My Goofy Girls

These definitely aren't the best pictures but they make me smile every time I look at them. Hope they make you happy too. Merry Christmas!

Christmas Magic

It was two days before Christmas when I decided I couldn't put it off any longer…it was time to head to the mall to see Santa. Amanda has seen Santa every year but never at the mall. We saw him at PeopleSoft parties her first two years and then at Disneyland last year. It's not Santa Claus that scares me, because I love Santa. It's the thought of standing in a really long line with an impatient three year-old and all those other impatient children that completely terrifies me.

Scott tried to talk me out of it. He figures Amanda is so young that she wouldn't care or notice that she hadn't seen Santa. But I can't help thinking that they're little for such a very short time and it's our job as their parents to cram as much magic and wonder into these years as we possibly can.

So we were at the end of a very long Santa line when Scott went off to do some research. After talking to several other frazzled parents, he determined that the wait from where we were standing would be at least two hours plus Santa would be taking a lunch break. How long does it take Santa to eat anyway? So we were probably facing about a three-hour wait. That's like six years in Amanda time. If it had just been Amanda and I, I probably would have braved it, but Scott was with me and I had a two-month-old strapped to my chest. I was afraid things could get ugly.

We'd been chatting with the family ahead of us in line and they were debating the idea of leaving too. They mentioned that they'd heard Santa was going to be out in front of a house in our area later that night. As the woman tried to explain to us where the house was, we realized it was probably the same house Amanda and I had visited last weekend, the one I talked about in my Holiday Lights story below. That sort of clinched it for me because I already knew there was something magical about that house.

Amanda was not happy that we weren't staying to see Santa. Let's just say that there were tears involved and that I was glad we were near an exit. She did calm down once we promised her that we would be going to see Santa later that night. But even as I promised her, in the back of my mind I kept thinking, what if he's not there?

The later it got, the more nervous I got. The weather was pretty crummy and I was afraid Santa might not show up if it rained. I told Amanda several times that there was a possibility that Santa wouldn't be there. You know, if there was some kind of emergency at the North Pole for instance. But I was really hoping.

Unfortunately when we drove up to the house about ten minutes after we'd heard he was supposed to arrive, Santa was nowhere in sight. We drove around the neighborhood for a while thinking maybe Santa was at some other house, but we didn't see him anywhere. We drove back to that same house, still hoping, but no Santa.

Finally I had to tell Amanda that we weren't going to see Santa Claus. She started to cry and I couldn't blame her because I wanted to cry too. I felt like I'd totally blown it as a parent. So much for magic and wonder. I reminded her that she had written a letter to Santa so he knew what she wanted for Christmas and that she'd been a good girl so everything was under control. But that didn't help much.

I was quickly trying to come up with a consolation prize and in the meantime I said, "Hey, let's get out and go look at the lights. We can take some pictures!" I was secretly hoping that maybe Santa was hiding inside and might come out if he saw us out there.

As luck would have it, a man came out of the house but he wasn't wearing a red suit. He appeared to be in a hurry, running back and forth to his truck but I quickly told him that his decorations were beautiful and asked him if it was okay if we took some pictures. He was incredibly nice and said absolutely… that's what they were there for, for people to enjoy. He said it was too bad we hadn't come the night before because Santa had been there.

Acch! It was official. We missed him!!! I said, "Oh! Too bad. We heard he was supposed to be here tonight."

When he was sure that Amanda wouldn't be able to hear, he said that unfortunately he had to be somewhere in 15 minutes, he had a party to go to, or otherwise maybe he would be able to help. It seemed that a visit with Santa was just not in our future. I pretended to be cheerful and said, "Oh, no problem!" Thanked him again and told him that would enjoy the lights and he went back into his house.

A few minutes later, the man came out of his house again and asked me how much time we had. All the time in the world, of course. He said, "Well if you can wait about 15 minutes, Santa will be here."

That was the second time in less than a week that I found myself trying not to cry in front of this house. I was incredibly moved that he would take the time to do this for a total stranger when he clearly had other places to go. What a great guy! I can only assume that while he should have been getting ready to leave for his party, he instead went inside and gave Santa Claus a call and convinced him to make a special appearance just for Amanda! Wasn't that sweet? Have no fear, there are still good people in this world!

