Party Pics

A ship was launched, a cupcake was eaten, gifts were lavished and a good time was had by all, particularly by the birthday girl who only cried because we forced her to take a nap. 

That was Saturday. 

Today we are setting sail on the Good Ship Mucinex, hoping that the sweet goddess of the sea (and saline nasal spray) will grant us safe passage, because I am about to chop my head off at the glands to put an end to the sinus pressure/not at all Demi-like more like Barry White rasp/coughing/sneezing general misery. Fortunately Harlow has a bunch of new books and completely new wardrobe to distract her from the wall of snot that is her face. And that sweet Auntie Lex. She's good for endless rounds of Flippy, the magically quacking Diaper Wipe Case. If it works, it works. 

So...pics.

Happy Birthday

We didn't kill you.

There was that incident on the stairs with the broken leg. A broken leg at five months, kiddo. On my watch.  There was the bad man who messed with us at the store and got caught -(and that's before the karma gods have even had their chance with him yet). The header off the couch. The dog that ran over you. Twice. The endless "what a beautiful boy!s" and that Harlow imposter.  You emerged unscathed, not just unscathed but radiant. For that my sweet, beautiful baby girl, we are going to celebrate your arrival into the world and, despite our bungling, ridiculous efforts into the thing known as parenting, our success in keeping you in it.

This time one year ago. Your father is really interested in my bathroom habits. Famously private about his own, he seems nearly gleeful that my stomach is churning and and looking to get rid of the Last Supper we spent at the Beauty Shop. We have an appointment to meet you at the hospital in the morning. This is the strangest thing I've ever heard of, but I have the diabetes, and they are ready to get you out of me and make sure you aren't one of them giant Russian babies. And frankly, the way my stomach and other body parts are heaving, I'm not minding the induction so much.  

Tonight. The eve of your first birthday. I am in bed with possibly allergies/strep/flu/mad cow, so it seems a little ironical but fitting that we complete the circle. We started off your entry to the world with me feeling crappy and ditto today. But that's kind of the point, right? Mother Nature doesn't care about Martha Stewart craft paper and pirate booty and ukulele music. She cuts through the BS. And taking my cue from her, this is what I think about all this hoopla.

I get it now when people tell pregnant first timers that "it" is the best thing in the world. I hated it  when people said it to me, and  I now repeat it. "It" is still terrifying. It is the hardest thing I've ever done. I will complete the cliche and say it is the most rewarding thing I've ever done, because that is also true. No one would have babies if they truly knew of the ten-headed hydra change monster that lay in store. But then I wouldn't have you. I wouldn't have the privilege to fall in love with your dad and then get to have the butterfly/queasy/you hung the moon feelings for you, too, and for us all to legally live together. I am in awe of your potential. People shake their heads when they see you pull up and cruise, murmuring about your growing up so fast. But I say bring it on. You are the world's most beautiful, amusing, energetic dining companion, cat torturer and piano lover, and you just get more interesting every day.

Here's to 365 more, baby girl. Minus the broken bones. 

I love you.

Mama

ABC OCD

So I'm not exactly sure how I pictured it. Well, that's not exactly true. I pictured the birthday girl, rosy cheeked and precociously verbal toddling about the house. Beautiful, handmade decorations perfectly in place. That gorgeous 5 o clock light filtering through the dining room fortuitously at noon. No mucus. Mango lassis.

And then there is reality.

We're still a couple of days away, but the birthday girl has seen better days. Well, that's if she could see through the green gunk that's been sealing her eyes shut. Her face is a mass of snot, thanks to the tree pollen in full bloom. Then there is the double ear infection, just to round things out. Oh, and the not sleeping for about a week straight. And the teeth coming in. Happy Birthday!

The house is awash in decoupage glue and magazine clippings because I've been smoking crack in my downtime and decided that with the lowkey, family-only affair we're throwing,  baby girl needed a boat to go along with the HMS theme. Nevermind the last time I paper-mached something I was a girl scout and had adult supervision. I have been fantasizing about this boat for about three weeks. 

There is the OCD you see depicted on TV, the compulsive handwashers. The doorknob touchers. Then there is me. I create lists and blueprints and menus and party themes and narratives that will most likely never see the light of day but will on average receive about 12 hours out of the day's time from me. I was thinking the meds were supposed to help with instances like this, but in between the 3 am feedings and being thrown up on, I've been daydreaming blueprints of a boat made out of fabric scraps and wallpaper samples. 

