Boundaries

I guess Reid is getting to be that age where we have to decide what is overindulging him and what is not.

I've been struggling with night weaning in the past few days. You see, "they" tell me that Reid should be sleeping through the night right now and should not need to nurse. So I have tried to rock him to sleep instead of nursing. The result: I'm tired. Really, really tired. Today I came across this and it made me feel much better. Basically it says that if the baby is not responding to weaning, back off and try again later. Something that also made my shoulders unclench a little was the idea that sleeping through the night is a milestone like crawling or walking, and every child will reach it eventually in his or her own time. So "they" can suck it. I'm going to nurse my baby in the middle of the night and we're all going to be fine.

Still, though, I am surprised at how many times a day Reid cries and I have to decide whether I need to immediately relieve him of whatever it is that's causing his displeasure or not. I also have to figure out how to handle his outbursts. For example, if I lie him down on his back and he immediately cries, my general reaction is to sing and dance and wave toys around in his face until he forgets how much he does not want to be on his back. Same with his tummy. Actually, unless I'm sure it is a pretty serious "I am hungry/I need Mama/I'm in danger" cry, I try to talk him out of it before I go and pick him up. I do not want to have a whiny child who is constantly attached to me because he never got a chance to figure things out on his own. OK, I don't want to have a whiny child who never got a chance to figure things out on his own.

But then there are the times when we are having so much fun, and there is a little voice in the back of my head that says "one day this is going to backfire on you so bad. And you are going to wish you had put a stop to it." Like when my sweet, sweet boy grins, takes my face in his hands, and starts sucking on my chin and giggling. I end up covered in drool, but he is grinning at me and I am grinning at him, and my face is clean, and I make sure that I use facial products that are not going to cause him harm. So what's the problem?

I could go to the church Christmas cookie exchange without realizing that I have a giant hickey on my jaw.

That's the problem.

Reincarnate

When someone suddenly leaves your life, and a new person suddenly enters it, I think it may be normal to see traits in the new person that the departed left behind. Maybe it is a way of cushioning the blow of the loss. Maybe it's wishful thinking. Maybe it's my imagination. Maybe I'm crazy.


When Reid is stuck somewhere he doesn't want to be (like his carseat), he lets out what I call his "Boy Are You Mad!" cry. Which, to me, sounds exactly like my dear, sassy, pissed-off cat Maggie (1999-2009) when she would accidentally get locked out of the house or in our roll-top desk.

I put the Boo in Peek-a-Boo

Today Reid was in his Bumbo chair with the tray attached. I hid behind the ottoman, and when I reappeared, the poor child jumped so high that the tray actually flew off the chair.

One Month Ago Today

Okay, it wasn't precisely a month ago today, but it was close. That was the last time I posted. I have been trying to think of things to say but I'm just not feeling like a very funny storyteller these days. Not because funny stuff hasn't been going on. But because I'm thinking my audience only wants to hear so many blow-out posts (up to his armpits and down to his feet the other day, by the way. It was something, I tell ya). And also because I'm living the fun instead of writing about it.

So here's a quick recap of the last month.

- Reid has been playing a lot in his exersaucer. This has given me more time to do things around the house. Lately I have chosen to bake cookies. Now I need an exersaucer.

- Reid's been sitting up on his own. He still has his wibbly-wobbly moments, but for the most part he's pretty stable. This means he spits up on his feet a lot. True story.

- We've started solid food. Night one, he didn't know what to make of the stuff. Night two, he was cautiously optimistic. Night three, he was grabbing my hand to get the spoon to his mouth faster. So far it's just rice cereal. Sunday will be either sweet potato or peas, not sure which. I actually tasted the rice cereal tonight. If he's grabbing for more rice cereal, which tastes like stale butt in case you're wondering, I do not know what's going to happen when he has delicious vegetables.

- Reid just took a nap on his tummy and I neither had a heart attack nor flipped him over.

- Saying "woo-woo!" will make him laugh so hard he gets the hiccups. So will throwing his pants over his head during a diaper change.

...I guess that's about it. To my loyal reader, I will try to be better about posting more in the future.

One Year Ago Today

It was a year ago today that one Reid P. G. died and one Reid P. G.'s impending arrival was announced.

