11 whole months of E.

I'm too tired and stressed out to even begin making bad excuses for not having written the past two months, so...exhale...moving on. Here we go.

This kid is too much. He indiscriminately says "dada" and "blahblah," (but no "m" words whatsoever), waves at everyone at the grocery store (and starts flapping his little hand as soon as I open the bedroom door when he wakes up), claps while running around, eats constantly, and gives some awesome kisses. He also destroys everything. Everything.

He's like Baby Hulk or something. The things he picks up and lugs around the house kill me. They'll be as big as or as heavy as he is...laundry baskets, hair dryers, giant toys...and then he chucks them as hard as he can. Seriously watch your toes around this kid. I've been decked by The Joy of Cooking, hubby's been taken out by a curling iron. I'm glad our floors aren't real wood, or they'd be dented to all hell by now. 

"No" is hilarious. He understands what it means, and he'll stop whatever he's doing, but then he'll give you a ridiculous little devil smirk and sneak right back to trash digging or highchair climbing to get to the bookcase or running through the house while emptying the toilet paper roll—all with a HUGE grin on his face—til I grab him and pull him away/out. It's totally my fault for giggling. (Note: He knows that the heater is off limits. The important stuff is actually enforced.)

We go through a lot of books at nap time. Now that he's discovered he can turn the pages, we flip. I get maybe 3 words out, and he's on to the next page. Then we look at the cover. Then back to the page. Next. Next. Next. All done. Back to page two. Repeat. Backwards. So instead of reading one or two books, we now "read" three or four.

I don't care, he loves it. But that pretty much sums up most of the things we do all day. He also loves to high five, ideally in the middle of dinner time. What am I going do, NOT slap an eager little slime covered hand? Come on. So I'm covered in applesauce and slobber. Definitely not the worst thing he's gotten on my hands in the past 11 months. Buh. Said it before and I'll say it again. Babies are gross.

I seriously owe the Dixie Chicks a beer. I cannot explain the phenomenon, but Lullaby is the best song on.the.planet. We still sing it once at each nap time, and it's apparently not my wonderous singing voice that does the trick. Tired crying in the car on a car trip? Put that shit on blast and he's instantly quiet. And usually asleep before it's started over (because obviously it's set on repeat. We'll listen to it 5 times in a row just to make sure he stays asleep.) Also, FYI, it is possible to wear out an mp3 file.

As for me, I've started avoiding the camera. And the mirror, for that matter. I just look tired. My skin is decent enough, but the purple bags under my eyes are unacceptable. Tinted moisturizer may be great for people who have slept within the past 11 months, but it's not doing much for me. And I'm not leaving the house for long enough periods to put on full foundation every day.

And E's finally sleeping through the night, so I can't even blame him. Out by 7pm and up sometime between 5 and 7am. If its 6:30 or earlier, I can usually give him a boob and he goes back to sleep for an hour. The cat, however, has begun waking at 4am. It's a whole ordeal. (Hubby would like to interject that we have a cat for sale. We do not.) It's just the working from home when he's needing more and more constant attention that's killing me. My nanny only comes 12 hours a week, and I could honestly use her for 40. Or, you know, 80. Plus.

In not un-related news, I've also gained 6 pounds. Turns out not working out and only breastfeeding 30 minutes a day burns less calories than the 10 hours a day the first few months burned...so I now have to add "lose 15 lbs" to my to-do list. Rad. Why not.

The big 1.0 is next. How am I planning E's 1st birthday already? For the record, I don't really get the whole 1st birthday party as an EVENT thing. He's one. He doesn't care. I can give him peas and sit and have a Let's Wave at Each Other for 5 Minutes party and he'd probably be just as happy. (If not happier.) And my house is small and he already has a lot of toys. A lot. So we're just having parents and a couple aunts and uncles over for appetizers. He'll eat peas.

Seriously. He really, really likes peas. 

Photos to come, I'm sure. Wish me good sleeping in the meantime.
xo.

Nine months in, nine months out.

Hey, so remember how I planned to write about my experience as a new mom at least once a month?

Hang on, I'm laughing. It's hard to type....almost...oh, man. Tears.

It's just that between working what's basically become a full-time job again as a designer from home, having a husband busting his ass at work to help with bills (and therefore not at home in the evenings to help as much as either of us would like), and trying to stay a literal step ahead of an ever-mobile baby, I have so much free time it's amazing. I just don't want to rub it in or anything.

