It's the Little Things

I love you, always, because you're my boy. But it's the little things you do that make me smile and love you all the more.

I love how you'll be busy playing with something, then will look up, see me smiling at you, and break in to your big old gummy grin.

I love how, when you're nursing, every other part of your body can be still but you still have at least one leg moving. You're like your mom - your leg must always be in action. Always.

I love how you are so delighted when you get to stand up, and I love your little Frankenstein walk. I know I'll be regretting loving your walk when that walk turns in to an actual, unassisted walk, and eventually in to a full-out gallop. But for now - hella cute.

I love that one little little quacking duck toy makes you giggle. Right before you shove the duck's bill in to your mouth.

I love that you reach up with one arm while nursing to feel my nose, and my hair, and my chin, and my mouth. I am not a big fan of you exploring my eye sockets, however.

I love it when you grab my finger, or your dad's finger, and look at it for a second, as if saying "huh, what should I do with this?" And then you vehemently shove the finger in to your mouth, almost as if it's a piece of steak and you haven't eaten in years.

I love your little feet. Ridiculous. I love your little curling toes. And I love how you shove those toes right in to your mouth.

I love your endless fascination with the dog. No matter what you're doing, the dog walking by makes you happy.

I love that you continue to humor your dad by laughing at his "dancing pants" routine.

I love your little pterodactyl-like screeches when you are happily singing to yourself. You shall be the next Adam Lambert if you keep that up.

I love it when you're out watching cars and a particularly loud car, or a car playing loud music goes by, and your arms go out to the side and get all flaily and your face gets this big shocked "what the F was THAT?" look on it.

I love that you giggle every time I put you down for a nap and sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" to you. Is my singing really so terrible that you have to laugh at it?

I love that your new sleeping position so closely resembles mine - one arm under your body, one arm up by your mouth, one leg straight, one leg bent to keep you from going all the way over on your belly. Every time I see you like that I just think "Yep, that's my boy."

I love the new sucking of the bottom lip thing that you're doing these days, that kind of makes you look like an old guy who has lost his dentures. Although I hope you don't do it forever. It's all cute now, but in a couple years it'll just look weird.

I love how you smile every time we step in front of my full-length mirror. As if you can recognize how damn cute you really are.

I love the Texas Longhorn finger suck thing that you do sometimes. Too bad you are destined to be a Hokie.

Dads

Hooray for Dads! Happy Fathers Day.

A poem I stole from online somewhere:

Life Lessons

You may have thought I didn't see,
Or that I hadn't heard,
Life lessons that you taught to me,
But I got every word.Perhaps you thought I missed it all,
And that we'd grow apart,
But Dad, I picked up everything,
It's written on my heart.Without you, Dad, I wouldn't be
The woman I am today;
You built a strong foundation
No one can take away.I've grown up with your values,
And I'm very glad I did;
So here's to you, dear father,
From your forever grateful kid.By Joanna Fuchs

Things I wrote down. Like with a PEN. And PAPER...

I didn't take my laptop to San Francisco, so I had to rely on old technology to capture a few random things that were running through my head. You didn't think I still knew how to use a pen, did you?

Dear CoCo: I know. I know you're old and the bladder just ain't what it used to be. But seriously. 4:45 AM is NOT a cool time to get up, flap your ears around the room, and stand panting by Dad's side of the bed, begging to be let out RIGHTNOW so that you can come back in and get down to the business of an early morning nap. And then when someone does get up to let you out, it's still NOT cool to come back up an hour later panting and ear flapping AGAIN so you can go outside for the first poop of the day, and can subsequently be all set for your morning activity, which consists of a nap and maybe a little begging a bagel off Mom. How about you combine those two going outside events in to one, that is at a more reasonable time of oh, say, 6AM?

Note to Self: Lots of layers = pouffy hair. And you don't do pouffy hair...

