Monday, January 23, 2012

11 Months of the Beanaroo

Dear Millie,
Today, you turned 11 months old.

Holy. Balls.

That's right.  Back when you were an infant, your mother said things like Holy. Balls.  And wrote them down online, for all the world (and future employers) to see.  And she purposely put periods after each word.  So as to better emphasize her immaturity.

I tell you this because by the time you're actually reading this, you probably would never believe that such words or expressions could have ever come out of your mother's mouth.  Because, by now, I am undoubtedly the sophisticated socialite that I always knew I would one day become. And I probably say things like "Goodness gracious", when proclaiming surprise at something.  And that will be without periods between words.  I have probably never told you about what a little loud mouth I was back in the day.

I imagine that your father and I currently reside in the same residence as we did when you were just a little one.  But that after having won the lottery or some such nonsense, I made your father give me vaulted ceilings so that when I am 60, I won't be sitting in my kitchen, smoking a ciggy and saying:  "You know what I always wanted?  Vaulted ceilings."

Yep.  Balls.  Holy ones at that.


But back to the topic at hand.  11 months, baby girl!  You are almost one!  We have almost gotten you to the Big Day... your first birthday! 

In mostly one piece!

Your 11 month has been a pretty rough one for you.  But, who am I kidding?  So far, 2012 has not been good to the Nadolski Clan period.  But, since this is your letter, we'll stick with what's been going on with you.  Because you had some major happenings this month.

To start, you had a wonderful Christmas with your sissy.  You obviously had no clue what Christmas was, but you sure loved the Christmas tree and the ornaments.  You also loved the wrapping paper and played with that a lot.  But I think you really liked Cookie Monster.  At least... you liked it for a couple of seconds. 

Your little personality is starting to shine through and it's so fun to see how you change every single day.  You're still my happy little girl.  You're my easy baby and we just love to see you interacting with the world around you daily.  So. Much. Fun.

You are getting so close to walking... but it doesn't really seem to interest you that much.  You do like to stand on your own and clap your hands and sometimes I can see in your eyes that you're just a touch curious, but when it comes down to it, you'd rather just plop on your butt and take off at mach speed on your hands and knees.  Usually towards whatever your sister is doing.  Just so you can mess with her.  Oh, you LOVE to mess with your sister.  You love to try to take away whatever toy she is playing with... and when she won't let you, you quickly get revenge by pulling her hair.  And I'm telling you now, baby girl... the fact that she hasn't pulled back and smacked you speaks to her gentle personality.  Not sure how much longer that will last... cuz she's kinda getting over it.  I've tried warning you... but you just don't seem to care.  All you know is that you have to be where she is.  And you have to screw with her.  ONE WAY OR ANOTHER.

You get that from your Aunt KC.

Right after Christmas, you came down with a little strep butt.  Yep. Strep butt.  Bet you didn't know you could get that, right? Neither did your Mommy.  Which is why Hazel then got strep butt a few days after you were diagnosed.  Because the two of you love some tubby time together.  And I've found that it's a great way to save time removing dirt... and sharing germs!

About a week after that debacle, you started to cough.  It wasn't a bad cough.  Just a little one.  I was leaving for a conference in Indianapolis the next day, so I took you to the doctor on a whim...fully expecting her to pat me on the back and say that it was just a head cold, so chill out, Mommy.  But, she didn't.  Even though you had no other signs besides a mild cough, they ran an RSV test on you and it came back positive.

This meant that Daddy had to take the week off of work to care for you at home... and this also meant that because we caught it early, it was gonna get bad. And it did.  Daddy was amazing... he had to take you to the RSV clinic once at midnight and then spent the rest of the week holding you and controlling your temp.  You became pretty needy and clingy in that week... and to be honest, I think even though it meant you were sick, Daddy reveled in it because you're really not one to snuggle.  But that's exactly what you wanted to do.  And the only way you would sleep was on him.  And since he never got to experience that with you because you were born with an independent streak (and a preference for Mommy, anyway) it was pretty special for him.

Of course, once I got home from my business trip, Daddy handed you over and went fishing cuz he needed some alone time.   I don't blame him.  Being a parent... hard.  Being a single parent?  I don't even want to think about it.  Not sure either of us would survive as a single parent!  Much respect to those who do.  MUCH.

