Boom!

It hit her like a freight train. Yesterday, Sophie was doin’ just fine: playin’ hard, telling me BIG stories, practicing standing on her own, “cruising,” and seriously considering walking. She had a blast visiting her friend Ellie last night, too. Then, as I was getting her ready for bed, she felt a bit warm, so I gave her some Tylenol. After all, her upper front teeth are pushing their way through, and it’s not uncommon for a fever to accompany them. But when she woke at her usual 3:30am, she was burning up. Still, her temperature was a manageable 99 degrees. After a few ounces and more Tylenol, she was back in bed. But this morning, Sophie wouldn’t let me put her down. Usually, she’s Miss Independent, wanting to explore. I mean, I couldn’t even brush my teeth! (In peace, that is. I DID brush my teeth, despite the whining. Just so you know). I took her to daycare anyway, because I’m a bad, bad mom (a bad, bad mom with NO sick days left) and I prayed it was just the teething.

I was wrong.

Miss Leslie called me at 10:15, saying Soph was running a fever of 103.6. Yikes! I darted down the highway, daring a cop to pull me over, and marched right in to the doc’s office. She has a virus (and a sore throat). We’re alternating between Motrin and Tylenol. Remember the last time she had a virus? (And the time before that…and before that…?)

Apparently, Sophie is feeling much better now, because she was doing this before bed:

PS

Sophie says "Mama," "Yum yum," and today she said "uh-oh" for the first time. Also, on Saturday, she took her first two steps all by herself, but when she realized what she was doing, she got scared and sat down. Today, she did it again. Just two steps, but we're almost there!

Trouble Maker

My sweet angel baby seems to have a bit of a rebellious streak. Last week, she got in “trouble” at school: the teachers had to move her crib because she was tearing down all of the pictures and letters off the bulletin board. Then, later in the week, she started yanking everyone’s blankets off their beds—even while they were sleeping!! Yesterday, when Ethan* stole Sophie’s toy, she retaliated by pulling his hair.

*Ethan used to be Sophie’s “boyfriend,” but now I think she likes Lucas better.

Whatever.

I’m getting some feedback on this post. People are asking me why I care so much what “everyone” thinks. It’s not “everyone.” But T knows (knew) me almost as well as Jamie; they lived together for three years and I was always around. So I guess because he believes Jamie’s story, that means T does think I’m a psycho bitch from hell.

A lot of the times my friends keep me sane, while other times I feel like nobody understands me. Maybe because I don’t even understand myself. I just know what and how I feel.

What Do You Really Need to Know?

My question is: What do you really need to know? Or, how much more do you need to know when a man leaves his pregnant wife? Is it really justifiable under any circumstance?

I was talking with my BIL’s girlfriend. We were drunk; she brought it up. I don’t remember exactly what she said, but it prompted me to respond “Yeah, but you said at the baseball game [a few months back] that you thought ‘Jamie is a really cool guy.’”

“Well I didn’t know the full story then.”

I gave her a look.

“I didn’t!” she swore.

That’s my point. She DID—at the very least—know the facts.

Where is all this coming from? Just found out that FB is going to his college roommate’s (T) bachelor party. Which means T believes his story. And accepts it, and accepts him. FB’s high school friends think he’s disgusting and won’t have anything to do with him anymore. Because they heard the facts. That’s really all one should need.

I’m not sure if I’m making any sense, but think of it this way: If I marched up to your house and shot your dog*, would you think, “Gosh, I wonder what the dog did to Farrell?” No, you would think “That psycho bitch just shot my dog!” End of story.

*Of course I would never do this. I love animals and although I may occasionally act psycho and on other occasions bitchy, I do not think I qualify as a psycho bitch.

He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands

The Judge has MY whole world in his hands. We’re just waiting for him to make a decision. In case you don’t already know, here’s how it works:

Each lawyer submits a proposal to the Judge, outlining the items we’ve agreed upon (holiday schedule, we each get to keep our respective homes…), and then for the items we haven’t agreed upon (custody, visitation, some other financial stuff), we state how we want the Judge to rule. The Judge can then sign one or the other, giving one party exactly everything he/she wants (this almost never happens), or more likely, he takes into account our testimonies, compares the two proposals, picks and chooses the items from each that he agrees with to create a new proposal which becomes the official ruling.

