<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379</id><updated>2012-02-16T02:43:05.674-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Barracuda Diaries</title><subtitle type='html'>Semi-regular thoughts on being a mama for the first time</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>25</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-511660666691975529</id><published>2011-06-13T10:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-13T10:43:51.860-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stop climbing my Patience Tree!</title><content type='html'>Lets be real here folks. Parenting is hard. It would be so much easier to just give in to the request for extra ice cream, a movie past bedtime, only sweet potato fries for dinner, and so on. If I could just sit back and let my 3yo barracuda run the house (and the world) and know that she would just inately know how do this all in a diplomatic, sensitive, creative and respectful way, I would. Unfortunately she doesn't yet understand that if you don't eat dinner, you don't get dessert, and if you don't listen and follow instructions, you don't get to just cry and have your way anyway. There are moments where the Barracuda's listening ears are on (and times I wish they weren't when they are!) and I appreciate these milestones more than my morning coffee. I know she is getting it. I know it is a slow process. And she is only 3. All of this I know. But since we are being real, at the end of a long weekend, when everyone is tired, there is still dinner to be made, baths to be had, clothes to be laid out, lunches to be made, dogs to be fed and laundry to be put away -- my "patience tree" has a short trunk. And the next person to try and scramble up that trunk and swing from my branches is going to hear about it. I take time outs. I take long HOT showers. I enjoy a barracuda snuggle while indulging in Coraline or Rio. I remind myself that we are both learning. Me how to parent, and her how to do most everything. =)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all balances out. Somedays are heavier on the reminders to "chew with your mouth closed please", "don't throw rocks in the pond please", or "crayons are for paper not the table" ... and somedays are laden with imaginary friends, worm hunts, hopscotch, gardening and hiding kisses in our pockets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What it all boils down to is that learning is hard. Parenting is hard. Being a kid is hard. Understanding why things are the way they are, and explaining why, is hard. But as each day goes by, and some hurdles are leapt over, and others are crashed into -- lessons are learned. On both ends. And each morning we get up and start again. With a hug and a snuggle and likely a barracuda swinging from a tree limb.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-511660666691975529?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/511660666691975529/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=511660666691975529' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/511660666691975529'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/511660666691975529'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2011/06/stop-climbing-my-patience-tree.html' title='Stop climbing my Patience Tree!'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-9050564486394576937</id><published>2011-06-08T10:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-08T10:55:00.748-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jPKdOFMbwnQ/Te-1eMzZOEI/AAAAAAAAAEE/0lhJJHgfTc8/s1600/0e2ed630b47a4fbe95026bfc86ce19d4_7.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615906790791788610" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jPKdOFMbwnQ/Te-1eMzZOEI/AAAAAAAAAEE/0lhJJHgfTc8/s320/0e2ed630b47a4fbe95026bfc86ce19d4_7.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Look at how big my barracuda is!!!! AUGH! I am incredibly overdue for an update -- there is so much. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;1) the Barracuda went to the dentist for the first time&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;2) she now has a pet rat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;3) she is in a preschool that is run by a yogic nun&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;4) we are in a new house&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;5) her Dad and I are friends but are no longer married&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;6) she has never had a hair cut&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;7) she loves the garden and asked this morning about affids and ladybugs&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;8) when we rode rides at the fair she said she "just wants to go fast mama!"...yikes! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;9) she sings all the time&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;10) rocks are cooler than sticks, but both are better than anything else to play with&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;11) Coraline. on repeat....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;12) she is turning 4 in 4 months &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;13) she knows when her birthday is and has requested a pinata&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;14) she likes crab meat, kashi cereal, quinoa, and most vegetables&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;15) her curiosity gets her in trouble sometimes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;16) we still rock in the rocker in the morning to wake up and she is, for those moments, still my baby barracuda&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;17) single parenting is hard. respect and admiration to those who don't lose their minds&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;18) she met a troll in Seattle&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;19) hopscotch is also "runscotch" &amp;amp; "skipscotch" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;20) she is still the best thing I have ever done&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-9050564486394576937?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/9050564486394576937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=9050564486394576937' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/9050564486394576937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/9050564486394576937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2011/06/look-at-how-big-my-barracuda-is-augh-i.html' title=''/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jPKdOFMbwnQ/Te-1eMzZOEI/AAAAAAAAAEE/0lhJJHgfTc8/s72-c/0e2ed630b47a4fbe95026bfc86ce19d4_7.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-8573555535659952591</id><published>2009-10-18T10:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-13T10:39:16.602-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/SttUbyhHhWI/AAAAAAAAADk/KY8Vx2BzI04/s1600-h/beach8.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393997815100179810" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 86px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 130px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/SttUbyhHhWI/AAAAAAAAADk/KY8Vx2BzI04/s320/beach8.