I go through a lot of wine diet coke coffee.

Luckily not that much really changed around here in the 7th and 8th month. I mean, the crawling got faster (a lot faster), and teeth kept popping out of his skull left and right (there are 7 as of today), but it's been the last couple of weeks where things have really been picking up speed. Cause no big deal, but my 8.5 month old started walking.

WALKING. I cannot overstress the ridiculousness of this situation. He is putting one foot in front of the other and going. places. alone. (Granted, eight feet at a time. Still). And it is the cutest thing on the planet, let me tell you. He is so proud. And this is a kid who is easily impressed with himself. A giant burp gets a wicked grin from ear to ear. Finds the remote I hid for the 18th time that day? A huge giggle. Don't get me started on the radiance that takes over his face when he hones in on my cellphone from across the room and knows he can get to it before I can.

Am I being proud mama? Of course. But I know you guys expect more than just the pretty stuff. So here we go.

Teething. Teething is the devil. The bottom two were so easy and those damn top teeth would not come in. For weeks, I could SEE the left one. It was right. there. But would not break through. And it meant that he didn't want to nap. Or sleep. Or lay down in any way. We tried Tylenol. Teething tablets. Frozen stuff—washcloths, rings, applesauce...I even attempted orajel, but he was far more into the box than the tube. Poor kid. Poor us.

Dad brought home rubber hockey pucks.

And with teething comes slobber. Everywhere, all the time. And everything is in his mouth. Everything, all the time. I'm having to vacuum twice a day, because if he can see it, he has to eat it. Hairballs, cat litter, half an old cheerio...it's disgusting. Babies are gross, y'all.

Living with a baby is like living in a tornado. Everything in a drawer must come out and be strewn across the floor. Toys. Books. Pajamas. Peas. And once they're on the floor, they must go in his mouth. Speaking of, he's a big fan of pacifiers. He's also got an arm like Matt Cain, so if we don't come get him the second he wakes up, he's already thrown at least one of the two he goes to bed with somewhere across the room. Luckily he can find them out of thin air, because I'll look around the room for missing pacis for 5 full minutes and by the time I turn around, he's got one in his mouth and another clutched in his hand.

What's with the gender confusion? I mean, it's nice to know I don't have to dress my potential future daughter in dresses and bows (oh, god, I would be the worst at having a baby girl). I apparently just have to dress her in any shade of pale blue or white. Or grey. This is how conversations go (usually with old people, natch). "How old's your baby?" "He's 8 months." "She's so cute."

Sigh. Come on. I'm not offended by the mistake. He's a boy. A pretty boy, but still so obviously a dude. It's just dumb. Pay attention, people.

This kid can eat. I still nurse him 4 or 5 times a day (yeah, I had planned on nursing for six months. But he's still into it, so...), and he's also eating 3 full meals: oatmeal and applesauce for breakfast, veggies and chicken for lunch, and veggies or sweet potato and beef for dinner. (And yes, I make it all myself. My freezer has been taken over by freezer bags of single serving baby meals.) Plus yogurt or cottage cheese if he's still hungry. And a banana—a full banana—as an afternoon snack. (And don't even think about mashing it; he wants to eat it the way we do. It's terrifying the size of bites this kid tries to take.)

We were also having cheerios in the morning while mom checked her email, but then the eczema happened. And so now we're a gluten free baby. Meaning we'll all be back to gluten free living as soon as we're eating more of the same thing every meal. Sigh. I have no one to blame but my grandpa myself for this one.

I hired a part-time nanny and it was the best decision I've made in the past year. She comes twice a week for five hours a day, and it's fantastic. I originally hired her so I could get some work done—which I do—but then I realized I could schedule appointments around her being here. At first it was boring stuff like the doctor, but then I discovered a new Pilates studio in town. And now I do everything in my power to go there once a week (second best decision ever—it's an expensive yet amazingly necessary indulgence). Anyway, I love her. E loves her. I wish she could move in. Alas, she's in college and stuff. Harrumph.