My lawyer sent me a copy of FB’s proposal this week. He changed yet again what he’s asking for from what he stated in court. (Yes, he can do that). Two things:

(1) Even though FB stated in court that he would continue to provide the transportation for his visitation (i.e. He would pick up/drop off Soph), he is now requesting that I do the pick up. Why? One, because he’s lazy and is sick of driving all around town (we live about 30 min. apart). And Two, because it’s yet another opportunity to shove it in my face. He wants me to pick up Sophie so pretend mommy can open the door and be like, “Oh, hi! We had such a blast together this weekend! Here’s her bag—I washed her clothes, blah, blah, blah.” So now you’re thinking, “No, Farrell, he’s just lazy.” No, people: he’s a manipulator. I wouldn’t put anything past this guy.

(2) Here’s the one I’m really “freaking out” about. FB stated in his proposal that his “girlfriend, fiancée, wife, or parents” can drop off or pick up Sophie if he is unable to. Basically, he’s saying “Hey Judge, you know that chick I slept with while my wife was seven months pregnant? Yeah, the whore. Is it cool if like she picks up my daughter from my ex if I’m like, still at the driving range or something?” Ballsy? Yes. Can I stop it? No, not really. If she becomes his wife (which she will—more on that later), I get that there is nothing I can do: she’ll be Sophie’s step-mom. But as his girlfriend or fiancée? I’m to hand over MY daughter to a perfect stranger? To “that woman”? I don’t think so. My lawyer said if I refused, it would be called “interference,” as in I would be interfering with his visitation. This is crap. Total crap. We can move to have the Judge “reconsider,” but if it’s ordered by the court and I don’t comply, I could be held in contempt. Of course, my lawyer told me not to freak out about this since it hasn’t even happened yet, but that’s what Farrells do: they freak out over “what ifs.” She did admit, however, that yes, it is both ballsy and arrogant of FB to ask, and that the Judge gets it.

So now you’re thinking, well, Farrell, one day you may have a boyfriend and want him to pick up Sophie. Maybe. But I wonder how FB would really feel if a strange man showed up at his doorstep today and said “Okay, hand over your daughter.” But he has no capacity for empathy. Or maybe he just wouldn’t care.

I’m trying to prepare myself. They’re going to be together forever. I betcha’ he will marry her. He kinda’ has to, doesn’t he? To “justify” what he’s done? And to all those people who’ve said “Oh, he’ll just do the same thing to her.” No, he won’t. Because he can only “justify” it once. This woman is going to be Sophie’s step-mom and Sophie is going to love her because she won’t know any better. Sigh. Understand that it’s not because my husband has a girlfriend, but I’m having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that “the one he left me for” is going to be around for a very long time. Maybe by the time I see the whore at Sophie’s soccer games I won’t care anymore. But I think I will. Because she’ll still be the whore. And I don’t know why, but I would find this easier to deal with if they could just admit what they’ve done but they never ever will because they don’t think they’ve done anything wrong.

Sigh.

I Think I’m Dying

I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. A big monster truck. I slept for 20 hours. I had to have Jamie take Sophie last night. She’s doing much better than Mommy, but I’m on antibiotics now so if I continue to rest this afternoon, I should be okay.

Twenty hours of sleep. Twenty hours of dreaming. I really thought I was dying when everyone I knew – my cousins, friends, parents, everyone – showed up in my dream during the Cubs/Cardinals play-offs. I felt like they were coming to say goodbye to me.

Then in my next dream, Jamie started working for my company. How comfortable would that be?

In the next one—the longest one—I was trying to stop these two rapist guys who were holding this girl hostage. I had to drive up to Northern Missouri or California (?) to the mansion they were using, but when I got there, it was on Lake Michigan. It was winter time. My mom made the guys dinner because she didn’t know they were evil. I tried calling the police, but they never showed. Actually, the guys had routed all 911 calls to the house. Some of my co-workers came along to help, and we did a stake-out using the mansion across the street. Finally, we killed the rapists and drug their bodies, wrapped in sheets, across the lawn. Along the way, we passed two men who were growing pot in their yard. “Don’t get us in trouble!” they yelled. Dude, we’re dragging dead bodies across the snow and you think we’re going to get you in trouble?

Yeah, it was weird.

Just Two Peas in a Pod

Two miserable peas, that is. Sophie and I both have pink eye (she gave it to me), on top of which she has yet another ear infection (her fourth), on top of which I have a sinus infection (my third this year).

