<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162</id><updated>2012-02-16T04:29:37.727-07:00</updated><category term='Pictures'/><category term='Breast-feeding'/><category term='Babing'/><category term='Depression'/><category term='Keeping the humor'/><category term='Rants'/><category term='life-changing events'/><category term='Work stuff'/><category term='Nipple-leakage'/><category term='Battles'/><category term='Victories'/><title type='text'>Babing at High Altitude</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>52</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-1287232217582831112</id><published>2011-02-02T09:31:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2011-02-02T09:44:31.158-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh Good, I was hoping to clean that again</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/TUmJwTYrAkI/AAAAAAAAANc/nDOTiISfDm8/s1600/DSC_0246.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/TUmJwTYrAkI/AAAAAAAAANc/nDOTiISfDm8/s400/DSC_0246.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569133877150810690" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Organizing the tiny apartment is not going quite as well as I'd hoped. Big surprise! Not only does the freezing weather make me very lazy, my two-year old thinks that what I put away needs to come back out immediately, and spread even further around the room. And, hmmm, perhaps I should dump the whole canister of fish food in the tank mom just cleaned..... (and hates cleaning!) Siphoning out that water is just pretty gross. I am still a little gun shy after I got some in my mouth once. The thought of it still makes me cringe.&lt;div&gt;Today I am hoping to finish up the bookshelves and the "office space", which is really just a makeshift desk with a computer, and tons of papers haphazardly thrown about. I really would like to get Aife's room organized.... Digging deep for the motivation. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The sun is finally out, but it is close to 20 below. That sun, just taunting us. Last week it was over 50, sunny and gorgeous. Unfortunately, a little too cold today to take a field trip. But the two of us have to get out of the house! If we stay in, I just may have to organize something. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-1287232217582831112?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/1287232217582831112/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2011/02/oh-good-i-was-hoping-to-clean-that.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/1287232217582831112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/1287232217582831112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2011/02/oh-good-i-was-hoping-to-clean-that.html' title='Oh Good, I was hoping to clean that again'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/TUmJwTYrAkI/AAAAAAAAANc/nDOTiISfDm8/s72-c/DSC_0246.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-4512588601769541384</id><published>2011-01-28T11:33:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-01-28T11:58:13.986-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Making the Bed</title><content type='html'>It has become abundantly clear that the disaster that is my apartment is driving me crazy! I was so grateful yesterday while visiting my dad, that he had a recent Better Homes and Gardens magazine out, and that the main focus was organization. It gave me the inspiration to finally tackle all of those ever-increasing piles of who knows what. I have mounds of unopened mail, toys everywhere, and a closet full of clothes I know I will never wear, but keep around just in case I get invited to that 'pretend you are back in college halloween /ordinary day party'. I need to purge my life of superfluous possessions that have no place. Sentimentality needs to have limitations in my life. It is taking over all available floor space...&lt;br /&gt;My first step in this process of de-chaosifying my life is to make my bed first thing every morning. Simple, yes, but unbelievably successful. I instantly feel like something has been accomplished, and my bedroom is partway clean already. That has proven to be an amazing way to start the day. Next step is coffee.&lt;br /&gt;I am planning on tackling one area at a time while simultaneously picking up everything I just put away (my daughter's contribution), and getting this place de-cluttered, organized and as un-chaotic a small apartment with a two-year old can be. Another goal of mine this year.... keep my expectations realistic!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-4512588601769541384?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/4512588601769541384/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2011/01/making-bed.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/4512588601769541384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/4512588601769541384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2011/01/making-bed.html' title='Making the Bed'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-5733409990033502008</id><published>2011-01-25T08:55:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T09:16:59.199-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wrinkle Cream!?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/TT73BbvBzfI/AAAAAAAAANU/ZzwSJgocl4c/s1600/HPIM0849.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/TT73BbvBzfI/AAAAAAAAANU/ZzwSJgocl4c/s400/HPIM0849.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566157793473449458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;                                        &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;At two the mirror is still your friend.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;Oh yes, I have become a believer in the quarter life crisis. I used to think that it was yet another made up epidemic of the times to increase the sales of  beauty products, miracle pills and supplements, magazines, gym memberships, clothing..... really anything to provide that quick fix for the inevitable aging process, and the sagging that accompanies it. &lt;div&gt;It is a gimmick to make us buy stuff that most likely is only helping our wallets lose weight, but I got sucked in! I am 25, and freaking out! I just bought wrinkle cream yesterday. According to well, everything, men grow dignified and distinguished, and women grow droopy. Believe me I am embarrassed to admit this insecurity, but aging is starting to be a part of my life! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This most likely is due to seeing pictures of myself covered in birthday cake at my two-year old's party in comparison to pictures of my baby-less friends' covered in stylish clothes at trendy clubs full of good looking people. Now, I had my time. I partied, and had fun and all that, and I am happy where I am in my life. But it certainly does age you.  On the bright side, my liver is in better shape! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-5733409990033502008?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/5733409990033502008/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2011/01/wrinkle-cream.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/5733409990033502008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/5733409990033502008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2011/01/wrinkle-cream.html' title='Wrinkle Cream!?'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/TT73BbvBzfI/AAAAAAAAANU/ZzwSJgocl4c/s72-c/HPIM0849.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-2121767514716325148</id><published>2011-01-24T09:09:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2011-01-24T09:29:48.130-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Back to Blogging</title><content type='html'>So, it has been an extremely long time since I have posted anything. I didn't realize how much use I had of my hands when I was breast-feeding and my baby spent more time sleeping, than rummaging throughout the house destroying anything within her range, which currently is absolutely everything. These days I am lucky if I get time to use the bathroom, much less sit down at a computer and type something- an activity that does not revolve around my daughter, and requires me to take my eyes off of her for more than a few moments. &lt;div&gt;Right now, she is climbing up my back as I type, and desperately try to get my coffee down. This is what is considered living dangerously in these parts nowadays. Liquids, electronics and a two-year old. Well, really anything + two-year old= potential disaster. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyways, I figured it was high time I surrendered some of my thoughts into the vast web expanse, and get them out of my head. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Life with a two-year old is a whole different ball game. We are having so much fun, and learning our way through dramatically different challenges.  Our baby-proof house will never be toddler proof. She has figured out the child locks, something her dad can't do, learned to open doors, and has made the discovery that by pushing chairs up to the counter she has unlocked the world of cabinets previously out of her ever-expanding reach. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is hard to imagine that this toddler in front of me, or on top of my shoulders pulling my hair, is the same little wiggly infant barely able to hold up her own head. I am loving this age so much, and look forward to watching her personality bloom even more. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-2121767514716325148?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/2121767514716325148/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2011/01/back-to-blogging.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/2121767514716325148'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/2121767514716325148'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2011/01/back-to-blogging.html' title='Back to Blogging'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-3054842126225628885</id><published>2009-08-23T13:44:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-23T13:57:27.579-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Date Night</title><content type='html'>Matt and I went our very first DATE NIGHT! I don't think we really ever went on dates when we were just kickin it... old school... sans bebe. It was amazing! We got all dressed up, SHOWERED!, and I wore lipstick for the first time since senior prom, six years ago. &lt;div&gt;The magic took place at a quaint little restaurant downtown called Russets. We were the only ones dressed up, but I didn't care. Any excuse to throw on those heels, and hike up the hemline, I am in. The food was fantastic, and we basically had the outdoor dining area to ourselves, complete with this adorable little fountain next to our table. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I felt like a couple again. I love my little family, and we are that, too. But, it is so important to remember the couple aspect of it. Things were getting a little rocky, and action needed to be taken.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; I remembered what attracted me to him in the first place, and why I fell so madly in love with him. Then coming home to our little baby girl, I was overwhelmed with gratitude, and hope. Hope for so much happiness. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The obstacles are all so worth it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-3054842126225628885?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/3054842126225628885/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/date-night.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/3054842126225628885'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/3054842126225628885'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/date-night.html' title='Date Night'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-702192452369555178</id><published>2009-08-20T10:58:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-21T09:22:15.781-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Daily Wisdom: Shuffle Scuffle</title><content type='html'>It is wise to make sure all of those Mariah Carey songs, that were just a joke for shits and giggles... I don't remember how those got on there, I swear!, are off of your ipod before you put it on shuffle while enjoying a nice car ride with your boyfriend. It is difficult to believably explain why Operation Ivy is followed by "&lt;i&gt;And it's just, like, hooOOOnnnnaaaay...." &lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-702192452369555178?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/702192452369555178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/daily-wisdom-shuffle-scuffle.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/702192452369555178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/702192452369555178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/daily-wisdom-shuffle-scuffle.html' title='Daily Wisdom: Shuffle Scuffle'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-1905841911612722817</id><published>2009-08-17T16:01:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T16:29:32.843-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Are you there mom friends? It's me, Kaylee</title><content type='html'>I did not realize how badly I wanted mom friends until today. Having a baby when NONE of your friends do is difficult. It automatically makes you the one to not call to hang out. Yesterday, my friends got together and went and had mojitos at the restaurant where I used to work. I totally understand why I wasn't invited; a baby limits the activities a bit, but I still felt the pangs of jealousy. I used to be fun.&lt;div&gt;Moms around here are just nowhere near my age. I had hopes for this one girl who is a friend of a friend. She is 35, and about to pop out her first in October. I met up with her and our mutual friend so that we could chat, and get acquainted. We would both have young babies, and blah blah blah, BUT she informed me that ALL of her friends already have babies, so she is set. (I can't believe how desperate and pathetic that makes me sound! Ah, but I am, so oh well.) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She is a bitch anyway. She is in that cocky, totally prepared, won't be rattled by this baby, stage of pregnancy. Ha ha ha. I was there once, too, honey, and you will be bitch-slapped by baby reality! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I guess I will just have to be patient, and find my new niche, or tackle an unsuspecting mom at the park and beg her to be my friend. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-1905841911612722817?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/1905841911612722817/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/are-you-there-mom-friends-its-me-kaylee.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/1905841911612722817'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/1905841911612722817'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/are-you-there-mom-friends-its-me-kaylee.html' title='Are you there mom friends? It&apos;s me, Kaylee'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-8021013936886004636</id><published>2009-08-15T18:24:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-15T18:37:50.875-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby Trickery</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#0000EE;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SodUIkNqvOI/AAAAAAAAALs/gA4SeZ2ox_U/s1600-h/DSC03645.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SodUIkNqvOI/AAAAAAAAALs/gA4SeZ2ox_U/s400/DSC03645.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370353586799295714" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;How is the whole introducing solids thing going? Well...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SodUIza8XiI/AAAAAAAAAL0/GTCVHL9SNGA/s1600-h/DSC03649.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SodUIza8XiI/AAAAAAAAAL0/GTCVHL9SNGA/s400/DSC03649.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370353590881508898" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;She's not eating it yet, BUT...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SodSKVYuvPI/AAAAAAAAALk/x0ZzAMxOzug/s1600-h/DSC03805.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SodSKVYuvPI/AAAAAAAAALk/x0ZzAMxOzug/s400/DSC03805.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370351418155646194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt; she has figured out how to fake sleeping.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-8021013936886004636?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/8021013936886004636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/baby-trickery.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/8021013936886004636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/8021013936886004636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/baby-trickery.html' title='Baby Trickery'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SodUIkNqvOI/AAAAAAAAALs/gA4SeZ2ox_U/s72-c/DSC03645.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-4653801580935231454</id><published>2009-08-13T20:54:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-13T21:04:37.052-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't Bring Me Down, Brrrrrruce</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SoTSq3lMLGI/AAAAAAAAALc/B2g86qCwhzU/s1600-h/one.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SoTSq3lMLGI/AAAAAAAAALc/B2g86qCwhzU/s400/one.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369648289648749666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Wait. Wait. I have something to show you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SoTSqa3y0RI/AAAAAAAAALU/grOFSOapeM8/s1600-h/HPIM0818.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SoTSqa3y0RI/AAAAAAAAALU/grOFSOapeM8/s400/HPIM0818.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369648281942151442" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I'm going to start standing in my crib! So, you can stop putting me down for naps now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SoTSpZdrgWI/AAAAAAAAALM/qEkmpKU7Q40/s1600-h/HPIM0820.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SoTSpZdrgWI/AAAAAAAAALM/qEkmpKU7Q40/s400/HPIM0820.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369648264384315746" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;You know that girl who always make the kissy face for every single picture?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Here is Aife's rendition of that. Her new favorite face...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SoTSo0kbydI/AAAAAAAAALE/Xo47MESkisQ/s1600-h/HPIM0823.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SoTSo0kbydI/AAAAAAAAALE/Xo47MESkisQ/s400/HPIM0823.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369648254480533970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SoTSoQuyNSI/AAAAAAAAAK8/-JYrz7_juxg/s1600-h/HPIM0827.