Inertia: the resistance of any physical object to a change in its state of motion or rest.

I am at rest and I am heavily resisting any sort of change. I’m basically that episode of Friends where Joey and Chandler never leave their armchairs.

It’s probably a good thing because if I left the house, I’d just go to the mall and spend money I don’t have. Don’t talk to me about online shopping! I have an allergic reaction to paying for shipping, especially when it’s a store I could go to in person.

My mom, St. Gramma, came to my house yesterday and took over. She sat next to me and rubbed my back and forced me to nap. She let me be depressed, wiped my tears, played with my Annabel and allowed me to turn off my mind. I needed that. And then when I woke up she told me to get in the damn shower because I smelled awful. I needed that, too.

So now I’m clean, and after an hour of careful brushing and a gallon of detangler, my hair no longer has dreadlocks. I might have put pajamas back on, but at least they were a different pair. Progress!

When Mike came home, my mom told us to go out to dinner, just the two of us. The idea of food intrigued me, and the thought of a meal with my husband without saying, “Annie don’t pull up your shirt. Annie our hands don’t go in our pants” was enticing. But staying in my pajamas was also appealing. I was at rest. There was no moving me. I told my mom and Mike to blame Sir Isaac Newton. That didn’t really fly, and soon I left the house for the first time in four days.

And it was nice.

I might even leave it again tomorrow, Sir Isaac Newton be damned.

Yesterday I spent a lot of time laying on the floor next to Annie. She thought it was amazing fun, and she managed to injure me in several different ways: hair pulling, nose grabbing, eye poking, book throwing. I thought it was a relief to lay on the ground and still be able to entertain her.

I have these peaks and valleys. I’m doing well, managing it all, and then little things start piling up. Stuff that shouldn’t matter at all, and don’t individually. And just when I think I’m going to be able to ride out the dip, someone that matters dishes out a heap of selfishness with a sprinkle of douchebaggery and the bottom falls out.

So I deal by not brushing my hair and laying on the floor. Occasionally I let myself cry when Annabel isn’t looking. Then I find myself eating brown sugar out of a box because my cupcake frosting has expired (PATHETIC) and Mike has stolen my emergency peanut butter (BASTARD). And while I’m laying on the floor I realize I haven’t taken off my pajamas for three days.

My depression: it is the sexy.

Then this little hand touched my face, and I looked into her eyes:

She actually let me cuddle her and she even fell asleep in my arms.

When my wonderful husband came home he hugged me and told me he loved me, and then he set about getting me food so I could eat something besides brown sugar (which I’m pretty sure is a legit food group, but whatever).

While he and the baby played together, I laid on the couch and watched them. I just love them so much. I want to snap out of this funk. I’m tired of this roller coaster. I’d like to get off now.

Today is the last day to enter my contest for a camera! It’s open to all residents of Earth (sorry Mars)!

I am having a moment where I am overwhelmed. I’m quick to anger, and if you’re not careful I’ll bite your head off. I work so hard to push down this down. I live by the expression “fake it ’til ya make it.” Right now I just cannot fake it.

I want to sit and cry over what is missing and not feel guilty for momentarily not appreciating what I have. I want to be a good person but sometimes I can’t help but be jealous of the problems other people have. I can’t stop myself from sneering and rolling my eyes when no one is looking.

In my mind I’m screaming, “Your problem is fixable! Mine is irrevocably broken!” but I would never ever say that. Everyone’s problems are legitimate. Everyone’s problems are hard. I just want THEIR problems instead of my own. I want to trade with someone for a day and not bear the crushing weight of grief.

Just writing this makes me feel awful. I want to be a good friend. I want to help people with their problems. I don’t want to drop perspective on people. How annoying is that selfish person, the one that listens to your problems and then one-ups you? I never ever want to be like that.

Is this the anger stage of grief? I don’t know. I don’t like it.

I feel blessed and cursed. These emotions swirl inside of me and sometimes they just explode and it’s a big mess.