I stayed home with you Friday and then we spent the weekend as a family... dealing with you being sick and your sister having some serious cabin fever.  I then spent Tuesday with you in the hospital because you were a little dehydrated.  Um... so, yea... if you ever have a baby and have to hold her down while he/she gets an IV, I recommend heavy drinking to numb your pain.  Because that's just the worst thing.  EVER.  Poor kiddo... I really felt like I put you through the ringer... but you weren't drinking and you weren't peeing.  We were only supposed to be there a couple of hours.  And four hours later when you accidentally pulled out the IV when it got caught on the crib when you lost your balance and fell... well, if the nurses had said we were going to do another IV, heads would have rolled.  Thankfully, I think they suspected this and let us go home.

There's a whole story about where your Daddy was during this time.  One that I may or may not decide to blog about.  Because, while it's a funny story of strange circumstances and coincidences... and his absence really was the fault of Verizon, and not him.... well, I was pretty mad at your Daddy and even now, a week later, I don't want to talk about it.  Let's just say, I'm glad I have him as my mate because it turns out, I'm a bit needy. Especially when it comes to emotional support when my 10-month-old is getting an IV.

Anyhoo.... you have bounced back marvelously in the last few days.  You're back in school and are loving playing with the other kids.  You are standing a lot.  And you are so verbal.  You love to be sung to, which is often the only way I can ever change your diaper.  But, like your sister at this age, changing your diaper and getting you dressed every day is similar to shoving an octopus into a wet paper bag. 

Your laugh is infectious and you and your sissy love to make each other laugh.  You like to blow bubbles at your sister and you love Eskimo kisses from Mommy.  You love playing peek-a-boo with your blankie.  Oh yes... the blankie that we finally were able to wash the other day because you're taking just the one nap per day now.  Yes.... one nap per day.  And man... that's coming in handy with your sister's schedule.  Now if we could only get your sissy to nap consistently we'd be set.  Some days she'll nap for 3 hours, other days she won't nap.  Her average is 1.5 hours... but I'm telling you, when we can get the two of you down at the same time... even if it's just for 30 minutes... it's a total recharge for Mommy and Daddy.  And we're not ready to give up on those 30 minutes of alone time so we'll continue to push nappy time with your sissy, and hope that you keep doing what you're doing.

One of your favorite games right now is opening and shutting the door.  It's usually your sister shutting the door on you, which causes you to squeal with delight.  And causes Mommy to cringe every time I hear the door slam shut because I know that one of these days?  Some cute little fingers or toes are going to get slammed in the door.  And that will not do.  But for how, Hazel seems to be aware of this... somehow.  I don't know. I may just be rationalizing and tonight will be the night that the fingers get broken.  That's usually the way things roll in our house.

You have a few other games you love.  And they all involve things that could kill you.  You love to open up the cabinet under the sink... you know, where we keep all the cleaning agents. The one that we're in a lot so we keep forgetting to lock it?  That one.  You also love to play with the outlets in the house. LOVE IT.  I can't keep you away from them.  We never had that big of an issue with Hazel and outlets, but you?  You're killing me with your fascination with them.   Which goes right along with your fascination of anything that has an electrical cord that you can chew on, or wrap around your neck.  I think the dangers there speak for themselves.

You're also a big fan of Mommy's laptop and it doesn't matter where you are in the house, if I sit down and open my computer, you can sense it... and the next thing I know, you're right there, wanting to see what I'm doing and if possibly, smash your hands against the buttons and destroy it.  You also have a fascination with the remote control.  But only if there are batteries in it.  Because if I take out a battery so that you don't accidentally program our TV to Spanish, you suddenly lose all interest.  You just know that the remote is now completely useless and you are therefore not going to waste your time.

It's fascinating.  You're too smart for your own good.  And you're definitely too smart for Mommy's good. 

All in all... it's good to be you. 

Love you, baby girl.

Friday, January 6, 2012


I've been debating about writing this post for quite some time.  For the simple reason that there are a lot of "haters" out there who have a lot to say... about something that they don't really know about.  And I just really don't want to hear about it anymore. 

But recently, I've been getting a lot of questions from people who are genuinely interested in Crossfit... something that I hold a deep passion for.  They ask me to sell them on Crossfit.  Just like, I guess, I sold people on how amazing running a marathon or a half-ironman... or eating my weight in Cadbury eggs each Spring was.  (True story.)(BTW... Easter's not that far away.)(If you're looking to get me something from the Easter Bunny.)

I try to temper my advice to them with the caveat that not all Crossfit gyms are the same.  And I can say without a shadow of a doubt that my Crossfit gym?  Totally better than your Crossfit gym.  Sorry.  True story.  I lurve it. 

