Happy First Birthday!


First Year: complete. I think you can graduate to more important things now that you’re a full year, Baby Rangirl:

-You’re of legal age to start eating strawberries. Apparently the basic gift of the veggie-hating gods known as the berries of straw can be highly allergic.

-You are allowed to walk. Go on. Do it already- you’re getting über heavy.

-You can drink dairy milk. The fruits of the cow can substitute the oh-so-pricey formula. It would have been cheaper to rent a nursing mother’s bosoms.

There’s a ways to go with you. First thing’s first: create a new blogging category titled “The Second Year”. Naturally, you refused to pose for a pic:


Now, we reflect on the hell that was the day of your birth: The birthing


There You Are

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Imagine that. 1 year ago you were projected to have slid into the world by doctors who predicted your birth date in much the same way a psychic would. But a doctor is less flashy and just asked your mother more intimate questions like “when was your last period?” rather than “did you have an uncle who was a Sagittarius?” Naturally, both psychic and doctor did not get your birthday correct Baby Rangirl. I was just happy you waited for post-Super Bowl to prove the docs wrong.

It’s funny how dates have more meaning these days. I guess it’s really all we got to help us remember the good ol’ days. The ones where you didn’t worry about a kid crawling up steps and daring gravity to pull her face towards the banisters and floor. A year ago I remember a time where I could guarantee Mommy Ranman wouldn’t run into the arms of another man because well- she was too big to run anywhere.

You’ve come a long way little girl. Now, you’re standing up on your own from time-to-time. You can point out where Biblo the pet fish is. Unfortunately you also point to him when we ask “where’s momma?” All day one time you pointed to your nose when asked of its whereabouts. But ever since you’ve refused to point it out. So there’s still a lot of work ahead of us.

Oh. And the places you find yourself. We can never take our eyes off of you. Stuck behind the couch. Tucked in a corner where the one outlet we forgot to baby proof awaits your stubby fingers. I totally see why my parents waited 8 years to have my sister. It takes that long to forget how rough #1 was with no experience. Thank goodness I have this blog to remind me.

Speaking of whereabouts…where are you? Ah of course- you’re in the most cornerest of all corners in the house.


Super Bowl Wrap Up


Sigh. It’s one of the last blogs I post while you’re still less than 1 year’s worth of age, Baby Rangirl. Or should I say “Baby Hulk,” with all that strength you’ve accumulated in a short few 11 months? You went from a truly dependent little kid to a truly dependent kid only at night when you need to be soothed to sleep. The other moments when we’re not trying to trick you into hitting the sack we’re struggling to get you to stay still or out of the cabinets…you’ve already managed to help break one of the safety locks with your Lance Armstrong-steroid-induced-strength. Baby Hulk indeed.

Last year around this time we were rooting for the Giants in the Super Bowl, and you still have yet to take your victory lap for that win. You managed to stay unborn so that I could enjoy the game/last moments of peace and quiet. So go ahead, hop into your Prius car and lets take a lap.


At least it isn’t a Hummer like the douchebag winners of this year’s Super Bowl, the Ravens (click to see what I’m talking about).

You couldn’t have cared less with your first big game. There was only one thing on your mind: iPhones.


Sigh. I should be enjoying the littleness that is you. And I do. But as I blog from the couch while you sleep on my side of the bed, I can’t help but be bittersweet during what should be a holiday in the football world. My Baby Rangirl is 1 year old in less than 5 days. Sure, that’s a year closer to you being potty trained and out of my bed…but it’s also a year less of you being so innocent and okay with football being on every Sunday. Soon you’ll wanna hog the TV to watch your modern day Tom Cruises.

…Hulk sad.


Weekend Antics


The weekends never last long enough. But at the same time they’re too long. It’s probably because the three girls in the house each contribute to a gray hair on my head. The kid wakes up and needs to be brought into the bed that’s already being shared by the cat who pushes Mommy Ranman into arch of my back.