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SoTSoQuyNSI/AAAAAAAAAK8/-JYrz7_juxg/s400/HPIM0827.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369648244860269858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt; Oh, and she even changes her own clothes now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-4653801580935231454?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/4653801580935231454/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/dont-bring-me-down-brrrrrruce.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/4653801580935231454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/4653801580935231454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/dont-bring-me-down-brrrrrruce.html' title='Don&apos;t Bring Me Down, Brrrrrruce'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SoTSq3lMLGI/AAAAAAAAALc/B2g86qCwhzU/s72-c/one.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-39562686916634591</id><published>2009-08-12T09:22:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-12T09:55:47.130-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Court, Opportunities, and Bares (butts) oh my!</title><content type='html'>Recently, an explosion of things and stuff (big, intimidating words are kind of a hobby of mine) have simultaneously occurred. Some good/ potentially great, some major pains in the ass, some small, some big, some 'shut the hell up, you've sufficiently covered all bases'. &lt;div&gt;Then I sit down to write this stuff, and find that I am unable to because, maybe, just maybe, highly unlikely, but possible, this stuff is only interesting to me! Haha, ridiculous, right? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here it goes anyway...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Our previous landlord has been withholding our security deposit for nearly 60 days now. That has really screwed us over. We requested an itemized list of all deductions taken, and have yet to see said list. He flat out refuses. He keeps telling us what was wrong with the premises, but refuses to show us proof of his maintenance fees. AND, a new tenant took occupancy the day after our lease was up. So, I have a sneaking suspicion that he did not paint the walls, and get the carpet cleaned and all other costs he is claiming to have taken out of the deposit. On top of that, he is claiming we agreed to pay $125/ month for utilities. What?! We will pay the bill you give us, from the electric company. We lived above the bike shop, and he said that he had a hard time distinguishing which bill was for which space: the Aspen store, the Carbondale store below our apartment, or our apartment. Giant red flag, but I was 8 months pregnant, and just wanted a place to live. I believe we were paying a huge chunk of his utilities for the store. He is a crook! He refuses to reach any kind of reasonable agreement with us, so we are taking his GREEDY ASS TO COURT! $1100 is a lot to us. To him, it is gas money for a day.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On a more optimistic note, I think my graphic and web design career is about to come out of its coma! I have a couple of decent accounts on the horizon. That would be amazing. I am currently making $200 a month at the flower shop, because no one wants to have huge extravagant weddings this summer. Wonder why. This could be huge. I am optimistic. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, I am just in the process of getting my CU credits transferred to an online college so that I can finish up my degree while I breastfeed. I just have to pay off some tuition (not even scratching the surface of my loans) and then my transcripts can be released. That will be a huge relief to get those loose ends all tied up. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And finally the gripping conclusion to my never-ending post... Last night Aife was laying across my lap, decided to take off part of her diaper, and peed all over me. Wasn't that worth reading this whole post for? It isn't a story unless someone gets peed on. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-39562686916634591?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/39562686916634591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/court-opportunities-and-bares-butts-oh.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/39562686916634591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/39562686916634591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/court-opportunities-and-bares-butts-oh.html' title='Court, Opportunities, and Bares (butts) oh my!'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-3632917875620507451</id><published>2009-08-07T08:35:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T08:54:49.286-06:00</updated><title type='text'>That's Adorable! Now Stop.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;The feelings you get from watching your baby learn how to do new things, or discover more to her surroundings is ineffable. I mean, there is just nothing out there quite like it. You are utterly captivated by everything they do.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Snw_WKfs93I/AAAAAAAAAKs/Qn45uHBiiTc/s1600-h/HPIM0811.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Snw_WKfs93I/AAAAAAAAAKs/Qn45uHBiiTc/s400/HPIM0811.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367234505925785458" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;b&gt;And then comes the day that they realize they are capable of taking off their own diaper.&lt;/b&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Snw_V07jPpI/AAAAAAAAAKk/M4HH-PKs58o/s1600-h/HPIM0810.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Snw_V07jPpI/AAAAAAAAAKk/M4HH-PKs58o/s400/HPIM0810.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367234500137008786" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;That day has arrived at this household. This also happens to coincide with her insatiable need to put absolutely &lt;i&gt;everything&lt;/i&gt; in her mouth. Well, everything excluding the delicious and edible bananas and peaches I so lovingly, and time consumingly mash up for her. Her toys she eats, her food she plays with.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The other night I was sitting on the floor with Aife, and I turned around to grab another book for her to chew on. Matt, was telling me about his day, and mid-sentence he stops and exclaims, "Look at our daughter. Just look." I turn around to a tiny naked butt, and the biggest grin I have ever seen in my entire life. She was so proud of herself, and starting giggling. She giggled for a few seconds, and then smashed her diaper right into her mouth! Luckily, I had just finished putting a clean one on her, so there was nothing in it. But, I won't be so lucky every time she decides to air herself out. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Snw_WcUvaZI/AAAAAAAAAK0/PCLRWyT1gSE/s1600-h/HPIM0812.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Snw_WcUvaZI/AAAAAAAAAK0/PCLRWyT1gSE/s400/HPIM0812.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367234510711646610" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-3632917875620507451?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/3632917875620507451/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/thats-adorable-now-stop.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/3632917875620507451'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/3632917875620507451'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/thats-adorable-now-stop.html' title='That&apos;s Adorable! Now Stop.'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Snw_WKfs93I/AAAAAAAAAKs/Qn45uHBiiTc/s72-c/HPIM0811.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-6867849604206450384</id><published>2009-08-05T18:52:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T19:23:24.281-06:00</updated><title type='text'>As the grains of sand fall through the hourglass, So do the days of our lives.</title><content type='html'>Not sure on my accuracy of that little quote of infinite wisdom, but I'm sure you get the gist of it. This one goes out to my g-parents. (and &lt;i&gt;Days of Our Lives&lt;/i&gt; is my grandma's "show", and we all know to be quiet when her program is on.)&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My dad's parents have always been a huuuuge part of my life. My grandpa is the most amazing man, and my grandma is so kind and nurturing. We would spend summers at a lake with them in Wyoming (I know, total cliche 'summer house at the lake' country up there.) But it was my absolute favorite place on earth. My grandpa would get my brothers and me out on the lake at the butt crack of dawn when the water was still glassy, and pull us around and around on our water skis for as long as we wanted. He took us fishing, and would obligingly release the fish for me, because I couldn't bear to take their lives (I now realize that they probably died soon afterwards, anyway). He has the best sense of humor, and has played a huge role in creating fond memories of a wonderful childhood. (excuse the hallmarky nuance there).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Our last trip up to the lake was bittersweet. The whole area has changed beyond recognition, so I don't want to taint the memories of trips past, and yet, I wish I could  give Aife those Seminoe summers. Our last evening there my grandpa and I planted a couple of chairs down by the water, set up the umbrella, and he opened the cooler, handed me a cold one, and we shared our first beer together. It was an awful Budweiser in a can, but that was the best damn beer I have ever had. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am sad that Aife will not get to know them as I know them. They are really starting to show their age. They love her, and go crazy over her every time we visit, but I know she will not to get to have the same experiences with them. My parents are amazing, and will spoil her rotten. So, she won't be lacking in the g-parent department. It still breaks my heart, though, that she won't get to know my grandpa that well. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I remember my great grandparents, and I'm sure my dad felt the same way. They were already so old by the time we were old enough to really interact with people that weren't our parents. My memories of them consist of a lot of sitting in chairs, and zoning out. My great grandpa would just turn his hearing aid off, and sit there in silence. I bet they were fantastic people. We heard stories about them, but never really got to know them. I would give so much for Aife to have the opportunity to really get to know my dad's parents. At least they have gotten to meet her, and will watch her grow up. I'm so grateful I could give them that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-6867849604206450384?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/6867849604206450384/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/as-grains-of-sand-fall-through.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/6867849604206450384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/6867849604206450384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/as-grains-of-sand-fall-through.html' title='As the grains of sand fall through the hourglass, So do the days of our lives.'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-3212184980946804613</id><published>2009-08-04T16:38:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T17:25:38.584-06:00</updated><title type='text'>IU D-Day Part Deux</title><content type='html'>I don't know if I my vagina has just already had its fair share of terrifying pain and was like "no way am I making this easy for you.", or I am just a GIANT HUGE woos, but that IUD hurt like a bitch! The pamphlet warned that there might be slight cramping following the IUD insertion. Okay, I thought, I can handle some cramping. That pamphlet is a damn dirty liar, and I would punch it right in the face if I could! &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The doc tells me that I will feel three separate cramps as she measures, inserts, makes me baby-proof for ten years. I think, ok, no big deal. I gave birth naturally, how bad could this be? So, wrong. At least with birth I had the epidural. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;First cramp, painful, but manageable. Second cramp, teeth-clenching "Oh my god, tell me it's over!" I need something to crush with my hand!! Third cramp, "THERE'S MORE?!?!? I changed my mind. Hand me my pants. I'm out!" Ahhhhhh! My eyes tear up, I'm clammy, and about to pass out from the blinding pain. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The doc feels my forehead, grabs my hand, and tells me to not move. Do not sit up, I will go get you some ibuprofen. Oh, gee, thanks. That will do it. I think I will just go slam my head in the door for a while instead, until I have forgotten that it feels like you shattered a dozen glasses in my UTERUS! Meanwhile, gushing blood. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She comes back, and asks if I can put my pants on without passing out. I'm about to give her a "are you kidding me?" look, when I hear my baby start to cry. Without hesitation, but many groans, I jumped right into jeans, and wobbled out to collect my girl that the amazing nurses so generously offered to watch while my poor uterus was being traumatized. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We waited, hunched over, to check out and pay as a steady stream of teenage girls were infiltrating the waiting room, making appointments, checking in, making my life hell! I am standing there hunched over, baby in arm, blood trickling down my leg, sweating buckets. These girls were taking FOREVER! Finally, we get to leave. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I decide to walk around town for a while to gain my composure a bit, before I drive. Walking, not the greatest feeling at the moment, but sitting down and driving stick, excruciating! I pushed Aife in her stroller, and hobbled behind for a while. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Moral of the story, I am a giant woos, apparently. But, I am looking forward to hormone-free protection that lasts for ten years! Depo made me a crazy person. Today it feels like my ovaries got into a boxing match. And lost big time after betting their life-savings on a landslide win, and owe the mafia their first born child now, because they can't come up with the money, the Depo has obviously not worn off yet...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-3212184980946804613?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/3212184980946804613/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/iu-d-day-part-deux.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/3212184980946804613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/3212184980946804613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/iu-d-day-part-deux.html' title='IU D-Day Part Deux'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-7056951687116832117</id><published>2009-08-03T12:18:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T12:28:45.571-06:00</updated><title type='text'>IU D-Day</title><content type='html'>Is it ridiculous that I am so nervous about this IUD? I mean, I know having a copper T shoved up my cooch sounds like a remarkable monday afternoon activity, but um, it would be nicer if there was some way to do this online. That didn't even make any sense whatsoever, but it is a million degrees in my house, and the "makes sense" section of my brain has been sweated out of my pores.&lt;div&gt;I have to bring the little miss with me to this exciting event. This should make for a very memorable gyno visit. As if they are not uncomfortable enough, right? I guess I am just not looking forward to the monstrous cramps that follow an IUD insertion. Looks like I gotta leave now for this very exciting appointment. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-7056951687116832117?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/7056951687116832117/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/iu-d-day.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/7056951687116832117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/7056951687116832117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/iu-d-day.html' title='IU D-Day'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-2356032764077522917</id><published>2009-08-02T16:20:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-02T16:31:46.670-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Dad/Babysitter</title><content type='html'>Okay, true story.&lt;div&gt;Matt actually told one of his friends that he couldn't go mountain biking with him this weekend, because I was working and he had to &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;BABYSIT&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt; our daughter. Yes, you read that correctly. Babysit our daughter. I was speechless. I just looked at him in disbelief. If I started telling people that I was busy all week babysitting my daughter, they would look at me like I was a crazy person. Rightfully so. Oh, gotta go. I have to get back to babysitting my daughter.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnYTNqhcIKI/AAAAAAAAAKc/N8edsiNuRak/s1600-h/6132_1139926551324_1622225910_357242_5234770_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnYTNqhcIKI/AAAAAAAAAKc/N8edsiNuRak/s400/6132_1139926551324_1622225910_357242_5234770_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365497131532296354" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnYTNqhcIKI/AAAAAAAAAKc/N8edsiNuRak/s1600-h/6132_1139926551324_1622225910_357242_5234770_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;i&gt;Here Aife is re-creating the shocked and appalled look on my face.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-2356032764077522917?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/2356032764077522917/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/dadbabysitter.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/2356032764077522917'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/2356032764077522917'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/08/dadbabysitter.html' title='Dad/Babysitter'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnYTNqhcIKI/AAAAAAAAAKc/N8edsiNuRak/s72-c/6132_1139926551324_1622225910_357242_5234770_n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-384130630075575925</id><published>2009-07-31T22:10:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-31T22:59:14.971-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Watching Lightning</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnPKzw8ZjJI/AAAAAAAAAKM/gsuv2cpA7MY/s1600-h/HPIM0808.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 273px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnPKzw8ZjJI/AAAAAAAAAKM/gsuv2cpA7MY/s320/HPIM0808.