I’ve been a Flickr user since 2006. I encouraged all my friends to join, my husband, etc. It was an application I felt covered all the basis; cutting edge integration, sharing ability, incorporation with blogs and websites, etc. The founders seemed to know what they were doing. The professional side of things really appealed to my husband as he was able to learn about different types of photography actions (like HDR) and join groups that would connect him with other photographers with similar interests.

Yahoo! bought them and I didn’t notice any drastic changes, really. So I had to use my Yahoo! ID to sign in. No big deal. I had one of those.

I never quite found a Flickr Uploading tool I liked. I hated the one on the website itself where you could only upload four photos at a time. The bulk uploaders were buggy; an older version worked better than a newer version. Then when I got my Mac, the integration tool I found that worked with iPhoto took even LONGER to upload. I started to get discouraged. I’ve found I upload photos to Flickr MUCH less than I used to. I can’t be bothered to wait so long for the upload to go through. Then I have to tag everything, caption everything, etc. It became way too time consuming.

However, even with all of that, I still enjoyed looking at other people’s photos. Contacts I’ve had for four years – watching their kids grow up, following each holiday, their unique tags, sets, photostreams.

For the last four months, I’ve experienced some strange activity. I’ll get notifications that someone added me as a friend, but no one whose ID rings a bell. Typically their names are surrounded by weird characters like ~*~ or something similar. If I just get added as a friend, I simply block them. But then I started getting actual Flickr mail from them.

Messages like this one:

I’M FROM BRAZIL, PLEASE , READ THIS …

It’s about his daughter Lyla. Unfortunately many people who have fake profiles, as a kind of game, are using little lyla’s pictures, and this is inevitable, but with your permission I would limit, and much, how many people would use her photos , So just me and two or three people confidence we would use the photos of her and would do everything so that nobody else uses. Please think about it, I do not use the photos of her in relation to you, and especially to layla, because you can not believe it, but I, and dozens of girls over here in Brazil, much admire your daughter, and of course we do not want photos of your baby being used by anyone, she is a child, not an object. Thanks for reading and would like a response as soon as possible.

Or this one:

Hello, well I call Bianca Faso am 12 years old and part of a game called fake, you should already conhesser. This game and so we live in a world invented by people on the internet, or rather on orkut and I’ve been following your flickr for a while and this time I latched onto a Lyla incredible people that sometimes I do not believe this is upsetting affection, love. I am very well educated and do not want anything hidden from you and that luckiest mother around the world can have this pricnesa, this angel as his daughter. I wanted to ask permission to use photos of her in this game, I want to take care of her pictures as I have always been doing … eye is posted every day new pictures so I can stay enjoying. And believe I’ve ever cried for her because I was senseless day my flickr and your account was in it and how I would make my day happy without it? No and no exaggeration of Lyla Mom, please? Thank trusting min.
NOTE: The mother of Cassie authorized another person to use pictures of Cassie, wanted to use the photos of Lyla as well.

(For the record, the mother of Cassie never authorized anything at all)

As a parent, this is hugely concerning. Yes, I post photos of my kids on the internet. A LOT of people do. This doesn’t make me a bad person (although there’s a troll around that will disagree – hi, hope you’re doing well, can’t wait to hear, one again, all about how I’m exploiting my kid. Go ahead, leave another comment. I’ll delete it. Again.). My Grandmother loves seeing my Flickr stream and you could literally wallpaper entire rooms in her house with photos of her great-grandchild. If I were to make everything private, or Friends and Family only, she wouldn’t be able to see the photos. Anyone want to explain to an 89-year-old how to create an account and login? Pass.

Regardless, if these messages are correct, my kid’s face is being plastered all over Brazil in some online game that has, with what I can figure out, ties to Orkut (whatever that is). I don’t even know if deleting my account will help what’s already been taken and used illegally. I’m thinking it won’t. And that’s upsetting. But I have to try to make it stop happening in the future.

I hoped Flickr would care. However, there’s no way to email them directly and let them know. I’ve tweeted about it – and have found that there aren’t many other people experiencing this – and haven’t received any outreach from them as an organization. I hate ending a four-year relationship with a site that I love. One I feel has been a true founder of networking and I’d even go as far to say that they are a pioneer in social media.

So Flickr, we’re over. It’s not me. It’s you.