It has been a hard year and a sad year and a wonderful year and an incredible year and a horrible year and an amazing year.

I miss my Grandfather every single day. But I'm better. Better than I was. :)

Unsolicited Advice, Part II

If a baby poops in a diaper and no one is there to hear it, the diaper still needs to be changed.

Never, ever feel smug because your partner gets peed on during diaper changes and you don't.

When you are changing your little angel and you hear the unmistakable sound of pee hitting the hardwood floor...that was not the dog.

Check your shirt.

And your jeans.

Keep a towel near the changing area from now on.

And don't forget to laugh.

Rollin' Rollin' Rollin'

Yesterday I went out for a run and came back to the news that Reid had rolled from back to tummy! I knew that stupid old friend of mine (about whom I apparently wax poetic when I am on an endorphin high - what was WITH that last post?!) would do something like this - monopolize my time so that I'd miss a huge milestone.

But anyway, Reid recreated the moment for me, and it was really super cute. He cried once he landed on his tummy, I expect because either he was stuck, or because that Crazy Lady started hollering and squealing and gushing about how proud she was of her Big, Strong Guy.

He didn't do it how I expected he would, either. I thought he would arch his back and flip, like my niece did and like all the "baby rolls over" illustrations show it in the baby books. Instead, he pulled his knees up in the air and rolled to one side - baby's got that Pilates knee drop move down way better than I do - and then just rolled the rest of the way.

Apparently this new workout tired him out, because he went down to sleep without a peep last night, only woke up twice, and is now on HOUR THREE of a nap. This has been a challenging couple of weeks, sleep-wise, so this change in routine is both odd and welcome.

As for me, I've been sitting here on the couch doing absolutely nothing productive for the past three hours. And you know what I should have been doing? Absolutely nothing productive. You know why? Because it's okay to just sit. Look at me, I'm growing up too.

Learning to Be Friends Again

In the age of Facebook, I think we all know what it's like to reunite with an old friend who pulled your pigtails a time or two over the years. It's happened to me a couple of times, and we have seemed to have easily glossed over the ugliness and moved to a place where we can laugh at old times and comment benignly on new times. Your friendship will never be the same, but that's okay. Sometimes it feels good to talk to someone who knows what your old bedroom used to look like, or remembers your parents' names.

Last Friday night I reunited with the most volatile of my old friends. Its name is Running and we have quite a history. We got off to a rocky start in high school, but throughout college and beyond, I ran for weight loss, for mental health, because I had too much caffeine, because I was mad, because someone told me I couldn't, and so on. Then came 2008. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I started training for a half-marathon, and running became so challenging, so painful, so exhilarating, and so rewarding. Being able to complete 8- and 10-mile runs was an amazing feeling. Completing the half-marathon itself was amazing. So much pain. So much pride. I decided to go on to train for a full marathon.

This is where things got ugly. I think I actually made it to 14 miles before my beloved hobby turned into a death march. It became a toxic friendship. The one that everyone in the world can see is bad for you, but you persevere for reasons unknown. I often wondered what would be worse: a marathon or labor. Marathon, hands down. Maybe that's because I had some strong drugs during labor, but flaw #1 of marathoning, if you ask me, is that you are not given the option to take a very strong painkiller.

After I finished the marathon, puffy (yes, I gained 20 lbs and no, it was not all muscle no matter how often I tried to sell myself that line) and miserable, I tried to go back to my previous, pre-half-marathon relationship with running, but it was just not the same.

Being pregnant and having a newborn was just the hiatus I needed. On Friday, I was ready for a little me time so off I went. It felt so fantastic.

My brother (hi!) has teased me once or twice that there is nobody chasing me, so I don't need to run. Wrong - there is always something chasing me. It could be a bad day or that stupid thing I said when I had too much wine in 2005 or the jeans that won't button or an unfavorable election result. And it is really pretty rare that I don't outrun these foes.

Sometimes my head gets all cluttered like that one closet we all have. Things keep piling on and piling in and the next thing I know, I am opening that door and being hit with my 6-year-old winter coat (or that stupid thing I said when I had too much wine in 2005). Running, to me, is like cleaning out that closet several times a week.

We're taking it slow, and we're not going to be as intimate as we were in 2008, but I think running and I are going to be pretty good friends again.