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364854571788766354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Watching lightning&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;July is at its end. I really can't believe how this summer has just flown by. I remember just a couple months ago how I was desperately wishing time away. I wrote about it in private, not wanting to reveal my shortcomings as a mom. I was so mad at myself for wishing time away. Time I was "supposed" to be clinging to with unrelenting clutches. Cherishing every single moment. I felt like a failure, a horrendous mother, because I just wanted to cry all of the time. I counted down the hours of each day, anxiously awaiting the end of each day. It's not that I didn't love my daughter. I loved her, and still love her with a love I never knew I was capable of until I met her, but I still struggled. I do believe I was battling with some postpartum depression, but I had neither the means nor the time to do anything about it. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, yet, here we are. Six months in, and the air is clearing. I feel like I am getting the hang of it. I finally take the time to sit back and watch this little person &lt;i&gt;I created. &lt;/i&gt;I get to witness someone getting acquainted with this world of ours. I watched her discover her hands and feet, smile her first non-gas induced smile, jump at her first encounter with thunder, roll on her belly and shriek with frustration, and be privy to the incomparable amazingness of an infant's belly laugh. True undeniable laughter.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnPKz7l4goI/AAAAAAAAAKE/ktCW6T36jNI/s1600-h/HPIM0807.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnPKz7l4goI/AAAAAAAAAKE/ktCW6T36jNI/s320/HPIM0807.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364854574647116418" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;No longer afraid of the thunder&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; There are so many unbelievable things you get to be a part being a parent. I am so grateful I finally stopped obsessively timing every feeding to make sure she was eating exactly ten minutes per boob, and then burping within five minutes between each boob, and not doing this because 'the experts' say so, and doing this because this book says so, and freaking the F out because my baby wasn't on this rigid schedule, and just STARTED USING MY COMMON SENSE.  She was growing perfectly, very healthy, and most importantly... soooo happy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I finally just relaxed, and enjoyed my baby. Why did no one tell me that from the beginning? Everyone terrifies you. Parenting books just made me feel outrageously inadequate. Uh, it was stressful. Then I realized (cliche approaching) &lt;i&gt;Screw you guys, I can do this!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Once you realize that raising your little creation is pretty much the coolest thing ever, and that she has astonishingly survived all of your inadequacies and follies, parenthood becomes so much fun. You just start to enjoy your time together immensely. Everyday she amazes me, and everyday I still would not change a thing. Life with her is as it should be. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnPK0FWMD1I/AAAAAAAAAKU/e_hXp1eNM2c/s1600-h/HPIM0809.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnPK0FWMD1I/AAAAAAAAAKU/e_hXp1eNM2c/s320/HPIM0809.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364854577265643346" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 290px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Finding happiness in everyday&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-384130630075575925?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/384130630075575925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/07/watching-lightning.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/384130630075575925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/384130630075575925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/07/watching-lightning.html' title='Watching Lightning'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnPKzw8ZjJI/AAAAAAAAAKM/gsuv2cpA7MY/s72-c/HPIM0808.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-8903023808273860567</id><published>2009-07-30T16:13:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-30T18:03:29.683-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh God, It's Gonna Get Sentimental</title><content type='html'>New motherhood is crazy lonely. You are &lt;i&gt;never&lt;/i&gt; alone, and yet it is the loneliest I have ever felt. My amazing friend Katie got me started on blogging back in March by introducing me to the sites Girl's Gone Child and Dooce.  She opened up this whole world of lonely, 'oh yes, I've been through that' moms. &lt;div&gt;Finally, I found people to relate to. None of my friends have children. None. They are all getting married, but so far, no little pitter patters. I, of course did the opposite. Baby, no marriage. Matt is fully in the picture, and wonderful, and we are basically married just without the certificate.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But, anyways, it was awesome to find this whole community of people who get it. And that don't judge me to my face for not being married. The judgments in reality are harsh. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This one friend of ours was fully ridiculing blogging. He said it was pathetic that people actually thought other people would want to read about their thoughts, and happenings. Well, I DO. I have found some awesome people, and I love reading their blogs. I do care, and I like having a place to put my thoughts as well. I'm sure my life and thoughts are not fascinating to everyone, but who cares? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Blogging has really helped the loneliness. It is so encouraging to read how others have dealt with the same stuff and their own obstacles, and also how they have enjoyed the incredible events of parenthood. I have to stop typing now. My keyboard is soggy from all of the mush I just spewed onto it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-8903023808273860567?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/8903023808273860567/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/07/oh-god-its-gonna-get-sentimental.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/8903023808273860567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/8903023808273860567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/07/oh-god-its-gonna-get-sentimental.html' title='Oh God, It&apos;s Gonna Get Sentimental'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-8773053036336107740</id><published>2009-07-29T09:51:00.007-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-29T17:32:29.862-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Babing'/><title type='text'>Red Shoes</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnCDDqHJyTI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/91KHPSuMp7A/s1600-h/HPIM0793.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnCDDqHJyTI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/91KHPSuMp7A/s320/HPIM0793.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363931255065397554" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;When I first decided to start this blog I was rockin the sweats, big shirts, disheveled hair, and well, obviously make-up was as likely as a unicorn popping out of my ass.  All mirrors were avoided. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Given, I was still fashioning my pregnancy weight, not sleeping, and never the left the house, so it was both hard, and somewhat pointless to try to look good. But, you reach that point where you just want to feel sexy again. My hot red heels were taunting me. Every time I reached in the closet to grab some new fat-girl pants, they whispered to me, "Remember us? We are your power shoes. You are unstoppable in us! Wear us. &lt;i&gt;Wear us.&lt;/i&gt;" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I would give in. Crouch down on the floor in my sweats and baggy shirt, and desperately try to stuff my still swollen sausage feet in. Nope. Not going to happen. Try again later. Ignore the blood.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnCDDNc2BaI/AAAAAAAAAJs/XkoLn5wTEjk/s1600-h/HPIM0780.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnCDDNc2BaI/AAAAAAAAAJs/XkoLn5wTEjk/s320/HPIM0780.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363931247371748770" style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;And I did. Many, many times. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Spring came, and the pounds were finally starting to melt away with the receding snow. I decided I would start getting dressed in the morning, wearing some make-up again, and brush my hair! It was amazing. I started feeling much happier again. I no longer felt like this schleppy old mess. I wore cute outfits, dressed Aife up in her cute clothes (we both had previously just stayed in pj's all day), and started venturing out into the world strutting our stuff. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Babing at High Altitude&lt;/i&gt; serves as a daily reminder that motherhood is gorgeous (and that "mom" jeans are &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;never &lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;ok, not ever, not for any reason!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt; Moms are sexy. Aife and I are babes, living way above sea level. Let your &lt;i&gt;babeness&lt;/i&gt; out, celebrate it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;And in the immortal genius of Ron Burgundy, "I look &lt;i&gt;good&lt;/i&gt;. " &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnCDDsO6ixI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/6kyxKM8N_30/s1600-h/HPIM0803.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnCDDsO6ixI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/6kyxKM8N_30/s320/HPIM0803.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363931255634823954" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-8773053036336107740?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/8773053036336107740/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/07/red-shoes.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/8773053036336107740'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/8773053036336107740'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/07/red-shoes.html' title='Red Shoes'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SnCDDqHJyTI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/91KHPSuMp7A/s72-c/HPIM0793.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-683961109454762811</id><published>2009-07-28T10:39:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T11:27:15.644-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Keeping the humor'/><title type='text'>Growth Spurts, Explosive Squirts</title><content type='html'>Growth spurts (although a fantastic way to gauge that you are nourishing your child properly, and not just letting her rummage through the garbage to find her own sustenance) are miserable! Apparently not for every baby. Some babies magically grow with no fussiness,  no constant nursing, and no hourly wake-up calls throughout the night. They sail through teething, gobble down whatever baby mush you put in front of them with a cheerful smile and a belly laugh, and&lt;i&gt; then&lt;/i&gt; help you do the dishes afterwards. Months later, they'll grab a newspaper, head into the john, and teach themselves how to use the toilet. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The hourly wakings have gone on for several days now, and well, we (the babe and I) are doing what we can to hang tough. Although we are both seeing things, running into walls (apparently not seeing walls), accusing the neighbor's cat of using up all the toilet paper, and making wild, outrageous, nonsensical claims of conspiracies and relaying the information to &lt;i&gt;Unsolved Mysteries&lt;/i&gt;, we see no cause for concern.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The experts say that these growth spurts usually last between 2-7 days. Or is that 27 days? The signs of a growth spurt are unyielding fussiness due to lack of sleep, constant nursing which helps increase the supply for an expanding baby, &lt;i&gt;and&lt;/i&gt; less sleep through the night because she wants to eat hourly, which then brings on more fussiness!!! However, don't jump too quickly to the growth spurt conclusion as the answer, these could also be signs of a baby reacting to lifestyle change, a minor illness, or she has already begun to take revenge on me for agreeing to give her a name that is completely impossible for anyone to pronounce unless they are Irish. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In reference to the explosive squirts title, Aife (ee-fee, of course she is mad already, but it has a lot of meaning) is beginning to teeth. Sooo, bring on the explosive squirts (mostly all over me) and lots and lots of tears. But, frozen washcloths are fantastic for this, and so is massaging her gums, or the old standby, a rum or whiskey dipped pacifier that I suck on until I fall asleep, curled up in the fetal position where Matt comes home to find me with half of my hair ripped out. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-683961109454762811?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/683961109454762811/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/07/growth-spurts-explosive-squirts.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/683961109454762811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/683961109454762811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/07/growth-spurts-explosive-squirts.html' title='Growth Spurts, Explosive Squirts'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-5290026654026759980</id><published>2009-07-22T17:26:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T17:46:25.773-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Victories'/><title type='text'>6 Months</title><content type='html'>Aife is officially 6 months old today. Everyone told me that time would just flyyy by, and I would wake up one day and send her off to college, and cry, get empty nest syndrome and take up needlepoint and bridge. &lt;div&gt;Well, we aren't quite there yet...although her new babbles are scarily similar to the drunken ramblings of frat boys... I am starting to feel the pace of time quicken. The first several months moved like screaming, pooping molasses, and I vehemently believed that it would never ever end. I would be trapped inside FOREVER! (I have a knack for the melodramatic).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; Anyways, as the days grew longer, things, as everyone had promised, got immeasurably easier and way more fun. Now, I can't believe my little tiny girl is 6 months! Unfreakinbelievable. Everyday she amazes me more, and I know I am going to miss this time later on down the road when she is a tantrum-throwing-fine-I'll-ask-daddy-then two year old. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm looking so forward to all of the stages, and teaching her things, and watching her grow accustomed to the world, but sometimes I look at this amazing little 6 month old girl that means more to me than  anything, and I can't imagine her changing; I half (maybe 1/3) wish she could stay at this age, this size, exactly as she is. Dinosaur noises, face raking, hair pulling, inordinate amounts of spit and all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I remember sleep, and how nice it will be to do it again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-5290026654026759980?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/5290026654026759980/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/07/6-months.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/5290026654026759980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/5290026654026759980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/07/6-months.html' title='6 Months'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-3854069145883518581</id><published>2009-07-13T19:31:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-13T19:48:05.260-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Butt hurt in Colorado</title><content type='html'>We just got a Chariot!!! Matt works at a bike shop so he gets bike stuff at the pro deal. He built me this awesome baby blue bike from scrap parts, and now we are finally mobile. I didn't realize I was so out of shape, but as this sweet little old lady cruised by us accidently bumping me with her walker, it was abundantly clear. My theory of &lt;i&gt;watching&lt;/i&gt; exercise tapes and tricking my body into thinking it has gotten a workout when it hasn't has been obliterated. &lt;div&gt;No but really, damn. I am seriously butt-hurt. It is awesome though. I think if I keep this up, my old butt will come out from hiding under all of this "baby booty fat" aka, "I will eat what I damn well please, you skinny jerk, talk to me when you grow boobs and breastfeed a billion times a day, fat". Ugh, I am going to go ice my ass, and breastfeed for the billionth and one time today.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-3854069145883518581?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/3854069145883518581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/07/butt-hurt-in-colorado.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/3854069145883518581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/3854069145883518581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/07/butt-hurt-in-colorado.html' title='Butt hurt in Colorado'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-8262689071646005823</id><published>2009-07-02T16:11:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-03T21:17:12.793-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Little Swimmer of Mine</title><content type='html'>It has been a fairly big week here. We finally finished moving in. That was a nightmare, but it's done and I will never think of it again! The July heat is setting in in a biiiig way (but apparently I'm just a wuss, and I have NOOOO idea what real heat is. Totally true, but whatever! I still think it's hot.) &lt;i&gt;And.....&lt;/i&gt; Aife had her first swimming experience! I fully recommend getting those youngins in the pool. It was so much fun! I got her into her little swim diapers, coated her in obscene amounts of sunscreen, threw on her big, floppy sunhat that makes her look like ol' croc dundee, cried myself into my bikini, and off we went. The new pool at the Snowmass Rec Center is incredible. They use saline water so it is really gentle on babies' skin. There are fountains and a waterfall, and a slide. Tons of families with little children.