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Six-weeks from right now, we’ll be holding our new baby girl in our arms.

I’ve been meaning to write about this for a very long time – for about two-years actually. The entire VBAC vs. repeat c-section decision is something that I’ve weighed over and over and over in my mind to the point where thinking about it gives me bouts of nausea. Having a decision be purely mine with no one else really qualified to weigh in and help sway me one way or another is a lot of pressure.

Backing up to Lyla’s birth… something I never wrote about on this blog. I’m not sure why I never wrote about it. It’s not that I don’t remember. I remember. I remember it all. I’ve recently come to grips with the fact that my birth experience with her was what it was. She’s here. She’s beautiful and healthy and the only evidence of the crappy 30-hours of labor is my scar. That’s the end result. I got a baby. And a scar.

After hearing that this baby is breech, I figured that was it. That something was telling me to just schedule it. Stop wavering back and forth. Schedule it. She’s breech. Could she turn? Yes, she could. If she doesn’t, can they turn her? Yes, at the expense of an entire day in the hospital and more worry about potential cord and placenta issues.

I scheduled the surgery last week. We received a confirmation in the mail on Saturday. The same surgeon that did my first section will do this one. We won’t know until the day before what time the surgery will be, but at least I know the day. I can arrange for my Mom to take Lyla. We’ll know what day I have to stop working. I can plan. Plan, plan, plan. I like to plan. Flippy’s birthday will be October 12, 2010. 10-12-2010. Pretty cool numbers. I like it.

I woke up at 3am this morning (not unusual) and my head started spinning. My memory took me back to that OR where I was alone after Lyla was born and Dan went with her to the nursery…

I was alone and crying and scared and had no one to talk to. The table was hard. I hated laying on my back. The doctors and nurses buzzed around me. I was on oxygen. My ears were ringing. I longed to see my baby, my husband, a family face. I was exhausted. I kept picturing the little face I had just seen and kissed. I wanted her. I wanted to see her. I wanted to feel my legs again. I wanted to stop being nauseous. I wanted it all to just be over. I prayed they’d hurry up. I tried to sleep. I couldn’t stop shaking. It was awful.

What the hell did I just do? Why did I just voluntarily sign up for all that bullshit again when I had a choice?

I put the OR experience out of my head and told myself it would be different this time. Do I know that for sure? No. But I hope that not putting my body through 30-hours of stress prior to major surgery will help. Then again…

The small recovery room: two hours before I could wiggle my toes. Teeth chattering. Uncontrollable shaking. Alone. Alone. Alone. Watching the clock. She was born at 11:27pm. I had only seen her. I hadn’t yet held her. 12:45, 1:30, 2:30. Begging my body to come back to me. Begging my feet to move knowing that was my ticket out of there. Staring at my toes and angrily shouting, “COME ON. MOVE! Just MOVE!” Alone. Alone. Dan would come in and I’d send him away crying out through chattering teeth. “Don’t leave her! Go be with the baby! I’m fine!” One time he wheeled her in so I could see her and he held her up so I could look at her face and kiss her head. She was moving her mouth like a little sucker fish. “She wants to nurse.” I told him. “I can’t nurse her yet. I can’t stop shaking. I can’t hold her.”

Still in a haze, but settled into my room, I held my baby. We tried nursing, but we were both so tired. I kept falling asleep and she just wanted to nuzzle. She didn’t cry. We stared at each other. Dan took pictures and video. This was the moment I wanted. This was the moment I wanted when she was just minutes old… not hours.

It was now almost 4:15 and I was tossing and turning. Unable to get comfortable. Unable to get the images and feelings out of my head. I heard Lyla stirring over the monitor. I wondered if she was waking up. If she was, I was going in there. I wanted to hold her. Snuggle her like we did those first few hours of her life. She settled back down on her own and I closed my eyes again trying to forget what I had been thinking about…

Except the itching. I couldn’t stop itching. More Benedryl. Scratch, itch, stab stab STAB! WTF! Why won’t it stop? “You might be allergic to the Morphine. They gave you quite a bit. It’ll wear off in a couple hours. Here’s more Benedryl”

Eventually the catheter came out. The IV line followed. Relatives started streaming in. The itching subsided. I could fully feel my legs. I was able to stand. I was incredibly swollen, but moving around the room. I was medicated enough that I couldn’t feel my incision, but I wasn’t looped out of my mind. My focus was on her. This little creature the came out of me. This perfect little girl with jet black hair and gigantic, munchable cheeks. I was in love and nothing else mattered.