Unsolicited Advice

Nobody likes unsolicited advice, right? I think I hate it more than most. The woman who came up to me in the park and told me that Reid might be more comfortable with a diaper rolled up behind his head in the baby swing almost got a diaper rolled up in her mouth. The woman who gave me a lecture on how formula is so much better for babies, while noting that breastfeeding mothers are smug and often give unsolicited advice...well, I almost went white-rage on that one.

But listen up. I am going to give you some unsolicited advice here. It is really in your best interest that you follow it and not question me. I have been in the trenches, my friends, and this is the hard-won wisdom I bring to you:

1. If you are holding your baby and you hear, smell, and SEE the telltale rumble...do not finish composing that text message. Stand up and go upstairs to the changing table.

A couple of things to note: now is a good time to stop believing those people who told you that breastfed babies' poo doesn't smell. Also, yes, I did say "see" the telltale rumble. The jamjams were flapping in the breeze, okay?

2. Once you get upstairs and remove the offending - offensive? - diaper, do not plop it down on the changing table in disgust. Wrap it up in a tidy parcel just as you do with the rest of the diapers. I promise you, this extra few seconds is well worth it. But just in case you do not heed this warning...

3. Once you have pulled off the slightly soiled jamjams, do not plop them down on the changing table in disgust. Because they will land in the pile of offensiveness that is the diaper, and what do you know. Your jamjams are no longer "slightly" soiled.

4. Moms: seriously consider not eating whatever it is that you ate in the past 24 hours.

5. All of this goes double if you and your child are wearing cream-colored clothing.

If I can save just one outfit by writing this post, my harrowing experience will have been worth it.

Confessions of an Eco-Diaper Dropout

From cloth to Seventh Generation to Huggies Naturals to whatever is on sale, landfills be damned, I have one thing to say:

You know Pampers? They're amazing.

No longer does the telltale undercarriage rumble cause me to race up the stairs with the baby at arm's length.

My makeshift stain treater of detergent + water in an old Dawn bottle has been sitting lonely and unused in the bathroom.

Reid has been waking up in dry pajamas, on dry sheets.

He even smells good.

God bless all the hardworking engineers at Pampers who made this post, and the wonders herein, possible.

...and on a lighter note

2 funny things:
The other night, Joel came to put Reid down while I was sleeping. I asked Joel, not politely, just what he thought he was doing, since I was trying to sleep. I was trying to be very still in case the baby rolled off. I mentioned, not politely, that I didn't think this was fair at all since I was trying to sleep. Couldn't Joel just put him in his crib?! Joel was as confused as you guys are when I finally realized: "Oh. That's Mackenzie on me, isn't it." In my sleepy state, I thought Joel had put the baby on me while he went to brush his teeth. It was the cat.

Last night, Joel woke me up to watch the baby while he went to the bathroom. Amused, I asked him what he was talking about. He caught on much more quickly than I had and said, "I think I have a cat on me." Well-played. I wish I could think to write down all the weird stuff I say in the middle of the night.

***************************************************************************************

In my last post, I mentioned "Monkey Love." One of our friends got us a rather large blanket with a monkey head attached to it, with Reid's name embroidered on it. It is super cool, and I have decided it's going to be his blankie (Yes, I can control this one. Reid does not have to know we have 60 other blankies. OK? Give me this). It's still really big for him to grasp, but in a moment of sheer serendipity, I found a miniature that someone had given us for a shower gift. Seriously, it is the same brand, same monkey face, except it is little. Awesome. I said the other day that I didn't want Reid to run around asking for his "blankie." I wanted him to call it something original. Unfortunately the only thing I could think of was "Monkey Love." And unfortunately, it has stuck. And even more unfortunately, the larger of the two is "Big Monkey Love."

Why is this unfortunate? Because my child is going to go to preschool and he's going to leave it in the sandbox, and he's going to run around the classroom (most likely at pickup when all the other parents are watching) sobbing, "I need Monkey Love! I neeeeeed Big Monkey Love!!!!"

That's why.

It's almost like he's a little person.

