Holy Life Changes, Batman!

It's been a while.  Sorry.  Things have been a little nutty for all the following reasons:

1)  We are living with a land shark

Leo had his last check up at 4 weeks, where he clocked in at 11 pounds 3 oz.  At his lowest, at his one week appointment, he was at 7 pounds 12 oz.  That's almost three and a half pounds.    More than forty percent of his body weight.  In 3 weeks.  I don't remember how long he was, but I remember he was in 90-95th percentile in both height and weight.  Or, in layman's terms:  Dayyyyumn, that's a big baby!

That was about two weeks ago.  With the help of his carseat carrier ( "the bucket"), a bathroom scale, and my old nemesis subtraction, we estimate his current weight at about 13 and a half pounds.  Holy hell.

Needless to say, our life is just one long blur of feedings.  And, when I feel like I've sucked down to sawdust, I look into his eyes and demand, "Where does it all go?  Where?"

Then he fills another diaper as if to say, "Duh."

2) That land shark has attitude

Around six weeks, many babies go through a phase of fussiness.  No one is entirely sure why, but I think of it as a kind of adolescence.  Suddenly, they can see past the tips of their noses and realize that the world is much larger and more complex than they've been led to believe.  Then they all turn into a bunch of Holden Caulfields and decide that the people who love them most are A BUNCH OF PHONIES!!!  So they do the infant version of locking themselves in their rooms and writing bad poetry--they cry and fuss for no apparent reason.

When Leo gets in one of these moods, I try to take him for a walk outside.  One particularly trying night, I needed to get something for dinner, so I loaded him into the stroller, and we went to Market Basket.  Now, for those of you outside the Boston area, the Somerville Market Basket isn't your average grocery store.  It is a microcosm of the city thrown into a blender.  It is the American melting pot left on high until it boils over.  It is, in every sense, overwhelming.  So, as Leo continued to fuss on the walk over, I thought, "I taking an already overstimulated kid into a swirling mass of chaos.  Nothing good will come of this."  I fully expected him to scream the whole time.  But then, once we got inside, he immediately went quiet and proceeded to stare in bug-eyed silence the entire time.  And, as we left, I leaned down to whisper, "Did I just BLOW YOUR MIND?"  He spent the rest of the evening in deep contemplation, trying to swallow his whole fist.

There is an upside to all of this.  Leo has finally learned to smile, and a darling little smile it is.  It usually starts on just one side of his face, but with some coaxing it takes over his whole face, then gets so big that he has to  wrinkle his nose just to make room for it.  It's elusive, so we haven't captured it on film yet.  But it's pretty spectacular.

3) The Big Three-O

A few days after Leo was born, I was in the bathroom when I heard the neighbors talking out on the deck.  One of them said "I mean, I'm already thirty, but when am I going to start feeling like an adult?"

Now, I was sitting there, bone tired, nursing my undercarriage back to health, and contemplating the wonders of disposable hospital underwear (hospital underwear doesn't give you that little squeeze to remind you how big you've gotten; hospital underwear accept you exactly as you are).  I was newly responsible for another person's life, and feeling more adult than ever before in my life.

It was all I could do not to yell out the window "If you have to ask that idiot question, then you aren't one!  And you probably never will be!"

On October 22, I turned 30.  I got to celebrate with both my friends and my family, which hasn't happened for a while.  It was the best birthday I've had in a while, and an excellent way to start a new decade.

4) Meet the Grandparents 2.0

My parents (a.k.a. Oma and Pa), came up for a quick visit,

but we did less adventuring around because . . .

5) We bought a house!

Damn straight we did!  Pics here.

More on that as it unfolds.

6) Cuteness continues unabated

It's not really fair to make you read such a stinkin' long entry without baby pics.  Enjoy!

That adorable hat was knitted by our friend, Nicole.

Awesome Stuff from Cool People: Fancy Aunt Nancy and Pappaw Fred

A couple weeks ago, I got a package from Sugarland, Texas, which could only mean one thing.  Spoiling is afoot.