Nothing else mattered. That’s what I’m focusing on. It just won’t matter. In six-weeks, I’ll have another baby girl and my heart will swell with emotion when I kiss her head. And I’ll hold her as soon as I can and tell her how happy I am to finally meet her. We’ll welcome her into the family, introduce her to her Big Sister. Tell her how loved she is.

And I’ll heal. Hopefully just as fast as I did before. I’ll be home in four-days, climbing the stairs with no problem, getting in and out of bed and on and off the couch. I won’t need anything but Motrin once I’m home. I’ll be fine. And she’ll be here.

A dear friend once told me, “there’s no pretty way to get a baby out”. She’s right. There isn’t. But the end result is always the same.

You get a baby.

And sometimes, a scar.

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We have had such an amazing few days around here. Lyla’s birthday landing smack-dab in the middle of the week led to a very long birthday fuse that was finally blown out yesterday afternoon. There was so much singing and cake and giant smiles on our little girl that there were parts of me that wished it would never end. Today we’re paging through all the pictures and remembering the last few days and now it’s our turn to smile. Nothing makes parents happier than seeing their child so happy.

Today marked the First Day of School. Lyla’s daycare takes ages 6-weeks – 5-years, but they very much operate on a school like calendar complete with different programs in the summer that align with more of a relaxed, camp environment. Last week her cubbie was cleaned out and the bathingsuit, towel, and water shoes sent home. Today she started in a new classroom with new teachers, new classmates, and a new schedule. We made a big deal about her first day. She picked out her outfit (given the choice of only two, naturally), let me do her pigtails without a fight, helped wash her face and brush her teeth, and carried her lunchbox all by herself.

I had big dreams of taking her picture outside the front door just like my parents did with me when I was growing up, but the lawn guys were here and my kid is absolutely terrified of lawnmowers. The noise scared her silly and she wouldn’t stop crying long enough for me to explain that the lawnmowers weren’t going to get her. My photo shoot turned into this:

So I dragged the camera along to school drop-off and I was “that” parent that snapped photos all the way in to the building and down the hall and as she eased into her new environment.

After the four days of birthday celebrating with our enormous family and cousins and few friends and then the First Day of School today, I’m finally feeling like I can breathe again. August has been like running on a treadmill that kicked-off with BlogHer. I haven’t stopped moving! I can’t believe it’s nearly over and that we’ll soon be drinking Apple Cider and pumpkin picking. Today I feel a huge release. I feel like now I can relax. Everything is done. Everyone is happy. NOW I can take my vacation.

The weather is going to be fantastic this week until Hurricane Earl arrives on Friday. I’m soaking up every minute knowing it might be the last time I feel the sun on my bare arms and legs for a long while. We’ll spend each evening outside playing with new toys and blowing bubbles in the driveway not knowing if we’ll be fortunate enough to do it again next week. I’m looking forward to it.

It’s all the vacation I need.

The almost week-long birthday celebration warranted another video! Here are some of the photos and video clips from the last few days.

PS: I’m totally getting addicted to iMovie!

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With just a little more than six-weeks to go with this pregnancy, I’m torn between hanging on to what will (most likely) be the last time I’m pregnant and willing this kid here with every ounce of my being. When she enters into her little en-utero dance fests, I place my hand on my belly and feel her kick and move and wriggle… and I smile. And then she’ll throw a sharp jab that will make me wince so hard and think things like, “You beast! Just get here already!”.

I believe that getting pregnant and having a child is the most self-less act ever. Your body isn’t yours starting the moment you conceive. Your decisions don’t affect just you. It’s hard. It’s, at times, frustrating. It’s wonderfully difficult.

I picked up a new client this week which involves me commuting in to their office two days a week. I’m actually excited about this because it allows me to be around people and forces me to get dressed in something other than yoga pants. There’s a lot of flexibility so I drive either after or before rush hour minimizing the traffic and length of the drive. HOWEVER, this child does NOT like the car. I commuted pregnant with Bean until I was 36-weeks; a longer and definitely more difficult commute and she slept the entire way. Not this baby. She’s in there practicing her Rockette kicks on my always-full bladder. Truly already different from her sister.