Before we knew it, Santa arrived. The details of the visit are a little blurry because I turned into a total goofball as soon as he showed up. I swear I felt like I was five again. I was giddy… Santa! I had to keep reminding myself that I was the parent so I didn't fall all over myself. I do know that Santa asked Amanda what she wanted for Christmas and she said a baby doll that cries real tears. (Yep, I know… we have a real live baby that cries real live tears, but she wants one with an on/off switch.) I tried to take a few pictures of her and Santa. Most of them are blurry, but I love them anyway. Thank you Santa for making a little girl's (and her Mommy's) Christmas very, very special. This will always be one of my very favorite Christmas memories.

Happy Holidays to everyone!

Holiday lights

I took Amanda for a drive last night to look at the Christmas…err Holiday... lights. Scott asked me to pick up dinner while we were out because I think the thought of taking a drive just to take a drive was probably painful for him... but anyway it was so cool checking out the lights with her. We're definitely adding the Holiday Lights Drive as a new tradition.

Scott told me about a house that really went all out with the decorations this year so we headed in that direction. It wasn't the Arlington from my childhood, but I figure for Amanda it was. So we got out of the car to take a closer look. We were the only ones out there and I, being my mother's daughter, was a little paranoid, imagining the news headlines: Mother and young daughter blugeoned to death while enjoying holiday light display.

But, hard as I tried, I couldn't talk Amanda back into the car because she was slowly taking in each and every decoration as if it were simply the most wonderful thing she had ever seen. Look at the elves on the teeter-totter! Look at the reindeer, they're dancing! There's Baby Jesus! They have three wisemen just like we do!

So I decided to make the best of it and forced myself to step out of my uptight it's cold and raining and we could get killed out here parent role and tried to imagine how the scene must look from Amanda's point-of-view and you know what? It was really beautiful... miraculous and completely magical, as a matter of fact, you know with the Christmas carols playing and Baby Jesus sharing space with the elves. God was in his heaven, Santa was on the roof and all was right with the world.

For a moment I actually tried to figure out how I could talk Scott into getting an over-the-top display for our own front lawn to spread the joy a little. Only for a moment because we all know that would so NEVER happen. Just imagine our PG&E bill. And instead of Christmas carols there would be the joyful sound of Scott swearing about all the jerks parked in front of our house.

But that's okay because a couple of weeks ago we happened to pull into our driveway while the guy across the street was setting up a small and very tasteful display on his front lawn (they're a young couple with no kids). He told Amanda that she'd be able to see the lights from our window and he seemed really happy about that, which I thought was sweet.

A couple of days ago while doing the "Amanda Interview," (hopefully another new annual tradition at our house) I asked Amanda, "Who are your favorite people in the whole wide world?" Her response: "Brian, Roony, and Grandma." I (determined not to sway her answers in any way, of course), asked, "What about Mommy & Daddy? We don't even make the long list?"

She said, "Yeah they're my favorite people too. Oh. And the guy across the street."

I couldn't figure which guy she was talking about until she finally explained, "You know, the guy who put up the reindeer for me." Oh right, him.

So anyway, the Holiday Lights Drive was a success and apparently it made quite the impression on Amanda too. Just a minute ago I asked her, "What was your favorite thing about going to see the Christmas lights last night?" and she enthusiastically responded,"What Christmas lights???"

Little People in a Manger

The newest addition to our Christmas decorations can be seen at left: the Fisher Price Little People Deluxe Christmas story.

We had a nativity scene at our house when I was growing up. My grandma had several. My aunt has collected them from her travels all over the world and I swear she has so many that there seems to be one on every flat surface of her house. Even her washer and dryer hold manger scenes. I'm not kidding.

We only have one nativity set, the Little People one, because as much as I enjoyed looking at these scenes when I was a kid, there also seemed to be something cruel about them... All of those little dolls and animals that I wasn't allowed to play with. Man I hate myself every time I utter those words that I hated so badly as a child: Don't touch, just look. So as soon as I saw this set, I knew we had to have it.

I stole the picture above from the Fisher Price website. Ours looks just like that, of course. Well in the Martha Stewarty portion of my brain I imagine that ours looks just like that. Except at our house all the Little People sets get mixed together and played with at the same time.

So at our house, sometimes Mary and Joseph drive a hot-pink minivan and sometimes the policeman rides a camel. One of our wisemen (the one pictured front and center) is a woman. Amanda swears it and she's probably right. We're all for equal rights at our house. Our wisemen don't come bearing gold, frankincense and myrrh either. Our wisemen come bearing pennies, spaghetti and pork. I have no idea where Amanda came up with that but I like to think she just has some natural womanly instinct for gift-giving. Somehow she knows that what new parents really need is a lot of money and a hot meal every now and then.