As far as I'm concerned, my "Fancy" Aunt Nancy and Uncle Fred have made Sugarland the epicenter of spoiling.  For decades, my sister and I have been the beneficiaries of said spoiling, receiving everything our parents wouldn't dare buy us, from barbie dreamhouses to custom cowboy boots, single malt scotch to literally countless pairs of dangly earrings.  Now, Leo gets to enjoy this bounty, and I couldn't be happier for him.  Or more terrified for myself.

So, I opened the package and found a University of Texas onesie and matching Longhorn gym shorts.  Now, this may seem like an adorable little token of their love, and, in one sense, it is.  But in another sense, it is the opening salvo in what is likely to be an ongoing battle for Leo's loyalty.  See, my Grandpa Paul was a longhorn, and so is Aunt Nancy.  But, my Mom, ever the rebel, went to UT's sworn enemy, Texas A&M (as, I will proudly point out, part of the first class of women accepted to the institution).  I can't imagine the mix of  heartbreak and pride.  It'd be like watching Leo pitch for the Yankees.  What am I saying?  That would be all heartbreak.

Neither my sister nor I went to either school, but we were raised in A&M traditions and I consider myself a second generation Aggie.  Leo, on the other hand, is yet unaffiliated.  So, I figured putting him in the onesie would give us a clue to his future.  It would be like watching little Tibetan kids try to pick the possessions of the Dalai Lama.  At least, I hoped, I could send them some cute photos as a thank you.

So, I put him in the onesie, and we got this.
.

And a lot of this.

And then he spit up a little.  Then a lot.

This is the best we got.  Even here, he seems to be frowning a little.

Congratulations Mom.  Looks like the Gig 'Em is strong with this one.  Nancy and Fred: we will totally make him wear it for the first half of UT / A&M game.  After all, first come, first served

P.S.  Ever since I found out we were having a boy, I've wanted a blue sapphire band to wear on my left hand with my wedding band.  In classic spoiling fashion, Nancy and Fred hooked me up.  I put it on the day Leo was born, and I will be wearing it every day for rest of my life.  Many thanks and love to you both.

Fun With Video

Warning: these are only for the truly baby obsessed.  Nothing amazing.  No risk whatsoever of going viral.  Just me watching my kid flail and squirm through a screen.  The kind of stuff only a mother could love.

Additionally, I am speaking full on baby talk in these videos.  I didn't think I was at the time, but when I watched them, it was undeniable.  I am cooing away in total, unapologetic baby talk.  I really, really didn't want to be that person, but I'm not sure it's avoidable.  I'm starting to think talking like an idiot to a baby is a biological imperative on par with making the baby in the first place. 

Okay, enough with the disclaimers.  Here's my little cutie being cute.

"I'm not your monkey, Mama."

I don't know what I was expecting, but, yeah, babies don't do tricks.  Especially when you're trying to catch them doing tricks.

The internet says that babies don't usually start rolling over until about four months.  Apparently no one told Leo, because he seems to think he should be able to do it right now.

I think there has to be a special stage of the baby sleep cycle devoted to trying out new facial expressions.  Check out the killer smile at 1:03!

What Does Your Stroller Say About You?

Nothing.  The brand of stroller you push around says nothing whatsoever about you as a parent or a person. But does that stop me from judging people on the street on that basis?  Hell no!  If anything, it makes it more fun.

If you happen to use one or more of these conveyances to get your kid around, please don't be offended.  Seriously, I judge people based on their strollers.  What does that say about me?  Mostly, that deep down, I am a small, small person.

1.  The Bugaboo

Who's driving?: Striving yuppie mom, sculpted to perfection by years of power pilates.  Ha!  Just kidding.  It's the nanny
What's she carrying?: Kate Spade Diaper Bag, natch
What's the kid playing with?: Vulli, the $20 teething giraffe from France.  Did I mention it's from France?
What's in the cup?:  Grande Starbucks Skinny No Whip Mocha
What I say:  Nothing.  A reserved, business-like nod is more than sufficient.
What I'm thinking:  Please tell me you got that thing second hand.  If not, what's wrong with you? Who the hell drops $1,000 on a stroller?  That thing better come with . . . I can't think of anything a stroller could come with that would make that price reasonable.  Have fun interviewing baby Mandarin tutors and paying more for preschool than I paid for college.

