Back in the saddle again.

Sort of.

Surgery was Monday and I'm making progress. Don't have much of a brain to post this (I'm sorry, the drug dispensing gods stole my brain) but I did want to make it clear that I came through alright and that I am walking again. It's going to be a fun road to recovery, but I am improving and, most importantly, I have taken a shower. And for that the entire State of Maryland is grateful.

Happy Holidays.

Baby got back.

Without going into the horrible details, I am playing patient at the moment and am practicing the height of mediocre mothering. My back is out. Beyond out. It started 2 weeks ago and will hopefully end tomorrow morning when I'm admitted for surgery. I can't walk. I can barely type this e-mail at the moment, what with the heavy drugs and all. I've got family in and my current "quality time" with Captain Kid involves throwing Playhouse Disney on TV and vegging out in bed with him. I'm about to have 6 weeks of recovery ahead of me and I don't even want to talk about work.

You know what they say, when life throws you lemons, make gin and tonic with a twist. But for right now the only drinking I'm doing is accompanied by a couple of little pills on the side. I'll update more after surgery, but for now...the doctor is out.

Private parts.

I've never been very squeamish when it comes to horror films. I'll admit it, I do get a certain delight to watch a Zombie munch on the living in any and all "Night of the Living Dead" films and for sure, I dig the pea soup scene in "The Exorcist."

It's real life that gores me out. Which is why it was a bit of a shocker this morning when my friend, I'll call him "Bobert," e-mailed me photos of his newborn...and the placenta...and the detached umbilical cord. Actually, to be fair, the placenta was jiggling around in a bowl like jello and the umbilical cord was laid out on a tray, vaguely reminiscent of my 7th grade worm dissection project. I shrieked, just as I did in the 7th grade, and closed the photos.

Am I such a pansy that I can't take that before drinking my coffee?

When I was giving birth I was delighted that I had a big belly blocking the view. After the first push the doctor asked me if I'd like a mirror so that I could see.

No. I'm good.

After the third push when the head was coming out she asked if I'd like to reach down and feel it.

No. I'm good.

In fact, if I had my druthers NO ONE would have seen that. I, in fact, have marveled with a girlfriend that our husband's actually want to "go there" now that they've seen that. I suppose I feel lucky that the Dad's still interested after seeing my bits and pieces in such a state. Especially after his squeamish reaction when they asked if he'd like to cut the cord:

Ummm. Cutting is for doctors.

Of course, some readers may think I'm a bit prudish and that it's all natural, animals eat their baby's placenta, in some cultures humans eat the placenta, blah blah blah. Alright. I'll give you that. But it taint my thang.

But if it's your thang, maybe this link will satisfy your appetite. For your entertainment, Tom Cruise' Placenta Eating Guide...

The Story of Vodka.

Ah, yes, kids do say the darnedest things. Which is why the Deviant Dad and I went cross eyed the other day when Captain Kid delightfully requested "Vodka Singing, pease!" It quickly dawned on us he was requesting "Hanukkah singing." So now we delightfully regale him in rousing choruses of "Oh Hanukkah" or "Oh Vodka," if you will, over and over again.

Hanukkah starts next week and we've been furiously buying small items to delight and disappoint him. But naturally, all he's really interested in is the "kismass ites" that line our street. And so I find myself in new territory. I've been living in this town for nearly 10 years and I have never had to ponder the lessons I might have to teach and the disappointment that may lay ahead. Because in truth I grew up in a very Jewish neighborhood, where Christmas lights we're generally met with indifference or some yente exclaiming, "Oy, how tacky."

But now, with the realization of the Captain being the outsider ahead of us, it brings up the larger question to me of how to infuse religion and culture into his life when the competition has really pretty lights, trees and costumes and, let's face it, much catchier songs. The reality that lies ahead is that learning through peer osmosis will simply not be an option. And then the more harsh responsibilities, like how to broach the subject of Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, will have to be infused with a degree of diplomacy and tact. .

I'm not going to sugarcoat this thing...Christmas is a load of fun. As probably the only Jew who was at the Vatican on Christmas day last year, I'll admit, yeah, I get a little Christmas spirit. And save last year, we have a long-standing tradition of hanging with the Captain's godparents on Christmas Day and they put on a hell of a show. But I have to ask myself...what's my bottom line? As much as I'd love to say that a fun light-up menorah is just as rockin' as a string of twinkly lights....really, who am I kidding?

Sigh. If only some of these favorite television Hanukkah characters would come along and explain it all to the Kid, life would be a lot easier...