Can birth control make you crazy?

I would have thought it was just me but Scott skipped - blammo - right over the postpartum insanity question and asked me if maybe the birth control was messing with me. I am apparently behaving like a psycho lunatic. I'm not sure if those are my words or his. But unfortunately they seem fitting either way.

Really, besides asking dumb questions, he's trying to be so sweet too. It being our anniversary today, well yesterday... at several points I just wanted to say, no actually yell... can't you just act like a jerk so I don't have to feel guilty for acting like a psycho lunatic?

So I did just go on birth control as of Thursday... this thing called a NuvaRing... The doctor had three options for me since I'm breastfeeding... one was the progesterone-only pill... none of the benefits of estrogen, safest for the baby... but for that one it was critical that it be taken not only every day but at the same time each day. I immediately crossed that option off my list. I often forget to eat these days. Did I shower today? I think so, but this pill is not for me.

Option two, another pill but with some estrogen... still gotta take the pill at roughly the same time each day.

Or option three, the NuvaRing - this plastic ring that sits in your vagina and slowly releases a low dose of hormones into your system... has some estrogen but less than option two AND I only have to think about it once a month. Well not that I don't think about it. Actually every time I have to sneeze I wonder if it will go flying across the room... but umm, other than that...Oh...and get this, you know the 3 weeks on, 1 week off for your period routine for the pill? The doctor said I could do it the same way with the ring... or I can just leave it in for 4 weeks and then put in a new one... cuz who needs a freakin' period anyway? So hmm... lemme think... try to remember to take a pill every day and get a period every three weeks or only think about this ring thing once a month and no period. Hmmm... tough choice. It's really a great alternative.

Unless it happens to be the thing that's making me crazy. Or is it the fact that going on birth control is forcing me to deal with the fact that Alyssa is probably my last baby... is that what's making me crazy?

Or it could be that Scott is on vacation for the next two weeks... so as of Friday he entered the "vacation zone" or something like that. Welcome to my personal hell. So let me get this straight... you actually think you're gonna get three meals a day? And sex too? I don't care that I'm on birth control now and that you would like to find out if you're one of the 8 out of 10 men who does not even notice the ring or one of the 2 out of 10 who aren't bothered by it if they do notice. I just changed the sixth poopy diaper of the day, Alyssa cries every time I put her down, I feel like I haven't bathed since Easter and I don't care that you're on vacation and need a break.

Yesterday he played golf all day, then went out for drinks with his buddies while I was at home doing about fifty loads of laundry with one arm because - did I mention that Alyssa cries every time I put her down? And that's not the norm for her... just since she's been on birth control, or since I have... or since her mother who, normally pretty calm though scattered, has suddenly turned into a psycho lunatic.

Or is it all the crying that has made me crazy?

Oh but where I was going with the laundry thing is that I was trying to get ready for our trip to my mother-in-law's house. And dreading that little trip with every unbathed inch of my body. No, I think I showered yesterday. Did I? I was not looking forward to going to my mother-in-law's. And that had absolutely nothing to do with my mother-in-law. I love her, I do. But just the thought of leaving home for several days. I mean even just the thought of packing all that stuff just almost flattened me... just overwhelmed me... I always just WAY overpack when I do stuff with his family because I imagine my mother-in-law's voice in my head... Oh it's okay that you didn't bring the matching lavender socks. Oh. You forgot to bring pajamas? Oh. Don't worry. I'll go buy diapers. I guess you FORGOT.

And no, my mother-in-law is not like that. Not at all. I adore her, I do. And no, I don't think I've forgotten anything ever. Not since that time when Amanda was about 4 months old and I felt like the worst mother on the planet because I hadn't packed baby powder and apparently my baby desperately NEEDED baby powder for the little rash she had on her neck because she was such a roly-poly baby and had all those little rolls on her fat little neck. And me, without baby powder. Never mind that I had previously made the decision not to use baby powder on my baby ever because they say it's unnecessary and can be very dangerous since babies can inhale the stuff. I still felt really guilty about not having it.

Note to self: in the future pack everything that you might possibly use as well as everything that you would never even consider using... because your mother-in-law may ask for it. Oh and guess what? They now sell baby powder in liquid form... So you can give your baby that fresh baby smell without, you know, endangering her life.