Last night's bedtime was a success. Then a fail. Then a success. Then a fail. Asleep, awake, asleep, awake, and finally, around 11:15, asleep. I knew he was tired, but it was as if every 5-10 minute "disco nap" just allowed him to gather strength and be up for a longer stretch. The last time he woke up was totally my fault. He'd fallen asleep with his Monkey Love (more on that later) and it was sort of covering his face, so I took it away when he was really asleep. Or maybe not so asleep. PING! Hi Mama! I'm awake! Where ya goin' with my Monkey?

At this point we'd been doing bedtime for 2 hours. I was tired. Bouncing him to sleep on a yoga ball is effective, yet painful after the first 20 minutes. At least my back is getting strong, in case I need to haul firewood for winter. I called on Joel to take over, and I flounced off to bed in a huff. Where had I gone wrong? He'd had 3 okay naps that day. Nothing great, but all told he slept about 3 hours.

He slept well once he did finally go down: up at 3 and then for good at 6:30. I tried to handle the 3a feeding myself since Joel had stayed up until 11:15 with him, but he needed a diaper and I needed to use the ladies', turn on the heat, and get a snack all fairly desperately, so I enlisted some Daddy Help (or as Dr. Sears says, I "honored my parnter" by asking him for help. Seriously, God bless Dr. Sears).

At this point, I was really feeling like a jerk. I couldn't do a 3a feeding by myself and let Joel sleep, and again - where had I gone wrong yesterday?! I kept going over and over everything in my mind trying to pinpoint the moment where I'd messed up and triggered this unusual wakefulness.

This morning, after a decent few hours of sleep, I saw it in a new light. Yeah, I know you are probably all reading this and yelling at me the way you yell at a horror movie heroine not to go in the basement. OK, stop smacking your forehead. I get it now. He's a human being. He's an individual. He's got his own ideas about things, and if he wants to be awake from 9-11, there's not a whole lot I can do about it aside from creating a comfortable environment for sleep. He's not an automaton. I can't program him.

Why am I not getting this? Why am I taking every single bump in the road as a personal affront to my mothering? Furthermore, why am I calling this a bump in the road? He was awake. He wasn't screaming. He wasn't crying. For the most part, he wasn't even fussing. In fact, he was giggling. Probably at me for thinking, yet again, that I have some sort of control over this situation.

This morning after a good breakfast (well, good-ish. No cookie bar, yet) and a good workout, I sat and took inventory: I have a happy, healthy baby. When he is overtired, he is punch-drunk and giggly as opposed to fussy and whiny. I have a husband who wants to help out in the middle of the night. Our baby is seriously agreeable and comfortable. No colic, no reflux, not even a sniffle. He naps well when he needs to. Sometimes when he's crying, he stops to giggle. For real.

Seriously, people, stop smacking your foreheads. I know. I know. I need to chill the heck out, and now. The only "problem" in this situation is my attitude!

I did it. Three times. And I'll do it again.

I have so far put Reid down for 2 successful naps and 1 successful nighttime sleep in his crib. As a bonus, the number of times I have run upstairs to check on him has surely burned off the cookie bar I ate as "breakfast dessert."

Sleeps

Since Reid came home, he's mostly been falling asleep in our arms or in the carseat. Having him fall asleep on me is my favorite time, aside from nursing, playtime, and all the other times of the day when he exists.

I think it's fine to have him fall asleep on us. I know people who rock their toddlers to sleep. If that is wrong, I don't want to be right. It is such a special time (gah! I've become a person who says things like "special time!"). There is time later to worry about habits, but in the grand scheme of things, rocking a baby or a toddler to sleep is not going to make the world stop turning.

However. It is time for us to start putting Reid down in his crib once he is asleep. I have been thinking this for a while, but I wasn't ready to let go. Suddenly the lightbulb went on last night, when my head was cocked at a really uncomfortable angle in order to accommodate the 12-week-old [heavy] head taking up most of my shoulder and all of my neck: rocking him and having him fall asleep on us means we still get that sweet, "special time." Putting him in his crib after that means not waking up with a crick in my neck, possibly finishing an episode of Mad Men in one go, and not having to call Supernanny 3 years down the road because I just don't understand why my kid won't sleep in his own bed.

Sounds like a win to me. So today was the first try. First I nursed him and rocked him until he fell asleep. Then I put him in his crib and waited for the inevitable **PING! Eyes open!** I don't know why he wakes up as soon as I put him down. I suspect it is a separation thing, and I have prepared accordingly: for the past 2 nights, I've been sleeping with a lullaby-singing frog and a monkey-headed blanket so they would smell like me.

