Seven Month Marker

My dear child,

Last weekend you turned seven months old and I celebrated by dragging your tiny ass out to the country on a trip that took an hour each way. Hanging out at Malcontent Mama’s birthday hoedown was great fun as we sat on a blanket among the tall trees, the adult kneecaps, and the sugar-hypered older kids. I found that you love Nature as much as I do when you giggled and squirmed with delight while petting a horse and Shakespeare, the wiener dog. You crunched leaves in your small hands and dug in the dirt like a stationary badger. You patted the tree trunks like a reassuring arborist. I am happy to know you can be outside and not be overwhelmed by its vastness and constant activity. The ride home was a total nightmare as you screamed and cried for 45 minutes. My heart broke in to a million pieces but I couldn’t see the point of pulling over and torturing you with the notion that even if I took you out of the carseat to console you, you would eventually have to go back in again. Needless to say, you were immediately reassured when we got home and subsequent jaunts on the road haven’t phased you. No scaring yet.
















Speaking of nature, you are a probably a grackle’s biggest fan and thanks to the bird’s daring personality, you are able to view them up close as they vie for the food on our plates in outdoor settings. They mesmerize you and the rest of the world around you vanishes when you lock in on one. The other day as you were patiently waiting for me to get my crap together to take you on a walk, I spied you about to tumble out of the stroller as you strained to watch a honey bee fly from flower to flower in a clover patch in the yard. You moved your head in tiny jerks as it raced the small distances between them. I laughed so hard from behind the front door.


Unfortunately, your Alabama nanny has moved on to higher paying pastures. We miss her silliness and tremendous desire to entertain you. She has since been replaced with a sweet, young hippy mama from the northeast. The bonus is her 8-month-old son, Finnegan, who she brings along. The two of you playing together is a sight to see. Who can bang the loudest? Who can coo the longest? Who has the most interesting toy? Whose snack taste better? I think this arrangement will work out for now and I am happy to know you have a pint-sized buddy in your orbit.








You have consistently fought off offerings of baby food so we have moved on to people food with awesome results. Bring on the hummus, avocado, yogurt, and bananas! Toss in some fresh peas, Wagon Wheels, and oatmeal. You make your own unique yummy sound with each bite and gobble eagerly while still leaving room for a cozy boob nosh.

You are sitting up like a champ but crawling eludes you. I thought for sure that Finnegan’s ability to move about the room would inspire you but you are too busy flirting with the new sitter. You can stand forever and prefer to do so but walking isn’t on your radar yet. Your parents are not in any hurry for you to be mobile so no rush. You will play by yourself for marathon periods of time but when that time is up, you are all about hiring the parental sherpa. You are more vocal about your desires and the irritated sounds you make seem to mean many things. At some point, you figured out how to scream like a girl really loud. Mommy doesn’t like that so much.

Your parents are going to introduce you to the Ferber Method this weekend because you aren’t sleeping so well anymore and Mommy is tired of climbing the stairs 3 or 4 times a night to tend to your imaginary needs. Of course, there are times when your cries are for good reason but lately you’ve been crying wolf way too much. We’ll see how it goes. Hopefully we will all be snoozing peacefully. A full night’s sleep would be a wonderful early birthday present from you.




















I know that my whole world revolves around every inch of your being and I am grateful to be able to feel that way. Thank you for the past seven months, darling son. I look forward too much, much more.

Love,
Mommy

Radiohead Baby

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give to you the debut performance of Willem singing a tune from Radiohead (genetically speaking, I am not surprised that this had happened)...



(If loading fails, go here...http://youtube.com/watch?v=Vp0GQqDj9tY)

The Bitch Is Back

It has been a while since I last blogged. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to but because the gig that takes a year to prepare for just happened and I’m barely alive to tell the tale. I will begin this newest entry by highlighting my breast pump tour of duty during the conference.