The guilt over even writing this is intense. What am I trying to accomplish? I guess I just want to understand myself. I don’t want to feel like a terrible person when I want to yell at someone when they say their life sucks. I don’t want to be judgmental. I don’t want to feel alone.

Or maybe I’ll just delete this.

on a happier note, be sure to enter my contest for a camera!

Do you ever go to do a task, only to stop before you start because you’ve already forgotten what you were going to do? That’s me more and more lately. So I’ve started emailing myself my to do lists, which works great in theory, but one of the things ON my to do list is to check my email. I need a new solution. Like a chalkboard! Except then I’d just draw pictures of myself on it:

This is obviously a dramatic imagining, as I would never actually walk around with a dumbbell, and I prefer three olives in my martinis. I also have feet, but I refuse to draw something so vile.

Now I really want a chalkboard. Can I get one, Mike? Please?

Anyway. Today has really been one of those days. Except actually, I think it’s been more than just a day, because this morning I told my friend that I thought it was stupid for her doctor to have a Monday off and she laughed and said “it’s Tuesday.” Which, fine, but what kind of doctor takes a random day off in the middle of the week? I call shenanigans.

When I was in high school, I found the pressure to write meaningful yearbook messages overwhelming. I couldn’t just write, “Have a nice summer! See you in the fall!” No. I had to be funny! I had to be irreverent! So I’d write these absurd rambling stream of consciousness messages and then at the end I’d tack on an “I love you!!!!! XOXOX!!!!!!!” My friends Tara and Erin have the best (worst?) of these yearbook tomes, and I fear they will one day use them against me. In fact, they both know a lot of weird stuff about me….Hey Tara and Erin! You’re so pretty! I love you!!!!! XOXOX!!!!!!!

Sometimes I think that the door in my brain that holds back my weirdness needs a new deadbolt.

Can you tell that I forgot what I was going to write about tonight?

Prediction: Mike will wake up in the morning, read this and think, “whyyyyy does she post this crap?” And then he’ll lecture me. And I’ll say, “I had something better to post about but I forgot it and then I started thinking about a chalkboard and it took me three hours to draw that!!!” And then he’ll say, “You need to manage your time better. And now everyone is going to know how weird you are!” And I’ll say, “they won’t know HOW weird I am. Just that I *AM* weird. There is a subtle, but distinct, difference.” Then he’ll huff off saying, “you’re gonna get like 13 comments, and they’ll all say, “Mike is right!”

We are SO in a fight.

As you may or may not remember, I mentioned that I was in Washington, D.C. at the end of July for a very quick 40 hour trip. Yes, this is the trip where I lost my laptop. ANY. WAY. My mom and Annabel were along with me, and we did have a few hours to grab dinner and get in a bit of sight seeing.

Our meal was delicious, and after walking to the White House, we decided we really wanted to see the Lincoln Memorial. We tried for about ten minutes to get a cab before my mom spotted a pedicab. I have never been in a pedicab…it’s basically telling a dude how much you weigh. But my mom was insistent, and soon we were making the mile trek via pedicab.

We were about halfway to the memorial when I suddenly started to feel some cramping. I chalked it up to my Lady Business, but it SOON became apparent this was NOT another adventure in menstruation…no, this was a completely different body system all together. Something I ate was not agreeing with me. I started shifting uncomfortably in my seat.

A few minutes went by, and suddenly we were caught in a downpour. The pedicab driver pulled over to shield us from the storm (the cab had a roof and we had umbrellas) and right then my stomach cramps Kicked It Up A Notch. I started doing what I assume is Lamaze breathing.

When we finally FINALLY arrived at the memorial after what seemed like 87 years, I hobbled to the Ranger Station at the edge of The Mall and asked if there was a bathroom nearby. He pointed over my shoulder and said, “there, up the stairs, around the corner. Under Abe.” I turned to where he was pointing and calculated that I had to walk about 400 yards. I started to fear that I might not make it.