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Aife loved it! I didn't dunk her or anything, but she was splashing and giggling, and kicking like it was her life's intent. Little kids were in awe of her, and she was dazzled by them. Big bonus; I could hold her in there forever and my arms would &lt;i&gt;never&lt;/i&gt; get tired! So, we have definitely found our new favorite summer activity. Seriously, get your kids to the pool if you are looking for an awesome activity. Apparently, moms are taking their babies as young as 4 months old. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We also just got back from our first First Friday in Carbondale. All of the galleries open up, serve food and wine. Crazies meander through the streets. It was pretty cool. I am desperately trying to avoid making my daughter a misanthrope like I have become. Get her socialized, and all that jazz. Okay, enough babbling for now. Very tired, and I have two HUUUUGE days of work ahead of me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-8262689071646005823?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/8262689071646005823/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/07/little-swimmer-of-mine.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/8262689071646005823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/8262689071646005823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/07/little-swimmer-of-mine.html' title='Little Swimmer of Mine'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-2622494895601049367</id><published>2009-06-29T10:42:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-29T12:47:56.861-06:00</updated><title type='text'>When the Littlest Misfit Fits Perfectly</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjw29MwIAI/AAAAAAAAAJc/oEV0JspwcJY/s1600-h/P6200043.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjw29MwIAI/AAAAAAAAAJc/oEV0JspwcJY/s320/P6200043.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352792984061485058" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I guess I have always taken issue with doing what is expected. Being a misfit just fit better.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I did the whole go to college blah blah dance for me monkey and give us all your money hooplah thing after high school. But after five years of working my ass off (and occasionally having a damn good time, too) I left sans my piece of paper that is supposed to legitimize me as a person. Why? Because fuck that rigid structure, that's why.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I got into the architecture school, and loved parts of it. You gave up on sleep, and a social life outside of the studio, devoting your every breath to a field that, in my opinion, is a dying and decaying one, but I was fascinated by design, and let's face it, money. Architects used to be the almighty ones behind every structure, overseeing and creating every aspect. Now, they are being phased out.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Anyways, I wanted to diversify my college experience learning as much as I could. The architecture school has such a rigid, no wiggle room to explore curriculum. So, I took my education into my own hands. I studied German for two years, Italian for three; expanded my mind in psychology alongside blond sowhority girls, debated politics with white upper-class male hypocrites, and philosophized (wow, that's an actual word!) with pseudo-intellectual 'that's a half-caff soy/rice/goat milk with one pump sugar-free fair trade solve world hunger vanilla syrup, easy on the foam it makes me gassy, latte' types. (I have worked at many, many coffee shops in this lifetime. )&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;And, alas, about three of those credits went to my actual degree. After five years of working myself to death with 18 credit hour semesters, no sleep, and a  coffee shop job that paid $5.15/hr. (and someone actually had the audacity to ask me to break a quarter to tip me! I told him a better use for that quarter... ) I was way burned out, in too much debt, and just flat-out pissed at the bureaucratic bullshit that is college, to continue on. Whatever, I learned so much, and now I can write obscenely long-winded, judgmental!, run-on sentences with  a wriggling baby on my boob! Suck it CU Boulder!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;But now apparently, I am not a legitimate person. Educated, obscene amounts of loan debt for eternity, but no signed paper to prove it. I'm still doing design work from home, stumbled into graphic design, and I am working on launching my website design career this fall. So, I consider myself pretty damn &lt;i&gt;legitimate&lt;/i&gt;.  And now I have an amazing baby, a loving, devoted baby-daddy boyfriend (continuing the trend of misfittingdom), and a beautiful place to live! Mis-fitting just &lt;i&gt;fits &lt;/i&gt;so perfectly, now. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjw2k0gzMI/AAAAAAAAAJU/2oUt2_QSzgk/s1600-h/P6200041.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjw2k0gzMI/AAAAAAAAAJU/2oUt2_QSzgk/s320/P6200041.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352792977517366466" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Matt discovered how perfectly Aife fit in our bathroom sink.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjw2lvSfGI/AAAAAAAAAJM/ryl8fLErqPs/s1600-h/P6200038.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjw2lvSfGI/AAAAAAAAAJM/ryl8fLErqPs/s320/P6200038.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352792977763892322" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Luckily, I had just cleaned it.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjw2WF1YjI/AAAAAAAAAJE/WgIwk8COu7g/s1600-h/P6200037.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjw2WF1YjI/AAAAAAAAAJE/WgIwk8COu7g/s320/P6200037.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352792973563486770" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;My littlest misfit. Glen Danzig would be pissed!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjw2A5ybqI/AAAAAAAAAI8/fIv9O1jVaKc/s1600-h/P6200036.JPG"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjw2A5ybqI/AAAAAAAAAI8/fIv9O1jVaKc/s1600-h/P6200036.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjw2A5ybqI/AAAAAAAAAI8/fIv9O1jVaKc/s320/P6200036.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352792967875817122" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-2622494895601049367?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/2622494895601049367/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/when-littlest-misfit-fits-perfectly.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/2622494895601049367'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/2622494895601049367'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/when-littlest-misfit-fits-perfectly.html' title='When the Littlest Misfit Fits Perfectly'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjw29MwIAI/AAAAAAAAAJc/oEV0JspwcJY/s72-c/P6200043.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-7421048636677456994</id><published>2009-06-29T10:28:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-29T10:41:34.583-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A Day at the Beach in Colorado</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;With enough imagination you can enjoy the beach in a land-locked state. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjs5x6lsQI/AAAAAAAAAI0/cmxVyx2c9mA/s1600-h/P6170015.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjs5x6lsQI/AAAAAAAAAI0/cmxVyx2c9mA/s320/P6170015.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352788634525610242" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;Our amazing rooftop deck!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjs5x6lsQI/AAAAAAAAAI0/cmxVyx2c9mA/s1600-h/P6170015.JPG"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjs50vQ6wI/AAAAAAAAAIs/P8TEzwMH2OQ/s1600-h/P6170017.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjs50vQ6wI/AAAAAAAAAIs/P8TEzwMH2OQ/s320/P6170017.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352788635283417858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Cool breeze, good company, and a lily pad&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjs5kXv_1I/AAAAAAAAAIk/bGzRImpANe4/s1600-h/P6170019.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjs5kXv_1I/AAAAAAAAAIk/bGzRImpANe4/s320/P6170019.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352788630889824082" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Who needs a tan? Pale-ass skin is in!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjs5Y9w1-I/AAAAAAAAAIc/DOcGuyW2vQk/s1600-h/P6170025.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjs5Y9w1-I/AAAAAAAAAIc/DOcGuyW2vQk/s320/P6170025.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352788627828037602" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Aife needed a moment to collect her thoughts...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjs5JI5fOI/AAAAAAAAAIU/sH6LYmRjvEI/s1600-h/P6170034.JPG"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjs5JI5fOI/AAAAAAAAAIU/sH6LYmRjvEI/s1600-h/P6170034.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjs5JI5fOI/AAAAAAAAAIU/sH6LYmRjvEI/s320/P6170034.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352788623579774178" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;and the verdict is... Beach day on the rooftop deck is awesome! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;(and yes, unfortunately that IS a popped collar)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-7421048636677456994?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/7421048636677456994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/day-at-beach-in-colorado.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/7421048636677456994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/7421048636677456994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/day-at-beach-in-colorado.html' title='A Day at the Beach in Colorado'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Skjs5x6lsQI/AAAAAAAAAI0/cmxVyx2c9mA/s72-c/P6170015.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-342872485342323254</id><published>2009-06-25T08:35:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-27T12:32:00.771-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Relationship on Autopilot</title><content type='html'>I think Matt and I have gotten used to one another. &lt;div&gt;We no longer tip-toe around each other's feelings. This has been both liberating, and gasoline on the fire. It's great, though. It is forcing our relationship to grow and rearrange. Things were getting stagnant. Our relationship was on autopilot, out of our control, just going through the motions. Relationships go through these phases, ever-evolving. I think that if they don't, it won't make it. We are always changing, growing, learning, and the things don't keep up are left behind. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As parents we have changed drastically. So far we have done a good job adjusting to the circumstances, and rolling with the punches. But it gets difficult. Sometimes you direct your anger and frustration at each other, in lieu of a more productive outlet. I am definitely doing that right now. I am mad at Matt for EVERYTHING, but I can't explain why when he asks what is up. Believe me, I am fully aware, &lt;i&gt;painfully&lt;/i&gt; aware of craziness! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was just beginning to really resent him. He still has a social life, and takes time to do the things he wants to. His outlet is bike riding. He goes downhill biking or dirt jumping several times a week, and occasionally meets up with friends for beers. And it keeps him level and relaxed so that he can handle stress. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then it dawned on me. Rather than resent him, learn from him. Take sometime out to do something I enjoy. Find my own outlets. Aife will be fine for a few hours hanging out with her old man. I am not letting her down or abandoning her by taking a pilates class a couple times a week.(Still grappling with this one). It will be better for us all, actually. Especially my giant booty! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-342872485342323254?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/342872485342323254/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/relationship-on-autopilot.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/342872485342323254'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/342872485342323254'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/relationship-on-autopilot.html' title='Relationship on Autopilot'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-6471377873221726448</id><published>2009-06-24T16:38:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-24T16:43:13.254-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Victories'/><title type='text'>She Got My Ladylike Demeanor</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SkKrfoBwkPI/AAAAAAAAAIM/KtOETCBnWEo/s1600-h/4771_736518823313_10202752_43419944_2364233_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SkKrfoBwkPI/AAAAAAAAAIM/KtOETCBnWEo/s320/4771_736518823313_10202752_43419944_2364233_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351027867078660338" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Rice cereal is finally underway!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SkKrfaUY4YI/AAAAAAAAAIE/ajTyynCC3pU/s1600-h/4771_736518813333_10202752_43419943_427998_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SkKrfaUY4YI/AAAAAAAAAIE/ajTyynCC3pU/s320/4771_736518813333_10202752_43419943_427998_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351027863398703490" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SkKrfEfpg1I/AAAAAAAAAH8/prBz7W8Du9Y/s1600-h/4771_736518803353_10202752_43419941_8299435_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SkKrfEfpg1I/AAAAAAAAAH8/prBz7W8Du9Y/s320/4771_736518803353_10202752_43419941_8299435_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351027857540350802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SkKrexljeMI/AAAAAAAAAH0/1Y7ul1D0yXk/s1600-h/4771_736518798363_10202752_43419940_7398263_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SkKrexljeMI/AAAAAAAAAH0/1Y7ul1D0yXk/s320/4771_736518798363_10202752_43419940_7398263_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351027852464847042" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SkKre2tZBxI/AAAAAAAAAHs/IAi8BrlPqKI/s1600-h/4771_736518788383_10202752_43419939_5206099_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SkKre2tZBxI/AAAAAAAAAHs/IAi8BrlPqKI/s320/4771_736518788383_10202752_43419939_5206099_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351027853839894290" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-6471377873221726448?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/6471377873221726448/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/she-got-my-ladylike-demeanor.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/6471377873221726448'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/6471377873221726448'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/she-got-my-ladylike-demeanor.html' title='She Got My Ladylike Demeanor'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SkKrfoBwkPI/AAAAAAAAAIM/KtOETCBnWEo/s72-c/4771_736518823313_10202752_43419944_2364233_n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-4552548181769422780</id><published>2009-06-18T20:20:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-22T09:56:49.696-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Victories'/><title type='text'>A Completely Edible World</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Aife has acquired a serious oral fixation lately. Everything in her path that she can get into her tight clutches goes directly into her drooly, drooly mouth. Well, anything that isn't conventionally edible. Her toys all have taken on the slobbery appearance of dog chew toys, her stroller and carseat have permanent wet spots where she chews on them, my shoulder always looks like it is leaking, and so on. Her hands used to suffice, but now her feet have become overwhelmingly tempting to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Sj-nO03NVNI/AAAAAAAAAHc/KUUJiYB6OwY/s1600-h/P6130002.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Sj-nO03NVNI/AAAAAAAAAHc/KUUJiYB6OwY/s320/P6130002.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350178755489649874" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;You can see it in her eyes. She has spotted something that looks delicious.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; "&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Sj-nPOPyqBI/AAAAAAAAAHk/KwWAz4mYc5I/s1600-h/P6130003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Sj-nPOPyqBI/AAAAAAAAAHk/KwWAz4mYc5I/s320/P6130003.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350178762303645714" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Ah! She is eating my camera. I guess that is it for pictures.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have to say it is the most entertaining, and unbelievably adorable thing to watch. She amazes me more and more everyday. This oral fixation thing, although worrisome because you can't take your eyes off of her for a second to make sure she isn't putting the neighbor's cat in her mouth or something...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Sj-nOOgLDFI/AAAAAAAAAHM/Tg9ID8cKu1I/s1600-h/P5250004.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Sj-nOOgLDFI/AAAAAAAAAHM/Tg9ID8cKu1I/s320/P5250004.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350178745192483922" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;That cat knows that something is up, and rightfully looks scared for his life.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; ...has been just what we needed to get her to start eating rice cereal! She looooves it now. Slurps it down like she's a seasoned pro. She also takes her sippy cup like a champ. The Nuck's sippy cups are awesome. She can control the flow much easier than with the bottle. On Saturday she grabbed her cup by the handles out of her dad's hands, and started chugging her milk ALL BY HERSELF. She fed herself three full ounces. (It is already apparent that she likes to be in control.)I was and still am amazed! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thank you all for your kind words in reference to my last post. I didn't mean to be all whiney and bitchy. I love being a mom, I just don't always like her dad! haha! I was just a little mad (well pissed) that day, because her dad informed me that he was in desperate need of a vacation, and would be going to Moab for a weekend. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Aife and I are going to have an amazing, fun-filled, girls' extravaganza weekend. Spa night is out, but we will roll around on the floor together making dinosaur noises until we can no longer keep our eyes open, gossip about the latest heart-throbs over breastmilk ice cream, make crank phone calls and then sleep in until 5:30! Thank you again, though. I love how supportive this blogging community is!