So was it the impending trip to my mother-in-law's -- and the intense feelings of dread that went with it -- that made me crazy?

Or is it that after I packed 57 outfits apiece for both Amanda and Alyssa... you know just in case, because it could snow or there might be a hot streak... that I realized that I had pretty much nothing to pack for myself. What on earth was I thinking when I got rid of all my fat clothes? I'm pretty much living in sweats these days. And one pair of my old jeans... which I can deal with for an hour or two at a time and then I need my circulation back. And they actually only fit because they're the low-rise kind... and my jelly-like belly just hangs nicely over the top. Yeah, now that's a pretty picture, just trust me. Thank goodness it's winter and I can get away with wearing a long jacket... But anyway, barring maternity clothes or sweats, I had nothing to pack. Oh and my hair is so overdue for a cut that I could probably be declared legally blind because my bangs are in my eyes constantly. Oh and I just totally stood up my hairdresser because I'm an idiot.

After my doctor appointment on Thursday, if I'd had a brain, I was supposed to come home, feed Alyssa and then head out a couple hours later for my haircut appointment. Except that I arrived home to Alyssa screaming at the top of her lungs while I tried to unload a trunkful of groceries because Scott and Amanda were playing this really fun joke where they pretended to be asleep...but of course Amanda just talked and talked because pretending to sleep involves a lot of questions... but they did manage to ignore both Alyssa's screaming and me with a trunkful of perishables. And then Scott lectured me because Alyssa had a blowout in her diaper and he was just sure that she'd had it before I left but that I'd chosen to run off on my merry way so he could deal with it. Trust me, I did not. Not that I'm above doing it in the future, but this time I DID NOT.

He was not only upset that he had to deal with the messy diaper but he also doesn't know where I keep her clothes (2nd drawer from the bottom) so he - poor baby - had to find them all by himself. This, apparently, was almost as bad as when he has to operate the sippy cups on his own. So anyway... between trying to console an hysterical baby, arguing with my husband and then finally discussing the joys of the ring. I totally, completely forgot all about my hair appointment. It was almost two hours after I'd missed it that it finally crossed my mind.

So is it that I'm fat and my hair looks like crap and that I've probably really pissed off the only woman who can give me a decent haircut... is that what has made me crazy?

Or is it that I'm not getting any sleep because I either lay around watching my baby sleep or stay up writing long rambling emails? Is that what has made me crazy?

Or is it postpartum depression? I know, Tom Cruise would suggest vitamins and exercise. But I swear I was just fine before. Before I went on birth control and Scott went on vacation. Before Alyssa started in with the crying jags and I started dreading the trip to my mother-in-law's and before I started focusing on the fact that I'm fat and have nothing to wear and I've pissed off my hairdresser. I really think that before that I was doing pretty good.

Oh! And guess what... we're not going to my mother-in-law's now. I'm sure I've completely pissed her off now too. Add that to the list. But I know I was crazy before that because when Scott and I were arguing about who was going to call her to tell her we weren't coming he threatened to tell her that we weren't coming because I was going through some stuff and was acting like a psycho lunatic. I told him that sounded like just about as good a reason as any and handed him the phone.

Six years, already?

I wrote this for Scott several months ago before my birthday. I guess he shared it with a couple of friends and he tells me that it is now circulating on email. He says people want to know if he actually did these things. Well I'm here to confirm...umm, yes! (You can't make this stuff up.) And I love him anyway. So in honor of our wedding anniversary, I'm sharing:

SCOTT'S SIMPLE GUIDE TO BIRTHDAYS, HOLIDAYS AND ANNIVERSARIES
(Or How Not To Screw Up The Days That I Will Remember
For The Rest Of My Life. Yes, My Memory is Really THAT Long )
First Edition July '05

Like it or not, birthdays and holidays are important to me. Maybe it's hard for you to understand because they don't mean much to you, but in my mind these days are supposed to be special. Birthdays are important to me. Blowjobs are important to you. Get my point?

I know these days stress you out because you think I'm totally impossible to please so I've put together this list of DO's and DON'Ts to help you out. Please note that nearly every one of the DON'Ts is based on an actual past birthday/holiday experience with you. You may have forgotten some of these special moments, but I just can't! Most of them are included only for the purposes of humor so don't think I'm trying to be bitchy. A few of them are included just because I'm being bitchy. What can I say? I've been told I'm always a bitch on my birthday and tomorrow is my birthday so deal with it.