Aren't we a pair?

Guess Who?

Guess who just texted me? No, not the whore. California boy. "Reunion coming up?" he asked. I'm gettin' laid when I go to Cali!! And he's going to totally fall in love with me and ask me to marry him and we'll move out there and Sophie will become

A STAR.

Or he'll think I'm a lot fatter than he remembered.

Oh well, at least I'll get some. (Keep your fingers crossed).

Do You Really Want to Know?

Don’t ask me how—I don’t need the lecture. Do you want to know what she looks like? I came across some pictures of the whore. She doesn’t look anything like I remember her, but at least she’s still not pretty. Her hair has gotten much longer, but it’s darker too, which surprises me because Jamie loves blonds. But now I think she tells him what he loves. There was a picture of her with Soph, at Jamie’s house. Her hair was pulled back, no make-up, shorts and a t-shirt. Nothing special. She’s skinny. That’s it; that’s all. There were pictures of her with her girls, and thank God there weren’t any of them. None of them together. Jamie sent her birthday wishes from Soph: he wrote (for Sophie): “I love my Jennifer.” At least it didn’t say “Mommy.”

At least.

As I was talking to my bf JF this evening, I was wondering how I was going to get to sleep because self-inflicted or not, I really want to puke. No exaggeration. And then Sophie woke up. And I changed her diaper and cuddled her and gave her a bottle. And I rubbed her hair and put her back to bed.

That’s how I’m going to get to sleep tonight.

God reminded me.

Surprise, Surprise

Sophie likes pizza!
And Honeycomb cereal.
But not pancakes.

The Shakes

You know it’s bad when you stop drinking for two hours and end up with the shakes. The cure? More alcohol. Healthy, I know. I was in Chicago this weekend for my friend B’s birthday. We went all out and it was a blast. I should probably be dead. We pretended we were in college again, only my body is 50.

Some other stuff:

• That Girl. B’s “friend” (not really) J is “that girl.” She’s Lindsay Lohan skinny. She’s Barbie-doll blond (without the chest). She’s the girl wearing movie star-type sunglasses inside a sports bar. Her best friend is “spinner” Teepak. (Seriously). Her new boyfriend is Australian model Harley (yeah, like the bike) who, according to B’s brother S, “is just a pretty face. A pretty face and that’s all.” She works in Hollywood and has kissed Leonardo DiCaprio (she confirms that yes, he is both a good kisser and a bisexual). She’s the girl that took us to metrosexual-filled Nine and got us into Hotel Victor (where Jennifer and Vince* were recently spotted) without waiting in line.
  *I unfortunately didn’t spot either of them, but Jennifer did tell my friend D “I like your purse” while waiting in line at Starbucks.
  
• Dancing Queen? I had a blast dancing my a$$ off at Moe’s Cantina Saturday night. The only way to stop me is to show me a video of myself.
  
• My friend’s five-year old son’s favorite song is Candy Shop. How funny is that?
  
• Vegas, baby, Vegas. I can’t stop quoting this movie. S, “You’re so money and you don’t even know it.”
  
• S didn’t come home until 6am Saturday morning, after having breakfast with a very rich, very unhappy 50-year old woman. Don’t ask, that’s just S. He treated and listened to her talk for three hours. She gave him puppy dog eyes when he put her in the cab alone. In his defense, she was very good and young-looking “but she’s 50!” I asked him if it was worth the no sleep. He shrugged. “She just needed someone to talk to.” (S is 26).
  
• S drove me and made me listen to a few country songs, which surprisingly, I loved.
  Chain of Love reminded me of this movie.
  This song, if you tweak the meaning a bit, is how I feel about Sophie.

All About Soph

In case you’re not already convinced that my daughter is The. Most. Adorable. Ever., here are some anecdotes about Sophie:

Chatty
The girl almost never shuts up. I have no idea who she got that from. She reads ME bedtime stories, sings in the car and just generally talks all day long. I love it.

Mommy Jungle Gym
Mommy Jungle Gym is a “fun” game Sophie likes to play at night, when the lights are down low, the lullaby CD is playing, and we’re reading stories and drinking our bedtime bottle. We climb all over mommy, inch our way up across her chest, pull her hair, and twirl it in between our fingers, using it as a bunchy bunchie. It feels real good, let me tell you.
On a related note:

It Never Fucking Fails
The minute I finally get Sophie settled and comfortable on my chest, almost asleep, the dog wants either in or out. And she’s very persistent about it. I can’t stand to hear the scratch, scratch, scratch or yelping at the door, so we get up and let Chloë either out or in. Then Soph and I go back to the couch, where she starts another round of Mommy Jungle Gym.

