Okay, well not as bad as Mommy Dearest.  (No wire hangers and all that craziness...) We're into month two and I have a few parenting concerns.  For instance, is it wrong that I don't obsess about how cold the baby might be?  If he kicks off his socks, I just figure he doesn't want to wear them.  My mother in law kept putting giant people sized socks on him just to keep his tootsie's warm.  And interestingly, I received about twenty pairs of infant socks on Thanksgiving.  Right now I think we have about 50 different blankets-all cute and wonderful-but what to do with all of them?  We got six blankets while visiting.  (what I wonder about is my aunt in law and mother in law who went shopping and purchased 5 blankets between them.  Didn't it ever occur to them, that might be excessive?)

Even getting on the airline-the attendant had me go on first and then insisted on putting my jacket on as well as an airline blanket over the baby because it was cold on the jetway. (the temperature was 40-a virtual sauna by our standards.)  Is it wrong that I don't obsess over this?  In fact I tend to lean the other way-concerned about overheating the baby.

My second concern-is my ability to go out and not call the babysitter every three minutes.  When I've been out, people will smile knowingly and ask, "how many times have you called the sitter."  I almost feel like I should lie instead of admitting to having faith in the chedda caretaker.  I imagine that I will be different when he is in day care with someone I'm less familiar with.  But am I really suppose to obsess over how my friends are caring for the baby?  Considering that most of them have already raised several children, I expect they are more qualified than I to be watching him.  Although I did have a girlfriend give him a bottle of water the other night-so I need to be a bit more clear on the feeding instructions I guess.

Third, I no longer fear handling the baby.  I notice others and how carefully they cradle his head as they gingerly hand him back to me.  I, on the other hand, treat him more like a sack of potatos-tossing him up onto my lap and twisting him this way and that in order to get the best position for his dinner.

But the real reason for my self imposed worst mother ever award comes from an incident this morning.  I was cradling him my arms as I walked into his room to change him and I completely misjudged the opening and smacked his head into the doorway while walking in.  WTF?  I mean, I do this all the time.   I'll hit a shoulder while walking through the hallway or say excuse me after bumping into a pillar at the mall.  But you'd think-that I'd be a little more aware of my surroundings when carrying around my own flesh and blood.  I felt awful.  There was no blood or apparent bruising so I think we're okay but still-I'll have to be a lot more careful in the future.

Have you ever noticed how once you start crying it can be hard to stop?  I started on Sunday when I heard that an former coworker of mine had died.  She'd had a difficult life and I'd hoped that things might've gotten better for her and her family.  I continued crying through Monday at my father in laws.  I wish that all divorced families were able to get along-but sometimes hurt feelings last for years and years.  It's difficult for my husband to choose where he will stay when he is there-and so he procrastinates.  We drove up to his father's house on Sunday-and I figured that we'd drive the half hour back to meet up with my sister in law and her children.  Unfortunately, my father in law refused to go back there-so we didn't get a chance to say goodbye.  So the tears started flowing again-off and on for a good half a day. 

I blame the long interrupted nights without sleep and the difficulties associated with traveling (especially to the relatives) with a newborn baby on some of this excess crying.  I just feel tired suddenly. 

Yesterday, we caught an uneventful flight home.  I took some cute photos of little Chedda biscuit on his first flight home and looked over the photos of him and his grandparents-we actually got some with them together.  We were lucky that everyone on Jim's side were able to get together Sunday night and I took the only photos of his whole clan and the new baby.  My plan was to make a little story book for Chedda so he could get to know his crazy relatives out East.  Knowing this I took photo after photo of him and his grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins.

And then I effed everything up by forgetting the camera on the plane.  I realized fairly quickly and we returned to the airport to check but our flight had already left for Philadelphia.  And so again with the crying-crying for being stupid/forgetful, for taking the camera out in the first place, and for losing all those family photos.  I keep wondering if the camera is still sitting there in the front pocket of 20B or if someone has already taken it.  The whole lost and found situation at the airport is messed up-you need to file a claim at the arriving airport-but what if it's still on the plane going somewhere else?  Maybe my camera is taking a world tour right now-and it's found in an airport that I haven't filed a claim in?  Plus they have a whole don't call us-we'll call you if we find your crap philosophy that is driving myself insane.

Round and round these thoughts go in my head-as I sit here unable to sleep.  Tommorrow I will harass the baggage departments and try to leave my number at all airports my plane was scheduled to land at.  I will hope that someone will find the camera and do what I would do-turn it in.  And maybe then I will stop crying.

Until then I will remind myself that it is just a thing, the photos cannot replace memories that I can share with the little biscuit-maybe I can get Chedda's dad to just draw me pictures of the whole occasion, right?  I need to be thankful for my health, my little baby, my husband, my friends and so many other things that have blessed my life.  Of course the crying isn't about the camera-it's about missed opportunities-memories that fade-it's about my friend who didn't get to see her youngest graduate from high school-it's about leaving the baby when I go back to work in a few weeks and so much more. 

**the following blog was found by a rescue team at a house in Connecticut.  The blog's author has never been seen or heard from again.  It is best read in the style of the infamous Blair Witch monologue. 