I left my mom and Annie behind and started slowly walking toward the Memorial. My mom said that I looked like someone who was walking with a stick up her butt. EVERY SINGLE MUSCLE from my toes to my abs was clenched tightly. When I made it to the base of the stairs, my stomach rumbled violently. I stopped walking, took a breath, and willed my body with all my might to NOT crap itself on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

I was 98% successful.

When I made it to the bathroom I…cleaned myself up. And then, while I said the Pledge of Allegiance (because I am nothing if not respectful of America!), I left my underwear in a trashcan. YAY AMERICA!

I’m pretty sure the women in the stalls around me were disturbed.

When I emerged from the bathroom, my mom asked me if I wanted to go back to the hotel. NO! I couldn’t let the stomach terrorist win. So up to the memorial I went, SANS UNDEROOS, IN A DRESS, and it really was breathtaking.

My mom insisted I take a picture with Annabel to mark the occasion.

After that, I told my mom I was done, and we left. As we walked away (with my hands holding my dress down to prevent a flasher moment), I looked back at Honest Abe, and I could feel his eyes watching me:

The Daily Log of Heather Spohr

1:00 AM – Go to bed.

3:00 AM – Get baby back to sleep.

3:12 AM – Get baby back to sleep.

3:30 AM – Give up, bring the baby to bed and give her a bottle.

3:31 AM – Fall asleep giving the baby a bottle.

4:30 AM – Wake up soaked in formula, roll over, too tired to care.

6:13 AM – Mike’s alarm goes off. Pray baby doesn’t hear it.

7:15 AM – Say goodbye to Mike, collapse back into bed.

8:01 AM – Annie wakes up and WANTS TO PLAY RIGHT NOW OMG!

9: 15 AM – Feed Annie breakfast. End up wearing most of it.

10:30 AM – Try to get Annabel down for a morning nap. Fail.

11:45 AM – Annie finally sleeps. Use the bathroom and take off oatmeal-covered shirt.

11:59 AM – Annie wakes up and WANTS TO PLAY RIGHT NOW OMG!

12:00 PM to 2:00 PM – Listen to Annabel test her vocal cords. Consider ear plugs.

2:15 PM – Remember to eat. So what if it’s baby food?

2:45 PM – Annie finally sleeps. Manage to check email.

2:59 PM – Annie wakes up and WANTS TO PLAY RIGHT NOW OMG!

3:00 PM – Watch Oprah. Obviously.

4:00 PM – Rigby barks indignantly. Realize you haven’t fed her, then try not to gag at how badly her food smells.

4:30 PM – Wonder if Annie is some kind of robot or alien that doesn’t need sleep.

4:35 PM – Answer emails while also taking a conference call while also eating pretzels while the baby climbs me like a jungle gym. Manage to not scream when Annie yanks on my temple hair.

5:45 PM – Process photos while Annie plays in her jumper.

6:01 PM – Try to write with one hand while Annie bites on the fingers of my other hand.

6:40 PM – Mike comes home! Rejoice!

6:45 PM – 7:45 PM – Eat dinner while writing three posts while answering emails while uploading photos while tweeting while skyping while texting. Get totally confused and say the F word to my mom on the phone. Wonder when I even got ON the phone.

7:45 PM – PLAY WITH ANNIE RIGHT NOW OMG!

7:46 – 8:40 PM – Try to figure out what Annie wants. She doesn’t want to play on the floor. She doesn’t want to swing. She doesn’t want to jump. She doesn’t want to bounce. She doesn’t want to eat. She doesn’t want to sleep. She doesn’t want to be held. She doesn’t want to not be held. SHE IS A COMPLICATED WOMAN.

8:45 PM – Annie falls asleep in a very twisty position in my lap while clinging to my right hand. Fear moving her.

8:46 – 10:00 PM – Type with my left hand. Curse being right handed.

10:05 PM – Finally get Annie in bed.