Making Music
We bang two objects—whatever it is we happen to be holding (err, slobbering on) at the moment…be it blocks, cups, measuring spoons—together and Mommy sings:
Making Music is so much fun! Making music…{repeat “chorus”}
(I made it up myself thank you very much. I think I might have a new career going here, don’t you?)*
Since Sophie is usually sitting on the floor during this time, she does a little bouncy-bounce to the rhythm as she looks up at Mommy who is sitting way high in her computer chair “working” (e-mailing).

*Actually, Mommy has quite a repertoire of original songs, including:
Baby Massage
Bath Time is Fun Time and its counterpart Get All the Parts of the Sophie Girl (wash time)
Cool Mom (you have to see the dance that goes along with it in order to get the full effect)
Sweepin’ (the floor)
Loadin’ (the dishwasher)
And Many More! To order the CD, just send $9.95 (check or money order) to:
Sophie’s House, PO Box Silly Mommy, 102604.

We also like to pull ourselves up on chairs and/or the couch and beat the cushion like a drum. Then Mommy goes: “Bump bada dum dum” at which Sophie cracks up.
Which leads me to:

Silly Billy Mommy
Sometimes I wonder why Sophie laughs at the things she does. I mean, Peek-a-Boo: okay, I get that. Apparently, though, she thinks I’m hysterical. Which is a good thing. My friend KV told me, “I can see why Soph thinks you’re pretty funny, even when you’re not trying.”
“Really?” I said.
“Uh, Yeah. Definitely.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Well, for example, has she seen the ‘Cool Mom Dance’?” KV asked.
{Think Elaine from Seinfeld. Though I personally don’t think it’s quite that bad. But you’d have to ask my friends. }
“Of course!” I exclaimed.
“Exactly.”
I’m taking it as a compliment, though I’m not totally sure it was meant to be.

Just call me “Sea Bass”
Don’t ask about the nickname – I didn’t make it up. Sophie is going to be a natural swimmer I think. She loves the pool. Mostly she loves watching the other kids. She likes chewing her cups, grabbing her ring when it floats away, splish-splashing, and trying to peel off the decorative blue tiles from the steps. She also likes when I sit her on my knee and then unexpectedly drop her toes into the water.
Her new favorite game at the pool is for me to hoist her up high out of the water so she’s standing on the edge. Then I say “Ready? One…Two…THREEEEE!” and on “three” I scoop her into the water where she laughs with glee. Immediately, she reaches for the edge again. We do this only 50,000 times in a row. My arms should be more toned by now, don’t you think? Oh, yeah: I forgot my daughter only weighs 15 pounds. But still…?

Defiance
I guess the dog’s water bowl looks like a mini-pool to Sophie. She crawls over to it and reaches out her hand. I say “Ah ah! Sophie, that’s a ‘Leave It.’” (This is how I trained my dog. I don’t know what else to do. Because I did that so well.)* She looks up at me with a serious expression and retracts her hand. “Thank You,” I say. Approximately 2.5 milliseconds later, we do it again. But hey – at least she is paying attention to me. And listens. Kinda’. She’s just determined. And stubborn. Whose child is this again?
* Chloë is Queen of the house and ain’t nobody going to tell her any different.

Other Stuff

• Bath time IS fun time.
• She’s obsessed with Mommy’s teeth and loves to stick her hand in my mouth. Sophie herself almost has her two front bottom teeth. You can definitely see them, they just aren’t all the way through the gums yet. Tried to take a picture this morning, but she was not cooperating.
• She also likes to bite mommy’s nose.
• When she gets excited (i.e. Mommy picks her up from “school,” Grandma comes over…), she stretches out her arms and clasps/unclasps her hands together.
• Sophie would much rather stand/walk than sit/crawl, and has been that way since basically birth. She’s only slightly steadier than a drunken pirate*, which means Mommy has to bend over like the Hunchback of Notre Dame and chase the dog with her. She’ll be takin’ off on her own any day now, I’m sure…
  *Is he not just so totally hot or what? And I’m 13 again, yes. Thirteen and from “The Valley.”