Once his eyes opened, I tried a couple rounds of "let him cry for a minute, then soothe, and repeat." I know that this is not "crying it out" and it's not cruel, but I don't want him to go to sleep just because he has tired himself out from crying. I'd like for the crib to be a comfortable, secure place for him that is not associated with being sad or lonely.

My next approach was to stand there and shh him and rub his belly until he fell asleep. This worked, but it took for-ev-er. At some point I covered him with the monkey-headed blanket, which I think helped. Since putting a blanket on a baby goes against every SIDS recommendation out there, I stayed closeby and watched to make sure it didn't suddenly float up over his mouth and nose.

The nap only lasted 25 minutes or so, but it was progress. He is a crabby apple for sure right now, but it's going to take a little bit to get into this groove. Just like everything else so far, it will take patience and persistence, and it will likely be harder on me than it is on him.

Speaking of hard on me...when my little boy is tired and I am rocking him, bouncing him, or rubbing his belly...right before he starts to drift off, he stares deeply into my face and he smiles. A lot. It is heart-melting and it takes every fiber in my body not to pick him up, squeeze him, and say "forget the nap, let's go get you a pony!"

Baby Progress, Mama Progress...sort of.

Yesterday I sat Reid up against the arm of the sofa and put Sophie the Giraffe in front of him so that he could grab on to her if he wished. He hadn't really grabbed intentionally yet, but if we put a ring in his hand, he will wave it around. I soon realized the error of my ways: he is not ready to grasp on to things with one hand yet. He is, however, ALLLLLMOST ready to bring both hands to the object, then bring the object to his mouth. He was almost there with Sophie, but not quite. About half an hour later, I decided to try the same with the Grab Apple and he did it almost right away! Amazing that a toy called a Grab Apple would encourage grabbing! I can barely believe it myself! It is incredible to watch Reid developing before my eyes.

As for my own development...you may all be wondering how I'm doing with my "let it be what it will be" philosophy. Or you may not, but I'm gonna tell you anyway. Not well. I can't relax in clutter. I hate when the dishes aren't done (or at least are not stacked neatly in the sink). I hate when I haven't showered by noon. I hate it when I haven't had a good workout (that whole not caring about my weight thing is not really happening either). I have divided weekly chores into 5 days: for example, Monday is Kitchen Day, Tuesday Dining Room, and so on, and if I don't complete the day's "task," it can put me in kind of a mood.

So here's what I did: I bit the bullet and bought the Ergo baby carrier. I hate to subscribe to one single parenting philosophy (or any philosophy for that matter - ideally I'd just do what feels right and call it a day), but Dr. Sears is my homeboy, and he is a very big fan of Babywearing. I tried the sling that was actually developed by Sears himself. First, Reid was too little. He sunk down in it and it just made me too nervous (though this was NOT a sling involved in the recent recall). Then all of a sudden he was too big and strong, and seemed to be practicing for a sport called "Flip the Baby" - imagine you are in an unstable hammock and you all of a sudden lock your knees and arch your back. Human Pancake!

I also tried the Moby Wrap. I wanted that thing to work so bad. I wanted to be one of those moms who was effortlessly wearing her baby around the farmers market and the music festivals. It was great when he was tiny, but when he tried the "Flip the Baby" move in the Moby, he was met with yards and yards of tight fabric, which made him a very angry boy indeed.

Enter the Ergo. I had such high hopes for this, and so far it has delivered. I have no idea how it is possible to wear a 16-lb child and barely feel an ounce, but this carrier makes it happen. Reid's got some room to wiggle and squirm, but not enough that I feel insecure with him in it. Mostly he is content to just look around and take it all in. He sleeps really well after he's been worn (and if he's in there for more than half an hour, he usually falls asleep in it). Yesterday I was able to do the dishes (of which there were many), tidy the house, walk the dogs, and throw in some deep squats for good measure (see: still caring about weight). And, coincidentally, last night was the best night of sleep we've had in several days.

Conclusion: baby wearing is good for Reid and good for me. So even though I haven't achieved the Zen Mama attitude I was hoping for, I consider it progress that I found a way to indulge my control-freakiness while also doing something good for Reid.