GENERAL TIPS:

DO just be nice to me. Small gestures go a long way. Bring me a cup of coffee. Do the dishes or change a diaper or two so I don't have to.

DO NOT tell me I'm moody; DO NOT tell me I'm grumpy. DO NOT tell me that I am always a bitch on my birthday. I don't care if you think it's true. I don't even care if it actually IS true. DO NOT say it ever, ever again.

DO NOT act so damn surprised that I don't want to spend my birthday weekend at your mother's house even though they have two tee-times set up and one of your golf games will be free. It is MY birthday. It is not YOUR birthday.

DO get me some kind of dessert on my birthday. Put candles in it and sing Happy Birthday. This may seem silly to you, but it's important to me. I'm not asking you to bake me a cake, just get me some kind of dessert and at least one candle. If you want to score really big points, mudd pie is a good choice, and apple pie (especially French apple pie from Baker's Square) is a sentimental favorite.

DO NOT tell me that you don't have to do anything for me for Mother's Day because I am not your mother. I am the mother of your children, Sweetie, and like it or not you need to treat me like Queen for a Day.

DO NOT take me to see your ex-wife on my birthday even if we are in the neighborhood and you haven't seen her in a long time. Especially if I have told you in no uncertain terms that I do not want to go see your ex-wife. Do not call her when I'm out of hearing distance and then insist we HAVE to go see your ex-wife because she really wants us to stop by and you don't want to hurt her feelings. Trust me, your current wife's feelings are ALWAYS more important than your ex-wife's feelings. This is especially true on her birthday, especially if she is seven months pregnant with your baby.

DO NOT insist that everything I ask for on my birthday is secret code for something else. I figured out a long, long time ago that you do not pick up on subtle hints or even completely obvious ones. I do not expect you to read my mind. If I say I want pizza it means I want pizza. I am not testing you. I am not secretly hoping you will take me out for a six-course meal. Just get me a damn pizza. (And while we are here, DO NOT try to talk me into a cheaper brand of pizza, DO NOT ask me to find a coupon for the pizza, and DO NOT ask me to go pick up the pizza myself.)

DO NOT expect me to make all the plans. I HATE making plans; it's like punishment to me. You can ask me what I want to do. You can come up with a few ideas and ask me to choose the one I want (i.e. "I'll get a babysitter and we can go out for dinner and a movie OR I'll watch the kid(s) for a few hours while you go out shopping OR we could go camping at Lake Winnie-PoohPooh), but don't just say, "We can do whatever you want, you figure it out." I hate that.

DO NOT make me do some crummy chore on any holiday or birthday (i.e. making me pick rocks out of the dirt on Mother's Day while you entertain Brian and his kids who are hanging out at our house because his wife's gift was a fabulous massage chair and a day to herself.)


CARDS AND GIFTS:

A gift is not required (it's nice, it's very appreciated, it earns you major points in the good husband department, but it isn't required). But DO get me a card. No excuses. You can make it with a broken crayon and a piece of toilet paper if you have to.

DO NOT proudly announce that while chatting with the guys at work about what they were all doing for their wives for Mother's Day that you told them you know me really well and that cards are not important to me (especially DO NOT make this announcement while I'm knee-deep in cardstock because I'm hand making Mother's Day cards for our mothers and your grandmothers specifically because I think cards are important). DO NOT then go on to say that you told them you know what I would really like is for you to give me money to go shopping while you stay home and watch Amanda (which I really would love) if you do not intend to follow through with that offer but instead plan to make me spend Mother's Day picking rocks out of the dirt while you entertain Brian and his kids.

Again, gifts are not required but if you decide to get me a gift:

DO NOT tell me that the most recent home improvement project is my gift (i.e. don't tell me on Valentine's Day that the bathroom that we had to redo because the floor was rotting out is my Valentine's gift. And don't tell me on Mother's Day that the backyard is my gift. I'm not stupid. We were going to redo the backyard anyway. Though I do appreciate the work you put into home improvement projects, let's not pretend these projects are special gifts just for me.)

You DO NOT have to buy me flowers but if you do, please DO NOT complain about how much they cost or whine about how they are going to die soon. (What I will actually hear is, "Man, I just wasted a whole bunch of money on you and I totally regret it.")