I put the pump on the security belt at BWI. It goes in to the little x-ray machine. The security guys stops the belt, looks closely at my pump. Looks again. Puzzled look on his face. I can see the pump in the x-ray picture, a tangled mess of tubes, containers, and electric cords. I tell the puzzled man the bag is mine. He says "Is it a clock or something?" No, I say, it's a breast pump. Ahhh, he says, with a look of understanding and perhaps a bit of embarrassment. And sends it right through.

My text to John, upon arrival in Houston to change planes: Welcome to planet Houston.
John's reply, with a tell-all photo: Houston, we have a problem
A few seconds later, with another tell-all photo: Nevermind all is well
The boy really doesn't like tummy time...

There's a baby two rows in front of me on the plane. Maybe 6 months older than Dexter. He's standing on his mom's lap, looking around and giggling hysterically. It makes me cry. I miss my boy.

I tear myself away from watching a craptastic movie on the plane (with no sound because headphones are a DOLLAR) to look out the window. Astounding. The setting sun lights up the west faces of rock outcroppings. The plane rolls over the hills and valleys. It's like my own personal relief topo map (you know, the raised up maps you can run your fingers over to feel the mountains) rolling out underneath me. Except that the rivers are not blue.

At the Golden Gate Bridge overlook on Friday night. I was here seven years ago with John, when we drove across the country. It makes me miss him to be here again. It's pretty much the same place, although this time I am here at night. And I don't remember such a strong urine smell the last time I was here.

Muir Woods. There is no way to capture this place on film. No way to capture the grace, the silent beauty, the size, the soaring height. I tried. But it's impossible.

Laughing kids. Laughing friends. Loving family. Loving vows. Happy tears shed. Music with meaning. I am privileged to watch two beautiful women profess their love in front of friends, family, and God. An amazing wedding.

Ladies and Gentlemen, We Have a Weiner

Yesterday Dex and I tried on dresses - ALL of the dresses in my closet. I modeled them all for the baby, and he giggled at each and every one of them. Somehow, for some reason, the ceiling fan in my bedroom is WAY more entertaining than the one in his room. Lord knows why. It's the same damn fan.

Anyway, this one seems to be the best bet, so long as I don't really want to breathe too much.
The dress, unfortunately, doesn't come with its own built-in Dave Telesco fun dance partner. Although I wish it did because dancing with Dave is an experience like no other.

It does, however, seem to have enough room for my ample chest, gives the appearance that I have a waist, and then A-lines out wide enough to go over my plenty large ass. Oh, and also can be worn with a bra. Which is key, because going without a bra these days is SO NOT AN OPTION. Plus, the pink color seemed a little more appropriate for an outdoor wedding in California. More appropriate than black, which seems to be the color of, oh, about every other dress I own.

And also? The weather forecast for the next TEN DAYS in Cali (just north of San Fran) is partly sunny, highs around 70, lows in the 50's. No joke, for the next TEN DAYS. I'd move there if I weren't afraid that one day the whole state will just fall off in to the ocean. Oh, and there's also the whole ridiculously expensive cost of living thing.

My plan for Saturday is to do a little driving on Route 1, then go to a wedding. And Sunday I am hanging out with my cute friend's enormous, fun (read, crazy) family, doing whatever they have planned for the day. Catch an 11pm flight home, and I'll be back home Monday morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed! :-)

Bullet Points

* At one point, I do believe, I wished for a baby who didn't poop every single day. Twice a day. I do not, I believe, know what I was wishing for. Because I am pretty sure I would take the two small poops a day thing over the "Hold it all in for two or three days then let it all out in one HUGE stinky WHOOSH that fills up the diaper, plus the entire back of the onesie, OMG, and thereby requiring HAZMAT cleanup and a desperate plea for help on the part of Mom." I'm pretty sure. Yesterday's poop required a fire-hose cleaning of both child, baby clothing, and changing table.

* Walking down to the bottom of the hill and back up with a 15 pound baby strapped to your chest is freaking HARD. Really really HARD. Somehow it was easier when I was pregnant.

