I’m starting to wonder if Jude will grow up thinking his name is “No, no, no baby!” since it’s something he hears probably more than his own name these days! Ever since he began placing everything edible and non-edible into his mouth, we’re constantly prying UO’s (unidentified objects) from his chubby fingers.
“No, no, no baby! Put that down.”
Jude additionally enjoys testing the laws of gravity with each object after it passes the preliminary taste test. Does the scrambled egg bounce when it hits the floor? How about Mommy’s make-up? Hmm, how about a cell phone? Surely that will do something exciting!
Last weekend Grandma Sus visited, starting on Halloween day. Jude dressed as a little green dinosaur but then fell asleep before the daycare Halloween party. Later, we dressed him up and took a few pictures before he began panicking about having a dino face protruding awkwardly from his head.
Whereas even weeks prior it would have been purgatory trying to go out for dinner, we successfully ate out with baby one night. Although Jude behaved, the waiter commented that the table and floor looked as though a blender has been turned on without the top.
On Sunday, the zoo, just minutes from home, is one of the nicest I’ve ever seen, save for a lewd otter. Jude seemed amused, but I could tell he was starting to come down with something.
By Election Day, I stayed home from work to care for Jude as he battled a nasty ear infection. Thanks to daycare, he’s exposed to every slobber-spread pathogen known, so it’s no surprise he’s going to get sick occasionally.
Going along with the “Yes we can” motto, Jude climbed, he ate and he napped all day. I frantically cleaned the house like a mad woman while listening CNN and later burnt dinner as blue and red dots filled the USA map. Matt and I scared the daylights out of Jude around 8 as the election results come in declaring Barack Obama president. To say screaming and hollering took place would be a gross understatement. It was chaos!
I think that if I were jobless, Portland would be the ideal city to hang out in. Every day there’s an inexhaustible number of kids activities- many of which are free. Plus, with the number of mom’s groups available, it never seems like a bored or lonely day would arise.
One of the cutest things is now that Jude has graduated from the infant room at daycare, he receives daily report cards. The first one, I believe from this past Monday, read:
“Today in Wobbs, I enjoyed shrieking at all my friends! I was a silly boy today J My favorite toys were the cars and boats- the toy food was fun to chew on too! Love, Jude. I ate (the teachers circle either S, M or L) L+.”
The first few weeks leaving Jude at The Children’s Garden, I always developed a lump in my throat that never seemed to dissipate as the days went on. Once, I stopped by on my lunch break and he was fast asleep on his personal mat, covered with a blanket from home. For some reason I couldn’t stop crying as I walked back to work.
These days, when he isn’t crawling on his teachers or trying to mouth-kiss other babies, he’s smiling, playing and laughing! Jude definitely likes interacting and now seems to recognize fellow little people.
Today, we ventured across Portland to the Mt. Scott community play center. I found myself lost more than a few times and seriously considered calling it quits and just walking around Mt Taber park with Jude. Persistence paid off and we arrived, I was more than pleasantly surprised- I was impressed. For just $4.95, we had access to a massive indoor pool with a twirling yellow tube slide that I took Jude on numerous times, a tide pool, a play area with a mini-water park inside, and a shallow end designed for babies/toddlers.
Jude loved riding around on the brightly Styrofoam animals, like a little surfer dude, being propelled around the moat by powerful water jets. He befriended two eleven-year-old girls who became enamored of Jude and took turns holding him and bringing him to the mini-water park. I was able to relax and hang out with their grandma. In all, it was a wonderful day.
Looking back to a year ago, when I was feeling fat, disgusting and ready to just pop, I would have never guessed how much fun my baby would turn out to be.

I love IKEA. I think that every store should model their philosophy off of IKEA’s. It isn’t just the rock-bottom prices or the prettily decorated rooms and mattresses with marshmallow-like consistency, but the overall philosophy concerning shoppers and their kids.
For starters, there’s an enormous daycare room with a plastic tree house for little ones to explore and play in. It reminded me of Discovery Zone with all the fun gadgets. You can drop your child off, provided they are potty-trained, for up to an hour.
Upon retrieval, there’s interactive puzzles and games at check-out then, if you’re hungry, there’s adult food and 99 cent kids meals comprised of grilled veggies, mac ‘n cheese, chicken fingers and fries. I was especially impressed with the jars of organic baby food near the check-out as well.