Now, I am off to complete the day's task (bathroom!) while this moppet is still sleeping (progress!). We'll discuss how Reid naps best in his carseat, and how I've finally decided to let it happen (PROGRESS!!!!!), at a later date.

Hey, the word "Progress" has lost all meaning to me, and looks really funny at this point.
Also, is anyone else super impressed with my newfound ability to hyperlink?

I QUIT

I am not exaggerating: I absolutely love 98% of motherhood. Seriously. When he's crying, when I'm tired, when I haven't showered in 2 days, when I'm covered in spit-up at 4am, when I get peed on while changing a diaper at the zoo, I still know how lucky I am to be able to have this little guy. Being covered in his pee is so much better than not having him. Reid is a remarkably easy baby, I realize, but I'm doing my fair share of work and sacrifice too.

So what's the 2%, you ask? Those stupid (insert words I won't say in front of a baby) cloth diapers.

The pee smell never seems to leave them, no matter how many times I soak and wash them with baking soda and vinegar. Then I have to dry them twice because they hold onto water and if I don't, they smell like damp, musty laundry. But see, that absorbency doesn't seem to work with the actual pee because I have already been through 2 (really cute!) outfits today due to leaks. Reid is 2 months old and change. One day, he will refuse to bathe or will roll around with Caffrey (or stand in the same room with Jesse) and he'll be the Smelly Kid on his own. He shouldn't have to be the Smelly Kid now when he has no choice in the matter.

I've tried everything I can think of, and everything I've read online to make these problems disappear and they just don't. And I dread the diapering part of my day. And I loathe the diaper laundering part of my day.

So, I quit. I'll use the Seventh Generation diapers, which are chemical-free, and that will be that.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a diaper to go change.

Healthy.

My 8-week-old is 3/4 ounces shy of being 15lbs. The pediatrician says he is exactly where a 3-3.5 month old should be. He is in the 97th percentile for weight and the 90th percentile for height.

He is 3/4 ounces shy of outgrowing his Pack N Play bassinet as well, which means that he will be sleeping in the actual bottom part of the Pack N Play...which means that it's a good thing this Mama found some weights on clearance at Target today. Strength training will pay off at 2am when I haul his sleep-heavy body out of bed for a feeding. Why is it that babies weigh so much more in the middle of the night?

As for the immunizations...I was beginning to wonder whether or not this child ever felt pain after I nipped him with the nail clippers on Saturday (bloodbath!) and poked him directly in the eye this morning and he didn't flinch at either incident. Not to worry: at first poke, he went a very healthy shade of puce, and I am here to tell you that the kid can cry. But the kid also has a sense of humor, so just moments after his shots when Mama and Daddy were struggling to re-dress him in the most difficult romper EVER, he was having a good giggle at our ineptitude.

So, the good news is that Reid is very healthy - both physically and developmentally - and very happy. And with a doctor's appointment like that, there IS no bad news!

Slow down, you crazy child

I never considered myself a type-A control freak, but I guess I was in certain ways. For example, from age 18 to about this past December, I counted almost every calorie I ate. I would get upset if I ran for 29 minutes instead of 30. I would get a little itchy if the dining room table or the ottoman tray was cluttered or the bed was unmade...yet I could easily go a little longer than advised with cleaning the bathroom or dusting the house.


I'm trying to fight certain elements of the control-freakiness but it has been hard. Especially these past few days. Our routine was blown out of the water and Reid and I are both feeling it. I've been exhausted and tense, and he's been fussy. Or is he fussy because he can tell I'm exhausted and tense? Who is the routine for? Him or me?


Sometime in May or June, I was lamenting to a friend via text message that I didn't understand why my thighs were so big - after all, they were not carrying a baby. She replied, "actually, they are. So let them be what they will be." Very wise words, and I've been trying to apply this mantra to life these days. Let the house be what it will be. Let Reid's schedule be what it will be. This goes completely against my nature, though, so it is really hard for me. And ironically, I'm not exacty letting me be what I will be, am I?

But some changes are for the best, and I definitely need to learn to roll with things better.

