Higher Highs, Lower Lows

If there is one thing I feel totally comfortable flaunting, it is the fact that I have the most amazing friends on earth.  Around this time last year, a handful of them got together to throw not one, but TWO incredible baby showers to herald Seabass’ arrival.  They were, quite simply, the best baby showers ever.  PERIOD.

SHOWER NUMERO UNO:

Hosted by my dear friends Jenny and Elly, both of whom have incredible taste and backgrounds in event planning for wineries and non-profits. 

The gorgeousness of this event all kicked off with a killer invitation.  It was a small box delivered to each guest containing a live plant with a tag attached that read: “In celebration of the growing Lewis family.”  I don’t know how Elly got UPS to accept these plants as legitimate mail items.  She must have shown some leg or something.

Those girls – they are so clever.  The shower was held at an orchid nursery and had this cozy, rustic, homespun-yet-hip vibe to it.  Jenny is a foodie extraordinaire, so the food was brilliant: brioche, salads, a cheese board, pomegranate punch, and – made special for the pregnant girl – chocolate-covered bacon.  Yum.

Seated at a long table, surrounded by some of my dearest friends, delicious food, copious gifts, and rare tropical flowers, I felt extraordinarily loved and honored.

SHOWER NUMERO DOS:

Hosted by my precious friends Brigitte, Valerie, and Summer, who owns a brilliant event business called Hostess du Jour. 

Also helping to throw this great party was my beautiful mom, aka Oma.  Here she is with my mother-in-law, Grandma Lewis.  Nana (great grandma) is in the background.

This shower’s theme was “It’s raining, it’s pouring, a new Lewis we’re adoring!” so there were umbrellas on and around everything, from the invitation to the drinks. 

The party was held at Brigitte’s Mediterranean-style home, one of my favorite in the whole world.  Ramping up for the hatch of a wild Seabass in such gorgeous digs was a real treat.

Cupcakes came in two flavors: a Ding-Dong inspired Hostess-like cupcake and a chocolate cake with strawberry jam inside, ordered from Amy Bakes Cupcakes.  (Ha ha, I said Ding-Dong.)

The attention to detail at this party was phenomenal.  Summer is a whiz when it comes to this sort of thing.  One favorite part of the shower was how she arranged the gifts on a table once they’d been opened for everyone to see.  It was like a little boutique.

Another thoughtful detail was a book Summer created with our pregnancy photos as a memory book for Seabass.  Guests wrote prayers, words of encouragement, and blessings on our little guy in anticipation of his entrance to Planet Earth.

My heart still flutters when I think about this shower.  Again, I felt like royalty surrounded by such beauty and friendship.

Thank you, again, to my amazing friends: Summer, Valerie, Brigitte, Jenny, Elly, and of course, Oma.  You really know how to welcome a new little one.  Cheers!

http://www.FeedinMom.com

Howdy y’all!  I just wanted to tip you off to a guest blog post I wrote entitled “Of Infants and Insanity: Getting Comfy With Chaos” that just went live on the Feedin’ Mom website under “Mom Tips.”  In case you don’t know about Feedin’ Mom, it’s a wonderful resource for friends of new mothers to coordinate meal deliveries to her and her family.  Best of all?  It’s absolutely free.  My friends used this site to arrange meals for our family when I had Seabass, and I’m currently using it for another friend who is due in April.  Check it out!

Also be sure to check out the other posts on the site, whose titles include, “Parent-Hole,” “Diaper Rash Trick” and “What’s that smell?”  Ah, gotta love it.

How is a mother supposed to withstand this sort of cuteness?  I ASK YOU.

So, like I said before, I now work a three-hour shift at my gym’s childcare in exchange for a membership.  It’s especially great because I get to bring my precious Seabass along with me, and he loves it.  Eats it up. 

No, literally.  He puts everything – EVERYTHING – in his mouth.  And God only knows how many other kids have done the same.  I don’t care if someone walks behind each kid scrubbing the individual toys they leave in their wake with a combination of soap, bleach, Purell and vinegar.  Someone is bound to get sick.  Last week, that someone just happened to be Seabass. 

A parent came in with her 18-month-old boy and mentioned as she walked out to a weight-lifting class that her little dude was getting over a sniffle.  Did I say she walked out?  Make that ran out like the room was a meth lab on fire, leaving us childcare folks to regard her son with more than a little mistrust.

Seabass and I gave that kid a wide berth, I swear we did.  But to no avail.  The next day, my sweet fishy was a sniffling, bubbling, moaning, unsatisfiable, snot-encrusted little wreck.

Now, I need to be clear that I completely sympathize with the mother who left her child at the gym.  When baby is sick, mommy can’t bring him/her anywhere or do anything besides hold him/her and clock time.  It is like a whole new, stronger strain of horrible. 