Before leaving the east coast, Jude and I made a trip into NYC for a last day with several of my college friends. All was going smoothly until Jude pooped and we embarked on a half-hour long detour in search of a bathroom or changing facility. Three restaurants claimed their bathrooms were out of order, and a fourth was so dirty and grimy with a particularly lewd illustration on the wall that I left within moments of stepping inside.
As a last resort, with Jude screaming after wallowing in excrement for longer than usual, I glided across the slippery-shiny floors of a mall. The cubish bathroom opened into an enormous space, with wall-to-wall tiles, halogen lights and mirrors that make one appear flatteringly thin. Long story short, there was no changing area and I had to hold squirming Jude with one arm over the toilet while maneuvering the diaper down his legs with the other. I remember wishing in that instant that I could sprout Octopus limbs to help. It certainly left an indelible impression in my memory.
IKEA, by contrast, has its own changing room designated for babies in addition to a separate washroom facility. A mobile hung over the changing table along with complementary sheets and wipes. Need an extra diaper? Not a problem- they had extras too!
Honestly, I can’t recall the last time I actually enjoyed shopping with Jude. Usually, it’s a matter of strategically planning a shopping trip around his meals/naps, otherwise a potential disaster could strike. At least I’m not breastfeeding anymore. Shopping trips turned a lot of heads when I began lactating upon Jude rooting against my chest.
After feeding Jude some veggies, I commented to an IKEA employee about how accommodating the store is towards children.
“You’re never been to Sweden if you think this is great,” she replied.
Later that day, I began doing some research on Sweden’s maternity laws, as compared to the USA and other countries throughout the world.
In Sweden, according to Wikipedia and a much more credible NYTimes source, parents receive 18 months paid time off. Dads must take a minimum of four weeks off. I remember Matt not even having one day paid time off after Jude was born, plus he missed most of our prenatal doctor’s appointments because he wasn’t covered to take off any time during the day. The beauty behind Sweden’s system is that employers don’t have to personally pay out of pocket for their employees time off- it comes straight from taxes.
Other European countries have generous maternity policies it seems. Norway offers 52 weeks at 100% coverage, as does Denmark. Hungary and Finland tie at around six months paid leave and most Eastern European nations provide between six months and a year. The UK provides 39 weeks.
What about other, less developed countries? Afghanistan has a pretty generous policy at 90 days with 100% pay, along with Iran, China and Cambodia. Zimbabwe offers 90 days as well and Brazil gives 120 days, five of which are for dad. I’m sure that our Brazilian friend who recently had a baby girl in the states wishes the US followed the same policy as her home country.
Even Guatemala provides 84 days.
In fact, scrolling down the list of countries, we’re one of the only ones that offers no guaranteed pay for time off from work. Could this perhaps contribute to American’s overall dissatisfaction with quality of life?
Looking to our neighbors to the North, those lovely Canadians who always seem to be globe-trotting the world, they provide 35 weeks, upped from 30 at the start of the millenium. The more I looked, the more countries I saw that offered some form paid maternity time off.
Unless you live in the United States, Liberia, Swaziland or Papua New Guinea, you will receive some form of parental paid time off. In short, we are one of the only four countries in the entire world that doesn’t provide any time off.
Clearly, we are not as progressive as we claim to be when even third world countries are leaps and bounds ahead in this respect not to mention the whole healthcare/educaiton debacle we've gotten ourselves into over the past eight years.
Obama, please win and do something about this!

As each day passes, I feel that time is going by increasingly fast. One morning Jude will be standing up, supporting himself with a tentative hand on the chair then the next evening he’s walking around the room, leaning against his block-cart. Since the bulk of the day is spent away from Jude, I notice changes much more frequently than before.
One evening Jude seemed extra crabby and, peering into his mouth, I noticed another tooth had come in. With his previous teeth, I always noticed the swollen nubs before the actual tooth immerged. A tooth isn’t a big deal, but I know I’d be crushed to miss Jude’s first steps or another major milestone.
In many respects, this hyper-awareness has made me value my time with him even more. I’m acutely conscious that for five days out of the week I only spend an average of three hours a day or a third of his waking hours. Instead of obsessively cleaning the house or catching up on phone calls, I’m a lot more vigilant about reading, playing and just spending time together.
One thing we enjoy doing together now that we live in Portland is exploring all the beautiful parks in the area. When I write park, I mean in the national forest sense, with mountainous terrain, trees abound and visibility for miles from the top. So far, we’ve explored the arboretum, Washington and Taber Park.