So this morning when we had a little setback and we couldn't go for our walk right away, which nearly caused a 2-star meltdown, we did some morning errands, then we drove along the lake for awhile and listened to what I've come to think of as Mama's Lullaby: Vienna by Billy Joel, on repeat:


Slow down you crazy child
You're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart tell me why
Are you still so afraid?
Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
You better cool it off before you burn it out
You got so much to do and only
So many hours in a day

But you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want
Or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through
When will you realize...Vienna waits for you

Slow down you're doing fine
You can't be everything you want to be
Before your time
Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight (tonight)
Too bad but it's the life you lead
You're so ahead of yourself
That you forgot what you need
Though you can see when you're wrong
You know you can't always see when you're right(you're right)

You got your passion you got your pride
But don't you know that only fools are satisfied?
Dream on but don't imagine they'll all come true
When will you realize
Vienna waits for you

Slow down you crazy child
Take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while
It's alright you can afford to lose a day or two
When will you realize...
Vienna waits for you.

And you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want
Or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through

Why don't you realize...Vienna waits for you
When will you realize...Vienna waits for you

I hope after reading that, you are all as relaxed as I am. OK, you got me: I'm not totally relaxed yet. But my other life mantra is Fake it 'Til You Make It. :)

Formula is Expensive

I worked the rough numbers, and to feed Reid for a week on Target brand formula - not even name brand! - it would be about $70.

Then why have I gotten so many manufacturers' coupons for formula since becoming pregnant? Yesterday I got an actual sample in the mail, along with a $4 coupon. OK, if it's so easy to to hand out coupons and samples of this stuff, why not just...you know...lower the price?!

And why not do some market research to learn that I do not use formula before wasting $10 worth on me? Why not send these samples to women's shelters or doctors' offices so that they can be given to women who need it? The can is sealed so I plan to do just that (unless my local reader knows someone who will use it) but seriously. I just don't understand why something so expensive is tossed out like candy at a parade.

Tree of Life

My bestie Erin and I both have October birthdays and have discussed getting tattoos this year as part of the celebration. I pretty much knew what I wanted to get, depending on whether Reid was a boy or a girl. If a girl, the Celtic triple spiral (aka triskele or triple goddess), which I was told* symbolizes "maiden, mother, crone." Or more loosely, "daughter, mother, grandmother" for those who object to the word "crone."

If he was a boy, I wanted the Celtic Tree of Life, which I have read** symbolizes rebirth. I thought that was appropriate given that Reid is named after his Great-Grandfather who died on the day I found out I was pregnant (or, as I prefer to say, he went up to Heaven and sent another Reid down). The Tree of Life is also rumored to signify strength, longevity, and wisdom. Anyone who knew Reid the First would agree that this is a felicitous*** description.

So back to the tattoos, the thing is that I think there is one great place for a tattoo and I already have one there. So I'm not entirely sure whether or not I'm going to get one. But when the little guy was born, I did know that I wanted a pendant of the Tree of Life to commemorate his birth (because the baby isn't enough proof...? Whatever, any excuse for jewelry).

I've been waiting and waiting for Irish Fest so that I could go see if this guy had a Tree of Life pendant. I have a Celtic Turtle and a Claddagh that he made, and I know he does great work. Well, I found him, and I found the Tree of Life charm, and I'm very happy about this (just ask my mom).
SIDE NOTE: I was assured that Sean's online store is going live soon, so if you are in the market for Celtic jewelry, bookmark that site!

Reid seems to like it, too; he keeps trying to eat from it.

*I was told this by a woman at Irish Fest. These knots and symbols have so many different meanings, I'm not 100% positive which is correct and I have not done a ton of research. So don't get on my case if I'm wrong!

**Ditto the above except I read the meaning on the internets, and even though they never lie, I feel I should acknowledge that again, I haven't done a ton of research. Several reputable sites seem to agree on this meaning, however.

***Thesaurus. Booya.

Judgment Call

I feel like we've really gotten to know Reid better in the past few days. When he's driving the Fuss Bus for seemingly no reason, he's tired and will be asleep soon if we quit trying to pacify him. If he starts his patented Eat 'n' Punch, that means he needs to burp. That sound that sounds sort of like he's fussing and sort of like he's choking? That's a LAUGH! But...what do you do when you suspect a Category 5 Diaper Emergency on a peacefully sleeping baby?

Wake him? He'll be crabby.
Leave it? It could leak.
Wake him? But I could still possibly get a shower today.
Leave it? He could get diaper rash.