I have been to Michaels no less than five times in the past week, oh and that's because of the cupcake tower I made. That required five trips to Michaels. And the grocery list. I've been to the grocery store everyday this week, mainly because baby girl has decided she'd like to eat her weight in blueberries daily, but because I keep going back for "research." I have rewritten the menu about 12 times. For my one year old birthday party whose guest list we kept to a severe minimum to avoid getting carried away.

Happy Birthday baby girl. Your mama is going to go up her meds now. 

Photoshoot

Some of our photoshoot pics are up on Lisa's blog. Here's a little sample here:

They are super cute and Harlow looks adorable, naturally. But I have to say this. I am really, really regretting my choice of hairstyle and outfit. I woke up sick and achy, so the t-shirt and jeans just felt really right. They really couldn't be more wrong. I mean, I suppose I should congratulate myself on not showing up in my bathrobe and slippers, but for usually being a little more put together I look like a camp counselor hanging with the handsome dude and his kid. And speaking of just plain wrong, I am more than a little disturbed by how much Caleb and I look alike in these pictures. See the Sweazys work it here.

Countdown

So the countdown is on. Harlow turns one on Saturday, and family from all over descends on the unfinished, haphazardly decorated experiment that is the Sweazy abode. The DIY frenzy began weeks ago, however.  Even though we're just having a small family gathering, that hasn't stopped us from turning into complete art school dorks. We busted out the gocco to handprint our invitations, and we are making...things. 

I don't want to spoil it for the four readers of this blog who also happen to be family, so suffice it to say the house is covered in craft paper, glue and some serious crafter ego. Caleb stole my idea and got to work on HIS version, so all I have to say is that it's ON, brother.

I'm really bummed that Harlow's present isn't going to be ready in time, and for the first time its nothing to do with procrastination. I truly started work on it months ago, and it's required a lot of man hours and some sketchy neighborhoods (any guesses?) so I won't get to unveil it at the party. Like she'll care. 

But I will. 

More pics from the weekend:

Birthday Boy

Saturday was the day of the big Sweazy photoshoot, where I was actually going to be documented on film holding my child. Such are the pitfalls of being the photographer in the family. Judging by the pics over the last year, H looks to be one of those Disney heroines, all big eyes and no mamas to be found. We're promoting photographer Lisa Thomas' work through the store, because she's badass, and I was so excited to have her come to the house to do a "lifestyle shoot" on the eve of Harlow's first birthday. Unfortunately we all woke up feeling like ass. Poor Harlow was up all night coughing and sneezed giant snot bubbles roughly every 7 seconds. Caleb and I both had sore throats and I started running a fever, yet this didn't stop us from taking H to meet the Easter Bunny and  help her score some candy on the easter egg hunt. 

Lisa and her assistant showed up just as the light was getting golden. Harlow would have made Tyra proud. She was totally fierce, working the camera for a good two hours before melting down and demanding the boob for all her hard work. Preview pics of the Sweazys working it coming soon.

While the rest of the world was celebrating Jesus, our household was celebrating the birth of my babydaddy. We had a nice lowkey lunch where we grilled some chicken, ate some couscous and Caleb made the loveliest tarte tatin:

I annoyed the crap out everybody by photographing said tarte for about 10 minutes before I'd let anyone eat it.

Harlow spent most of the day talking to us about how much she loved chicken, blueberries, her Uncle Neil, playing the piano, and cardboard.Or "gwerda-berda-gdoo-ba," the signature phrase in thew new language she woke up speaking. She seriously chowed at dinner tonight, and at the rate she has been nursing, I'm thinking we're going to be seeing some major milestones soon. Like walking. Or turning into the Swedish Chef. 

Why Nana Should Be Harlow's Official Photographer

Nana's Pics

Nana has been an especially huge help this week while Miss H has been home and both parents working. She took these sweet pics today. 

Teeth?

window, originally uploaded by medusahead.

Can teeth disappear? Just decide, nah. Not coming out. That whole drooly and bloody bit? Just for kicks. Can they? Caleb was looking in her mouth this morning, our usual ritual (kiss her good morning, ask her how her night was, inspect her mouth for pointy implements) and mentioned that he couldn't see her upper tooth anymore. Sure nuff, I looked a bit later, and no teeth to be found. Did we scare them off with all the tough talk? Maybe it was after she bit into that piece of dog food today. Cause fish and potato from a fancy restaurant is one thing, but in kibble? Not so much.