As always, Jude enjoys eating. Adding to his food repertoire, he ate salmon tonight; practically inhaling chunks of the stuff while screaming in frustration when more didn’t materialized.
In downtown, we stopped at a food cart where Jude dined on Vietnamese pho (is the pronunciation “fo” as in “fo sho!” or “pooh”?) with sweet sauce from the chopsticks I used. When it comes to food, Jude never hesitates for a moment nor does he discriminate in any way.
By far the most exciting event this past week was the Portland Mom’s group meeting. The meeting was held around 7 p.m. at a nifty brewpub on the east side. Jude tagged along so Matt could get some work done. Once I walked inside, it dawned on me that most mothers probably wouldn’t dream of bringing their baby to an establishment that makes and serves alcohol.
After I walked through the bar and said hello to the other patrons who didn’t so much as bat an eye, I then entered a room full of women with beers in their hands, laughing and talking in small groups. Still, no babies in sight.
Within minutes, I was entirely at ease, chatting with the leader, a quirky woman named Lynda originally from San Francisco. Jude began digging into some humus and pita bread as we sat down to talk. Across the room, I spied another mom with an adorable Scoobina nestled in her arms, and we briefly made eye-contact as though saying, “I too am crazy enough to bring my baby at bedtime to a brewery.”
Somehow, Lisa and 6-month-old Sadie drifted over to me and Jude. Sadie was dressed in an adorable blue-and-white knit sweater and even had a bow in her blond hair. I wanted to take a nibble right there.
During the raffle and group introduction, Jude and Sadie made bird squawks back and forth to each other, and Jude even going so far as to flap his arms like a proud peacock showing off his plumage.
After a few beers and talking with the other non-pretentious and friendly moms, Jude and Sadie began making out. Seriously. Lisa and I placed them together and in response to recognizing one another as fellow little humans, they simultaneously opened their mouths and…mouth-kissed. I even noticed Sadie throwing in a little tongue action. One woman gagged on banana bread as she convulsed with laughter watching the event unfolding before her eyes.
Another mom grabbed her camera phone and swiped a grainy shot of them in the midst of a passionate embrace, ideal for future blackmail.
Lisa and I promised to meet up for future make-outs.
Having shed a few tears over the scene Jude and Sadie caused in addition to hearing stories of three-year-olds salivating over Victoria Secret’s bras and an elementary aged son’s self-exploration in the supermarket, I felt like we’d made a good decision in coming to Portland.
As I coasted over the Hawthorne bridge to the west side, I experienced great sense of affirmation; the decision to move 3,000 miles to Portland was really for the best. Even though it’s been a struggle removing ourselves from family and friends, it make this experience all the more unique and challenging.
I find it reassuring to meet down-to-earth women who are open to new friendships, regardless of age differences. It was also impressive to learn numerous women run their own businesses, many of which focus on mental and physical wellness.
So far, I’ve experienced an openness and willingness to meet others in Portland, rivaled only by Thailand, but certainly more affable than any other major city I’ve visited in the USA.
On another note, for my birthday, we’re getting professional pictures taken of Jude. Whenever I found places on the East Coast, the fees were outrageous and would have required months of fasting or homelessness in order to pay. This time, my cousin’s husband’s brother (phew!), a professional photographer, will be cutting us a break for the session.
Given the recent explosion of vibrant foliage cropping up around the Hoyt Arboretum, we’ve opted to stage the shots there. The weather has been perfect- crisp but not too chilly, warm but not humid- so we’re hoping it’ll hold up for tomorrow. Bring on the cuteness, Jude Lei!

Today marked Matt’s 25th birthday and Jude’s first Portland Trailblazer’s game against the Utah Jazz. Initially Jude’s blue eyes crinkled and lips puckered as he sobbed whenever loud blow-horns resonated in the arena. However, once he received his Trailblazers blow up boppers to distract the other team from shooting, he became quite animated; smiling, laughing and jumping as each “bop” “bop” occurred.
Aside from basketball and birthdays, Jude has been spending much time exploring his new environment. After Matt installed a baby gate, the family room has essentially morphed into the official playroom, filled with various toys and books. A black chair in the shape of a comma provides the perfect opportunity for Jude to pull himself to a standing position before flopping back down. We’ve also had to baby-proof all the light sockets after we learned that Jude finds the tiny holes in the walls particularly intriguing.