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;So when did I stop writing? Somewhere in between working full time, parenting full time and trying to breathe on a regular basis, I think. Summer has come and gone, Lucia turned TWO at the beginning of this month, and Tommy is nearing the finish line for school. For me? I am nearing the finish line of my sanity. Seriously. The only thing these days that moves me forward is my 1 hour, almost every day, at the gym, doing something for me. Don't get me wrong, I love my time at home with Lucia, playing in her kitchen, flipping eggs, reading about &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Pigeons&lt;/span&gt; and Hot Dogs...but &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;some days&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;some days&lt;/span&gt;, what I wouldn't give for a moment of quiet space where there was nothing for me to do. No laundry, no dishes. No lunches to be made, food to be bought, school to be driven to. No work to stay late at, phones to answer, places to go. That is what I get at the gym. I hate running. But I do it. Headphones on, crappy TV or music in my ear, I run. Like &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Charae&lt;/span&gt;, I run away from things and to things at the same time. I run to figure out where I am going and how I am getting there. I run when I am mad, scared, tired, or sad. I run faster when I am happy. Odd. I also have been spending time with a trainer at the gym, a friend really, Brian. Yes, yes, I know -- how much does that cost?! It is worth it you &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;effers&lt;/span&gt; and the only thing I spend money on these days that isn't related to anyone else. So there. I love it. I get really anxious, mad, sad and scared when I think that I can't afford it and might have to stop. It is an odd, very visceral reaction. Not what I expected, but there all the same. The time is comforting in its routine, painful in its process, and rewarding in the improvement of my mental, physical and emotional health. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;This month has been my first &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;foray&lt;/span&gt; into single parenting as Tommy's schedule doesn't really allow for....well....that is another story, but basically we (I) blame his schedule for the way things are. And if it &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;doesn't&lt;/span&gt; change when his schedule does...well...something will. I mean really, something has got to give. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Anyway -- my little Barracuda is not so little anymore and has more words than I know what to do with. She sleeps in a big girl bed, crawls in on my side to cuddle every morning, eats bananas like they will someday be extinct, and sings each hour of every day, in varying tune and tone. She is the best thing I have ever done and the one thing I will never regret. The rest of it remains to be seen...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-8573555535659952591?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/8573555535659952591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=8573555535659952591' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/8573555535659952591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/8573555535659952591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2009/10/so-when-did-i-stop-writing-somewhere-in.html' title=''/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/SttUbyhHhWI/AAAAAAAAADk/KY8Vx2BzI04/s72-c/beach8.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-7130819300404996012</id><published>2009-03-10T22:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-10T22:29:47.723-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Planning</title><content type='html'>So it feels like with a kiddo you are always planning. Planning for the next day, the next meal, the next nap, the next diaper, etc. I can't do anything these days that is not planned. I get seriously thrown off the mojo if I try to just fly by the seat of my pants or figure it out as  I go along.  I feel like in all this planning I am still forgetting to, or missing, making plans. Missing birthdays of friends, missing opportunities to do something cool with Lucia, missing the chance to write something down and make something of it. Shoot. Planning does not equate with missing things. If you plan things, you should be on top of them. Right? Or maybe there is just too much going on all the time. Who knows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow is Wednesday. It is now 10:30pm on Tuesday and I only got home hours ago -- but I was out for cocktails with old friends and OH MYGOD was it lovely. I digress. Tomorrow is Wednesday. My mother in law is coming over to watch the Barracuda tomorrow so the house should be at least presentable (which it is not), there should be lunch and snack easily accessible for Lucia (which there kind of are), and I should be in bed...not up drinking wine and watching tv while writing here. There are toys scattered about the living room and the entire upstairs, no clean diaper wraps, and her clothes are still in the basket after being folded last Wednesday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plans? I make them all the time. And when things "go as planned" -- wow am I happy. Meanwhile, I am running around at 10:30pm, full of red wine, trying to pick up, make food, and plan for tomorrow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-7130819300404996012?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/7130819300404996012/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=7130819300404996012' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/7130819300404996012'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/7130819300404996012'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2009/03/planning.html' title='Planning'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-1315332201715238122</id><published>2009-02-25T18:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-25T18:27:53.361-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/SaX76GwgWKI/AAAAAAAAADc/53RQ3-vUogk/s1600-h/816812633705_0_ALB.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306924711591041186" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/SaX76GwgWKI/AAAAAAAAADc/53RQ3-vUogk/s320/816812633705_0_ALB.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;So there she is folks, my little girl. (and my messy house in the background.) What has happened since December? A TON! Here is the quick version, and maybe you'll get more later: &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;-The barracuda has teeth. Molars, front teeth, I-teeth...all the better to bite you with. Seriously. Sometimes she bites and it really hurts. Oooooo Barracuda! &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;-Her sassy face has become very well developed. She can pout with the best of them. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;-Food is a challenge again and right now we are on a meatloaf, meatball, and cheese diet. Occasionally we can get an egg or some crackers into her. And oatmeal. Thank goodness I have an Italian mother in law who makes some tasty meatballs and my Mom who is experimenting successfully. This girl can eat when she decides she likes something. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;-Maggie (our dog) has a much more varied diet now since she eats everything Lucia throws overboard. Good dog. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;-Lucia's favorite place to spend time is outside. She washes her hands in the dirt while gleefully exclaiming "duuuuurt!" &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;-She continues to be happy at her little school, as are we that she is there. She does poach food from other kids though...sneaky girl. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;-Oh! And we discovered the Children's Museum. Thanks to my folks for our membership at Christmas the girl can't get enough. Daniell took her on a Thursday once and was rewarded with a 3 hour nap! Shweet! &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;-Barracuda throw up is bad. So is a Barracuda with an ear infection. We had both last month. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;All in all everything is going pretty great. I miss her a ton when I am at work and get pretty pissed off hearing all these stories about how shitty people are to their kids. It just makes me want to wake her up when I get home and cuddle. Or sleep in her room on the floor to make sure she is okay. Tommy has 9 more months of school and then the hope is he can work full time and I can go to half time. And maybe back to school...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-1315332201715238122?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/1315332201715238122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=1315332201715238122' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/1315332201715238122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/1315332201715238122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2009/02/so-there-she-is-folks-my-little-girl.html' title=''/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/SaX76GwgWKI/AAAAAAAAADc/53RQ3-vUogk/s72-c/816812633705_0_ALB.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-4995318218936451503</id><published>2008-12-18T22:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-25T18:17:30.755-08:00</updated><title type='text'>14 months</title><content type='html'>When did my little girl get so big? 14 months old and demanding as hell these days. Everything is "no ma" (thats right, she calls me "ma", not mama or mom or mommy. just "ma".) or she grabs hold of whatever is closest and points to what she wants saying, "that". she walks, really runs, everywhere. climbs the stairs, dances to music. she is exhausting and fabulous all in this little tiny package.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lucia started going to "daycare" two days a week in early November and it is going so great. We (and she) couldn't be happier. No TV, all organic, wooden toys and cloth diapers. She runs around there in a tu-tu made of multi-color silks. (She is getting one for Christmas to have at home.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay -- I started this in December...it is now the end of February. Am I getting worse at this? Is that possible?! I will publish this...then start a new one for this month -- that might be long and expound on all that has happened since December, or might be short, and wimpy. Like this one was. Read on to find out....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-4995318218936451503?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/4995318218936451503/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=4995318218936451503' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/4995318218936451503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/4995318218936451503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/12/14-months.html' title='14 months'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-7359098305453367213</id><published>2008-11-15T20:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-15T20:17:13.408-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So Luci had her first ear infection. Ugh. Ear infections suck for the following reasons:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) you can't do anything for them, just sit there and try to be comforting while she tugs her ear off.&lt;br /&gt;2) you have to give her that bubble gum flavored anti-biotic that brings back traumatic childhood memories of your own ear infections&lt;br /&gt;3) you lose sleep.&lt;br /&gt;4) you lose sleep.&lt;br /&gt;5) you go somewhat insane because of all the lost sleep.&lt;br /&gt;6) the lines at pharmacy counters these days are way too long&lt;br /&gt;7) at the doctor's office, you have to sit in the "sick kid" waiting area that has all the lamest toys (like sick kids don't want to play with the cool stuff? i think that just makes it worse. hey kid, sorry you feel like crap. here are some shitty toys you won't be distracted by.)&lt;br /&gt;8) you lose sleep&lt;br /&gt;9) nothing gets done at your house&lt;br /&gt;10) you still have to get up early, no "sorry I am sick and sleeping in" benefits like when you are the sick person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh -- and a big bonus...the anti-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;biotics&lt;/span&gt; give babies &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;diarrhea&lt;/span&gt;. sweet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-7359098305453367213?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/7359098305453367213/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=7359098305453367213' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/7359098305453367213'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/7359098305453367213'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/11/so-luci-had-her-first-ear-infection.html' title=''/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-6451702638955435173</id><published>2008-11-12T19:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T19:37:51.673-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cold</title><content type='html'>Lucia got a cold and while miserable, still manages to be sweet and cute despite the snot running down her face.&lt;br /&gt;I got Lucia's cold and no matter what clothes I wear, make-up I dabble in, or long hot baths I take, I am not sweet and my whining is not nearly as cute as hers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh glory to the cold gods....either chop off my nose, or leave me the hell alone. Six months of allergies is bad enough. If I now have a perpetual cold through the winter I might just cut off my nose myself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-6451702638955435173?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/6451702638955435173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=6451702638955435173' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/6451702638955435173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/6451702638955435173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/11/cold.html' title='Cold'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-8711738273213436143</id><published>2008-11-11T08:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T08:59:43.218-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Change, change, change.....</title><content type='html'>My job changed.&lt;br /&gt;My hours changed.&lt;br /&gt;My life changed.&lt;br /&gt;Funny how such a little thing can mean such big business.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS Lucia is one and walking and I am still as irresponsible as ever about writing her regularly. Maybe that will change soon too....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-8711738273213436143?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/8711738273213436143/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=8711738273213436143' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/8711738273213436143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/8711738273213436143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/11/change-change-change.html' title='Change, change, change.....'