I love this kid so much it's stupid. You always hear the cliched, "you love your kids in ways you never thought possible" and roll your eyes and throw up a little in your mouth (no? just me?) but holy crap, it's true. He makes me laugh all day long. And what's better—I can make him laugh. Big, high pitched, squealing giggles, whether I'm making funny noises at him, wearing one of his stuffed animals as a hat, or I'm chasing him on my hands and knees down the hall (uh, yeah, you do some dumbshit things just to get that giggle, trust me). He wakes me up at ungodly hours, I grumble my way down the hall to his room, and then I pick him up and he cuddles into my arms in a way that tells me he just needed his mama and I'm totally done for.

This is not how I imagined my life with a child, by the way. I miss my friends, I miss sleeping in (actually, I miss sleep in general), I miss jumping in and out of the car without dealing with restraints. But it is what it is. We had a baby. We chose to have a baby. And he is so happy, and so much fun, and yes, ohmygod so much work. But he has changed our lives in a way that...well, the selfish part of me won't let me write 'for the better,' but he's changed our lives in a way that's definitely...more. There's more laughter, there's more frustration, there's more planning, there's more love. More messes, more kisses, more being puked on, more screaming, more patience than I thought possible, more cuddles, more amazement, more noise.

Holy hell, and there's only been nine months of this. And as always, I'm aiming to write again next month. Wish us all luck...

Yawn. (AKA Saturday)

6:30p Shut the sleeping little man's door. Time to work, make dinner, drink wine. In no particular order.

7:35p There is screaming. Hubby finds E sitting with his back to the crib rail, wailing. His mobile is on (I did not turn it on). Totally asleep. Pops a paci in his mouth and E faceplants back down, still asleep.

8:45p I'm in bed with a book I've been attempting to read for 10 months. Ten.

9:15p I get up to check on the kid as silently as possible. He's in a completely straight line, face down. Weirdo.

9:20p Lights out. I'm old, shut up.

12:56a There is wailing. Going to let him work it out and self soothe.

1:13a Apparently not.

1:14a Find him standing in the crib, arms outstretched, doing a pitiful wail. Sigh. Ok. We rock for a few minutes until he's passed out, doing a little baby snore and paci drooping out of his mouth.

1:22a Lay him ever so gently in the crib.

1:22:10a There is screaming.

1:23a Change him, feed him. He falls asleep for real.

1:49a Back to bed. Find Ramona has taken my spot and the hubby is snoring. Move the cat, poke the hubs.

2:02a OMG SERIOUSLY THE SNORING. Remind myself that if he were gone I'd miss the snoring. It's not even loud, it's just...irregular. And I'm trying to fall asleep.

2:09a I would not miss the snoring.

4:00a Attempt successfully to sneak to the bathroom without E hearing and waking up. It's a 50/50 chance.

4:38a A barely audible meowing begins from atop our hamper. Hiss at Ramona to shut it.

4:42a Ramona tries feed-me-attempt #2 by climbing through the blinds to see outside. Hubby grabs her and puts her in the hall.

4:46a Greta chimes in by sitting on my chest and staring at me. 

4:48a Ramona sits on the cat perch directly outside E's door and begins to whine. I'm up, they win. If she wakes up that baby, I will skin her. And she knows it. She is smart and brave, I will give her that.

4:49a Find completely empty cat bowls and realize I forgot to give them the rest of their dinner last night. Oops. They are forgiven for being assholes.

4:50a Back to bed.

6:18a Really have to pee again. Totally afraid to. Sneak down the hall and back and snuggle back into bed.

6:20a Every. Single. Time. The whining begins.

6:28a Ok, he's up for real, so so am I. But seriously...

Yeah, ok.

*Note: In the two days since I wrote this, little man has slept through the night, so I've actually gotten to sleep from about 10p-5a. Minus the two times I have to get up in the middle of the night to check on him and make sure he's actually alive. There's been fussing at 12 and 3 or so that wakes us up, but he's put himself back to sleep. And this is called progress.

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...

Four—oops, FIVE—month check in.

Cross posted at Salt & Nectar

I'm not going to be cliche and gush on and on about how fast time flies, because I don't really feel that way. I mean, a lot has happened, and E's changed so much, but time seems to be passing at a normal clip. I'm not sitting here clinging to the past/present and "Oh, if only he'd stay like this forever"ing...I'm more excited to see what he'll do next.