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Sj-nOgto9PI/AAAAAAAAAHU/_YoUXGrO048/s1600-h/P5250008.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Sj-nOgto9PI/AAAAAAAAAHU/_YoUXGrO048/s320/P5250008.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350178750080808178" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;And here she has perfected her innocent look. "What? I don't know where the kitty went!"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-4552548181769422780?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/4552548181769422780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/completely-edible-world.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/4552548181769422780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/4552548181769422780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/completely-edible-world.html' title='A Completely Edible World'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Sj-nO03NVNI/AAAAAAAAAHc/KUUJiYB6OwY/s72-c/P6130002.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-5960678006459320961</id><published>2009-06-17T09:18:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-17T09:52:26.399-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Battles'/><title type='text'>Regaining Some Sense of Self</title><content type='html'>I don't know how to make myself happy anymore. Life has changed so abruptly and I haven't kept up. I am clinging on to parts of my old life so tightly unwilling to accept that I can't do all of things I used to do. I used to stay up all night blasting my favorite music and painting or drawing until my eyes went completely cross or blurry, falling asleep with paint brush or pencil in hand. I got my best work done at night. &lt;div&gt;In architecture school, you learn really fast how to cope without any sleep. I thought this talent would be helpful as a new mom, but it is a completely different sleeplessness now; one unaided by inordinate amounts of caffeine. &lt;div&gt;I used to be able to set up my stuff and just tune out the world for a whole day, several days. Now everything is planned in two-three hour increments, and the half hour segments of "free time" are absorbed into housework, or getting work done for my job. I know that my happiness is up to me. I just feel tired and under-inspired. I have all of these plans, but fall short at putting them into action. I guess I'm just wondering how some moms do it. How do you make sure your family is happy, and then have the energy to do something for yourself? I do put too much effort into the happiness of Matt. He takes care of himself, and definitely makes sure he is happy. So, I should do the same. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Life is so much better now, in so many ways. It just takes some time to adjust to the changes, and not lose yourself along the way. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-5960678006459320961?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/5960678006459320961/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/regaining-some-sense-of-self.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/5960678006459320961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/5960678006459320961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/regaining-some-sense-of-self.html' title='Regaining Some Sense of Self'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-4462378892140641471</id><published>2009-06-11T17:45:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-11T17:59:47.267-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Victories'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Keeping the humor'/><title type='text'>And For My Next Trick</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SjGXuIxwPTI/AAAAAAAAAHE/80RtaY7M-GI/s1600-h/P6050014.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SjGXuIxwPTI/AAAAAAAAAHE/80RtaY7M-GI/s320/P6050014.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346221051551431986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Well, this one doesn't go along with the others, but it is the jungle cat from my &lt;a href="http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/bring-on-jungle-cats.html"&gt;previous post&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Ok, here is Aife's new trick... She is now a certified roller! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;This is the reenactment of actual events, her first rollover.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I only got the end result on film, though.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SjGXt0ZcUMI/AAAAAAAAAG8/ng7Lsy2Htww/s1600-h/P6050020.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SjGXt0ZcUMI/AAAAAAAAAG8/ng7Lsy2Htww/s320/P6050020.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346221046080753858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SjGXt0ZcUMI/AAAAAAAAAG8/ng7Lsy2Htww/s1600-h/P6050020.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;"Hey Aife!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SjGXtjpra_I/AAAAAAAAAG0/8toEHiIYDII/s1600-h/P6050019.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SjGXtjpra_I/AAAAAAAAAG0/8toEHiIYDII/s320/P6050019.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346221041585449970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SjGXtjpra_I/AAAAAAAAAG0/8toEHiIYDII/s1600-h/P6050019.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;"Yes?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;"Strike a pose to commemorate your first roll."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SjGXtpJ3SRI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0VW5OroSZFA/s1600-h/P6050021.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SjGXtpJ3SRI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0VW5OroSZFA/s320/P6050021.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346221043062622482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SjGXtpJ3SRI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0VW5OroSZFA/s1600-h/P6050021.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;"Ta Da!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SjGXtW3ulAI/AAAAAAAAAGk/vk0wHZQr47Q/s1600-h/P6050022.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SjGXtW3ulAI/AAAAAAAAAGk/vk0wHZQr47Q/s320/P6050022.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346221038154716162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;"How was that? Kind of what you had in mind? Shall I dance for you now?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;(oh ya, she is talking in full sentences now as well, and mastered the subtle art of sarcasm.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-4462378892140641471?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/4462378892140641471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/and-for-my-next-trick.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/4462378892140641471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/4462378892140641471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/and-for-my-next-trick.html' title='And For My Next Trick'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SjGXuIxwPTI/AAAAAAAAAHE/80RtaY7M-GI/s72-c/P6050014.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-4411044097268632596</id><published>2009-06-10T20:34:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-10T21:02:36.198-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Back to Work</title><content type='html'>I am finally going back to work next weekend. It is the Food and Wine festival in Aspen, and I am going to do all of the flower set-up stuff, you know, beautify the tents blah blah blah, so rich folk have something pretty to look at as they chug down the finest wines (and then spit them out! blasphemous!)in the world, and the most delicious foods you can find. I am excited, and yet... I photographed a wedding the designers I work with did a few weeks ago, and memories of lugging around Aspen trees, and other ridiculously heavy things, came flooding back to me. I don't really want to be schlepping heavy ass trees all over the place. But, what can you do? I work at a flower shop, and that is what we do. My graphic design career is taking off, and hopefully someday soon people will want to hire interior designers as well! Anyways, Matt is going to start watching Aife on the weekends while I am hauling these heavy ass trees around. And what is absolutely adorable about this, is that he told one of his friends today that he has weekends off! Haha! Yeah right! He really doesn't realize that watching a baby is a FULL TIME JOB! You don't get a lunch break, you don't get to plan anything at a certain time, you do what she needs at all times. period. I thought that was adorable. You just wait honey. You will work your ass off. It is amazing work, and it is so cool to be with your kid and watch them learn new things, and discover the world around them, but it is a job nonetheless, and a job with no paycheck at that. I am working from home right now as well, so I am going to have to figure out how to combine all of this. Exciting new project. Perfect timing. I was starting to get bored. I am soooo sick of people (Matt's mom) asking when I am going back to work. Screw her I say. She &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;still&lt;/span&gt; doesn't have a job. Anyways, I could go on about that forever. I guess we will just have to see how all of this plays out! But life is amazing right now. Absolutely amazing! The new place has changed everything. My whole outlook on life. Ah, I am rambling.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-4411044097268632596?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/4411044097268632596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/back-to-work.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/4411044097268632596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/4411044097268632596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/back-to-work.html' title='Back to Work'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-9143755034357919607</id><published>2009-06-05T14:24:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T15:04:19.671-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Battles'/><title type='text'>Bring On The Jungle Cats</title><content type='html'>This week has been reeeediculous (using this typo-effect fully aware of how annoying it can be, but whatever, the correct spelling just doesn't seem to cut it here.) We are still in the process of moving into our new place (we had to pay last month's rent at signing for the old place...so, we got 30 very expensive days to move out. This has turned out to be invaluable with my inability to move more than a handful of clothes and a glass at a time. But it's coming along.&lt;div&gt;Aife started to acclimate to her new surroundings, and was returning to her cheerful self when...it was time to get her four month shots!!! She was pissed for a day and a half. She is finally looking at me again. Well, she keeps one eye on me at all times to make sure I don't pull anymore of those shenanigans.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then, June 1st. Day numero uno of our lease, we get a phone call from our landlord. They need to show the house. We signed the lease even though the house is on the market, because I truly don't believe it is going to sell within the next year. However, it sucks having strangers trampsing through your house, especially with a baby on your boob, and tons of unpacked boxes. OUR FIRST DAY!!! I was very unhappy. Haven't heard yet if it sold, but I'm inclined to stay positive. I just love it here so much. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Continuing right along, my brother and his girlfriend are out of town for two weeks, so guess who gets to take care of their new kitten, and five billion plants. The girl who has all the free time in the world! And this is no ordinary cat. Oh no! It is this special breed that is a combo of house cat and JUNGLE CAT. It looks just like a leopard, is mean as hell, and is going to be over 40 pounds. Right now at 12 weeks he is bigger than my mom's full grown house cat. Don't even get me started on his stench. Yesterday, I had to take him to the vets (psycho vets who treat you like you abuse animals, and you are the worst person EVER because you walk on two legs, not four, even if you are just bringing your pet in for vaccines). Crazy people. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So Jungle cat had to stay with us last night. Bad bad news. He is back home now, and I will just continue the 60 mile drive a day to take care of him. I really don't want a jungle cat near my baby. And apparently my brother's GF is convinced the cat is autistic because of the vaccines, so she is very concerned about my ability to take care of him, even though I have somehow miraculously managed to keep a &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;human baby&lt;/span&gt; alive and healthy for almost five months now, without her even catching a cold. Buuuut, I need a novel of instructions to take care of her &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;cat.&lt;/span&gt; Very insulting, actually. Someone has to break it to her that he's not autistic, HE IS JUST SEVERELY INBRED. You pay $1200 for a cat, he is going to be inbred. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Other than that, pretty relaxed week. Matt got a new job, with a boss who shows no signs of being a scoundrel. I'm helping my mom remodel her kitchen. And I go back to work this weekend. At least I can't say I'm bored!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-9143755034357919607?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/9143755034357919607/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/bring-on-jungle-cats.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/9143755034357919607'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/9143755034357919607'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/06/bring-on-jungle-cats.html' title='Bring On The Jungle Cats'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-7126376251503764040</id><published>2009-05-30T09:11:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-30T09:20:00.977-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Battles'/><title type='text'>Moving day(s)</title><content type='html'>Moving with a young baby is pretty much impossible. I think I am averaging two shirts, and a drinking glass a day being moved into the new place. At this rate, we should be moved in by.....hm, the time the lease is up! &lt;div&gt;It is amazing here though!!! My brother's girlfriend came down yesterday to help me. She entertained Aife for a while, and then when Matt got home, her and I ran over load after load of stuff, while he watched our screaming baby. I think the move is pretty overwhelming to her. I think of what Matt and I are feeling, and then I try to imagine how she is perceiving it all. It has to be a little scary, and stressful for her. Plus, she has also outgrown her bassinet, so she is trying to get used to the big crib thing. Last night was better though! Basically, she is just super cranky alllll day, and doesn't want me to do anything besides sit and stare at her as we lay next to one another on our BEAUTIFUL CLEAN NEW FLOORS!! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today, I am going to try to get all of our clothes over here. Ok, she's finally asleep. Now is my chance to put some stuff away!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-7126376251503764040?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/7126376251503764040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/moving-days.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/7126376251503764040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/7126376251503764040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/moving-days.html' title='Moving day(s)'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-5950338202892644920</id><published>2009-05-28T17:18:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-28T17:34:59.784-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life-changing events'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Victories'/><title type='text'>Our New Paradise</title><content type='html'>We are finally moving to A REAL PEOPLE'S place!! We just signed the lease for a gorgeous new loft. It is so modern, and so urban, and pretty much &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;THE &lt;/span&gt;apartment I would design for my family had I the financial means to. I will have to post pictures tomorrow. &lt;div&gt;It has two big rooms, two full bathrooms, a stunning great room/ kitchen dining area, an awesome roof top deck, gas range, washer/dryer, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;and&lt;/span&gt; a dishwasher!!!! Which is soooo helpful to keep up with the mess Matt makes! The floors are stained concrete, and all of the appliances are brand-spankin new! I have never lived in a place this nice. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Our current apartment is just gross, and nothing works. There are so many allergens in the carpet (which is disgusting even though I vacuum ALL OF THE TIME). It has become a serious concern for Aife's health. I want her to be in a clean, healthy, happy environment, and our new place exceeds all of my criteria.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;PLUS, huge bonus, and primary reason we are moving, we currently live above the bike shop where Matt works. So, basically he never leaves work. It just became too much for him. His manager constantly came up to ask him crap, and P.S. &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;not a good idea to have your boss and landlord be the same person. &lt;/span&gt;Especially when said person is a total ass.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But, now we are moving on to better things!!! I am so thrilled we can give our daughter an amazing house to grow up in. It just proves yet again, the power of positivity. If your situation sucks, find a way to make it better. I can barely type right now I am so ridiculously happy and excited! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-5950338202892644920?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/5950338202892644920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/we-are-finally-moving-to-real-peoples.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/5950338202892644920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/5950338202892644920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/we-are-finally-moving-to-real-peoples.html' title='Our New Paradise'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-5518333405754432011</id><published>2009-05-26T18:54:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-26T19:24:08.917-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Victories'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Keeping the humor'/><title type='text'>A Little Narcissist?