Breast Pump As Camera Case

In an effort to maintain baby’s breastmilk supply, I pumped all over my fair city for 10 straight days and it was freakin’ HARD, people (but the absolute hardest part was spending three of those consecutive days away from baby). In the convention center where we toiled under buzzing fluorescents and scarfed down icy, rock hard pastries, I claimed the handicap toilet down the hall from where I was stationed as my own personal loo. I would sling the udder contraption housed in a suspicious black bag over my arm and race off at mentally scheduled times in an effort to keep my day in some kind of order. God forbid the loo was ever occupied and if it was, you better exit in a wheelchair or without limbs! Never ever was there a disabled person using the room and instead I had to wait with steam coming out of my ears and my boobs on the brink of super duper sprinkler setting while convention center staffers strolled out all coiffed and perfumed. That really got in my crawl! I could hear their walkie talkies buzzing with conversation as I banged on the door with a ferocity that almost dented it. I would sneer as they sheepishly exited probably thinking their supervisor had sniffed them out. I would lock the door and set up shop while the hissing of the machine calmed my nerves. I would store loads of hooch on icepacks and deliver them home late at night. At a certain point, we were required to stay in a designated hotel so I would leave milk at the front desk to be retrieved by daddy. Among the many parties I coordinated for the conference, I found myself pumping in slimy club bathrooms, client’s offices, a catering van, and my truck. I also hiked far and wide to said convention center and utilized MY handicap loo often walking at a pace that trimmed my weight by four pounds. When I think about the feat in retrospect, I am certain that I would have weaned baby weeks prior to keep from having to do the deed during such a stressful time and in so many public locales. I am glad though, as I cradle the little guy in my arms as he noshes and cracks that side grin in mid-swallow, that I stuck it out.

Jebus!

Let me confess, dear readers, that I have been held hostage for the past week at my job and they are letting me write a post to my blog only because I did an email merge successfully today.

Holy shit (I originally wrote "Oh my goodness" at the beginning of this paragraph but I wasn't feelin' it), it's been crazy at work and as was mentioned in a staff meeting this afternoon, we are approaching the top of the rollercoaster and soon we will be in free fall mode. This event planning business was birthed only last year and we cranked out 15 parties in nine days. The three members of the team (that includes me) thought that was an incredible feat. Well, this year we have, read it, 72 parties to host in that same amount of time with the same three people at the helm. At the moment, we are in freak out mode as the first party will be punted to our guests and clients on March 9th. After that, it's 10 straight days of this 24/7 nightmare (I say that affectionately). Current state of mind? Numb and calm (and this is without alcohol or medication...at the moment).

On the homefront, it's the same sweet predictable affair and I embrace every familiar minute. Baby has grown increasingly curious about things and it's all I can do to keep from whacking him in doorways and into walls as he arches his body and reaches for anything in his line of vision. Peek-A-Boo or just Boo! is his new favorite game and I get a kick at how quickly he forgets that I have just disappeared and when I reappear, he jumps out of his skin. This all happens in two second rotations. He loves Chicken Neck (where you kiss him and poke your chin in his neck while making a clucking sound) and a tiny blue elephant is his new favorite toy. Sock Monkey is on the back burner now and I happened to find him all alone face down in the driveway this morning. He either fell out of the diaper bag or barely made it home after a bender. We have moved on to Stage 1 baby foods with mixed results. Willem likes the orange veggies and tolerates the green ones. Fruit isn't his thing and it's always a good idea to feed him when he's seriously hungry or risk being sprayed like a bug inspectors wand with pureed vittles. His bouncy chair that I feed him in and the surrounding wall is peppered with his nibbles. I have a collection of clothes with the same Jackson Pollock-esque detailing via his mouth. It's very frustrating. On a few occasions, he eats well and there is peace and harmony in all the world.

So it's barely 9 pm on a Saturday night and I'm turning in soon. It's really sad. Of course, I have to be up around 6 (after a 4 am feeding) but I plan to spend a portion of the morning at (insert the sound of angels singing here) Target. In the meantime, if anyone sees my old life, please tell it I miss it...a little.

P.S. Congratulations to my brother and his wife on the birth of their second daughter at 5 a.m. this morning! "Phoebe Elyse, welcome to the world!"

P.P.S. And here is baby...

Welcome to Dimple Central.















This is baby in bed reading to daddy...



















Notice that daddy is not only NOT listening with his face covered but is also wearing earplugs. Everyone together now..."Baaaaaad Dad!"