* My inner thigh muscles have not been the same since I pushed an eight pound bowling ball out of my body. Also, my hips. Also, my knees. Although I'm not sure I can blame the knees on childbirth. Perhaps more on the way too much extra weight I am carrying these days, plus the constant need to get up off the floor with a 15 pound child in my arms.

* I leave for California in THREE DAYS. Three!! Crap! I need to, in those three days, get John to get out the ladder and rummage around in the attic for me for a suitcase and also some shirts that might fit me. And also I need to find a dress that will fit over the big old rack I am sporting. As I've never had a big old rack before, none of my old dresses are really cutting it. But the thought of going dress shopping, and especially the thought of dress shopping with a baby in a stroller, is just making me a little depressed. Man, I hate shopping.

* I haven't bitched much about the baby not sleeping recently because, knock wood, he's pretty much been a sleeping superstar for the past week or more. Long enough that I am expecting couple two hour naps a day from him. Which is a little bit insane. Lovely, but insane.

* Christie's doing a "Biggest Loser" challenge with her husband, and I get to be the big old benefactor from this one. Because Christie wants to walk every evening and it's WAY more fun to walk with company. So I get to walk every night, which gets me out of the house, and also completely justifies the bowl of ice cream I eat after I get done walking.

* Bomboys is doing a $2 Tuesday special this summer. A scoop of delicious ice cream for TWO BUCKS! Guess where we're going every Tuesday, Dex? That's right, baby!

* Also, I leave for California in THREE DAYS! I am excited to be going away, to get a little break, and to leave John here with Dex so they can do a little male bonding. But... I am a little sad to be leaving my boys home alone. Hopefully they will both still like me when I get back.

* I played volleyball tonight for the first time since, oh, August. I didn't suck all that much more than I usually do, so that was a good thing. Sure, I set my fair share of balls over the net to the other team (you're welcome, other team. Good thing I like you). And my best play may have been the one where the ball ricocheted off my eyebrow and right to the waiting arms of a very competent player who hit it over the net. But, hey. At least my face played well... Two games, though, and I was wiped out. So Dex and I called it a night. Not really fair that he got to nap on the way home, and I had to drive. How come it always works out that way?

* There's a good little restaurant in North East called Woody's, which has the best fried oysters I've ever had. Better, I think, than the Briar Patch in Sweet Briar, VA. So, Dad, when you come down in a couple weeks maybe we'll take you there for dinner, ok? We'll call it "Operation Let's Take the Baby Out to Dinner and See if We Survive." I'm sure it'll be fine. I mean, the place is called Woody's. How bad could it get?

* Did I mention the whole California thing? And the fact that I need to pack? And buy food for John? And pick out some good books to read? And worry some more about where I am going to pump on an airplane? And pack? And clean my house because my parents are coming to stay the night on the day I return? And print out my flight info and car rental info and hotel info and put addresses in to the GPS? And decide if I should bring some Playboys on the plane, because last time I brought them on a plane I got yelled at and forced to put them away? And also, pack?

Ready for our morning walk. Also, baby feet = ridiculously cute.
All strapped in. I need a cute hat like Dexter's...

Party = Fail

Johnny D had his annual deck party last night, and we went, for the first time, with a baby. We've gone plenty of times before, stayed the night, partied til 3AM, etc. A little bit different this year. Which we realized, and we were prepared for the change. We weren't quite prepared for our cute happy baby to arrive at said party, look around, and proceed to scream. The. Entire. Time. We. Were. There.

It's a little funny to be at a party with a screaming baby and tell people, most of whom are seeing said baby for the first time, that normally he's not like this. It's just that today he is... Teething? Has an ear ache? Has little tiny demons romping around in his head? And they all shake their heads and are like "Uh-huh. Sure. Sure, he's normally quiet and cute and smiley and giggly. Suuuuure."

