Sick Baby = Sad Mama

Little Miss Pants has had the flu this week, which makes Mama very sad. Luckily, there was no vomiting involved, but she had a high fever and has been congested and sad. We took her into the doctor when she peaked at 105.6, but the Doc said that she looked okay, and to keep giving her Tylenol and Motrin, and to watch. The fever broke yesterday and we've been running the humidifier almost non-stop. She's not sleeping the best and so she's cranky, but is otherwise starting to get back to herself again.

What has made this extra hard is that on Wednesday morning, as it became suddenly clear that she was sick, Shawn was on his way out the door for a trip to Anaheim with his band until Monday. He felt really guilty leaving, but her being sick wasn't an emergency and his trip had been planned for months. It's been stressful to not have him here to help, but his mom has been amazing, coming over during the day to help me with Violet so that I could get some work done from home and not have to go into the office.

She insisted on holding the medicine bottle. Thank goodness for child-proof caps. We had a Caillou marathon this week.

The upside was that I got some baby-cuddles at night, because the only way to get her to sleep long stretches was just to take her in bed with me, because she needed the comfort. So that was nice and snuggly.

What this has also meant is that my fitness plans have been derailed by a week. I didn't get to do any exercise for a week, and when I finally got into the gym yesterday afternoon and went for a run, I could feel the absence.

I haven't blogged much about it here, but I have been on a quest to return to my pre-baby weight before I hit my 30th birthday in March. Which means not taking a day off until then and losing somewhere in the neighborhood of 2 lbs a week. Honestly, not an unreasonable goal. But kicking oneself in the pants to get the snowball rolling on motivation and good habits can include the occasional misstep, and those become all the more frustrating when I can hear the clocking ticking away to March 11.

But I had one of my revelations this morning -- the number on the scale matters less than the ability to fit back into my old clothes again. So perhaps I should measure my success by what fits instead of that digital readout every morning. That thought was the bump I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself and refocus on target training my trouble spots, toning up, getting in shape.

I want to be a fit, happy, healthy mama, sexy and confident and excited about life, because Violet will learn my attitudes, and the last thing I want is my own personal struggle with body image, occasional bouts of semi-depression, and just that adult disenchantment with life to negatively affect her world view.

I'm sure she'll develop her own neuroses in time, she doesn't need any of mine. :)

Parade of Good Times

Well, this week has been short and weird. Thursday felt like Monday. 

BUT...we had a fun 4th, and I have the pictures to prove it. 

The hometown parade was better this year than I've seen it in several years. And Miss Violet was intrigued by the shenanigans, versus last year when she mostly slept in her bassinet. My mom bought her a fancy Minnie Mouse t-shirt with stars and stripes and cute pair of jean shorts, so she was quite stylish. 

Some of the highlights of the parade:

The Alameda Theatre made a float with a gorgeous scale model of the iconic, historic marquee. 

The Alameda Chamber of Commerce made a Cinderella Pumpkin coach. I don't know why. But it was awesome.

The Swell Bar had a jaunty little nautical themed float, complete with mermaids, vintage sailor girls, and Neptune, God of the Sea

Violet, in her Minnie Mouse stars and stripes, and Grandma

Violet watching the parade with Auntie Shannon

Sleepy baby fell asleep halfway through the parade. Guess it wasn't all that exciting.

Rhythmix Cultural Works, an arts center in town, had a cool float with cogs and gears

This gal had more American spirit than anyone!

And my personal favorite, the period costumes, courtesy of the Dickens Fair float

Ode to Hot Papas

Without giving you the details, let's start out by saying that I spent most of Sunday night being sick. Spontaneously. I called Mr. Shawn at band practice to tell him to come home early, as I suddenly couldn't manage on my own.

He was wonderful. He rushed home, got the baby out of her playpen and made sure I was doing okay before leaving me in peace.

Once I managed to get some sleep, and woke a few hours later with a powerful thirst, he brought me tissues and water and my phone and my blankie, hehe. All while holding a sleeping baby on his chest.

All of which served to remind me just how lucky I am to have the man that I have. A lot of men would have turned tail and run when their girlfriend of less than one year - and live-in for only one week - had woken them up one Wednesday morning with a positive pregnancy test. A lot of guys would have grumbled about the sudden dramatic drop off of sex during said pregnancy or pressured to get some even though their lady friend was feeling anything but. A lot of guys, including some husbands I know, would have gone home to sleep in a nice comfy bed while I coped alone with a newborn and ice diapers in a hospital room for two nights.

Not Mr. Shawn. I know I would have lost it during the early months without his support and shoulder to lean on. He has always been, as I knew he would be, an amazing father. Amid the sordid details of the night Violet was conceived, I very clearly remember telling him that I was only okay with us taking the risk of not using a condom because I knew he would be a good daddy.

And he is.