Which leads to the kid waking up in search of things to play with. I need to substitute the iPhone which she’s already deleting apps from at a 4th grade level with the remote to our Sleep Comfort adjustable bed, which she’s adjusting the softness at a 3rd grade level.


Mind you, she has weeks to go before she’s even 1! And leave it to target marketing at Toys R’ Us to wish our baby a happy birthday before we even do. With a $5 off coupon.


Thanks goodness for Mommy Ranman on a weekend. I am able to barter my way of changing diapers in exchange for bathing Baby Rangirl. This task breaks both our aging backs over the bathtub so we both loathe it.

**Note: please excuse all typos. I am writing this in haste with Baby Rangirl bouncing all over the bed trying to grab the phone from me. Happy Sunday!!

In the Doghouse, and Mickey Mouse


One would think your daddy is in trouble with his wife if they were to burglarize our house last night, Baby Rangirl. I was passed out on the living room couch whilst you and your mother hogged the bed. Once again, you were up hourly beginning at 12AM.

We temporarily decided to let you not cry-it-out and bring you to bed if it’s impossible to get you to stay in your crib. For now it seems cruel to let you cry when you have no idea why you’re being left to cry. And Mommy Ranman made the point that you’re so friggin cute there’s a good chance you’ll hate us when you’re older (who knows if it’s the result of letting you cry yourself to sleep?) so it might be worth it to soothe you while we can.

I dunno if it’s the way to go. But man did I get a solid 3 straight hours of rest on the couch. That’s nothing however- I’ll be off to San Francisco for a business trip soon so I anticipate a lot of sleep at the hotel!

Not even tiring you out during the day works: at a recent 2 year-old birthday party you were off playing with the kids and Mickey Mouse- and you still woke up at night! Such an old wives tale.



No Gate For You

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I want to preface this post with this, Baby Rangirl: reading is awesome. Don’t ever stop. You can achieve all your dreams with the will to read.

That said, close your eyes and move on to the next blog post. I want to talk to your mother.

Mommy Ranman. This is why we don’t have a baby proof gate installed yet:


Oh no, that isn’t a bible. That’s the instructions to install a 2-piece gate. A paragraph per step, calling out part pieces by weird names not even listed in the couple pictures that illustrate the parts that do come in the box.

A “swindle”? Okay, let me see where the swindle is…hmm…is that this first object I’ve never seen before in my hands- or one of the other 22 foreign objects in the box?

Mommy Ranman knows I hate reading. My baby’s safety is no exception. Someone buy us a new gate, please.

No, Not Moving


I can see how my last post could make the Ranmans look like interracial trailblazers heading west as we began packing for Seattle. A regular Lois and Clarke-Patel. But we’re a simple folk that gave in to parents and Daddy Ranman’s whining doesn’t like change.

I worry now that Mommy Ranman will blame me for her being unemployed, so I sprung into preventative action mode: by her a closet. So the empty shelves and bed-full-of-clothes pics you saw was Daddy Ranman avoiding the problem and buying a resolution. A psychologist must be dying a little inside as he loses out on my business.

It is sadder than I thought it would be. I want my wife to be happy. I want Baby Rangirl to be in a good school system. But I also want to ensure no parental guilt. I want the parents to know this: oh, we’ll move if we want to…just maybe not Seattle. California has my eye. Who knows Baby Rangirl, you might be reading this from Venice Beach in the future.

We do have one thing that does keep us in New York: the home we’ve made over the past 5+ years. I hate manual labor. My minority ancestors would loathe my work ethic. But the painting, furniture-moving/making, siliconing, caulking, and toilet-unclogging work we’ve done would all go down the drain. So it’s nice to continue the trend with an enhanced closet system before the wife’s job closes down shop for good.

Look at it…who wants to move this setting to a new house? Side note, that’s not a functioning globe. It’s a bar. We use google maps for stuff like travel-by-ship instead of a globe.



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