DO NOT choose my gift based on someone else's preferences but if you do, please DO NOT tell me that's how you chose the gift (i.e. DO NOT hand me the blue sweatshirt and explain to me that you know I hate the color blue and you know I would much rather have had the purple one, but the girl in the shop's favorite color was blue and she was really cute!)

DO NOT feel the need to explain to me that all of my stocking stuffer gifts were freebies you got from work.

DO NOT get me a gift that I have never expressed any interest in whatsoever (i.e. don't spend a whole lot of time debating between the bicycle or the golf clubs. I do not want either one. But if you do decide to give me the bicycle, DO NOT feel the need to throw in a pair of bike shorts with a CONTROL TOP tummy panel. And while I'm at it, let me just say DO NOT buy me any piece of clothing, beauty product, exercise item or surgical procedure that is meant to improve my figure flaws unless I have specifically begged for it many, many times. It will take many times because you should refuse my first two hundred requests on the basis that "Sweetie, you don't need that turbo girdle/treadmill/boob lift because you are perfect just the way you are!")

DO give me a gift early (i.e. This camera is for your birthday next month) but DO NOT announce on my birthday that something I got months ago is actually my birthday gift (i.e. yeah the printer we bought in April WAS your birthday gift.)

DO NOT let your ex-wife pick out my gift. I don't care if those dresses came from Paris and cost an outrageous amount of money. They were BUTT-UGLY and I will always assume that she was laughing her ass off when she made those sales, first for Christmas and then seven months later for my birthday.

DO NOT give me a gift that you found in a parking lot but if you do feel the need to present this item as a gift then please, please DO NOT tell me, or at least PLEASE wait until Valentine's Day is over before you feel the need to tell me that the beautiful gold bracelet on my wrist which I've been oohing and ahhing over for ten minutes was actually one that you found at work and turned into Lost and Found, who in a stroke of pure luck/destiny saved you from a trip to 7-11 to buy me a card by calling you on Valentine's Day to say nobody had claimed the bracelet and it was yours!

No, I'm not expecting a gift, but please DO NOT ask the question, "You're not expecting me to get you a gift are you?" (That question never fails to give me warm fuzzies all over.) If you do feel the need to ask that stupid question, and I respond with the usual, "No, but a card would be nice." DO NOT roll your eyes and ask in an exasperated tone, "What? You want me to actually put effort into this?" Umm yeah, DUH. That's the idea, buddy.

Behold the amazing sleeping baby

Alyssa is a good sleeper. And I'm feeling guilty about it.

Amanda was one of those babies who woke up every 2 or 3 hours all night every night and this went on for a very (and when I say very I mean VERY) long time. She slept for longer stretches as time went on, but she didn't actually sleep through the night on a regular basis until she was a couple months short of her third birthday. By then I was pregnant with Alyssa and was up every few hours to pee so I never really got to enjoy the uninterrupted sleep.

I've heard that difficulty sleeping while you're pregnant is nature's way of preparing you for after the baby is born when you'll need to be up every few hours. And oh, did I ever feel prepared… totally prepared to care for a newborn alarm clock that went off at 2-3 hour intervals expecting to be fed. But instead I got Alyssa, the amazing sleeping baby.

At night, Alyssa usually sleeps at least six hours at a stretch, often more. But I wake up every 2-3 hours to wonder why she's not crying… to check to see if she's breathing… to gaze at her sleeping and wish that I were sleeping too… to watch infomercials and Oprah re-runs... and to feel guilty.

Her pediatrician says she's growing just fine and has assured me there's no need to wake her up to feed her. So I'm not feeling guilty that I might be starving the poor little thing, I'm feeling guilty that there are parents out there who would really be taking advantage of a sleeping baby by actually sleeping themselves. Not me. I've spent the last three years complaining about my lack of sleep but now that I have the opportunity to sleep, my body or my brain just won't let me do it.

I have to admit now that during those several non-sleeping years with Amanda that if you told me about your angelic baby who had slept through the night from the moment you brought her home from the hospital, I was probably not quite as happy for you as I might have appeared. In fact I may have had some pretty evil thoughts about you in the middle of one of my many sleepless nights. It's nothing personal, trust me. I didn't really mean it when I had fantasies about your little sleeping angels growing up to be wild-partying-fast-driving-law-breaking-completely-uncontrollable teenagers so that you wouldn't get a decent night's sleep for years on end. But it just seemed so unfair.

And now I know that it is unfair. Some people don't deserve amazing sleeping babies. People like ME, who just waste them.

Santa Baby