10:10 PM – Start retyping everything my left hand typed.

12: 45 AM – Wake up on the couch with my laptop on my stomach. Consider taking a shower. Laugh.

1:00 AM – Fall into bed.

This creeping crud in my lungs just refuses to go away. My voice is slowly coming back, but it sounds weird enough that Annabel looks at me funny when I speak to her. She turns up her lip as if to say, “quit sounding like daddy and talk to me normal!”

The worst part is the nasty juicy hacking cough that pops up at the most inopportune times. I have been working like crazy to get Annie back on schedule. The three-hour time difference from New York is proving quite challenging. Yesterday, she flat out refused to nap. The ONE MOMENT where she started to get droopy eyes? I coughed out a lung. When I finally straightened myself out, Annie was wiiiiide awake. No nap for her. No nap for me. NO NAPS MAKE HEATHER GO CRAZY.

When I’m sick, all I want to do is curl up on the couch, eat won ton soup, and watch reality tv reruns while I drift in and out of sleep. Unfortunately, Annie isn’t sick and finds that plan boring. So instead we play on the floor, and read, and dance, and then we pause while mama hacks out her other lung. Childhood memories for life!

Did I mention that Annie is at the separation anxiety stage? This is bad news right now because this illness requires lots of..bathroom…trips, and I put her down for those. Oh, the screaming. It makes a great situation even better!

HOW do parents survive being sick when they have a diva baby at home needing attention? At this rate I feel like I’m going to be sick forever.

Although, I DID just take some cough syrup. So what if it expired two years ago? Nothing bad could possibly happen.

It’s a weird thing to say that you feel lucky when something awful happens, but I do feel lucky. All of your kind words, prayers, and wishes mean so much to my family. It’s still just unfathomable that this has happened…and yet, we already know how quickly the rug can be pulled out from under you. I am comforted by the love you continue to show my family, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

My grandmother died eight years ago this past week, and I was remembering how I coped with what was, at that point, one of the biggest losses of my life. I didn’t really know HOW to deal, and so I spent a lot of time walking. And usually, I walked over to the mall near my office (Media City Center for you locals). I would go to the makeup counter and have someone do my makeup, and it really was such a mood booster. Something about a person fawning over you, telling you your best features and all that. Since then, whenever I have a bad day I will go to a makeup counter.

Yesterday, I woke up feeling really depressed and decided I would make a trip to the MAC Cosmetics counter. There is a guy at my favorite counter that I was really hoping was working (he always makes me feel pretty). Then I looked in the mirror and saw three pimples the size of Texas. The makeup counter just would not do. Mike reminded me that I had three birthday gift cards to my favorite store, Anthropologie. Nothing like subsidized retail therapy! I loaded Annie into the stroller and off we went.

As I shopped, I grabbed every little thing that looked pretty or sparkly or frivolous. I cared less about buying and more about getting some fresh air and improving my mood. Everything was going fine and then a miracle happened – the store stylist came up to me in the dressing room and asked me if I needed any help. I had a PROFESSIONAL STYLIST offer to PICK OUT CLOTHES for me. Never in my life has anything like this happened. So I said, “HELL YES” and she ran off to fetch me things she thought would look good. My mood immediately improved.

I started to try on the first round of items when Annabel started whimpering. I offered her some food but she pushed it away, so I turned her stroller so she could see herself in the mirror. That satisfied her, so I continued my try-on spree, wondering if this is what it’s like to be Kim Kardashian.

And then, when I was in only my underwear and bra, Annabel Lost. Her. Mind. She had a full-on screaming gasping fit. So I grabbed her and started soothing her, hopping around in my dressing room trying to calm her. The adorable store stylist chose to knock on the door right when I said to Annie “come on, shush!” The stylist just heard “come in” and walked right in on a mostly naked me and a red faced angry Annabel. That poor girl is scarred for life.