I get grief from other moms with toddlers about this a lot..."Don't wish him bigger!," "Once he's walking you're screwed!," "You think he's a lot of work NOW..." And I do think he's a lot of work now. And maybe I'm being totally naive about the whole thing (this is definitely possible), but I'm happy he'll eventually be a little easier to self-entertain. Cause right now I'm going a little nuts.

So, to all you fellow quasi-type-A, 'I can work from home with a baby—how hard can it be? They sleep all the time, and I can multi-task like a mo-fo' future moms out there, lemme break it down a minute here.

E is a 30 minute at a time napper, and although he's up to about 4 naps a day, I spend an additional 40-120 minutes of my day trying to get said naps to even happen. So the "babies sleep all the time" line is total bs. Sure, some babies do. But that doesn't mean yours will.

And unless you have a champion napper, you're not going to get anything done. Because when they aren't sleeping, they need attention. They need to be fed. They need to be changed. They need you to make them laugh. They. Need. You. If you're going to attempt to work from home, prepare for a lot of evening, early morning, and weekend work. The only days I truly get anything done are when my mom comes to visit mid-week. (Note: tears from a stressed out new mom plus a retired grandma are a very effective combination.)

And now the fun stuff. Here's what's happening in new-mommy land.

I am shedding everywhere. We have two cats who like to make their presence known—I regularly find cat hair in my car, on dishes, in the bathtub and other once-sanitary cleanish places like that…and now I'm joining the pack. I hadn't lost a hair in 9 months, and then, boom. Three months post-partum on and I'm finding it in drains, on clothes, in diapers, in my lunch… it's like living with sasquatch. Add the fact that E has a grip like a bulldog-and his favorite handle is my hair-and I have a bit of a situation happening here. My sister presented me with some salon-quality hair thickener/growth inducer yesterday that's a favorite amongst her new mommy clients. Fingers crossed. (But so far, so good. I love having a product-rep/stylist sister.)

Not everything can be steam sanitized. Teething rings and the microwave don't mix. Unless melted plastic was your goal.

Speaking of, sticking a refrigerated ring or cold water in your baby's mouth for the first time is quite fun…I can't lie, I love the 'WTF, mom?!' face he's been perfecting lately. I can't wait for food. And I don't think he can either. Right now everything goes in his mouth. Everything.

Cloth diapers are gross. Even with a fantastic diaper service like I had. Because while the service does the super gross part and cleans them, I still have to change them. And they bunch. And twist. And soak through. And as cute as the covers are on the outside, the inside can get downright disgusting. And that part I have to clean. I lasted three months. And then it was time for some Honest Company diapers. They're as close to earth friendly as I can find while still being cute and well reviewed. And cute they are.

His toes are his favorite snack.

I believe whoever came up with the term "cat nap" must have also had a mini-horse sized cat like my Ramona. And that cat thought that the best time to tromps through the nursery—knocking over frames and whatever else happened to be in her path, hopping on and off changing tables, and climbing up and then perching upon the back of the rocking chair—was exactly 4 minutes after the baby drifted off at nap time.

We've learned that hitting thing against surfaces make awesomely fun noises. It's especially fun to hit things against his own forehead with alarming strength. Sophie, water cups, teething rings…And all good parents know that the best thing to do when your child is in self-inflicted potential harm is to point and giggle. We try and tell ourselves he won't actually dent his perfect little forehead, but we're usually laughing so hard we can't stop him anyway.

We're finally sleeping through the night (He won't go to bed before 9pm, but he'll sleep til 7am, so whatever.) And if that's not good enough, in the morning I generally get the world's best smile; it's like the kid is about to break his face. It's generally accompanied with some form of "agadabowiehaha(wookie noises)ba!" Which obviously translates to "Hi my indentured servant Mama! I missed you doting over me and now I'd like to hang out and have you change this soggy diaper and feed me. Now!

Suddenly the cats are very interesting.

The cute dude in the mirror is one of his best buddies.

I'm not sure this is supposed to be happening yet.

So all in all, this kid is a definite handful, but he is the happiest baby ever. Seriously. He smiles at everything, laughs at nothing, and is generally in a good mood most of the time. His mama is extremely grateful for that. Even if she gets nothing done during the day.

I'd like to also note that the post partum has all but passed...I really was struck by the outpouring of support online and in person, so I'd like to thank everyone for the concern and kind words.

Aiming for a six month check in next...
xoxo,
Pammy