Day 13 and I've finally been broken.  I cannot laugh at the father in law's "go finger yourself" comment again.  Nor am I able to smile when my mother in law tells me I need to put more blankets on the baby and that he really likes the formula (vs. breat milk) she got for him.  I don't think it's funny when I'm asked if we have indoor plumbing for the 50th time. 

I've locked myself inside the office-I can hear them outside but I'm hoping that if I am quiet they will not find me.  I thought I could handle it but I was being naive.  No one could handle two full weeks with their in laws.  Week one consisted primarily of the shot and a beer ritual and sitting on the couch discussing old times.  Week two appeared to be more promising but quickly turned into an exercise in futility.  Want to drive?  You're going to slow-want to ride in the car?  Why aren't you driving.  You are told to make your own food for the night-and then chastised for making the oven smell like fish. 

I escaped for a few measly hours to the glorious city where I watched them blow up giant balloons for the Macy's day parade and enjoyed a few blissful baby free hours while sipping a glass of wine outside of Central Park.  If I'd known then maybe I never would have returned.

Thanksgiving was a mixture of food and guilt.  They served macaroni and gravy (which is really rigatoni and a red sauce) a fabulous turkey, a disappointing sausage stuffing (I'd have liked this had it been called meatloaf vs. stuffing which consists of bread in my world.)  I liked the yams and found the mashed turnip with brown sugar to be disturbing.

We've returned to the couch and I endured yet another day of shots/beers and bleary eyed adults surrounding me.  Also there were some distubing comments form my father in law regarding breast feeding.  I've survived the past few days on a diet of potato chips, squares of left over pumpkin pie, and triscuits topped with stale lunch meat, cheese ends and green olives *gagging and retching*

I'm writing this now in case I don't make it.  Please let other people know-whatever you do-don't go to the in laws for a full two weeks. 

What I wouldn't give for a nice apple or slice of red pepper-or even a salad made out of real lettuce-vs. iceberg.  I would LOVE to spend an afternoon or an evening out at a local restaurant right now.  We're on day six at the father-in-law's.  Don't get me wrong-he's a great cook-but it's different food then I would normally eat.  Lunch yesterday was just left over pork roast-no bread, no veggies, no fruit.  I'm pretty sure I haven't had any dairy products in the last four days-well except for a small bowl of ice cream last night. 

It's awkward when you stay at relatives-especially when they are you're inlaws.  How much do you request?  Afterall, they've already set up so many baby things to make our stay easier.

Our first full day in town was consumed by "a shot and a beer" ritual.  This ritual is continued through out the day until I am left with two bleary eyed grown men at the end of the day.  My husband slept soundly through the night while I dealt with baby Chedda's needs.  I woke up grumpily at about noon only to realize that the "shot and a beer" ritual was going into day two.  I spent the rest of the day rightfully indignant.  Watching my husband with his father I found interesting similarities.  The ever frustrating response, "Doesn't make me a bad person."-that one comes from Pops-in-law.  I watched as my husband appeared to change into a different person-mimicking his father's sarcastic and often silly comments.  A grown man still seeking his father's approval.  I wondered how he perceives me when I am with my family.  Am I the same-or do I change somehow?    By the evening, reminiscing and gossiping about events from the long distant past were in full force.  Did the uncle jump/fall/get pushed out of the window?  What about the time his other uncle brought a fully loaded shot gun to the dinner table?  I am mildly amused by these stories-though I've heard them before. 

Thankfully, the shot/beer ritual ends by the next day.  It's now time to get out of the house-HURRAY, I think-because I cannot spend another moment on the couch.  Plus I see scary things on the couch-like my in law's hairy belly or his white under pulled up over his navel.   I've never seen much beyond a relative's living room in Connecticut-so I am excited for some sight seeing.  First stop-Walmart.  I am given the tour of the children's department with their three dollar onesies (upon arrival we were given a handful of funny onesies from grampa-too bad they were all preemie sized.)  This is followed by a visit to the pharmacy department and observation of a worker who appears to be talking although no sound comes from his mouth.  After Walmart we are given a tour of the town which consists of Linen and Things (going bankrupt), Home Depot, Circuit City (going bankrupt) and a buffet of gas stations finding the cheapest price about 10 minutes from homebase. 

Today, we are off on the second part of our journey-the mother in law's house.  Then we will attempt to visit every relative known to mankind on Thanksgiving. 

But in a friendly way.  Yesterday on Stephanie's show, she was remarking on Brad and Angelina's twins-and the fact that Angelina was saying they were starting to show some personality-smiles and such at 4 months of age.  Stephanie commented that it was likely that they were just pooping because babies don't have personality yet.  I just happen to have some baby video for the grandparents who live out of town.  Much as I would like to believe that Baby Chedda is smiling circles around the celebrity twins we can't hope to achieve the celebrity status, good looks or ridiculous amounts of money so is it so wrong to hope our children will run circles around celeb-o-spawn? 

What do you think?  Just a lot of poop or is there some social smiling going on?   Stay tuned for my next insane parent video-"OMG, look at how cute it is when he sticks his little foot into his green cottage cheese poop filled diaper."