2. The Twin Stroller

Who's driving?: Very tired woman in sweatpants who has aged ten years in the last six months
What's she carrying?:  Diaper bag big enough to double as luggage if she ever runs screaming into the night
What's the kid playing with?: The other kid.
What's in the cup?: Black coffee with a double shot.
What I say: Omigod,socute!Howold?Wow,that'sgreat.Goodforyou!!!
What I'm thinking: ::shudder::  No.  Dear God.  No.

3. The Sling

Who's driving slinging?:  Crunchy earth mama with a funky haircut who's forgotten more bands than I've ever heard of
What's she carrying?:  A tote bag she crocheted herself from yak hair, filled with raw milk yogurt and local kale . . . Organic!!!
What's the kid playing with?: Sustainable bamboo fiber rattle from a womyn's collective in Guatemala . . . Fair Trade!!!
What's in the cup?:  Locally roasted, shade grown soy latte . . . Buzzword!!!
What I say:  Do you know how long the farmer's market is open?
What I'm thinking:  This neighborhood is so god damn full of hipsters I can hardly stand it.  But, that looks like some tasty yogurt.  I wonder if the farmers market still has yogurt left.  And where she gets her hair done.  And if she'll make a playlist for me.

4.  Britax Travel System

Who's driving?:  A smart, successful lady with excellent taste, a fascinating life, and a particularly good looking baby.  She probably also smells nice and likes my shoes.
What's she carrying?:  A functional, unisex diaper bag that has room for the non-baby related books she's reading because she's totally maintained an identity outside of her role as mother
What's the kid playing with?  A classic teddy bear from a family member or close friend.  Because she has so many!
What's in the cup? Large green tea with lemon, just a little sweet.  Hot beverage of champions.
What I say:  Hey, nice looking stroller!  Hahahaha.  It's funny because I have the same one!  I guess we're best friends now, huh?  Hahahaha.  Yeah, just kidding,  Because that would be nuts, right?  Hahahaha.  Yeah, totally nuts.
What I'm thinking:  So . . . are we friends yet? 

Meet the Grandparents

I've heard it repeated by every professional I've talked to and every baby book I've read: you can't spoil a newborn.

Well, maybe you can't.  But Grandma can.  Oh yes, she most certainly can.  She has superhuman spoiling powers.

Let's back up.  Last week, Aaron's parents, Becky and Ed, came to visit us from Cleveland.  I use the term "us" loosely, because it was pretty clear that Leo was the main event.  For grandparent names, Becky went with the classic "Grandma", while Ed went with "Gido" (Jid-du), Syrian for grandfather, the same thing Aaron and his brother called their grandfather.  We were so excited, we even dressed Leo up in his little turtle onesie, in honor of Grandma's pet, Mr. Little Turtle, and Aaron's Methuselah-like childhood pet, Mr. Green (which is actually a lady turtle; a turtlette).

So, when Grandma and Gido arrived, we took some nice family shots.

And then Grandma assumed the Grandma position: in the rocker, sweet baby curled up against her chest.  Like so.

Now, the normal human endurance for rocking a baby is an hour, maybe two.  But Grandma?  Grandma can rock a baby like it's her full time job.  Literally.  Eight to ten hours a day.  And, no question, she's willing to work nights and weekends, too. Grandma likes her job.

And Leo loved it.  Who wouldn't love being cuddled and rocked into deep, blissful sleep all day?  But if you sleep all day, then what happens at night?

This happens.

Wide awake baby.

But we made Grandma and Gido pay for their spoiling.  We took our revenge in the form of a wholesome New England fall activity.  We took them apple picking.  In the rain.  Take that, Grandma!