Harlow's St. Patrick's Day

Harlow's St. Patrick's Day, originally uploaded by medusahead.

One more pic before I pass out from sinus pressure...

Diego

I can't believe that during the past few months I haven't mentioned one of the best things to happen to me and Harlow - Laura and Diego. Laura has been watching Harlow for a few hours 3 x a week while I work, and the awesome thing about the arrangement is that Harlow gets to play with her insanely adorable son Diego. While my watching 2 spirited little uns for a few hours would require painkillers and intensive therapy(for everyone involved), Laura always greets me at the door happy as a clam (but with usually some saucy story or trashy mags) and delivers a happy baby to boot. In fact, when I drop her off, Harlow is usually elbowing me in the face because she can't get into Laura's arms fast enough. Can't find a better recommendation than that!

I just want to give them a shout out because - not only is it way overdue - Laura has become a friend and just rocks in general - but sweet D is sick with strep throat which makes for one miserable baby and equally miserable mom.

Hang in there! Our big ole bathtub is your oasis when you are ready!

Harlow and the Holiday Ham

Harlow and the Holiday Ham, originally uploaded by medusahead.

You know you have a Holiday Ham problem when no less than five employees compliment you on your new hair color. What can I say? It's better than McDonalds.

What's not better than McDonalds? Teeth. Currently really, really hating teeth. Harlow's in particular. Poor thing has been Super Drooly Crankmonster for days, my T-shirt bloodstained from her sad, desperate chewing on my shoulder. That said, when she hasn't been sobbing in pain, she's been a blast. She's saying things that sound suspiciously like "hello" and "bye-bye" and randomly smacking her face like that Culkin kid in Home Alone and giggling.

Can you believe she's gonna be a year old in 2 weeks?

I can't.

Today

Today she has the beginnings of her first front tooth.

She also looks so insanely cute in a top I bought her at Target that it might just kill me. 

She is now looking so red that I think we might officially have a ginger baby.

And because I am having technical difficulties, you will see none of that.

But this is pretty freakin sweet:

So...it looks like the technical difficulties have extended to the You Tube.

Um...here are some words. And some more. Pretend you are looking at a guerilla dance troupe performing Thriller at a turn of the century Copenhagen train station. That lead guy is really good. So are, apparently, the blonde's boobs who are getting way to much camera time. 

I'm a Monkey's* Mama

*yes I am aware this is a chimp
** apparently Harlow is behind on her laundry

snow

Sweetness

I don't have the photos but I have the images seared into my heart.

My daughter in her high chair, a napkin draped over her head and an impish smile on her face. She rips the napkin off and hands it to her father. He wears the napkin on his head and they stare at each other for a few serious seconds before dissolving into giggles. She takes the napkin and wears it on her head. Repeat. Please.

My heart is so full it scares me.

Crawling

Not only do we have a crawler, we have a stair climber. We have pics to prove it. We also have a guest blogger who is gonna tell you all about it.

Ahem.

Guest blogger? This is your cue.

Anyday now...

Words, words, words

In return for Caleb's hanging with the baby so I could take off to New York, I agreed to be kicked out of the house for the weekend so he could be all Moody Creative Genius and record his masterpiece without mama and baby getting all screechy on the soundtrack. This meant hanging in the hinterlands of Gtown (and missing the first midtown derby bout :( but a good time was had by all. Harlow got plenty of time with her Nana and Papa and Aunt Lindsey and cousin Avery. Avery had just enough time with her bitey, lap stealing monkey cousin to ruin her on siblings for, I think, ever. Mama finally got to cash in her Indigo gift certificate (hello sexy new bag!) Nana even got the added bonus of witnessing the destruction of what little hipster cred her daughter and son in-law had left when Harlow said her first, honest to goodness word.

Elmo.

She and Elmo had been talking on Nana's Elmo cell phone. He was all What's My Name? Seriously, what is my name? I don't got all day. Hee Hee Hee. And she said "Elmo." Clear as day. And she said it 3 more times, in front of witnesses, just to rub it in. Caleb was appropriately horrified, and then of course we spent the rest of the afternoon foisting the Elmo cell phone on her in the vain attempt to get her to say it again.