</title><content type='html'>Aife's personality is growing exponentially with each passing day. She has endless things to say (just not in English yet), and can't get enough of her feet. I loooove that she has found her feet! Anyways, it has recently come to my attention that she loves seeing pictures of herself. When she sees herself on my computer, or in the mirror she goes berserk. She starts squealing with delight and laughing, and of course wiggling. It is one of the funniest things EVER! If she sees a picture of another baby she gets this look of boredom, and turns her attention elsewhere. Sometimes I even get this look of "how could you be looking at &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;another&lt;/span&gt; baby". Followed by a pouty face that could melt icebergs. (I have been getting way way way too mushy for my own good. Must go listen in on conversations about cars, and building things out of metal... or other similarly non-mushy activities...) &lt;div&gt;I'm not really serious about the whole narcissism thing. I think it is pretty much one of the coolest things that she recognizes herself. She has finally reached that point when she is actually growing and changing sooo rapidly. I didn't believe anyone when they told me that they grow up so fast, but I am buying what they're selling now. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShyVP5Wuy8I/AAAAAAAAAGc/BuX3owixsYk/s1600-h/P5190002.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShyVP5Wuy8I/AAAAAAAAAGc/BuX3owixsYk/s320/P5190002.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340307358481304514" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;This is my favorite shot of her; trying to steal water from my cup.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And I have to admit, if I were her I would also love pictures of myself.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-5518333405754432011?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/5518333405754432011/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/little-narcissist.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/5518333405754432011'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/5518333405754432011'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/little-narcissist.html' title='A Little Narcissist?'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShyVP5Wuy8I/AAAAAAAAAGc/BuX3owixsYk/s72-c/P5190002.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-3538606994808631867</id><published>2009-05-23T16:42:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-23T17:05:06.442-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Battles'/><title type='text'>Fax Defeats Mombrain</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;So I can push a &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;whole human&lt;/span&gt; out of my body, feed her, entertain her, keep her happy and healthy, but I can't send a stupid &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;fax&lt;/span&gt;? Simply baffling. I have done it a million times, yet for some reason, when it is a &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;super super &lt;/span&gt;important fax, like future at stake here important, I send &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;8 BLANK PAGES. &lt;/span&gt;That certainly leaves an impressive impression on someone I need to impress...&lt;div&gt;It was a stupid mistake, baby in one arm fidgeting, stack of papers in the other, papers put in fax machine &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;up-freakin-side-down! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;It almost reminds me of &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Office Space&lt;/span&gt; the movie, minus the humor, and the fact that it's my stupidity defeating me, not technology's fault. But I still want to take a bat to some office equipment! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As soon as I finish feeding the baby, I will drive back to work and resend the pages &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;right-freakin-side-up.  &lt;/span&gt;Wish me luck! Sometimes, you just have to laugh at yourself. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Shh_xIxTQII/AAAAAAAAAGU/YW6KNZYAyIY/s1600-h/P5190004.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 272px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Shh_xIxTQII/AAAAAAAAAGU/YW6KNZYAyIY/s320/P5190004.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339157840392306818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Shh_xIxTQII/AAAAAAAAAGU/YW6KNZYAyIY/s1600-h/P5190004.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-3538606994808631867?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/3538606994808631867/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/fax-defeats-mombrain.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/3538606994808631867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/3538606994808631867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/fax-defeats-mombrain.html' title='Fax Defeats Mombrain'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Shh_xIxTQII/AAAAAAAAAGU/YW6KNZYAyIY/s72-c/P5190004.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-4400175231815923302</id><published>2009-05-22T22:10:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T22:31:41.921-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Work stuff'/><title type='text'>Harrington Smith Flowers</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Shd7JHY7PjI/AAAAAAAAAGE/gPHeQWbawYM/s1600-h/P5220083.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Shd7JHY7PjI/AAAAAAAAAGE/gPHeQWbawYM/s320/P5220083.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338871279803645490" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have become the new tech person at the flower shop where I work. It is called (as if the post title isn't glaringly obvious) Harrington Smith Inc. I primarily just do shop support, event set-up and take-downs, and I order people around  "on-site" (not part of my job description, but fun nonetheless). Now, I update the website, and photograph events to boot.&lt;div&gt;Having recently become addicted to blogging through my mom blog, I decided to start a flower blog as well. I don't really have all that much "free" time, but I do have a free hand to type a lot. And I am getting damn good at editing photos with one hand. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, if you don't already have a giant list of blogs you follow, or you have a fascination or remote curiosity about flowers, take a gander. I just so rarely get to use the word gander. Most of the info is accurate, some I just make up (haha...maybe). Regardless, flowers are just wonderful to look at, and the events these designers create are incredible. Awe-inspiring. A new favorite descriptive phrase of mine. Along with "Data search face", but that is waaaay off course here. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyways, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);"&gt;&lt;a href="http://harringtonsmithflowers.blogspot.com/"&gt;check it out. &lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Shd7YWqvM4I/AAAAAAAAAGM/U3uNAWeiZC4/s1600-h/P5220065.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Shd7YWqvM4I/AAAAAAAAAGM/U3uNAWeiZC4/s320/P5220065.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338871541602923394" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 226px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Shd7JHY7PjI/AAAAAAAAAGE/gPHeQWbawYM/s1600-h/P5220083.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Shd7JHY7PjI/AAAAAAAAAGE/gPHeQWbawYM/s1600-h/P5220083.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Flower Shop Baby&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-4400175231815923302?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://harringtonsmithflowers.blogspot.com' title='Harrington Smith Flowers'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/4400175231815923302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/harrington-smith-flowers.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/4400175231815923302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/4400175231815923302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/harrington-smith-flowers.html' title='Harrington Smith Flowers'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Shd7JHY7PjI/AAAAAAAAAGE/gPHeQWbawYM/s72-c/P5220083.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-4229751765216427936</id><published>2009-05-22T21:40:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T21:58:14.948-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Battles'/><title type='text'>A Room of Her Own</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Just about 20 minutes ago, I made my first attempt at having Aife sleep in her &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;own&lt;/span&gt; room through the night. It is attached to our room, so I stupidly thought it wouldn't be &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; big of an adjustment. Yet again, I am proven oh so very wrong. She loves taking naps in there, and she has this amazing crib to sleep in. But alas, no dice. She squirmed around for a good five minutes before she started letting out her BIG screams. No work up to the climax, just all-out belting her unhappiness with the new digs. Now, I am trying to soothe her, and lull her back to a state of relaxation. Then I will be putting her into her bassinet next to our bed for the night. When it's bedtime, I readily admit defeat. There will be plenty of battles awaiting me tomorrow. Right now all I want to do is sleep. Sleep for a week. I need my strength as the rice cereal war epic wages on...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShdzJ_167vI/AAAAAAAAAF8/M__4hrs-vfQ/s1600-h/P5200044.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShdzJ_167vI/AAAAAAAAAF8/M__4hrs-vfQ/s320/P5200044.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338862498864623346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oh the good old nights... such as last.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-4229751765216427936?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/4229751765216427936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/room-of-her-own.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/4229751765216427936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/4229751765216427936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/room-of-her-own.html' title='A Room of Her Own'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShdzJ_167vI/AAAAAAAAAF8/M__4hrs-vfQ/s72-c/P5200044.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-2371901797970458570</id><published>2009-05-21T11:17:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T21:58:35.026-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pictures'/><title type='text'>Fun with Sippy Cup and Dad</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShWMzh9_OII/AAAAAAAAAF0/pScdDVmZF9I/s1600-h/P5180030.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShWMzh9_OII/AAAAAAAAAF0/pScdDVmZF9I/s320/P5180030.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338327750237173890" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;She loves her dad so much&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShWMzVJYkjI/AAAAAAAAAFs/j0-9jobEY_Q/s1600-h/P5180031.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShWMzVJYkjI/AAAAAAAAAFs/j0-9jobEY_Q/s320/P5180031.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338327746795311666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Here they just finished doing her new dance&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShWMzL6vKtI/AAAAAAAAAFk/s-GgFm0ODJU/s1600-h/P5180032.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShWMzL6vKtI/AAAAAAAAAFk/s-GgFm0ODJU/s320/P5180032.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338327744317958866" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And took a bow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShWMy8VLaMI/AAAAAAAAAFc/nw9TsI_ZUcw/s1600-h/P5180029.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShWMy8VLaMI/AAAAAAAAAFc/nw9TsI_ZUcw/s320/P5180029.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338327740133894338" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;She hates bottles, but loves her some sippy cup! Amazing!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-2371901797970458570?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/2371901797970458570/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/fun-with-sippy-cup-and-dad.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/2371901797970458570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/2371901797970458570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/fun-with-sippy-cup-and-dad.html' title='Fun with Sippy Cup and Dad'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShWMzh9_OII/AAAAAAAAAF0/pScdDVmZF9I/s72-c/P5180030.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-2309536872731751267</id><published>2009-05-19T08:46:00.007-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T21:59:11.317-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rants'/><title type='text'>Puppies vs. Babies</title><content type='html'>I know how easy it is to confuse puppies with babies, but STOP COMPARING HAVING A BABY TO HAVING A &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;DOG&lt;/span&gt;!! Maybe it is some weird phenomenon just around this valley, but I can't tell you how many people try swapping stories with me about how "Oh, I know what you mean... when we first got our puppy, Ciara, she woke us up at 3 in the morning to let her out to pee. But, that was just the first night. Now she sleeps through the night, and we just have to let her out to pee when we wake up! Har har hee hee (at this point they stop laughing, because I have punched them out...).  Are these people aware that they are speaking out loud? They have become so accustomed to only interacting with their dogs, that they have lost their grip on reality. Now, I absolutely love dogs, but I know there is a distinct and overwhelming difference between them and human babies. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShRYvkdrD4I/AAAAAAAAAEw/M45dIBBeyCs/s1600-h/P5180024.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;If I got dinner invitations one night I can't just open the doggy door, plop some food and water down on the floor for my baby, and head on out. Doesn't work that way. By all means, tell me (a few, very few) stories about your dog, but pleeease don't compare it to my BABY. It is a shitty thing to do, and totally undermines parenting. Parenting is a constant job, with no breaks, and a little life is &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;completely&lt;/span&gt; dependent upon you at all times. Dogs take care of themselves almost exclusively. They can survive out on their own, even. I know that in many circumstances, dogs fulfill that role of child to their owners. I get it. I just don't want to hear how you find raising puppies and babies to be the same thing. Tell your childless friends, not your sleep-deprived, haven't had a moment's peace friends with babies. Puppies and babies are both adorable, but &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;not quite the same thing.&lt;/span&gt; That being said, here is Aife with her new favorite chew toy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShRYvkdrD4I/AAAAAAAAAEw/M45dIBBeyCs/s1600-h/P5180024.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShRYvkdrD4I/AAAAAAAAAEw/M45dIBBeyCs/s320/P5180024.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337989032606109570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-2309536872731751267?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/2309536872731751267/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-know-how-easy-it-is-to-confuse.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/2309536872731751267'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/2309536872731751267'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-know-how-easy-it-is-to-confuse.html' title='Puppies vs. Babies'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShRYvkdrD4I/AAAAAAAAAEw/M45dIBBeyCs/s72-c/P5180024.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-9182874208154569304</id><published>2009-05-18T10:31:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T21:59:27.784-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Victories'/><title type='text'>Little Victories, Big Impact</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShGUtWFVbkI/AAAAAAAAAEo/vehqt8h0juc/s1600-h/P5130016.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShGUtWFVbkI/AAAAAAAAAEo/vehqt8h0juc/s320/P5130016.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337210540153728578" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I know I have been ranting A LOT lately, and it does no good to be all negative... Sometimes you just have to get it off of your swollen breastfeeding chest, though. I mean, yeah, this motherhood stuff can be really difficult sometimes, and wear down your last nerve, but it is also AWESOME!! I can't imagine my life without my daughter. It is sooo important to focus on the good things, and even the tiniest of victories. For example, the latest victories...&lt;div&gt;First, my pregnancy warts have completely disappeared from my feet, just in time for sandal weather. (I know, gross, but just another fun fun fun part of pregnancy. Some women, the really lucky ones, get the additional prize of warts along with morning sickness, swelling, high blood pressure, fat ass, moodiness, even fatter ass). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Second, I thought that part of the placenta was still attached, which is a b&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;aaaaad&lt;/span&gt; thing. So, I was totally freaked out, but it's not. I'm ok. It was just the Depo shot making things interesting. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Third, my ass has started to go back to human proportions. I have always had some bootay, but now it is beginning to get reasonable, and fit through doorways again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, the biggest, most exciting victory of all!!! Aife is no longer terrified of the bottle. She is by no means taking it like a champ, but she is also not screaming hysterically when I bring it near her. Her new-found oral fixation is responsible for this amazing breakthrough. She will suck on it, and even drink some of the pumped b-milk. I can't believe it! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShGUtW-Cy0I/AAAAAAAAAEg/4PflWkHqStM/s1600-h/P5130009.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShGUtW-Cy0I/AAAAAAAAAEg/4PflWkHqStM/s320/P5130009.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337210540391582530" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShGUtW-Cy0I/AAAAAAAAAEg/4PflWkHqStM/s1600-h/P5130009.