So, sorry, people who were not entertained by baby (still cute, by the way) screaming. Sorry if that made you look at us and say "THIS! This is why I will never have kids!" Cuz believe me, I was saying the same thing. Just last night I was saying - Dude, whose screaming kid is that? I NEVER want to have one of those... Oh. Wait.

Poor kid. I'm not sure what his problem was, but he slept hard the whole way home. Doing those little gaspy breath things that you do after you've been crying. So he was sleeping, gasping, all slumped over in his car seat. And that just broke my heart. Poor boy.

He was back to cute and smiley when we got home, and he finally ate and went right to bed. He must have been tired because for the first time in ages and ages he slept straight through the night, no chatting, no wiggling, was in exactly the same spot in his crib at 7AM this morning. Which never ever happens. Usually he's down in a corner, turned all sideways and crossways and upside down. And he looks up in the morning at you and says DUDE - I had a fun party last night!

As I have no pictures of Mr. Screamer from last night (but I assure you, he was super cute in his Hokie shirt and some tan shorts), you'll have survive with a picture of a baby and a dog.

Is That Your FINAL Answer?

It's "Who Wants to be a Millionaire - Mom Edition!"

And the question, for one billion dollars:

What are you going to do about Dexter's reflux/spitting up/whatever that thing is that he does where lots of stuff that looks like cottage cheese comes out of his mouth and you worry and panic and think that perhaps this, too, shall kill him? Or least make him unhappy and unhealthy.

A) Start on solid food
B) Start on medicine
C) Do Nothing
D) Do Nothing, but worry incessantly if you're doing the right thing, or if really you're just ignoring a problem and your baby is in agony all the time but he's just a stoic pain in the ass and WHY WON'T YOU TELL ME WHAT TO DO, BABY!!

And the answer? Is C. Do Nothing. Because the baby has gained 6 ounces in the past nine days, while still spitting and squirming and not eating as much as you'd like and fussing when you try to get him to eat more and then spitting some more and kind of moaning and stuff when he's done eating. So, really. The baby is FINE. Perfectly fine. Stop worrying, damn you.

So, C. The answer is C.

Is that your FINAL answer, Alissa? Well. Yes. Maybe. OK. It SHOULD be C. It will probably venture in to the D range every so often. But it should be C. Make it be C. If I keep worrying about the spitty baby and wondering what to do about it, kindly kick me in the ass and tell me "The answer is C! C, damn you! Stop worrying!"

In other news, I was trying to take some pictures of Dexter in this super cute hoodie outfit that's been sitting in his drawer for three months, slowly but surely getting too short for him while he continued to not wear it. So we picked this gross gloomy cold rainy day to wear the hoodie, which was an excellent choice because it was freezing cold at Bertucci's when we went for lunch. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, had a cuter date than I did. I also suppose that nobody had a date who fell asleep ten minutes in to lunch, like I did.

Anyway, my pictures were met with only mild success. Judge for yourself:

We started off swimmingly, with fairly chipper baby (or at least kind of holding his shit together) wearing his cute hoodie.
Then we started getting some "Hey, Mom, not a big fan of this current situation" kind of mumbles.
Which then morphed in to some pissed off baby finger sucking.
And quickly turned in to "No, seriously, this sucks."
A short break in the crying to just pout, which is wicked cute.
And then we get the super sad baby, necessitating a quick change of scenery.
SNORT! OMG, I was HOWLING when I saw this picture! Note change of scenery. Which apparently makes Dexter... shocked? Insane? I can't tell.
Yeah, that's right. I am a bad-ass baby.

Choices

I can't decide. Why can't someone just tell me what to DO?

My baby spits up like a fiend. Is it a problem? I dunno. I don't care about the spit, or the laundry, or the carpet, or the couch. That's all fine. Spit all you want to, boy. But I DO care if his spit is mixed with stomach acid and is making him uncomfortable. I just... can't tell if it is or not. Sure, he coughs and gags on his spit sometimes. Sure, he arches his back after he eats sometimes and seems a bit uncomfortable. But not all the time. And it doesn't make him cry. And he seems to be gaining weight. Albeit not at the astronomical rate he was previously. Which I think is normal, but still makes me worry.