And I know that Crossfit... not for everyone.  It isn't.  But if it is for you and you're willing to work through the pain of not being able to hold a fork or reach for a glass of wine , beer, water for the first 3 weeks of it, then you'll graduate to just being perpetually sore.  For the rest of your life.

And it will make you feel ALIVE.  

I want to be clear that I am not an ultimate crossfitter.  I still can't do a pull-up without a band.  I still struggle with box jumps (so sad because that used to be my thing in college!) and burpees.  I still can't do a muscle up because I'm so afraid I'm going to pop a ligament in my sternum like a roomie of mine did in college.  I have yet to figure out how to climb the rope.  I'm slow and my butt still jiggles at the most inopportune times. 

That being said... I cannot do without it.  For those of you who are interested in checking out crossfit, my recommendation is to make sure that your instructors are interactive and give you feedback about correct lifting techniques.  Otherwise, you'll get hurt and YOU'LL BLAME ME.  And I've already got the 2-year-old blaming me not cutting up her banana the exact same way as I do for the kid without any teeth, so I don't need that on my plate. 

Whichever gym you go to, I would recommend determining if they have a beginners class that they offer to teach you the basics.  If not, don't waste your time and money. 

Okay, there's so much more I could get into on what you should or should not expect from Crossfit, but instead, let's just talk about my Crossfit gym:  Crossfit Ogden.

And why I heart it to death... by thrusters. (Look at me with the crossfit jokes!)(LOSER.)

My Crossfit gym has helped me gain the strength I need to carry two screaming children up and down the stairs at day care, in a skirt and heels... without breaking a sweat.  Sure... I'm muttering curse words under my breath, but the point is I'm not out of breath.  Point, Crossfit.

My Crossfit gym has introduced me to some absolutely amazing and genuine people. People I have Facebooked.  And, I'll be honest, I'm discerning when it comes to friending peeps on Facebook.  I see no need to have 700 "friends".  We didn't talk to each other in high school... why do you want to be friends now?  I can barely stand you IRL, why do I care what you had for breakfast?   But, I digress.  The point is, I've been to a lot of gyms in my life... A. LOT.... but none of them have been as welcoming and gracious and supportive as every single instructor and fellow crossfitter as my gym.

My Crossfit gym expects the most out of me.  And therefore, I expect the most out of myself.  Something I haven't really experienced since I stopped training for triathlon.  Because I got lonely out there swimming, running and biking by myself.  I can honestly say, I've never felt alone or lonely in my gym.

My Crossfit gym cares about me as a person.  They care about my physical body. They care about my heart and my soul.  I even think they care about these damn love handles that won't go away.  They care about the rib that popped out of place when picking up a dolly for Hazel while driving... LEST THE WORLD END. 

My Crossfit gym has a crossfitter that is a massage therapist who may be the best in the world. Tha. World.  This and this alone is worth the pain I go through for crossfit. 

My Crossfit gym makes sure that I know they have missed me when I've been sick or traveling for a few weeks.  From the instructor to the crossfitters.  That's a community feeling that is contagious.

My Crossfit gym makes me a better wife, mother, friend and employee.  Although, maybe not so much a better driver as I have been a little blurry more than once after a workout and probably shouldn't have been allowed behind the wheel. 

My Crossfit gym thinks I'm strong.  And so I think I'm strong.

My Crossfit gym suspects that there is a skinny bitch inside me and is going to help me get her out.

My Crossfit gym has the capability of breaking me in half... but will be there to support me through the tears and frustration and won't even make fun of the 34-year-old crying in the corner because it hurt so much to do 50 burpees.

My Crossfit gym doesn't judge when I pee my pants during double-unders.  In fact, the women (and husbands of crossfitters) celebrate it with me.  YAY!  You have kids!  Welcome to jump roping for the rest of your life!

My Crossfit gym does not allow meatheads, but still has some absolutely amazing athletes workout there. 

My Crossfit gym doesn't mind if I ogle certain other crossfitters who take their shirts off during a workout.  Men and women.  And, neither does Benny, because he's truly impressed as well. 

My Crossfit is going to get me to the point that I can be one of those said women who take off their shirts for a workout.

My Crossfit, has given me back my quads.   Things I haven't had since college.  12 years, two babies and many, many poundaroos ago.

I am continually hopeful the my Crossfit gym will eventually give me back my ankles and calves.  And perhaps my waist.  It will come.  It's just gonna hurt like hell.  

And I'm gonna love every. single. minute. of it.