in the first three months, vaulted her to fifteen pounds. This means that despite the fact that she just today turned three months old, she is already rapidly outgrowing her six-month clothes and moving into nine-month ones.

This is, of course, a good thing; it means that she is healthy and growing, and probably not going to be one of those creepy kids that will just stop growing and remain the size of a two-year-old well into their teens (although that seems to be a ticket to a human interest story in both People magazine and a one-hour special on TLC). But it also means that my little baby is Growing Up, and will likely be able to steal my car and take it joyriding by the time she's one.

But for right now, she's still just a wee little baby. Although as you can see from this progression of monthly birthday pictures, she's a wee little baby that looks like she could eat her one-month-old self for breakfast.

Full Disclosure

So listen, I've been toying with the idea of a baby blog for quite some time now-- actually, since I first got pregnant (vomiting! Hemorrhoids! Cankles! General hilarity!). But, having spent most of my pregnancy in a sleepy, paranoid fugue state, the opportunity passed, which was probably for the better, unless you would have been interested in reading several discourses on my extremely gripping fear that my baby would develop a flat spot on the back of her head, forcing her to wear one of those little corrective baby football helmets.

Then when Addie arrived, her head acceptably round and not in need of helmetry, I imagined myself dedicating my maternity leave to lovingly crafting a blog as delicately designed and intricate as she herself is. But instead I spent it, you know, soaking up vomit from various surfaces and stuff.

It's only now, nearly three months in, that I find that I've learned to sufficiently manage having a baby and a life-- and in this context, "a life" means "the forty-five minutes between when Addie falls asleep and I pass out wherever I happen to have crumpled to the ground"-- so it seems this blog's time has finally come. And not a moment too soon-- I think Facebook is preparing to ban me for being overly obsessed with my baby (Really? Facebook moans, another post about your baby's weight? We get it, you have a baby. Can't you comment on, like, Justin Bieber or something?), so I needed another outlet for my motherly pride.

But before we get too far in, I would like to offer the following warnings, in the spirit of full disclosure:

1. This blog will primarily be about Addie, the greatest baby in the world. By reading this blog, you offer your tacit agreement that Addie is, in fact, superior to all other babies. 
2. Sometimes other topics will appear on this blog that are only tangentially Addie-related. Try not to get too bummed out when this happens.
3. Addie knows that Mommy likes comments. When a blog post goes uncommented on, Addie cries bitter tears of sadness for Mommy's comment whore-ness.
4. Sometimes, this blog will get sappy, or sad, or fully cheesed up with The Wonder of Parenthood. When this happens, please just remember that I am a super awesome ninja warrior of coolness, even if I do sometimes cry tears of rapturous joy when Addie smiles at me. 
5. Sometimes this blog will discuss gross things, like my boobs (which are not in and of themselves gross, I guess, but I imagine that most of you generally will have to pour lemon juice directly into your eyes to burn out the image of my shirtlessness). It will discuss poop, and vomit. There may, at some future time, be reference to my lady parts. Be prepared to throw up in your mouth a little.
6. There will be swear words on this blog, although probably not as many as there were on my previous blog, since it is, after all, a blog about a baby. However, sometimes I just need to say the word "shit." It happens.
7. I can pretend all I want that updating this blog will be a daily ritual, but let's be real for a moment: sometimes, I have to schedule in time to poop on a given day, so this goal may be a tad unrealistic. I will, however, try to post as often as I can.
8. This isn't really a disclosure, but I just want to point out that the last three things I just said were at least somehow poop-related. See? It's already starting.

So, now you know. If you like poop, and babies, this blog is for you. And if you don't, well, obviously you only remain alive by nightly ingesting a paste made of angel tears and the ground-up bones of kittens.

Chili Con Addie

This morning, I had a dream that Addie began violently pooping out all the ingredients that Ben uses to make chili.

There. That seems like a good way to start a blog.