I guess since he is peaceful, I will leave it for now. He'd let me know if it was bothering him. But I'm putting a bucket under his bouncy chair just in case.

UPDATE: It's okay. It turns out the bouncy seat cover is very easy to remove and totally machine washable. And now I know.

There are so many things I should be doing right now

But instead I'm on Amazon looking at Halloween costumes. HELLO.

It's The Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

Irish Fest, Irish Fest, Irish Fest!

There is nothing I don't love about this weekend. It opens tomorrow at 4pm. You know where I'll be!

Busy Hands

I love the way Reid moves his hands when he nurses. For a couple of weeks there, he sewed. He'd hold his thumb and forefinger together with the rest of his fingers splayed, and rotate his wrist. Sometimes he twirls the hair at the back of his head (say it with me now: eeeeeee!!!!). This weekend he has just started clapping his hand to his forehead and leaving it there. I can't tell what this means.

Is he hungover?*
Should he have had a V8?
Is he wishing he'd done this whole eating thing sooner?
Is he wishing I'd lay off the raw onions?

*I assure you, I researched and researched the effects of alcohol in breastmilk, found that it is okay in moderation, and decided that I was gonna [carefully] drink some beer! Then I got really tired. Usually I can't make it to the kitchen to retrieve one, and if Joel brings me one, I rarely finish it. So this is totally a joke. Besides, no child of ours would have such a weak tolerance.

Reid All About It!

This blog is just one more item on the "Things I Never Thought I'd Do When I Had Kids" list - a mass updating of family and friends on the adorable things my baby does. There is a part of me that still thinks, "you REALLY think all your family and friends want to read a blog about Reid's latest spit bubble?!" but the Mama part of my brain says, "who cares. If they don't want to read it, they won't."

So, here it is. A blog about Reid's latest spit bubble. It was about an hour ago. It was adorable.

In case anyone is wondering, here are the other things I thought I would never do when I had a baby:
1 - feed him/her formula. Now, this is not meant to start a formula vs. breastfeeding debate, I just never thought I'd do it. He got his first formula bottle at 1 day old (and his last at 5 days old)

2 - use drugs during delivery. Most of you know I was pretty dead-set against it. Then I had a contraction, a good laugh at myself, and a lovely epidural that I loved so much, I almost named.

3 - buy ANY apparel with writing on it, ie "Mommy's Little Prince!" or "Daddy's Little Darling!" Sigh. OK, I will still never buy anything that calls my kid a prince. I always think of that Sex & The City episode where they all attend the suburban baby shower, and the crazy mother says something like "my son is the best thing in the entire world and I tell him so every day," and Miranda says, "what are the chances of a woman ever making him happy?" You get the point. Of course this is neither here nor there because there will never be a girl good enough for Reid, and we all know that, and he will spend his adult life being brilliant but single and living close to his mother, but he doesn't need to go around with some sort of royalty complex. ANYWAY, I bought an outfit yesterday with cute little cars all over it that says "Dad's Speedster." It's stinking adorable. What! Put a Carter's label and a clearance tag on it and I will buy it. It's a fact. Unless it says "prince."

4 - use disposable diapers. I haven't broken this one. YET. And I probably won't now that Little Big Man's thigh chub fills out the leg holes, saving me from volumes of leaking pee. But sometimes I admit to dreaming about Pampers and Huggies and Diaper Genies. You can't deny the cloth ones are cute, and I have to say, our system of using wet baby washcloths as wipes is really efficient. I had to use 4 baby wipes to clean up my prolific pooper while out on the town yesterday. It's usually a one-washcloth job. But one day I am going to change a diaper and two minutes later I will hear that telltale rumble and will think of the laundry that my husband works so hard on because Lord help me, I only did those stinky things once, and I will think of how easy it would be to toss it and forget it.

5 - clog up the FB news feed with photos and baby-related status updates. Ahem. I believe you're all on FB.

6 - listen to Kiddie music. What's wrong with regular music? Music is music! Ahem. See my status updates of late.

I think that's about it for now. If you all can think of anything else I swore I'd never do but did, don't post it in the comments. I'm allowed to make fun of myself but you're not. That's a good ground rule to lay down right now.

That's all for now!