Anytime I’m home before dark, Jude and I sneak away to the gorgeous arboretum less than half a mile away filled with Redwoods, Spider monkey trees (I’m serious!), a whole assortment of pines and arrow-like Douglas Furs. The whole place smells like Christmas and gives off a whimsical, fairy tale aura. No matter if Jude had been cranky or cooing like a parakeet, he’s immediately quieted upon entering the woods. I think he likes the solitude and feeling the coolness of the ground.
Did I mention that he eats everything? Since arriving in Portland, Jude has dined on Indian curry and Nan bread, sushi and vegetarian pizza. He’s enjoyed sampling the worldwide cuisine, although he was disappointed when the sushi wouldn’t roll after he removed the nifty seaweed wrapping.
Because I’m working (if you consider data entry and stuffing envelopes working) full-time, Matt has become Mr. Mom, a seriously arduous and underrated duty. The first day on the job, when I arrived back to the apartment it looked like post World War III had struck, plus Jude was crawling around naked with powder all over his bottom. Matt appeared bewildered and shell-shocked as he explained how Jude had eaten a few too many pears and as a result explosive diarrhea occurred.
Another afternoon Matt and Jude met me for lunch downtown. Jude’s clothes were on backwards and the middle of his diaper was hanging, very unfashionably, between his legs. In all, Matt claims that a day alone with Jude can be just as tiring as a day driving across the country.
We decided this past week, with encouragement for Grandma Sus, that daycare might be a viable option to free up some time for Matt to search for jobs. Each morning on my way to work, I pass a little Montessori daycare where the kids are actually smiling and not screaming hysterically.
One afternoon, I swung by and spoke with the director, a girl not much younger than me, whose parents began the school when she was just three after they felt dissatisfied with the Portland daycare facilities. The seed for the Children’s Garden was then potted.
For two days I visited on my lunch break, scrupulously observing the teachers (they’re not called daycare providers or babysitters) reading to the babies, playing and holding them. Tessa, the director, was patient as I peppered her with questions and seemed very excited about meeting Jude.
Even though they all seem perfectly nice, I still have a bowling-ball sized lump in my throat when I think of leaving my baby with people I don’t know. Until now, Jude has only been left in the care of family or close friends. I try rationalizing this decision by telling myself that it’s good for him to socialize and that Matt needs the time to find a much-needed job, but I can’t seem to ameliorate the lump.
On Friday, Matt and Jude visited the Children’s Garden. I dropped them off before hurrying back to work. That evening, Matt told me how Jude, short of mauling the other babies, mouth-kissed and slobbered on them. Teachers all seemed really sweet and one is from Cambodia. Matt apparently talked about Southeast Asia with her as Jude was on the prowl.
When I held my son and asked if he had a good day, he replied by attacking my chest then making some delightful farting sounds as he blew against Mrs. BB. That’s about as good as it gets in Jude’s terms.
Time for bed. Since working, I’ve come to realize how important it is to get a good night’s sleep because there’s no more napping in the middle of the day!

(written 10/2/08)
9 months after birth: new coast, new state, new zip code and, oh yes, mommy is now working. Today marks Jude’s nine month “birthday”, which also represents our second round of separation as he matures and grows. First, after nine months of gestation, Jude became his own little person and now, another nine months later (how I wish I could say all my baby fat has evaporated!) I’ve become a part of the working mother’s coalition as Jude spends the bulk of his day with Dad. I like to think of our time as a sandwich. All the meat, lettuce, tomato and butter or mayo is spent with Matt, while the start and the finish, the bread, is with me. I wake up in the morning with Jude, feed him his breakfast, cuddle, hang out then upon returning back around 5:30 p.m., we follow the opposite routine where we first hang out, then eat then bedtime. Although the sandwich ends may not necessarily be the most delicious or fun, they’re definitely essential for holding the sandwich together. At least that’s what I tell myself.
Let me back up a bit, however. After Virginia, Jude and I boarded an airplane not for Portland, but for Phoenix due to flight delays and cancellations. Along with a crowded flight of disgruntled passengers, we occupied a middle seat for the arduous 5 1/2 hour flight. Note to self: Never, never ever again fly with a non-breast-fed child. It is my definition of hell if you also throw in waiting in line at the DMV. Jude couldn’t understand why Mommy wouldn’t let him lunge at and mouth-kiss the two men on either side of us, not to mention why I wouldn’t allow him to squeeze and play with the great, fuzzy fur-ball of kinky hair peaking above the seat in front of us. He couldn’t understand that the new toy was attached to a cranky man’s head who preferred to not have his locks smeared with apple sauce, biscuit crumbs and saliva. Much back-arching and food-spitting took place as a result.
