The six(!) month check-in

So Mister Man has been around for six months. Dude, that's half a year. I think this seems like a long time, but as hubby says, "Once he's been out of the womb longer than he was in there...then it's impressive."

So whatever. Some people just aren't impressed by much. I know Angelina Jolie famously called her babies "blobs," which I can understand if not agree with, but it's definitely been a change. E's gone from a creepily itty bitty newborn to a baby...and a baby that wants to be a child, at that. He turned 5 months and was pulling himself to standing. He cut two teeth. And since then, he's learned to sit himself up. OH, and he's CRAWLING.

So, yeah, I'm screwed. Here's what I've learned lately.

Sometimes you just have to invent alone time. I've sat in grocery store parking lots in a roasting hot car eating ice cream sandwiches, just so I don't have to go home. See also: trips through drive thrus for sodas after appointments, shaving legs in the shower when they don't need to be shaved, and pretending not to hear the baby talking to himself in the crib after a nap. If he's happy, I'm happily not entertaining him.

Always, always be sure the baby is done pooping before removing a diaper. That is all.

Sleep training is awful. Let's be honest here: we started letting the poor kid cry. We read a book, we rock and sing two songs, and into the crib he goes. At bedtime, there's also a bath and pjs beforehand. Sometimes he sighs, turns on his side and falls asleep holding his stuffed monkey. Most of the time, he screams for 5 minutes, I go in and pop the pacifier back in, and then he goes to sleep. And then some days there's just screaming. And screaming. And screaming. At this exact moment, it sounds like there's a mountain lion in his crib, tearing him apart limb from limb. He's standing in the crib, clutching the railing, pitifully wanting to do anything other than sleep.

Seriously, child.

The nicest part, other than regular naps and a set bedtime (holy crap, we get to have dinner together again at 7:30!) is that I'm no longer rocking him completely to sleep, singing butchering the same damn two songs over and over and over. Now, I only have to listen to myself four times a day—before it was closer to 12 to 16 times. Each song. Per day. That's the same refrain 36 or more times. each. day.

That said, I used to love Love Song by the Cure/311/Adele. These days, not so much. I'm still not sick of Lullaby by the Dixie Chicks, though. That's some good baby-cuddling stuff.

I'm bored with breast feeding. I mean, the kid's gotta eat, so there's no way around it (and my god, pumping is so much worse), but it's been six months, and it's boring. I don't know why people consider it bonding time. If he was just going to eat, that'd be one thing. When he's wide awake and super hungry, we can typically knock out a meal in 10 minutes. But the rest of the time, I sit there, playing Words with Friends (username: phubs) or Where's My Water? or reading the news and waiting while he either a) eats lazily, b) half eats/half sleeps, or c) half eats/half squirms around, biting my nipple with his sharp little choppers, pulling my hair and kicking me in the shoulder/throat. That one's obviously my favorite.

Oh, and I've discovered the only way to feel more like a cow is to hand express. (This isn't nearly as sexy as it sounds, dudes. I'm sorry to have to burst your fantasy here.) It's awful, but it's faster than pumping.

And there's the eating. Speaking of, love is making (and tasting) mashed sweet potatoes using freshly squeezed breast milk. E has been ready to eat solids for the past two months (according to me) but the doc wanted me to wait until 6 months. Something about him thriving on my milk or something, I don't know. (Also, go me.) The first two days were TBD...but he'd moved up to two servings (two tablespoons, which is more than it sounds) by the 4th day. Little piggy.

He eats everything. I feel like "My kid ate my homework" doesn't fly the way "my dog ate my homework" does. (Does it?? I have no idea. I liked homework. Yes, I was that kid.) But for real. He eats my homework. My bills. My shoes. My computer. Anything that can go in his mouth does.

I love that he's this size. He's big enough to fit nicely in my arms, all curled up and sweet, but big enough to not be at risk of being broken. Not that I'm planning to drop him, but this kid can wiggle. Case in point: Diaper changes.

So, yeah, he's a handful. But he's incredibly sweet and silly and keeps Hubby and me laughing. He makes the weirdest noises we've ever heard, especially when he's tired. We generally know sleep is imminent when he starts telling us a story. It's like he knows he's about to fall asleep and needs to tell us everything he's been thinking about all day before he forgets. It's awesome.

He's also having teething symptoms again (that or he really is trying to eat his own hand), so we may have more chompers to report next month.

'Til then...