And let me also be fair to the gym.  While I love the idea of dropping each of the five billion toys at the gym into a vat of scalding hot water every 30 seconds, it’s just not possible.  So I just let Seabass gum up whatever he wants.  For some parents, I know this is the most repulsive thing ever.  Maybe they even think I deserve a sick infant for such negligence. 

But I know other parents who consider germs par for the course and encourage their kids to acquaint themselves with as many nasties as possible just to build up the immune system.  My husband is one such parent, by the by.

And all of this would be fine – I would take care of my wee sicko without completely losing my cool – if it weren’t for the fact that my own immune system is crap.  That’s right: Despite OCD-like attention to washing my hands, keeping them away from my face, getting plenty of rest, drinking OJ and avoiding direct fluid-exchanges with my son, I got his bug.  And it’s been a DOOZY, let me tell ya. 

Sick me + Sick Seabass = Very tough. However, he nuzzled into my arms, which was a first! Loved that.

And then he even laid his little (giant) head on my chest while he coughed. Ohmygoodness! Call Guiness!

But the moment he saw the camera, he wanted THAT in his mouth, too. Hey kid, that's how this whole illness thing got started, dontchaknow.

So anyway, now he’s all better and I’m a mess.  I’ve never been so sick that I can’t even hear, but for the past 24 hours I feel like I’ve had earplugs in.  (If we’ve had a conversation in the past couple days, yes, I really was just nodding and smiling because, no, I didn’t hear you.)

Enough outta me.  What do you think?  Is it okay to bring a sick kiddo to a public place if you’re desperate to get out?  Or is that strictly verboten?

This post is dedicated to my dad, Mr. Dennis Johnson, fisherman extraordinaire.

I took Ye Wee Seabass to Dr. Awesome this week to figure out why his angry red bum rash isn’t retreating.  As per protocol, the nurse weighed him and discovered that Ye Wee Seabass is actually not-so-wee.  At less than 9 months of age, he weighs 26 pounds.

This news inspired the following:

• A Google search for what a real 26-lb sea bass looks like.  I found a shot of this man (his name is John, apparently) holding his freshly-caught 26-lb sea bass in his right hand.  Disgustingly, this photo was found on a fish story site by the name of BloodyDecks.com.  Ew.

See how his right arm is straining? Yeah. I carry that around ALL DAY LONG.

• The discovery of a type of sea bass called the Goliath Grouper Sea Bass.  If you have the patience to withstand the EXTREME DRAMA of the following clip of a big game fisherman catching a Goliath Grouper Sea Bass, you will not be sorry.  I promise.  The music alone is worth it.  Oh, but be warned that it might make you want to wretch.

• The revisiting of a clip from the movie Airplane! 

‘Nuff said.  Happy Friday.

OMG, I'm doing it.

Okay, so maybe it’s not really a controversy per se, but it shocked the crap outta me.  If you don’t understand why, obviously, you have never given birth.

It was Tuesday.  A spin class at the gym.  I rode a stationary bike.  For an hour.

THE END.

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We recently stayed with dear friends in San Francisco to see a concert by one of Jake’s all-time favorite bands, The Asylum Street Spankers.  It was the first time we’d traveled with Seabass just for fun, not for a holiday visit to see family.  And the results?  Mixed.

He didn’t sleep all that well, but it’s hard to know if that’s because he was just in a new place or because he’s got two raging white nubs on his upper gums that are about to sprout teeth.  I was amazed at how well he handled being in the stroller for loooooooong walks around the city and how we managed to take  public transportation with all of his accoutrements.  (Word to the wise: If ever you’re just dying to stand out in the Haight, by all means, wheel a baby around.)

One particularly gorgeous day, we walked from our friends’ home in Cow Hollow all the way down to the Ferry Building for lunch.  Jake and I had just bought some beautiful sandwiches and were sitting outside on park benches overlooking the bay with Seabass in his stroller.  Given the length of time he’d spent in there, though, he was anxious to get out.  When Jake removed him, lo and behold, his back was slathered in yellow/green poo.  Upon further inspection, his poop had pushed up his crack ALL THE WAY INTO HIS ARMPIT.  We spent the remainder of our lunchtime stripping him down, wiping out every nook and cranny, and trying to shoo a veritable flock of pigeons away from our food. 

• Diaper change in public?  Check.
• Nursing in public? (Covered, discreet, don’t worry.) Check.
• Hauling stroller on and off city bus?  Check.
• Wonderful time showing precious baby the city where we fell in love?  Check.

Ah, Internet. How you make me smile.

I present to you: The Lactating Dad.

Enjoy.

Date: January, 2010. 

Event: Jake’s company “Christmas” party. 

Theme: High school prom.

Me: Pregnant and glowing.

Jake: Adorably carefree.

Seabass: Snickering away and biding his time.