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;div&gt;We are still working on the rice cereal thing, but making some progress with it. She likes to suck on the spoon, and every once in a while will actually keep some of the cereal in her mouth. Most of it just ends up all over her, me and the floor. Pretty much anywhere but the inside of her mouth. She also loves to take charge, and grab the spoon out of my hand and try to shove it in her mouth, like a fish lunging for a worm. I feel hopeful, though. I think she is starting to get used to the idea of it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She loves trying to drink out of my glass. If I am holding her, and drinking something, she lunges for it mouth agape, and starts ferociously attacking the rim. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is incredible to watch her grow and change, and learn. It really is the small things that keep you going. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-3987593e284a6a7b" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v5.nonxt8.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D3987593e284a6a7b%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331727965%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D505FA3063DB6994AA8F09C2A915F64591F9A50C9.70D5A23915D1217E23DE06846A7C32BB4F81AACB%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D3987593e284a6a7b%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DNN7kv8HuLBtzt6HSJVeMxuw_m2c&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v5.nonxt8.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D3987593e284a6a7b%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331727965%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D505FA3063DB6994AA8F09C2A915F64591F9A50C9.70D5A23915D1217E23DE06846A7C32BB4F81AACB%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D3987593e284a6a7b%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DNN7kv8HuLBtzt6HSJVeMxuw_m2c&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-9182874208154569304?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=3987593e284a6a7b&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/9182874208154569304/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/little-victories-big-impact.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/9182874208154569304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/9182874208154569304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/little-victories-big-impact.html' title='Little Victories, Big Impact'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/ShGUtWFVbkI/AAAAAAAAAEo/vehqt8h0juc/s72-c/P5130016.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-3075900688391754244</id><published>2009-05-15T20:23:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T22:02:30.895-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Depression'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Battles'/><title type='text'>Crazy for you Baby</title><content type='html'>Ah, I stupidly got talked into continuing Depo Provera. I should have put up a fight and made them talk to me more about hormone free options, but I had a crying baby with me, and my boobs were coating the examination room walls with glistening boob milk. (Paints a lovely picture, doesn't it?) They said this was the best option for now. It is progesterone, which is apparently safe for breastfeeding. Buuuut, and this a huge but, because you are expected to gain 10-15 pounds with this crap, (haha, lame pun), it has made me a &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;crazzzzzy &lt;/span&gt;person. I out-cry my baby. I had terrible postpartum depression, and that never let up. I try so hard to keep my sense of humor, and blah blah blah, not jump into speeding traffic (I have a new profound knack for drama), but the depression seems to be winning. &lt;div&gt;I really feel like the Depo shot is to blame. I really don't want to have to admit that I am actually crazy. One of the most common side effects is severe depression. Why oh why did I not research this? Oh ya, I always have a screaming baby with me. I can't even pee in peace anymore!  No PEEce in this house. (Ok, I am crazy. Disregard my rant on Depo). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, the hormones are flaring and screaming, and kicking, and biting. I want out of this, but I have to wait for THREE WHOLE MONTHS. I did finally get some research done, and found an awesome alternative. Stop having sex! Well, I'm not &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; crazy yet. I am going to ask for an IUD. It is hormone free, easy to install, and lasts for 10 years! I don't have to keep dragging my screaming baby to the gyno every three months anymore! I am soooo excited. Even though my doc tried to talk me out of it during my last visit, I am going to do it. She just likes seeing me suffer... I'm convinced (do remember, though, that I am crazy, and should not be taken seriously, and I truly believe that most current events in my life are a conspiracy right now).  Here's to hoping the depression retreats with its spiteful tail between its legs, and that rice cereal manufacturers aren't actually purposely making it sooo disgusting in order to get vengeance on all new moms for some deep-seated mommy issues from their past. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-3075900688391754244?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/3075900688391754244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/crazy-for-you-baby.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/3075900688391754244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/3075900688391754244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/crazy-for-you-baby.html' title='Crazy for you Baby'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-777885523891242592</id><published>2009-05-14T12:58:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-14T12:58:40.461-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Pics</title><content type='html'>And pics will be up soon. Some camera difficulties....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-777885523891242592?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/777885523891242592/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/pics.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/777885523891242592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/777885523891242592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/pics.html' title='Pics'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-547729442345832354</id><published>2009-05-14T12:40:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T22:00:02.610-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rants'/><title type='text'>Don't Forget Your Pants</title><content type='html'>Everyday Aife and I go for walks. We walk to the river, or to the post office, the park, downtown, wherever. It's wonderful. The weather has been gorgeous, and the breeze keeps us cool. Buuuuut, today I get a phone call from my mom informing me of a flasher on the loose. He is lurking the streets of our small town and secluded bike trails, aka, where we walk. Apparently, this douche is jerking off in front of women, and then chases them if they run. The cops are too busy pulling over speeders, and making bank on traffic violations to do ANYTHING about it. It takes too much police work to track down the perp/perv, with relatively less monetary compensation for it.  Therefore, they aren't doing shit. They recommend you bring a cell phone with you is all. I know that with a cell phone you can snap a pic, and call for help, and perhaps lead to the capture of this guy, but in past experiences like this, cops did NOOOOTHING to help. In fact, I was blamed for it. They accused me of bringing it on myself, or some shit. I guess that is where my bitterness stems from. Anyway, I wish pervs like this would all just go live together on some crappy island, and flash one another ad nauseum to their hearts' perverted content. Then, we could reinstitute our daily walks. I am taking no chances with my little one, and we always wear our pants.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-547729442345832354?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/547729442345832354/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/dont-forget-your.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/547729442345832354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/547729442345832354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/dont-forget-your.html' title='Don&apos;t Forget Your Pants'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-2365414138259707945</id><published>2009-05-12T11:23:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T22:00:22.339-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Victories'/><title type='text'>Happy Belated Mother's Day</title><content type='html'>This week we are starting rice cereal. Just as everyone had said, it ALL ends up anywhere but the mouth. I never could get Aife to use a bottle, and rice cereal is proving to be no easier. But I will not give up! It is only day two of this here battle, and I have a whole bag of decaf coffee in the freezer. I know that this is the equivalent of non-alcoholic beer (the whole why bother factor), but if I close my eyes and wish really really hard, it almost has the same effect. Not really, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;but &lt;/span&gt;it is amusing to make a pot of decaf and not tell my boyfriend, and watch him drink it. It's the little things. &lt;div&gt;Anyway, I guess the real point of my story is, Mother's day was not really all that great. I woke up sooooo early, spent almost the entire day cleaning, Aife was pissed off all day... I spent the day alone with a ceaselessy crying baby. She didn't want to eat, sleep, lay down, be held, move, sit still, be in the car. Nothing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But today totally made up for that. Matt let me sleep in. First time since the baby was born!! He took Aife into the living room, made a pot of coffee, and omelets, and was attempting to feed her rice cereal. I walked into the room and thought I was still dreaming. I couldn't believe it. I got to sit down, and enjoy my breakfast for the first time in 4 months. She didn't keep any of the cereal in her mouth, but I didn't care. I was soooo unbelievable happy and grateful. I am really looking forward to not being responsible for EVERY SINGLE FEEDING. We will just keep trying with the rice cereal. She will get it eventually. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-2365414138259707945?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/2365414138259707945/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/this-week-we-are-starting-rice-cereal.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/2365414138259707945'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/2365414138259707945'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/this-week-we-are-starting-rice-cereal.html' title='Happy Belated Mother&apos;s Day'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-7811560609092283319</id><published>2009-05-08T16:09:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T22:00:47.668-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Keeping the humor'/><title type='text'>It Gets Easier</title><content type='html'>About a month ago, my boyfriend/baby daddy, Matt, and I were strolling around the streets of Aspen, running errands, and rubbing shoulders with our former lives as Aspenites. Now we have become DVT (downvalley trash), but we have a place that is affordable, and not the size of a shoe box. We still venture up to Aspen occasionally, and act all elitist as we eat the PB and J's we packed. Ya, PB and J's, but it's really fancy and expensive J; made from diamonds and caviar. (Actually, jelly is kind of expensive) Er, regardless. I have completely not even started to make my point...&lt;div&gt;Anyways, we were in Aspen, just chillin out on the pedestrian mall with our then two month old girl, when this ski instructor, rushing through the mall, jogs up to us to take a gander. All out of breath, he tells us how cute she is, and such, and how is wife is at home right now with their several day old baby. He looks frantic. He is rushing home to relieve his probably also frantic wife. It was a sweet picture. I tell him not to worry, it's hard at first, but it gets soooo much easier! Just hang in there. He smiles and takes off again. I turned to Matt and asked if it was mean of me to have lied to that guy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-7811560609092283319?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/7811560609092283319/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/it-gets-easier.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/7811560609092283319'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/7811560609092283319'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/it-gets-easier.html' title='It Gets Easier'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-3973431750848998660</id><published>2009-05-08T09:59:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T22:01:09.018-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Keeping the humor'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nipple-leakage'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Breast-feeding'/><title type='text'>Do You Take Cream in Your Coffee?</title><content type='html'>Now, first of all, I know I am so lucky that my milk factories work (a little over-time some days), and I am very happy about this. Some women are unable to breastfeed for a multitude of reasons. Sooo, I don't take my milk jugs for granted, buuuuut sometimes breastfeeding is a bitch! &lt;div&gt;Even when you get through those first days or weeks of pure nipple agony: cracked, dry, bleeding, so unbelievably tender, and looking/feeling like a COMPLETE idiot trying to get the "proper" nursing holds down (Oops! Got the baby upside down again. Little help?)... You finally give up on modesty, "F*ck it (nice camo-censoring there, can barely distinguish which expletive is being used!) I'm whipping out my titties right here, right now. And I don't care if that bugs you mr. police officer!" You eventually surrender to the reality that you will be planning &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;all&lt;/span&gt; of your days in two-three hour increments. You get used to watching your friends and family, and total strangers, and under-age kids and nuns, and that dog over there (pretty much EVERYONE BUT YOU)... enjoying alcoholic drinks and sweet sweet sweet caffeine, as you grudgingly sip on your water with a twist of lemon and smile wishing you could've spit (or squirt a little b-milk) in all of their delicious drinks. Ok, so maybe you don't get &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;entirely &lt;/span&gt;used to this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then, you even stop resenting your husband/boyfriend/partner/(or all three, you dirty girl!) for their not having to help with &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;any&lt;/span&gt; of the nighttime feedings, because "honey, if I had boobs, I would help, but I don't, so it's up to you, and I will just be here continuing to sleep. And I'm an ass and you should put a dirty diaper on my face..." Ok, so I made up the "honey" part. But the rest is true. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After you get over &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;alllll&lt;/span&gt; of that, it's  piece of cake. &lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;Except......&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;for the titty leaking!!!!!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is the one thing I can't get used to. You hear babies cry, your milk lets down and soaks your shirt. You see a cow, or look at the clock, or scratch your head, your milk lets down. And those nipple pads don't do shiyat. Milk still leaks everywhere, only now, you not only have giant wet circles framing your boobs, you have&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;what appears to be pasties peaking through. Oh, people will desperately try to not look, but they see. They see. There is one saving grace about nipple-leakage. The sheer amusement factor of it spraying all over the room. If my boyfriend makes me mad....pow! Got ya in the eye, sucka! Out of creamer for your coffee? Squeezow! Problem solved. Just bored. Pssssh! Mini-squirt for fun. Always ask if someone is lactose intolerant before lending a helping boob. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-3973431750848998660?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/3973431750848998660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/do-you-take-cream-in-your-coffee.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/3973431750848998660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/3973431750848998660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/do-you-take-cream-in-your-coffee.html' title='Do You Take Cream in Your Coffee?'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-7103439084622777621</id><published>2009-05-06T12:03:00.007-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T22:01:25.671-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pictures'/><title type='text'>Under the Sea</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SgHRVIvYPiI/AAAAAAAAADg/oPFWJrDOAkk/s1600-h/DSCN1536.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SgHRVIvYPiI/AAAAAAAAADg/oPFWJrDOAkk/s320/DSCN1536.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332773594837040674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Aife is finally not afraid of her &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Under the Sea&lt;/span&gt; gym. Now it is...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SgHRU5tyeFI/AAAAAAAAADY/jqMWuEh4J7g/s1600-h/DSCN1533.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SgHRU5tyeFI/AAAAAAAAADY/jqMWuEh4J7g/s320/DSCN1533.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332773590803839058" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SgHRU5tyeFI/AAAAAAAAADY/jqMWuEh4J7g/s1600-h/DSCN1533.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Her favorite place to fall asleep. After she completes several full revolutions beneath the sea...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SgHRUuYMcCI/AAAAAAAAADQ/UkGGENeyuHs/s1600-h/DSCN1540.JPG"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SgHRUuYMcCI/AAAAAAAAADQ/UkGGENeyuHs/s1600-h/DSCN1540.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SgHRUuYMcCI/AAAAAAAAADQ/UkGGENeyuHs/s320/DSCN1540.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332773587760476194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;And now even perfect for snack time. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-7103439084622777621?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/7103439084622777621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/under-sea.