Listen To Your Heart
by D.H.T.

For you, JF.

I know there's something in the wake of your smile.
I get a notion from the look in your eyes, yea.
You've built a love but that love falls apart.
Your little piece of heaven turns too dark.

Listen to your heart
when he's calling for you.
Listen to your heart
there's nothing else you can do.
I don't know where you're going
and I don't know why,
but listen to your heart
before you tell him goodbye.

Sometimes you wonder if this fight is worthwhile.
The precious moments are all lost in the tide, yea.
They're swept away and nothing is what is seems,
the feeling of belonging to your dreams.

Listen to your heart
when he's calling for you.
Listen to your heart
there's nothing else you can do.
I don't know where you're going
and I don't know why,
but listen to your heart
before you tell him goodbye.

And there are voices
that want to be heard.
So much to mention
but you can't find the words.
The scent of magic,
the beauty that's been
when love was wilder than the wind.

Listen to your heart
when he's calling for you.
Listen to your heart
there's nothing else you can do.
I don't know where you're going
and I don't know why,
but listen to your heart
before you tell him goodbye.

Listen to your heart, mm-mmmmmm

I don't know where you're going
and I don't know why,
but listen to your heart
before you tell him goodbye.

Sarah

(McLachlan, that is) makes me want to fall in love again.

Only I haven't yet found anyone to fall in love with.

Like Shoes*

Dating is like shopping for shoes. And I kinda’ want to try all different kinds on, since I’ve essentially been wearing the same pair for the past decade.

Sometimes it’s like when you’re walking through the mall just minding your own business, not even looking for shoes when you somehow spot what looks to be the perfect pair for that adorable dress you have hanging in the back of your closet. You decide to try them on, and luckily they have your size. Sometimes they end up be-ing the perfect pair. They’re cute, stylish and comfortable…even priced right! Sometimes you take them home, put on the dress and everything just meshes together better than you could have hoped.

But not usually.

Sometimes you think they’re the perfect pair and in the store they seem to be just that. Until you take them home. Then you put on the dress and realize the shoes are completely the wrong color and what were you thinking anyway?

Sometimes you wear them and feel great at the beginning of the night, but by the end your feet have blisters and are aching to rest. You throw the shoes in the back of your closet, never to be seen again.

Other times, you’re searching, searching for that one pair…your muffled voice from inside the torn-up box: “Didn’t I have….” Or “I thought I…” and then suddenly, Voila! Treasure found. And these shoes – a pair you had completely forgotten about until you bought a stylish pant suit that brought them to mind – work great.

But not usually.

Usually the ones thrown into the back of your closet were discarded for a reason: out of style, out of season, not comfortable….

And then sometimes you throw on your old sneakers. And you relish the feeling. These babies don’t need you to be all dressed up. They don’t even care if you have make-up on or if your hair is thrown up in a I-did-it-without-a-mirror kind of way. They’re just happy to be worn. And then you wonder why you don’t put them on more often.

* This analogy merely reflects how I feel about dating at this very moment and is not necessarily indicative of any past, present or future events in my real life.

I Swear I Am Not Making This Up

Sophie said "Mama" clear as day. I was talking on the phone and putting away her clothes; she was in her walker chasing me/the dog/the cat. She started to get a little hungry, looked right at me, held out her arms and said "Mama."

So what if she couldn't do it again? I'm not going to claim that she knows what it means exactly, but it sure was exciting!

So Big!

Sophie in her pretty pretty dress; 9 months

Jabba the Hutt?

Sophie is really trying to have conversations now, and has started making distinct "baba/dada/mama" sounds (though she doesn't yet know what mama and dada mean). Her most famous sounds like (to me at least): "habba jibba jabba jabba" {with a higher inflection on the last "jabba"}.

Vietnam

Yeah, so it’s kinda’ like that: my yard. It’s low on my priority list, I have to admit. I have enough trouble keeping the floor clean (though now that Sophie is crawling around everywhere I’m forced to sweep each day). Apparently, poison oak/ivy or sumac (not really sure which) grows in my backyard. Of course, I did not actually figure that out until my arms and legs began to burn and itch as if they were on fire.

And now we know why I don’t do yard work.

I need to hire a gardener…preferably one who is tanned, fit and handsome, willing to maintain my landscaping perhaps in exchange for ahem…well, you know…