The doctor was not terribly helpful. She said either put him on an antacid, or start solids if I am worried about it. I am not psyched about either idea, really.

So for now, I shall do nothing. I shall go to lactation group tomorrow and see how Dexter's weight is. If he's held steady or dropped in the last week and a half maybe THEN I will decide I really need to do something. If he's gaining weight then I think I shall do nothing.

Poor Dex has had a bit of a rough week. He's still got a runny nose and a cough from the cold he's had since Friday. And then he went to the doctor yesterday to get his shots, and yesterday evening was just inconsolable. Poor kid. Crying like I haven't heard since he was about 6 weeks old. Except louder these days. More lung capacity in there now. He seems to have bounced back this morning - happy, fever down, eating fine, checking out the dog, and trying to shove a rattle in to his mouth. That's my boy.

And now, since you all come here either because you 1) for some reason find me entertaining or 2) want to see cute baby pictures... And as I have in no way, shape, or form been entertaining today... Here's some cute baby pictures!

So, yo - I was just sitting here on the couch, minding my own business, playing with my foot and stuff. You know?
Yeah, that's right. This foot, right here.
And then I just kind of started falling sideways a little. Still holding my foot, see?
Right. You see, I am committed to this foot. I got it.
Except that then I have to let go, right? Because otherwise I break my nose on the couch.
Huh. Looks like I broke my nose anyway...
So the moral of the story? Sometimes the foot just isn't worth it.
Dad came home later that day and we worked on walking. My standing up skills are stellar.
Dad and I are cute. And stuff.

Backspin

I love, love, love the Backspin channel on XM. I mean, seriously. Where else can you listen to DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince - "So to all you kids all across the land, there's no need to argue parents just don't understand!" Immediately followed by DJ Kool - "Let me clear my throat" Plus you can catch some Kris Kross (wonder what ever happened to those little punks?) - "Kris Kross'll make you JUMP, JUMP! Daddy Mac'll make you JUMP, JUMP!" And some Ice T, singing whatever he sings. And then you remember that Ice T used to rap, before he became a big old TV show star in some cop show that I don't watch. And then you remember how he was in that terrible movie about the big huge unrealistic looking snake. What was the name of that movie? Anaconda? Big Huge Stupid Looking Snake? This is a Terrible Movie so Don't go See it?

It just cracks me up. Almost every song makes me giggle. Dexter, I am sure, thinks I am insane.

Do you think that Will Smith looks back at how he was those days, in his silly homeboy style, with his goofy looking hair, and just shakes his head? Because he's come a long way, baby, from that skinny kid to the "OMG did you SEE those yummy delicious arms" actor in "I am Legend."

Note to Self

Dear Self,

When dressing the baby, especially when dressing him in shirts that pull over the head and have snaps at the crotch (ie, EVERYTHING HE WEARS), you need to perhaps take a bit more care instead of blindly pulling a shirt over his head and then wondering why the baby is crying while simultaneously noticing the nice red stripes down his face that (coincidence?) exactly match the width of the crotch snaps. I'm just saying...

No worries. I am sure it'll be fine to take a red-striped child to the doctors office today for a check-up. They won't wonder at all where those stripes came from. Maybe, just maybe, they'll think he did it to himself. Because, you know, what could you do to stop the self-inflicted fingernail scratches that the boy is so good at? Except, perhaps, to file his nails. Hmmmm. What a concept! (Self: I swear I JUST did that! Like two weeks ago! Why do these damn fingernails have to keep growing?)

C'mon, Self. Do better.

Love,
You. Or is it Me? No, You, I think.

Note how the stripe in the center of his forehead goes all the way down to the tip of his nose. Talent. I have got some talent...