In Phoenix, we were bumped from our connecting flight and spent the night in a hotel provided by the airline. Jude was exhausted and hot and somehow I realized the next morning that I’d stripped him of his clothes and now had no idea where I’d placed them. Long story short, Jude arrived in Portland sporting Arizona Wildcats apparel and a DC sweatshirt from Grandma Janet.
Similar to how Goldilocks searched until she found that “just right” bowl of pourage, I experienced a “just right” moment as Grandpa Dave picked Jude and me up at the airport in the midst of sunshine, luscious pine trees and a van full of household goods. I’ve never been so grateful for help in my entire life, particularly when he took over Jude duties to allow me to eat and sleep.
The new apartment is gorgeous and on top of a mountain that overlooks the city. Two bedrooms, two full bathrooms and my favorite, a sliding door leading out to the balcony overlooking a plethora of trees, grass and shrubs. From the kitchen, it’s possible to cook a meal as Jude plays in the family room without craning one’s neck to make sure he hasn’t electrocuted himself, as the kitchen overlooks the carpeted family room. Our manager was accommodating enough to give us the unit after the one we originally signed for resembled something akin to a cellar or dungeon.
Matt’s mom, Grandma Sus, always cautions that Jude will start walking soon since Matt walked at ten months. Although the thought of my toe-head tottering about terrifies me, I’m impressed with how Jude pushes up against me as I sit on the ground to a standing position. The official name for this is “cruising”, although he’s really doing anything but that. Once his legs straighten, he’s like a newborn colt as he totters and collapses on his bottom, then looks around with a bewildered expression.
The two front teeth have come down a bit more, so now Jude’s rocking the homeless look as the very visible bottom four steal the show compared with the nubs. He’s still cute as ever, especially when exploring empty boxes and doing his grunts that sound half dishwasher and half weed-whacker.
Between all the jabbering, crawling, eating and pooping there’s never a dull moment in our lives! Destination biking for this weekend with Jude in a baby trailer.

“Ma-ma has to go find ba-ba, OK, Wa-Wa?” I ask, as Jude grins back up at me, exposing two brilliantly white nubs of teeth on the top gum.
We’ve begun speaking in Baby Tongue, a mongrel language, bred by Jude’s very limited vocabulary and, of course, English.
“Da-da go with Wa-wa!” Matt exclaims.
“Da-da, ma-ma, wa-wa,” Jude chants, clapping his hands, before lunging for his bottle, ba-ba.
With only three “words”, we certainly do try our best to communicate with Jude even as the Teach Your Baby Sign Language book sits, collecting dust.
There’s also the flashcard method as seen on Montel, Opera and the other daytime networks aimed at paranoid housewives.
You buy these flashcards for $14.99 that supposedly help speed up the learning, speaking and reading process. Charts demonstrate the “rapidly closing window of opportunity” for learning and you can even watch a video of a nine-month old pointing to his body parts and objects around the house. The proud mother of a two-year-old girl says her daughter is already reading at a first grade level and may be eligible to skip a grade. The little girl sits prettily on a couch, reminding me of beauty queen pageant contestants whose mothers duct-tape their daughter’s waists to appear curvy.
For me, I’m in no rush to accelerate Jude’s learning achievement track. Rather, if he’s happy on the floor, exploring everything in sight, eating most everything that touches his lips during meal times and loves interacting and being read to, then he’s great in my book.
I’m perfectly happy watching him learn to feed himself a bottle without necessarily knowing how to spell B-O-T-T-L-E in French and English or playing Peek-a-boo with the car seat cover.
His achievements, big and small make me proud. In fact, just last week, he received two vaccines, one of which was notorious for causing pain. As our favorite nurse Maureen crossed his pudgy sausage-linked legs, and the needle entered, Jude merely puckered his lips. With the second shot, he held his gaze on Maureen and didn’t so much as bat an eye. Minutes later, he was in her arms, mouth-kissing and cuddling, oblivious to the matching band-aids on either thigh.
These past few days have been filled with good-byes as we’re officially Oregon residents as of the 26th. Jude was definitely a good sport as Ma-ma toted him along to NYC to say goodbye to all his doting Aunties, then tried drinking Erin and my beer on the train ride back to CT.
Marnie (Matt’s maternal Grandmother) threw us a going-away dinner and plenty family members wished us luck on our journey before we took an additional trip back to Pawling in a UHAUL to deliver the rest of the borrowed furniture.
