Seven Months

It's not possible.  The time has flown faster than I imagined it could.  He's definitely the cutest boy in the world at this point, and growing cuter exponentially by the minute.  Little gurgles have graduated into full-on ramblings of amamamamamamaa.  His wild hair is somewhat tamed now, especially after I butchered it last week with a pair of dull scissors.

The rolling over is causing havoc, especially during diaper changes and in the middle of the night when he ends up face-down on the mattress and wakes himself because he can't move his arm.

A tooth popped up.  In fact, two.  It came without much fanfare, but I took at least 15 minutes trying to get a good close-up picture of them.  He seems amused by me at this point, if nothing else.  It's ridiculously easy to make him laugh out loud.  Occasionally, a guffaw.

I didn't believe this day would come, simply because at one month I though I might die from exhaustion or post-partum depression.  Now that we're at this point, everything seems so much brighter.  Even when everything else in the world collapses on me on any given day, this seven month old makes me feel lighter.

So thank you, baby, for the seven months.  It's been quite a trip...and quite a workout.  You're humongous!

Fighting the Sandman

The baby is asleep.  Hallelujah.  Not that I don't love the baby.  I totally love the baby.  But the baby is asleep.  NOBODY MOVE.

When your baby is a light sleeper, or a non-napper, you will beat the living daylights out of the UPS man for ringing the doorbell.  The mailman may have to mace you because you will attack him for being too loud walking up the steps of your home.  I almost went out with a bat to beat a car to death for having a misbehaving alarm that wouldn't shut the Hell up.  God forbid there's construction going on anywhere within earshot of your sleeping child.  There will be bloodshed.

The other day I actually whisper-yelled at my husband for "breathing too loud."  The baby is sleeping.  THE WORLD MUST STOP REVOLVING.

There was a time when the baby slept all the live long day, but that was in the early, newborn weeks when he was trying to grow brain cells and whatnot.  For three months or so, he literally slept all day long.  It was heavenly bliss, looking back on it now, although when it was happening I complained that he "wasn't doing anything."  What a moron I was.

Now, he's six months.  SIX WHOLE MONTHS.  I can hardly believe it!  The changes we have all witnessed in this half a year have been mind boggling.  But the sleep thing, oh my.

He stopped sleeping all day long and started napping.  At first it was a nap every two hours awake.  That was at around three, four months old.  Now, it's two naps, if I'm lucky.  One early morning long nap, which lasts around two to three hours, IF I'M LUCKY.

The afternoon nap used to be like clockwork.  One or two o'clock, he'd pass out for two hours.  Now?  Not so much.  He's just too alert, too awake, and too cute to sleep, apparently.

The problem is that when he doesn't sleep during the day, he is a miserable little turd.  No offense to you babies out there, but when you don't nap, (and this seems to be a fairly universal thing I'm experiencing) you are little turds the entire time you are awake.  You don't seem happy about anything, you want to be held and never put down, you whine, cry, whimper, pinch, bite.  It's like a free for all bitch fest up in this house when the baby doesn't nap.  And then, around bedtime, you pass out...and wake up...and pass out...and wake up...until the sun rises.  It's just wrong on so many levels.

So I started forcing nap time.  "Hey," I told the baby, "All the baby books say you can spoil a newborn up 'til about six months.  Well, pal, you're SIX MONTHS OLD.  The party's over."

It was like he was fighting death every time I put him down.  He would whip his head from side to side violently, beat his tiny fists on the sofa cushion, and do leg lifts, just to beat off the sandman.  It was impressive, but I was not giving up.  After a few weeks of battle, he finally began sleeping on a regular routine.  After waking in the morning, he'd eat, then quiet play, then he'd start yawning after about 2 hours.  Nap would soon follow.  It was perfectly set.  I would get two to three hours of nap, or computer time, whatever I wanted.  Ahhh, lovely.

His naps usually took place on the sofa, which used to be wide enough for him to lounge upon without fear of accidentally rolling off.  But soon, he was too gigantic for the space.  I had no choice but to try to nap him in his crib.

I thought napping on the couch was tough.  The crib?  Surely I was delusional.  There was no way this baby was going to nap in his crib.  I had been putting off this transition for months, thinking it would be pure torture for both of us.

So yesterday, I saw the rubbing of the eyes, the yawns, the red and watery stare.  He whined when I put him down to play.  It was now or never.

We walked into his room, I put him in the crib, played the Glow Worm and the Sleep Sheep...threw every calming trick I knew at him.  I put a soft blanket over him and crossed my fingers.  He grabbed the blanket and pulled it to his face, rolled on his side, sucked his Soothie, and promptly fell asleep.

And that's how it went today, just about a half hour ago.  Which is why I'm on the computer typing this RIGHT NOW.  Hallelujah!

The Return of the "What Ifs"

There must be a way to say this delicately, but I surely don't know how.  I would rather Boxing Helena myself than get pregnant right now.  The very thought of having another pregnancy right now makes my hair stand on end.  That's how tired I am.

So when my husband looks longingly at little newborns in their strollers as we walk down the street, I break into a cold sweat.  My heart feels like it may explode.  I suddenly can't feel my face.  It can't be that he wants ANOTHER baby so soon?!

The issue isn't that I don't think about having another baby.  It's that I don't know if I want one.  And if I think about it too much, my brain hurts.  The conversation my head and heart have is something like this:  

HEAD: You can't possibly think that having another baby will be a good thing.  You're broke.  You have no time.  You're both working.  How would you do it?

HEART:  Yes, but wouldn't it be nice for our little boy to have a sibling?  I mean, then he would have someone to commiserate with about his crazy family.

HEAD:  A sibling would be nice.  So would food and electricity.

HEART:  Sure, it would be tight budgeting for a family of four, but in the long run, don't you think it's best to have two kids so they can keep each other company?  Think of how much they can give to one another!

HEAD:  No.

HEART:  Yes!

In the end, it will be my uterus and aging eggs that will decide.  If, in a few years, we start trying for another child, it will be after many conversations about the "what ifs."  

Yes, the dreaded "what ifs" are back, and in full force.