With the cold from hell this week, which Lyla definitely now has — we coughed in unison this morning, fabulous — I found myself staring into the medicine cabinet praying that the NyQuil would work by osmosis. It did not. But damn, I might’ve cut off my right arm if the gagging and coughing and snot-rag piles would just stop and let me sleep already. NyQuil. I can’t wait till we can bond again.

And this brings me to the actual title of this post, the Top 10 Things I Miss When Pregnant:

10) Reckless use of OTC drugs. See NyQuil. See also, Motrin.

9) The ability to hold my pee.

8.) Being able to tie my sneakers in the middle instead of awkwardly on the side.

7) Pants without faux flies.

6) Covering myself with just one towel.

5) Having a relationship with TUMS that’s more like, “just friends” instead of “co-dependent marriage”.

4) Sleeping on my right side. I think I’m getting a flat head.

3) Caffeine without guilt.

2) Cold-cuts, sushi, raw bars, and Sam Adams.

and the number 1 thing I miss when pregnant?

1) Not having to tell my 2-year old she’s too heavy for Mommy to pick-up.

The last one kills me. There’s nothing a mother wants more than to cuddle her child when she asks to be cuddled. And now, if she asks, it’s met with an answer of, “Daddy can hold you” or “Lets go sit on the couch” where I’ll pull her into my lap. I can’t wait just scoop her up again without wincing or groaning.

I know it’s all temporary. I know there’s an end. I know I can’t be pregnant forever (which my GOD sometimes it just feels like it has been forEVER). I know that in the future I’ll be hearing about friend’s newborns or the first time they feel their babies kick and I’ll squirm with jealousy and wonder and yearn for maybe just one more. But for right now, I’m all set. I’m ready to not be pregnant anymore. I’m ready to have me back.

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Dear Lyla,

Today you are officially two-years-old. I could sit here and write all those typical cliche things like, OMG, I can’t believe you’re two! And, the time has just flown! And, STOP GROWING UP ALREADY! And while it’s true that I feel that way, there’s so much more to celebrate.

One year ago today, you hadn’t even taken your first steps yet. You were truly a baby. And now? Well, now you’re a walking running, talking, opinionated, little girl. You’re not afraid to tell us what you want or need whether it’s “mo mulk” or “big hugs”. Your words develop daily into sentences, complete thoughts, stories, songs… You have strong feelings from what food to eat and what clothes to wear to what we watch on television and how we spend our evening outside time.

You love people. You’re constantly asking about your family members, friends, and the neighbors. You’re friendly, yet cautious. You engage people with your tiny voice and big personality. You’re not afraid to approach other kids and say hi! And then ask, “What are you doin’?” I hold my breath when this happens – afraid of you getting hurt or upset if they choose not to answer you. Luckily so far, everyone has complied with your inquisition.

You’re always asking questions and while people can easily grow tiresome of answering them, I know this is how you’re learning. Each day we typically get the following, “Daddy go to work?”, “Mommy take a shower?”, “I go camp?”, “Drive Mommy’s truck?”, “I see Gemma/Lulu/Papa/Kitty?”, “We go shopping?”, “See Cassie?”, “Wear Cassie’s jammies?”. You’re nothing if not consistent. You always cover all your bases and you listen to each answer I give you like you’re hearing it for the first time.

Really soon you’re going to meet your little sister. Right now you know she’s inside mommy’s belly and you give her kisses and tell her you love her every morning when you climb in bed with us. This is something that Mommy and Daddy both want for you; a sibling, a playmate, a best friend. We can only hope you want it too. We talk all the time about how we can’t imagine loving someone else as much as we love you, but people do it. People do it so it must be possible. Just remember that you’re our baby. Always. Our first love. The one who will always have had two years of just Mommy and Daddy all to herself.

Two unforgettable years. Days filled with hugs and kisses and immeasurable love for you. Moments where I just want to freeze time and remember your face, your sweet blue eyes, the color of your hair right at that moment. Seconds that I just don’t want to let go of. Ever.

I love you, my little Bean. So, so much.

Love,
Your Mommy

—————-

See last year’s letter and video here.

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