Eventually (after what felt like hours) Annie passed out. I set her down on the bench in the dressing room so I could fan myself (I have hot flashes all the time), and she stayed asleep. I went to grab the dress I’d worn to the store…and then realized she was sleeping on it.

So I did what any other normal woman would do, and I tried on clothes as fast as I possibly could.

This sleep lasted long enough for me to take off the above outfit and then put on a new one – a cute top I liked, and a pair of pants to wear with it since I’d worn a dress into the store. As soon as I had this outfit on, Annie woke up. I scooped her up and walked out of my dressing room to show the stylist. She and the other workers made their comments, and then Annie coughed, burped, and spit up all over the jeans I had on. The jeans I had no intention of buying because they would use up almost all of my gift certificates. I laughed weakly and said, “I guess I have to buy these now, huh?” and all the girls looked at me and said, “yeah.”

At least they fit.

Dear Mr. Spider,

I had big plans for the day. I was going to shower, take a walk, run some errands. And then I saw you, there, on the wall. Just hanging out with your smug attitude. Normally in situations like these I would summon my husband, but he wasn’t home. So I put on my big girl panties and got the vacuum. That’s when you regrettably decided to move into an unknown location. Not cool, Spider. Not. Cool. I’m giving you approximately an hour to vacate the premises. I’ve left the front door open for you.

Cordially,
Heather

Mr. Spider,

Well, here it is, two hours later, and you haven’t left out the front door. I know, because the baby and I have been standing on this chair watching for you the entire time. I even gave you an extra hour as you probably move slow on account of your freakishly gigantic size. We appear to be at a crossroads. So you can either leave now, or I will be forced to vacuum every nook and cranny of this home, and that sounds really labor intensive. Please, just leave. I’m tired of standing on this chair.

Not playing,
Heather

Giant Creepy Thing,

OK. I give up. I can’t live with a Spider, this place is too small as it is. So you win. The place is yours. We keep the toilet paper under the sink, the silverware is in the third drawer on the left, and I hope you like Lean Cuisines and cereal because that’s all we have in the house. Also, the neighbors will be suspicious of you, so proceed with caution. We’ve enjoyed our time here, I’m sure you will, too.

Wearily,
Heather

Spider,

My husband has come home and informed me that we are not giving you our home, so I guess this means we’re going to cohabitate. Clearly, we need some ground rules. I have taken the liberty of drawing up ours.

~ You will never be in charge of the remote control.
~ You are never allowed to go near me, the baby, or the dog.
~ You ARE allowed to go near Mike, especially when he has a newspaper in his hand.
~ Eating on the couch is never allowed.
~ Don’t leave your webs all over the house, my mother already thinks I don’t dust enough.

Resigned,
Heather

Dear Mr. Spider,

Living together clearly wasn’t meant to be. After nagging Mike until he lost his mind, he searched our place until he found you. I wish you the best of luck with your new residence, wherever the flushed toilet water takes you. Let me know when you settle and I’ll forward your mail.

Fondly,
Heather

This is the face of a girl who gets what she wants:

Oh hey! Watch me do this! Watch me! Watch me! WATCH ME!

Sure, she seems innocent and adorable. And she will play by herself just fine, as long as you are looking at her.

But if you happen to look away?

You just made the BIGGEST mistake of your LIFE. My disdain for you is epic.

Then she goes through a carefully thought-out process to get your attention:

1. she fake cries,

2. she laughs, then sticks out her lower lip when you look at her,

3. she grunts or shrieks, then laughs when you come into her eye line,

4. or, if you are her daddy, she will toss her toys away, then look expectantly at you.

And if you still have the NERVE to not give her your undying attention?

She brings out the big guns:

Even inanimate objects aren’t safe:

WHY DON’T YOU FIT IN MY MOUTH! LASER BEAM EYES!!

So you give in, and you make eye contact, and you see this:

so you buy her a pony, a segway, and a harp-playing monkey, and you hope she someday learns to use her powers for good and not evil.