Between packing, friends stopped by and we additionally visited Becky in the hospital, New Jersey for Christine’s baby shower and Bethel to meet Rosie’s new baby girl.
By yesterday, I was quite frankly relieved to board the plane with Jude to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Jude sucked down some apple juice before passing out, strapped to his seat, legs and arms sprawled like a star-fish.
Upon arrival, Grandpa lunged down the terminal, baby in arms, like something out of PreFontaine. We’re grateful for a little R&R before Portland…

After I penned my last entry, that day I received a call from the March of Dimes in Portland. They offered me a job and five anxiety-filled days later they specified the start date: Grandma Shirley’s 80th birthday or more commonly known as the 1st of October.
Making moving arrangements is undoubtedly stressful, but even more so with baby. For instance, Matt and I are now trying to decide on whether he should drive our Hyundai, with a trailer attached, across country alone and I should fly out with Jude and meet him in Portland or whether we should go together or whether we should ask a family member to fly out with Jude or whether we can juggle coconuts and turtles while flipping pancakes and weaving on a loom. Yes, it’s gotten that chaotic.
Luckily, Jude’s cuteness provides the ideal comic relief for an otherwise nerve-racking time in our lives. Although he still crawls like a wounded war veteran- one leg does all the pushing while the other stays rigidly straight- his speed is only increasing. One moment he’s in the family room, happily gnawing on blocks, pausing only to scowl, and the next he’s grinning, cooing and hunting me down along the carpeted hallway toward the kitchen.
Now, along with his signature “wa-wa-wa-wa” sound, Jude also belts out, “Da-da-da-da” alone with other strings of vowel tones.
My favorite progression is his love for playing “Peek-a-boo”. I sat in the backseat with Jude as Matt drove a few days ago. Grasping the padded side cover of the car seat, Jude placed it over his face, only to reveal himself seconds later, giggling away, his three teeth exposed like little ice caps amid red gums.
It’s also ironic how babies will be presented with an assortment of play-things: from rattles, to reflector-mirror devices, to teddy bears, noisy toys and books and yet they’re always interested in the most inane of the items. In Jude’s case, he most enjoys a purple cup with a green octopus sticker on the side. He alternates between clenching his fists and stretching his fingers like little stars before flicking the cup on its side and watching as it totters and rolls about. Leg motor propelling against the carpet, Jude lurches toward the cup, chest on ground, head erect like a seal. Upon reaching the now sedentary cup, he repeats the process all over again.
The only problem with all of his crawling, aside from newfound vigilance about not leaving liver medications on the floor, is that he hasn’t figured out how to back up. When the cup rolls under the couch, Jude delves right under as well, except that, moments later upon realizing he can’t get out, a frustrated shriek ensues. While he’s mastered first gear, he still can’t quite grasp the concept of reverse.
With all this moving about, it’s no wonder Jude rebels against having his diaper changed. No matter how stinky, wet or downright nasty the contents of the diaper may be, he wrestles and contorts his body like Houdini when I’m trying to dispose of the old one and replace it with a new one. His agility and flexibility never cease to amaze as he’ll squirm despite me pinning down his limbs, his back arched, privates thrust into the air. For this reason, it’s not much of a surprise that I’ve been urinated on more than a handful of times.
Sometimes I’ll be spooning cereal into his mouth and he’ll catch my eye. Still holding my stare, he’ll rest his head to the side, the same way dogs cock their heads when they’re attempting to decipher a command. Jude will sigh as though saying, “Yep, this cereal is pretty bland, Ma,” before resuming the consumption of his meal. He’s a character like that.
I’m still reeling over how quickly the move is unfolding. One minute I’m researching about Portland, then we visit and now it’s going to be home. In the past when I’ve moved somewhere, I find myself greatly relieved once I’ve arrived, mainly because of how stressed-out I feel attempting to squeeze in good-byes with family and friends. Somehow the pressure is still there, but on top of caring for Jude it doesn’t seem quite as monstrous. We’ll see how it goes in a few more days.
Less than a month until I start a job after a year of not working….although that’s not entirely true. I have been working- although definitely pro bono. Personally, I think that motherhood makes for the best qualifications for any and every job. Learning to multi-task, think ahead, always on one’s toes, responsibility for something other than yourself, editing of one’s language, ability to perform under pressure and on little sleep, commitment, working even on weekends, etc. make one highly qualified for any position.
I think I’m qualified.