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-1059613868950983322</id><published>2008-09-03T08:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T08:15:05.857-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Footloose and Baby Free</title><content type='html'>So we spent our first night away from Lucia over Labor Day. I barely lasted 24 hours and managed to peel into my parents house just minutes shy of a full day away. Don't get me wrong, it was a lot of fun, but seriously felt like a piece of me was missing. Here is the run down:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We dropped Luci off with my Mom and Dad after a night of no sleep and a morning of,  me saying "does she have a cold? what about a fever, she feels warm", and Tommy responding with, "I think she is fine...we aren't going are we?" Well we went. Leaving at noon, stopping in Salem to drop off a chainsaw to Rex, at the bar (we had to have a red beer right?), and finally hitting Newport around 4pm. Christine, Drew and Scott were waiting on the porch looking relaxed after a day of crabbing and lounging in the sun. Appealing. We unpacked, cracked a beer and settled in. That is, after I called my Mom to check in on Luci. (I only called one more time before bed to make sure that she went to bed on time, which is really pretty good considering I thought abuot just jumping in the car and making a run for it frequently. Not because I wasn't enjoying myself, I just missed my girl.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway -- we played board games, then graduated to Texas Hold 'Em, onto really big beers and a feast of crab bread, crab salad, tuna loin and crab fettucini alfredo...oh and clams, steamed artichoke and steak. Seriously. It was like Iron Chef with seafood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At midnight we went down to the beach for a bonfire, it was that nice outside and didn't trudge back home up 90stairs (I counted) until 2:30am. Tommy and I curled into bed and looked at photos &amp;amp; videos of Luci on my phone until I couldn't hold my eyes open any longer. Morning came and I shot out of bed, dressed and cleaned up a bit in the front of the house before waking Tommy up, much to his dismay, to hit the road. I drove. We got home in record time and the best part was that when I walked into the den to get Lucia, she looked up, smiled this huge, goofy, still toothless grin and scrambled right over to me. There is nothing like it in the world. There is nothing like her in the world, and while I have to leave again for a wedding in a few weeks, I doubt that trip will be more than 24 hours long either.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-1059613868950983322?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/1059613868950983322/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=1059613868950983322' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/1059613868950983322'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/1059613868950983322'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/09/footloose-and-baby-free.html' title='Footloose and Baby Free'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-7291097241070812316</id><published>2008-07-24T08:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-24T08:10:55.832-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Barley there in July</title><content type='html'>Well at least I am getting one in here before the end of the month....right? Write! Where are we at....almost 10 months old now...crawling, pulling up on everything, which equals many bumps and bruises -- and lots of questions from folks at work! (just kidding) My nights are now frequently dotted with late trips to Lucia's room to find her standing in her crib, gripped onto the bars like she is in jail, wailing at the top of her little lungs. Why? you ask. Who knows, I say! Maybe her binky has run away, or it is too dark, or she had a bad dream, was lonely....the list goes on. Needless to say, it is usually a little cuddle that does it and she is back to dreamland for another couple of hours. Bed time was easy at 6 months. You would think it should stay that way now that she is older, wiser if you will. But I think it is the wiser part that is messing it all up. The girl knows what she is missing! Just like her father she seems to be unable to reconcile that sleep is just as important as what might be happening outside on our creepy street at 2am. Lets all wake up and take a look! She yells from her crib. And if we can't do that, just come get me anyway, maybe I can pull your hair for a bit, or Maggie's tail. There must be something better to do than sleep in my crib all night long!! Coommmmmeeee ooooooooooon!!!!! My friend Brian tells me that we only have a short time before the piercing wails turn into "Maaaaaammmmaaaaa! Come get me!!! Paaaaaaaaaapa!!!!" Oh joy. Joy of joys. Won't that be a good day. Ha! I'll let you know....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-7291097241070812316?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/7291097241070812316/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=7291097241070812316' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/7291097241070812316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/7291097241070812316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/07/barley-there-in-july.html' title='Barley there in July'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-3332561260863569105</id><published>2008-06-25T07:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-25T07:48:52.196-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Almost 9 months</title><content type='html'>June is almost over. Lucia will be 9 months old on July 1st meaning that her 1st birthday is really just around the corner. Jesus. It goes so fast. I mean fast people. Faster than those gals at the rollerderby can skate. She sits up, scooches around on her knees, rolls all over the place (no more hanging on the couch alone!), eats real food and I SWEAR -- says Mamma. She isn't even nursing anymore which is a whole other layer of heartbreak that if I talk about makes water come out of my eyes, a thing of which I am not fond of. My baby isn't really a baby anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just last night, her "will" as my friend Hannah calls it, reared its head big time. She has learned that there are certain cries that get immediate response...if I had a video I would post it....because now, now she will make that cry when you leave the room, and then look to see if you are coming back. If you stop, she stops, if you continue, so does she. Lovely.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-3332561260863569105?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/3332561260863569105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=3332561260863569105' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/3332561260863569105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/3332561260863569105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/06/almost-9-months.html' title='Almost 9 months'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-5010647435281031828</id><published>2008-06-03T07:46:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-03T07:47:59.826-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Feet</title><content type='html'>I had to share something that you'll have to look forward to with pregnancy — your feet grow!!! I know! What?! Right? I had heard that, but didn't really believe it because all of my old shoes still fit once the swelling at the end of my pregnancy went away. Well, the gym shoes that I have are from when I played soccer with in college, so they are a little old, and pretty much falling apart. Anyway, I went to get some new ones and here is how that went:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Store lady: "What size should I bring you?"&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Oh I am usually between a 9.5 and a 10." (Big already mind you!)&lt;br /&gt;Store lady: "Why don't I measure you?"&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Oh sure, it has been a long time."&lt;br /&gt;(I look down at the measureing thing and then...)