Of course, we had to be out there too.  Maybe we didn't totally think this one through.

Aaron seemed to have a blast though.

And Leo got to sample the harvest.

So Leo's got his days and nights totally flip-flopped, thinking 2PM is for sleeping and 2AM is for funsies.  He also thinks that the crib is for suckers and that the good sleeping is up against someone's chest.  It's okay, it was worth it for some quality family cuteness, like this.

                                       

Aww.  That's nice.

I'm sure we'll manage to get him all straightened out eventually.  And then my parents will come and lovingly screw it up all over again.

The Good Times Never Seemed So Good

We put Leo in his Red Sox gear to celebrate the only bright spot of this abysmal season: closing day.

Wake me up when they make the playoffs.

Awesome Stuff From Cool People: Aunt Laura

Over the past few months, we've been absolutely overwhelmed the number of adorable, thoughtful, totally awesome gifts from our friends and family.  And we can't show them off enough.  So, here is the first installment of an epic series: Awesome Stuff From Cool People.

Aaron's brother, Sean, and his wife, Laura, live in Portland, Oregon with their 4 month old son, Alex.  Laura has an art and graphic design background and excellent taste in general.  And, fortunately, we get to reap the fruits of her creative labor.

Here's a wonderfully soft hat she knitted for Leo.

And a supercute little onesie with a stenciled "E" for Elias.  You can't really see it, but it's awesome.  It's so sad he's going to grow out of it in about ten minutes.  Lucky for us, she also made a bigger one with an "L".

Thanks Laura!  We love them!

This Sucks: On the (Nearly Lethal) Wonders of Breastfeeding; or A Supposedly Natural Thing that has Proven to be Anything But

I've always been of the opinion that breasts serve two basic functions: holding up sweaters and feeding babies.  Because mine were so good at the first, I assumed they would be good at the second.  And why wouldn't they be?  After all, I kept hearing about what a beautiful, natural act breastfeeding was.  They said that if it hurt, you weren't doing it right, and once you did get it right, it released a cocktail of lovely hormones that bonded you to your baby.  Not to mention that the milk itself  is  touted as nothing less than the food of the gods, making babies healthier and smarter, moms thinner and more resistant to breast cancer.   From everything I'd heard, breastfeeding instantly turned you into one of those glowing, blissful mothers who wander barefoot through fields of wildflowers.

At this point, anyone who's actually had a child is probably laughing hysterically.

Imagine my surprise when, a week or so in, I'm sitting on the couch in the middle of the night, topless, exhausted, wondering if the very hungry creature in my arms was actually trying to rip my nipple off with his surprisingly sharp gums.  I felt robbed.  Where was all the bonding?  The wonder?  The long-haired hippie naturalness I'd been promised?  Where were my god damn wildflowers?

Without getting into an obscenely detailed story about my breasts (which I've gotten entirely too comfortable telling), I'll just say this: breastfeeding sucks.  It sucks for all the reasons listed here.   It's painful.  It's messy.  It's confusing.  It's constant.

But, for me, the worst part of breastfeeding was that it made me hate men.  When things were at their worst, I would sit there, staring ahead, passionately hating all men.   I hated men irrationally.  I hated men despite the fact that the love of my life is a man and that the child I was feeding would one day be a man.  I hated men as a general proposition.  Mostly, I hated men for their inability to lactate and for the useless ornamental nipples that sat on their unswollen chests.  I had thoughts like: if men had to breastfeed, formula would be perfected by now.   And there would be something other than infomercials on in the middle of the might.  And all infants would be born with the ability to eat solid food.

Then, Leo would finally get a good latch.  Suddenly, the angry haze would disappear and I would be myself again.

Worry not.  With much patience, a good lactation consultant, and a ridiculous assortment of feeding paraphenalia, things are getting better.  And, more importantly, Leo is getting plenty to eat.  But the next time I hear someone waxing poetic about the effortless wonders of breastfeeding, I will probably break their jaw.