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/7103439084622777621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/7103439084622777621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/under-sea.html' title='Under the Sea'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SgHRVIvYPiI/AAAAAAAAADg/oPFWJrDOAkk/s72-c/DSCN1536.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-8797937906528626550</id><published>2009-05-04T09:23:00.009-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T22:01:45.162-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Keeping the humor'/><title type='text'>We've Got the Monday Mornings</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Sf8aN-aFLRI/AAAAAAAAACg/d35lhWOEh4o/s1600-h/DSCN1366_2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Sf8aN-aFLRI/AAAAAAAAACg/d35lhWOEh4o/s320/DSCN1366_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332009311222967570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I don't remember the lyrics to any nursery rhymes, and I'm lucky if I can even get through the first line of a lullabye before I have to start making up my own words for it.  I am really lucky if any of those words make any kind of sense, or are even &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;real&lt;/span&gt; words. Aife is a good sport though. She laughs along with me anyway. I just hope this will not set her up for word disaster later on, or force her into therapy because I have robbed her of a precious childhood experience. What if she ends up being the girl in class speaking like a drunk in complete sentences of made-up words (but her dad is a proud member of the grammar police, so she will speak nonsense, but it will be grammatically correct nonsense). I do not share this same passion. Some of my favorite words are the ones I have made up. Depressancy for example. And I started following my own grammar protocol after 6th grade. Let the commas fall where they may, and the sentences run-on to their hearts' content.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I try so hard to listen to children's music for Aife's benefit, so that she won't be completely robbed of terrible music, but it is painful! She doesn't seem all that into it either. She gives me this look that says,"What the hell are we listening to? This guy has a voice that reeks of forever-a-virgin,-by-choice-of-course,-but-yeah-right-not-buying-it-you-sing-like-a-chick-and-a-creepy-chick-at-that-maybe-you-should-put-down-the-flute-and-try-building-a-thing-or-two-out-of-metal". She is a very linguistically advanced baby at 3 and half months. And look, not one made up word that time! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;When I run out of nonsensical &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;homemade&lt;/span&gt; lullabyes, I turn to the aid of my favorite music. She (I) can only put up with "Puff the magic dragon, lived by the sea, and oh hey look here's your diaper again all filled up with pee. Something, something fairytale, and here goes another nap of ours that is surely going to fail.... "(not even the right tune). Pathetic! Or my other favorite, my own rendition of &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXVzR6C7K94"&gt;Brian Eno's &lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXVzR6C7K94"&gt;Baby's on Fire&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;/span&gt;"Baby's gone rigid, better throw* her in the boppy. Baby's gone rigid. No she is not loose and floppy..." *by throw I mean set her in gently&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;So, when that gets old (hard to believe it ever could), I put on a little old Bouncing Souls, and sing along to that for her as we mosh around the living room. I tried some Misfits songs too, but when we got to &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_1wbcqY6IIs"&gt;Last Caress&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, I had to draw the line somewhere. Bouncing Souls, especially the &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Hopeless Romantic &lt;/span&gt;album is very suitable for a baby. A baby destined to have great taste in music! Today's feature song is &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EU4PY0Hzq6w"&gt;Monday Morning Ant Brigade&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/span&gt; Fitting for a rainy monday, following a nearly sleepless and hectic weekend. No hangover though.  Now if only NOFX and Sloppy Seconds would put out some children's albums. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-8797937906528626550?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/8797937906528626550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/monday-morning-ant-brigade.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/8797937906528626550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/8797937906528626550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/monday-morning-ant-brigade.html' title='We&apos;ve Got the Monday Mornings'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Sf8aN-aFLRI/AAAAAAAAACg/d35lhWOEh4o/s72-c/DSCN1366_2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-3919382966349082778</id><published>2009-05-03T13:52:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T22:02:07.656-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Depression'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Battles'/><title type='text'>Heavy Loads, Not Just a Diaper Thing After All</title><content type='html'>Some days are better than others. Such an obvious statement, but it just really sums up life as a new mom. Some days are incredible, and I feel hopeful, and so optimistic about the future that I make myself sick from the excitement (don't care how lame that makes me). Others, I just want to stay in bed all day and  hide from the world. This is no longer an option though. You don't get to have those bad days when you have a baby. You have to face the world head on, and take care of the needs of your little one; even if you cry the whole time you are doing it. I absolutely love being a mom. I love my daughter with a love I did not know I was capable of. She means the world to me. But sometimes, it all just piles up, and the load gets too heavy to handle. You have to handle it anyway. &lt;div&gt;Every once in a while I miss the days of hiding. Not getting out of your pajamas all day, not bothering to shower. Just curling up with movies and junk food. Then I look at her, and she smiles, and I forget all about the lazy days. I think about everything that we have to look forward to, and everything we have already accomplished. I can't imagine my life without her. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-3919382966349082778?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/3919382966349082778/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/some-days-are-better-than-others.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/3919382966349082778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/3919382966349082778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/some-days-are-better-than-others.html' title='Heavy Loads, Not Just a Diaper Thing After All'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-7503420896539065606</id><published>2009-05-02T09:18:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T22:02:48.688-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Victories'/><title type='text'>Finally Human Again</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SfxyMpRX9yI/AAAAAAAAACY/eVOH2i3Oc_Y/s1600-h/DSCN1432.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SfxyMpRX9yI/AAAAAAAAACY/eVOH2i3Oc_Y/s320/DSCN1432.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331261620462548770" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are approaching the four month mark, and as promised by everyone, things are finally getting easier.  I thought that I was fairly well prepared for when my baby finally arrived, but after January 22, I realized I had &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;a lot&lt;/span&gt; to learn. Every time my new little girl Aife (&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ee-fee, &lt;/span&gt;it's Irish, and I know she is going to kill me for that later, when she has to repeat her name several times to everyone she meets!) wiggled in her crib, or made any kind of noise, I would jump out of bed, pick her up, and then end up having to nurse her again. That meant I was up every single hour of the night (then in tears the for the entire next day). When she was &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;actually&lt;/span&gt; sleeping I would lean in to her crib every 5 seconds to make sure she was breathing. I spent all of my free time looking up any sort of ailment I thought she was experiencing: her poop looks funny, she sneezes a lot, she should be eating for longer (nursing was so unbelievably stressful) sun isn't shining out of her ass yet, etc. I was such a nervous wreck, that it was impossible to take naps when she was. In two months I had compiled a total of 8 hours of sleep, and about 3 showers. So, that was the story of my life for the first two months. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then, I got a clue. She started sleeping for five hour stretches, and I was only getting up a couple of times throughout the night. The days started getting easier too. She was now able to be awake and not be crying for food all of the time, (but she definitely did a lot of crying). We started story-time, and lay-on-the-floor time, and whatever else made her happy. As time continued passing, through the dramatic ups and downs, things really did get easier. Life is getting easier, and more fun everyday. Watching her learn new things, discover her hands and feet, recognize faces, and observe the world so intently has made all of the hard times worth it. I still can't believe we have made it to this point. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't feel like myself again. I will never feel entirely like my &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;old &lt;/span&gt;self again. Everything changes so dramatically. I do, however, feel human again. This new life is uncharted, and therefore can be daunting and uncertain at times, but it is also amazing. My old self has brought me to this point, and now I get to see where this new self will take me. Hopefully, it will take me to a place where Aife is sleeping through the night again. But, hey, at least she has mastered the art of turning herself in circles in her crib throughout the night. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-7503420896539065606?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/7503420896539065606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/finally-human-again.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/7503420896539065606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/7503420896539065606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/finally-human-again.html' title='Finally Human Again'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SfxyMpRX9yI/AAAAAAAAACY/eVOH2i3Oc_Y/s72-c/DSCN1432.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-6958074885622327565</id><published>2009-05-01T14:51:00.010-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T22:03:07.014-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pictures'/><title type='text'>This Ain't No Beer Belly</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SftiMO08xwI/AAAAAAAAACA/xBc4B7UDEfo/s1600-h/P1010032.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SftiMO08xwI/AAAAAAAAACA/xBc4B7UDEfo/s320/P1010032.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330962546201249538" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;        &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Sfth8Db0_cI/AAAAAAAAAB4/xqpDHqBqNbA/s1600-h/DSCN1267.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Sfth8Db0_cI/AAAAAAAAAB4/xqpDHqBqNbA/s320/DSCN1267.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330962268265184706" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Sfthx8hGA7I/AAAAAAAAABw/I1K_fFmyBgc/s1600-h/DSCN1280.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Sfthx8hGA7I/AAAAAAAAABw/I1K_fFmyBgc/s320/DSCN1280.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330962094609531826" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;It all began with my 23rd birthday. Celebrating with beers and camping in Moab. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;8 months later, I can't see my swollen feet, and EVERYTHING hurts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;9 months (and one hell of a delivery) later, and suddenly life made sense. (after the delirium subsided) I never knew a love like this existed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;    &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-6958074885622327565?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/6958074885622327565/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/this-aint-no-beer-belly.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/6958074885622327565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/6958074885622327565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/this-aint-no-beer-belly.html' title='This Ain&apos;t No Beer Belly'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SftiMO08xwI/AAAAAAAAACA/xBc4B7UDEfo/s72-c/P1010032.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2427577818277748162.post-2160288555288823239</id><published>2009-05-01T14:47:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T22:03:45.286-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life-changing events'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Keeping the humor'/><title type='text'>Souvenir from California</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SftgFQQiLdI/AAAAAAAAABY/0DDBcEO7dAk/s1600-h/DSCN1028.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 201px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SftgFQQiLdI/AAAAAAAAABY/0DDBcEO7dAk/s320/DSCN1028.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330960227303042514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This time last year I was out in California with my boyfriend of just a few months, visiting old friends, and celebrating my 23rd birthday. This time last year I was unknowingly changing my life forever. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We sp&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;ent our days exploring Balboa Park and Sea World, or just nursing horrendous hang-overs by the pool. Less-than responsible activities filled our nights. It was a care-free, very amusing way to escape the obligations waiting back home.  Life was uncomplicated. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In retrospect it is glaringly obvious that despite the relative "ease" of that life, it was empty. I worked my ass off studying to become an architect, and working at jobs with no future; At the end of the week I would blow off steam with a few drinks (most often more than a few). My passion for architecture had wilted. Partying became this superficial answer to any problems I was facing. I still wanted to do incredible things with my life, but I found myself getting too comfortable in this lifestyle, in just working fairly menial jobs that pay the bills, and partying with friends on the weekend. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Upon returning from our California excursion, we decided to begin a month of sobriety. Coincidentally, that was perfect timing, since we unknowingly brought back more than just your typical, tacky souvenirs. Three of us were returning home. By the end of May, the morning-sickness had kicked in, and so I didn't resume drinking. I still did not realize I was pregnant. I had just started birth control in April and was told to expect side-effects almost identical to pregnancy. My menstrual cycle has ALWAYS been screwy. Sometimes I only get my period twice a year. Therefore, not getting my period for several months raised no pregnancy concern. I was showing no signs of a bun in the oven until early August. Luckily, I had been so nauseous from the morning sickness, and throwing up at the thought of ingesting &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;anything&lt;/span&gt;, that I had not been drinking all summer. A few times I would attempt to drink a beer, or enjoy a refreshing margarita, but they just came right back up. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;August came, and with it a tiny little bump. So, I took a home pregnancy test. One little word had changed everything. I wanted to cry hysterically. I was petrified. But we were going to my boyfriend's sister's house for dinner. So I had to suck it up, and bite my lips to keep them from shaking right off of my face. When we got back to his house, I burst into tears and led him out to the nearby duck pond. As we sat on the bench, I somehow choked the words out. Then something astonishing happened. He looked right into my eyes, held me tightly, and said "I know that the timing is terrible, but this is actually really cool. I am so excited that you are having my baby." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;His first gut reaction floored me. I was elated beyond any elation I had ever felt. Still terrified as all hell though. On August 8, 2008 we went in for the confirmation test and ultrasound to determine the date of conception. I was still unsure if I was going to keep the baby. He was sure he wanted to keep it. We had a long discussion before the appointment trying to figure out what we would do once we had more information. We both realized that although the timing was far from ideal, would there ever be an ideal time? No matter where we were in our lives, we would always be able to come up with a million reasons to not have a baby. That uncertainty was instantly eradicated when we saw our baby spiritedly kicking around inside of me. He grabbed my hand so tight. Suddenly, I wasn't scared. I was going to be a mother. We left that office as a &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;family&lt;/span&gt;, and went to buy prenatal vitamins. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2427577818277748162-2160288555288823239?l=babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/feeds/2160288555288823239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/souvenir-from-california.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/2160288555288823239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2427577818277748162/posts/default/2160288555288823239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://babingathighaltitude.blogspot.com/2009/05/souvenir-from-california.html' title='Souvenir from California'/><author><name>Babing at High Altitude</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03196710723762232643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/Se-kJDWyshI/AAAAAAAAAAw/cQTuCMnibTA/S220/MyPicture_2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O-y0cDlsJLU/SftgFQQiLdI/AAAAAAAAABY/0DDBcEO7dAk/s72-c/DSCN1028.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