&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Wow! Am I really more like a 10.5!?"&lt;br /&gt;Store lady: "Nope. You are an 11."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "What!?"&lt;br /&gt;Store lady: "It is probably from having the baby (with a smile)."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lucia was there with me giggling and laughing at the fact that her mother's feet are now a size 11. Lucikly they don't grow with each pregnancy, just the first. And I thought you should know that. ;-) I would post a photo of how huge my feet look in my new shoes, but it probably wouldn't fit on the page. And my camera is broken again...maybe that is a good thing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-5010647435281031828?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/5010647435281031828/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=5010647435281031828' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/5010647435281031828'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/5010647435281031828'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/06/feet_03.html' title='Feet'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-5762289448398981794</id><published>2008-05-03T20:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-03T21:03:08.710-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What Happened to April?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Seriously. What happened to that month? I swear that just yesterday I was getting all committed to writing here on a regular basis and then this morning I woke up and realized I didn't even write once in April. Lame. Totally. Lame. So now I again will make a deal with myself (boring to deal with the devil, what is that thing going to threaten me with? Working full time while waking multiple times a night to a fussy baby? Throwing cereal in my face? What?! Yeah, hes got nothing on Luci) that I am going to be diligent. Shit, if I can get online and play a little scrabulous with my friend Ronika every night I can certainly get my lazy ass on here and write about it! Right!? Okay --&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Barracuda updates:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My fabulous daughter can now - sit up by herself, eat solid foods (watered down rice cereal and oatmeal...really not that solid), sleep through the night (when she chooses to), grab her feet and put them in her mouth (something I haven't been able to do since high school), and blow raspberries. For those of you new to the baby jargon, she sticks her funny little tounge out and goes "thhhbbbbtttttt". It is cute. Except when she just ate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/SB01artw1uI/AAAAAAAAABo/Qb22z-GZ2RY/s1600-h/swimming.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196368277582960354" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/SB01artw1uI/AAAAAAAAABo/Qb22z-GZ2RY/s320/swimming.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here she is on her first adventure in the swimming pool! She is getting so grown up! 7 months old and counting...still no teeth, but when all you eat is goop and breastmilk they are a little overrated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cheers to hoping this isn't the only entry on here this month.....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-5762289448398981794?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/5762289448398981794/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=5762289448398981794' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/5762289448398981794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/5762289448398981794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/05/what-happened-to-april.html' title='What Happened to April?'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/SB01artw1uI/AAAAAAAAABo/Qb22z-GZ2RY/s72-c/swimming.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-2750315989243873972</id><published>2008-03-29T15:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-03T21:04:49.405-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bedtime success!!</title><content type='html'>So Lucia slept in her crib for the first time last night!!! She has been sleeping in a cradle in our room since she was born -- well, since she was like three weeks old. For the first three weeks she slept on me. Great for her, terrifying for me. Hence the move to the cradle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I decided that there was going to come a time soon that I would have to bite the bullet and get her into her own bedroom and out of ours. I am not sure why but last night seemed to be the night to do it, but it was. Prior to bedtime routine time (which really just consists of eating liking a pig, getting a new diaper and then being wrapped in a blanket ... her, not me) I switched all the blankets out from her cradle to the crib so she would have something familiar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Around 8:30pm after gobbling down 6 ounces and burping in my ear we were ready. Luci was rubbing her eyes which is her new number one cue that it is time for bed. You have a pretty small window to get her down successfully before she is "overtired" and then fights like hell not to go to bed, even though she needs to go to bed. Right -- eye rubbing -- we walked upstairs, wrapped her in her nightime blankie, paci in mouth, and down in the crib. I turned on the monitor, kissed her goodnight and left the room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And stood outside the door for the next 10 minutes listening to her settle in. Then it was quiet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fighting the urge to go back in and check on her I went downstairs and settled in for a little late night Law &amp;amp; Order marathon. Right about verdict time I hear a squeal which is immediately followed by crying that if translated would mean, "It is so dark! Where am I?! Why aren't you here with me? Get your ass in here noooooooowwwwwww!!!!!!!!" After a little soothing and the paci being located and back in mouth she corked off again no problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At 10pm I went to bed. I brushed my teeth with the bathroom light on, set my alarm while listening to music, and fell into the lightest sleep of my life. She woke up a couple times, needed to eat, get her paci back in her mouth, and of course, make sure someone would come when called. All in all, it was a success. And man did it feel good, all be it strange, to be able to move around in my room without having a heart attack if the floor squeaked when I had to get up and go pee at 2am.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-2750315989243873972?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/2750315989243873972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=2750315989243873972' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/2750315989243873972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/2750315989243873972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/03/bedtime-success.html' title='Bedtime success!!'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-6174067330295573550</id><published>2008-03-17T07:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-17T07:42:08.693-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Elephant babies</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.dreamstime.com/elephant-baby-thumb1234069.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.dreamstime.com/elephant-baby-thumb1234069.