One Year Ago Today

It was a year ago today that one Reid P. G. died and one Reid P. G.'s impending arrival was announced.

It has been a hard year and a sad year and a wonderful year and an incredible year and a horrible year and an amazing year.

I miss my Grandfather every single day. But I'm better. Better than I was. :)

Unsolicited Advice, Part II

If a baby poops in a diaper and no one is there to hear it, the diaper still needs to be changed.

Never, ever feel smug because your partner gets peed on during diaper changes and you don't.

When you are changing your little angel and you hear the unmistakable sound of pee hitting the hardwood floor...that was not the dog.

Check your shirt.

And your jeans.

Keep a towel near the changing area from now on.

And don't forget to laugh.

Rollin' Rollin' Rollin'

Yesterday I went out for a run and came back to the news that Reid had rolled from back to tummy! I knew that stupid old friend of mine (about whom I apparently wax poetic when I am on an endorphin high - what was WITH that last post?!) would do something like this - monopolize my time so that I'd miss a huge milestone.

But anyway, Reid recreated the moment for me, and it was really super cute. He cried once he landed on his tummy, I expect because either he was stuck, or because that Crazy Lady started hollering and squealing and gushing about how proud she was of her Big, Strong Guy.

He didn't do it how I expected he would, either. I thought he would arch his back and flip, like my niece did and like all the "baby rolls over" illustrations show it in the baby books. Instead, he pulled his knees up in the air and rolled to one side - baby's got that Pilates knee drop move down way better than I do - and then just rolled the rest of the way.

Apparently this new workout tired him out, because he went down to sleep without a peep last night, only woke up twice, and is now on HOUR THREE of a nap. This has been a challenging couple of weeks, sleep-wise, so this change in routine is both odd and welcome.

As for me, I've been sitting here on the couch doing absolutely nothing productive for the past three hours. And you know what I should have been doing? Absolutely nothing productive. You know why? Because it's okay to just sit. Look at me, I'm growing up too.

Learning to Be Friends Again

In the age of Facebook, I think we all know what it's like to reunite with an old friend who pulled your pigtails a time or two over the years. It's happened to me a couple of times, and we have seemed to have easily glossed over the ugliness and moved to a place where we can laugh at old times and comment benignly on new times. Your friendship will never be the same, but that's okay. Sometimes it feels good to talk to someone who knows what your old bedroom used to look like, or remembers your parents' names.

Last Friday night I reunited with the most volatile of my old friends. Its name is Running and we have quite a history. We got off to a rocky start in high school, but throughout college and beyond, I ran for weight loss, for mental health, because I had too much caffeine, because I was mad, because someone told me I couldn't, and so on. Then came 2008. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I started training for a half-marathon, and running became so challenging, so painful, so exhilarating, and so rewarding. Being able to complete 8- and 10-mile runs was an amazing feeling. Completing the half-marathon itself was amazing. So much pain. So much pride. I decided to go on to train for a full marathon.

This is where things got ugly. I think I actually made it to 14 miles before my beloved hobby turned into a death march. It became a toxic friendship. The one that everyone in the world can see is bad for you, but you persevere for reasons unknown. I often wondered what would be worse: a marathon or labor. Marathon, hands down. Maybe that's because I had some strong drugs during labor, but flaw #1 of marathoning, if you ask me, is that you are not given the option to take a very strong painkiller.

After I finished the marathon, puffy (yes, I gained 20 lbs and no, it was not all muscle no matter how often I tried to sell myself that line) and miserable, I tried to go back to my previous, pre-half-marathon relationship with running, but it was just not the same.

Being pregnant and having a newborn was just the hiatus I needed. On Friday, I was ready for a little me time so off I went. It felt so fantastic.

My brother (hi!) has teased me once or twice that there is nobody chasing me, so I don't need to run. Wrong - there is always something chasing me. It could be a bad day or that stupid thing I said when I had too much wine in 2005 or the jeans that won't button or an unfavorable election result. And it is really pretty rare that I don't outrun these foes.

Sometimes my head gets all cluttered like that one closet we all have. Things keep piling on and piling in and the next thing I know, I am opening that door and being hit with my 6-year-old winter coat (or that stupid thing I said when I had too much wine in 2005). Running, to me, is like cleaning out that closet several times a week.

We're taking it slow, and we're not going to be as intimate as we were in 2008, but I think running and I are going to be pretty good friends again.