Baby's First Gig

Miss Morgan went to her first gig this past weekend. It was outdoors, and our bass player's girlfriend took her for a walk in the stroller. They sat across the street from us for awhile, so Morgan got to hear us from a distance. Let me tell you, it was so hard to stay onstage--I wanted to go smooch my baby!

I'm still feeling sleep-deprived from the gig. Morgan's sleep schedule was normal, but mine was not. Staying up until 1am, and then getting up at 6 with the baby wiped me out. It is now 8:30pm, and I'm thinking about calling it a day.

I'm with the band

Mannnnnnnnn. . . it's been awhile since my last post. Turns out babies keep you busy. And I like naps.

So we have a gig in a couple weeks up near Duluth. It's a two day deal. What will we do with the baby, you ask? That's a very good question. I'm thinking she'd make an excellent tambourine player. Or maybe we'll just see if Grandma wants an overnight visit. But seriously, if I didn't think it was going to be too loud for her, I'd just throw on a Baby Bjorn, and bring her onstage with me. As you can see from the ultrasound, she had a predisposition to rock, even in utero. The ultrasound tech said she was signing "I love you". I burst into joyous tears, and said, "No. . . we're in a band!".

Dr. Feelgood

I've been watching A Baby Story on TLC, and I've noticed a trend. Many of the women on that show kiss their doctors on the cheek--BEFORE the epidural. And the doctors kiss them back! What? Is this a common practice in other areas of the country? Are we Midwesterners out of the kissy-kissy loop? Personally, I save my kisses for my great aunties and my husband, and not for the guy checking my cervix. Well, sometimes my husband checks my cervix. . . heh. ANYWAY, I want to know if other people are kissing hello. "Hello, Mailman Pete! Thanks for not bringing me any bills!". Smooch. "Greetings, Butcher Nadine! Awesome pork chops!". Mwah. "Hi there, Doctor Zbornak! I lost my mucous plug!". Kissy kissy. Really?

Everybody's Working for the Weekend. . . except me

So I lost my job in January, four weeks before the baby was born. Let me tell you, looking for employment while 9 months pregnant is difficult. Looking for employment with an infant in tow is damn near impossible. I know you're supposed to sleep when the baby sleeps, but that's when I send out resumes. Here it is, 11pm, and I'm looking for work.

I've been doing most of my job searching online. I am so sick of the fake ads that reroute you to a temp agency's website. And the companies offering $8/hr for administrative assistants. Come on. And the job postings riddled with spelling errors. If you can't spell "receptionist", then I'm pretty sure you're actually porn.

On the upside, we have a gig this Friday. Yay. And I already have a sitter. YAY!

Rock 'n Roll

The baby rolled over for the first time! I was so excited. Then I realized this leads to crawling, then walking, then asking to borrow the car, then moving to another state. It's a slippery slope, and it begins with one roll. Sigh.

Siskel and Mombert

My husband, Chad, and I have devised our own ratings system for new movies. It goes like this:

• Would pay full price to see the movie
• Would pay matinee price
• Would pay $1 at Redbox
• Would only watch the movie if stuck on the couch with the flu, and unable to reach the remote

For instance, after seeing the previews for the upcoming Land of the Lost, I declared that I would pay $1 to see it. Chad replied with, "Flu". Sorry, Will Ferrell.

Brownies and Bridezillas

The baby and I had the house to ourselves this past weekend. My husband was hired to run sound for four bands in South Dakota. While he was off doing that, she and I watched chick flicks, and baked brownies. Well, I watched chick flicks, and baked brownies. She nursed, played on her mat, and slept. It was a big weekend for all.

You know what show is totally addictive? Bridezillas. I get sucked into the drama of it all. My husband has been the wedding dj for countless brides, and we have yet to run into a bridezilla. An auntzilla, yes. A racist-father-in-law-zilla, sure. But no bridezillas. Maybe someday. That could make for some good blogging.