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So last night we watched a Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom on the Animal Planet about desert elephants who live in Namibia in the Namib desert. Being a new mama myself it was pretty impressive to watch what these elephant mamas do to care for their babies. Most impressive is that a baby elephant has to drink up to 4 GALLONS of milk a day until they can properly digest grass, bark and all the other tasty treats the desert provides. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;FOUR GALLONS!!!! And to think that I am tired of trying to produce 16-18 ounces a day. Kind of puts it in perspective. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Elephants are so cool. And matriarchal, which makes them even cooler. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-6174067330295573550?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/6174067330295573550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=6174067330295573550' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/6174067330295573550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/6174067330295573550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/03/elephant-babies.html' title='Elephant babies'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-9179384244889334888</id><published>2008-03-16T15:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T15:08:22.892-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/thumbimg_13/111773419304nACl.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 257px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 216px" height="216" alt="" src="http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/thumbimg_13/111773419304nACl.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;One: the number of posts I have this month so far. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Two: the number of times I have thought about posting this month. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Three: my goal number of posts for April. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And finally, Four: the number of carrott sticks I told myself I have to eat before I can indulge in something sweet. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Cheers to trying to lose the baby weight....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-9179384244889334888?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/9179384244889334888/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=9179384244889334888' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/9179384244889334888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/9179384244889334888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/03/one-this-is-number-of-posts-i-have-this.html' title=''/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-2771846454286539389</id><published>2008-03-08T11:35:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-08T11:46:48.122-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Let the Howling begin!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/R9LrG_Z8trI/AAAAAAAAABY/f38CrQ3_CTo/s1600-h/More+Lucia+063.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5175457427134133938" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/R9LrG_Z8trI/AAAAAAAAABY/f38CrQ3_CTo/s320/More+Lucia+063.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So this picture is from when she was a lot smaller, but the face looks the same when she is pissed and my camera is broken so no new photos for a while. (Lucky for Luci since she is basically the most photographed child ever.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The newest developments in Barracudaville are what we have decided to call "the Howls". When she is happy, hungry, angry, uncomfortable (ie: pooping) or anything else she howls. Really hoooooowwwwwllllllls. Sometimes it is a little deeper in the thoat and actually sounds like it hurts, and other times it is this high pitched, tounge wagging howl. Either way they are hilarious. At least hilarious to us because I am sure she is trying to tell me something and just gets frustrated when I start laughing and make no forward motion to doing whatever it is she is demanding. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The teething continues to challenge all but the Grandparents! Perhaps it is their years of experience, or as Marc suggested, they are sneaking her candy....maybe a Granny-cam is in order to sort this one out. (Just kidding Mom.) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, the Barracuda is summoning me with kicks, grunts and what appears to be a determination to slide all the way down off her perch....and here come the howls. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;PS I got to go out again on Wednesday night for a happy hour with some friends....but that is another story. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-2771846454286539389?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/2771846454286539389/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=2771846454286539389' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/2771846454286539389'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/2771846454286539389'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/03/let-howling-begin.html' title='Let the Howling begin!'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/R9LrG_Z8trI/AAAAAAAAABY/f38CrQ3_CTo/s72-c/More+Lucia+063.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-7065264634059505752</id><published>2008-02-24T20:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-24T20:40:18.013-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Morphine</title><content type='html'>Did you know that someone somewhere told someone else, who told another person who knows my friend who told me, that if adults had to grow teeth in like babies do we would need morphine?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously. How much must that hurt!? Thank god Luci isn't going to remember this lovely moment in her life. Oddly enough she seems only to teethe when she is home alone with me and Tommy. Yesterday she was howling mad and then my Mom and Dad came over and she was not only pleasant, but actually put on a giggling show, tossing her little head back, mouth open, squealing and laughing. They left and so did my laughing baby. Apparantly today we had the same phenomena (I know that is wrong) when she was perfectly content all day while being babysat by Gram and Gramp Wilson and then Dad comes home and Waaaaaaaaait a minute! Tears and some serious grumping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess we'll see how it is going when I get home...I'll let you know if there is a tooth or sleep by morning...or if we are all needing a shot of morphine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-7065264634059505752?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/7065264634059505752/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=7065264634059505752' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/7065264634059505752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/7065264634059505752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/02/morphine.html' title='Morphine'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-6651657025182009251</id><published>2008-02-17T19:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-17T20:10:19.582-08:00</updated><title type='text'>14lbs of Chubbarific fun</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/R7kE1GQ_xBI/AAAAAAAAABQ/1IMHmCQ9A90/s1600-h/227061631605_0_ALB.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168167357645833234" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/R7kE1GQ_xBI/AAAAAAAAABQ/1IMHmCQ9A90/s320/227061631605_0_ALB.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Shit! It has been almost a month to the day since i have been on here to write anything. Not that there are people reading this, except for perhaps my brilliant sister Amanda (who I would totally put a link to her site here but am technically retarded and can't even though she explained it to me), so no one is really noticing that I haven't been writing. The idea was to have a great little spot to remember all the lovely things done by the Barracuda as well as work on my writing. Bad Mama, Bad Writer Mama. So lets try this again...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Luci is now a delightful 4 and a half months old. I can't believe it. She does little baby crunches to try and sit up and looks like she is about to get herself right out of her carseat at times. She is continuing to teethe and drool all over the place and now has added the best squeal to her noise repetoire. (sp?) Sometimes she squeals when she is playing with you and other times just sits there doing it over and over again in this crazy display of happiness that makes you squeal right along with her. You can't help it. Seriously, try and resist. Come on over, I dare you. Oh and did I mention that she is 14lbs now...thats right folks, double her birth weight by 4 months old. What an overachiever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She is still the champion at hair pulling in our house and is now working on her mastery of "the pinch". When she does this she uses all 5 of her fingers and because she can only grab a small amount of skin at a time it hurts real bad. I mean real bad. The other day she actually drew blood on my neck. Such a sweetie though because she was squealing the whole time and I of course just couldn't say no. (Lets see how far that gets me when it is time to start the discipline part of this parenting thing....)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The picture that I have on this entry was taken by above mentioned brilliant sister at the Rose City Dog Show. (We are a big family of dog lovers...big.) Anyway, that is the Barracuda's serious face. That is how she looks when she is thinking about "the pinch" and also how she looks at times when pooping. Both serious business. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-6651657025182009251?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/6651657025182009251/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=6651657025182009251' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/6651657025182009251'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/6651657025182009251'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/02/14-pounds-of-chubbarific-fun.html' title='14lbs of Chubbarific fun'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/R7kE1GQ_xBI/AAAAAAAAABQ/1IMHmCQ9A90/s72-c/227061631605_0_ALB.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-4299344971274057547</id><published>2008-01-20T16:17:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-20T16:22:43.500-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hello Thumb</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/R5PksleCxnI/AAAAAAAAAAw/IXygaLITzPI/s1600-h/thumb.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157717452892849778" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/R5PksleCxnI/AAAAAAAAAAw/IXygaLITzPI/s320/thumb.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Luci learned how to suck her thumb. It is so cute and I can't help but let her. I know some people say that it is a bad habit and that she will have buck teeth, but hey, I had buck teeth and didn't suck my thumb, so who can really know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe that what prompted this thumb discovery is that she is starting to teethe! Only 3 and a half months old, but all she wants to do is chew on things and drool on other things. Serious signs of the teeth getting ready to "erupt"...what an awful term. Anyway, she was happily chewing on her hands and then the thumb just popped into place and away she went! Whoo-hoo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The beauty of the thumb sucking is that it makes her feel better, thus lessening the crying and fussing that happens. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hooray for self-soothing!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-4299344971274057547?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/4299344971274057547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=4299344971274057547' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/4299344971274057547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/4299344971274057547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/01/hello-thumb.html' title='Hello Thumb'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/R5PksleCxnI/AAAAAAAAAAw/IXygaLITzPI/s72-c/thumb.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-6421147145935608171</id><published>2008-01-13T16:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-20T16:15:07.010-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Selective Bottling</title><content type='html'>I’m trying to do this every day because I need to work on my writing. I love writing. Sometimes writing loves me. More typically writing laughs in my face and then allows me one sentence I am happy with. Wicked, wicked writing. Here is my attempt for today:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since you can't tell I have just sat staring at the computer screen for the last 10 minutes. That is an exaggeration. It was more like 5, but I am impatient and time is ticking by like waiting for happy hour to start when you only have enough money for $2 dollar beers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Barracuda is at home today with her Grandma, Tommy's mom refusing to eat. I have been back at work now since the 30th and we have been trying to get her to take a bottle since she hit 2 months. Some days she'll do it, most days she won't. It is hard not to take it personally since really she seems to refuse to eat mostly for Tommy's side of the family. What is that all about? Today (I am told) when her Grandma tried to feed her she threw a sweet little fit, real tears and all, and then passed out for an hour. When my sister came up to walk the dog she tried to feed her and Luci ate the whole bottle we had made for her like it was the most natural thing ever. Maybe it is just luck, or maybe it is something about my sister reminding her of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have books that say you should introduce the bottle no later than 5 weeks, and the lactation nazis who practically tell you the bottle will poison your baby and not to use it. So you don't. Or at least I didn't. And then it was time to come back to work and we were stuck with using it. Everyone tells me she'll get it and in a month this will all be no big deal....right. I'll let you know in a month.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-6421147145935608171?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/6421147145935608171/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=6421147145935608171' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/6421147145935608171'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/6421147145935608171'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/01/selective-bottling.html' title='Selective Bottling'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-3148491911801546104</id><published>2008-01-13T16:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-20T16:17:02.485-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Date Night</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/R4qmqFeCxmI/AAAAAAAAAAo/lOBjtN1Vtfk/s1600-h/n708855371_2066652_9386.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155115965431858786" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/R4qmqFeCxmI/AAAAAAAAAAo/lOBjtN1Vtfk/s320/n708855371_2066652_9386.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We got to go on a date last week! A real date. Drinks, dinner, drinks...Tommy dropped the Barracuda off at my parents house late in the afternoon while I was at work so that when I got home around 7pm we could leave right off. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was so strange being home without the baby there. I kept having this horrible feeling like I left her somewhere and couldn't remember where. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Without the baby we managed to get out of the house relatively quickly, something that hasn't happened in a long time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(Note: all new parents are always late. Plan accordingly if you are meeting them somewhere, even their own house.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We even had time to stop at a bar for a pre-dinner cocktail. Dinner was delicious and after dinner the pint we had at one of our old posts was equally as satisfying. It was only a few hours, but for that brief period of time I felt like I had stepped out of the parent vortex, which was just what I needed before heading home to clean up a really dirty diaper and get spit on. It was kind of like her quiet little protest to our date. Oooohhh Barracuda!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-3148491911801546104?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/3148491911801546104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=3148491911801546104' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/3148491911801546104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/3148491911801546104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/01/date-night.html' title='Date Night'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/R4qmqFeCxmI/AAAAAAAAAAo/lOBjtN1Vtfk/s72-c/n708855371_2066652_9386.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-4052810343622397580</id><published>2008-01-08T16:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-08T16:57:45.333-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Control Freak</title><content type='html'>New Mom's are control freaks. At least this new Mom is a control freak. After 9 months of being in charge of Lucia's well being, and then 3 more months of providing for her 24 hour care, it is next to impossible for me not to try and continue to control everything that is happening with her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am back at work now, 40 hours a week crammed into 4 days. One of the lucky ones, Lucia is being cared for by my parents, her Dad and his parents. All very competent and lovely people who are so totally capable of taking care of her it should make me sigh with relief and sleep better at night. But I don't. And it doesn't. Instead I get up extra early to make bottles, pack diaper bags and lay out clothes. I have to give myself a limit of how many times I am allowed to call during the day to check in. (Yesterday it was 5. Today it was 6.) Last night, out of what I believe to be my subconscious guilt for leaving, I had a dream about losing Lucia in the bed. I acutally woke Tommy up asking where the baby was. Once assured that she was in her cradle I fell back into a restless sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cannot control everything. This is my new mantra. Breathe in, breathe out. She will be okay if her cloth diaper is not folded exactly how I would fold it. It will still soak up the pee.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-4052810343622397580?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/4052810343622397580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=4052810343622397580' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/4052810343622397580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/4052810343622397580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/01/control-freak.html' title='Control Freak'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7197585722475970379.post-8796818420670909851</id><published>2008-01-06T20:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-06T20:28:30.646-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Beginning</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/R4GqYleCxkI/AAAAAAAAAAY/AYibym2ks7k/s1600-h/393064748505_0_ALB.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5152586788040263234" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/R4GqYleCxkI/AAAAAAAAAAY/AYibym2ks7k/s320/393064748505_0_ALB.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I should have started this when Lucia was born, but who can do anything with a newborn but breastfeed and pray for sleep? Let me give you a little history to get up to speed:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last February, on the morning after Valentines Day I woke up convinced that the last pregnancy test I took was wrong. I knew I was pregnant, or at least that something was seriously different. I couldn't even get out of bed without making a bra with my hands the girls hurt so bad. After a long year of trying to get pregnant, and doing everything but buying stock in First Response, I trudged into the bathroom, boobs in hand, to pee on yet another plastic stick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3 minutes later...I found out I was right. Well, 3 minutes, 2 tests and a trip to the local Prego Resource Center for one of their tests. Hey, I wanted to be sure. And now, almost a year later, I have a gorgeous, pudgy, drool machine named Lucia Louise aka, the Barracuda. First things first - her name is pronounced Loo-see-a, not Loo-sha. Common mistake. Also, good nicknames, Lu-Lu, Luci, Louie-Louie. Bad nicknames, Luci-lou, L-L, and Baby Girl. Those are the rules. Stick to them and we can all be friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luci came 3.5 weeks early and we were not prepared at all. I didn't even have my diaper bag yet. My water broke at my friend Lauren's house who luckily had gone through the exact same thing 11 months earlier and was so calm and excited about the whole thing. From my point of view it looked like I peed my pants after holding my bladder for a year. She stayed with me at the hospital until I asked Tommy (Luci's Dad) to clear the room. Eighteen long, looooooong, hours (and some IV narcotics and an epidural) later Lucia made her debut and helped me forget what it took to get her here. Since then I have been living in a world of nipple shields, breast pumps, cloth diapers, and the goofiest (sp?) sideways grins a girl can handle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have made it 3 months and after reading Anne Lamott's journal about her son's first year ("Operating Instructions"), I thought I should try and keep track too. So, in an effort to do so, here is the beginning of Barracuda Diaries....learn it, live it, love it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7197585722475970379-8796818420670909851?l=allydear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/feeds/8796818420670909851/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7197585722475970379&amp;postID=8796818420670909851' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/8796818420670909851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7197585722475970379/posts/default/8796818420670909851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://allydear.blogspot.com/2008/01/i-should-have-started-this-when-lucia.html' title='The Beginning'/><author><name>ally</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13077458220482061087</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fi53DBaGUgU/R4GqYleCxkI/AAAAAAAAAAY/AYibym2ks7k/s72-c/393064748505_0_ALB.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
