Ten Months

Someone wake me when he stops spinning circles around my comatose body, please.

The Baby Plague

When I mentioned to my friend that the baby had a runny nose and was cranky, her eyes widened.  Then she said there was a "THING" going around.  A big, nasty "THING" that doesn't go away.  It just stays around and tortures the baby until you all want to vomit and cry along with him.  The "THING" is going around, she said.

I pish-poshed and said, oh well.  This baby is impervious to this "THING."  He has not had a problem at all with "THINGS" since birth, aside from that little staph infection that planted itself on his little face for a week.  He's never had a cold, flu or virus, as far as I can tell. 

No sooner had I pish-poshed, the "THING" hit.  It hit hard.  The baby went from cute and adorable to OH MY GOD DISGUSTING SNOT EVERYWHERE.  It literally ran down his nose, into his mouth, and down his chin.  It saturated his clothing.  He would wipe his face with his hand, and before we could all yell in unison, "NOOOOO!!!"  he had snot smeared all over his eyes, cheeks, and forehead.  It was in his hair, ears and on his elbows.

Not only was my son covered in yellow sticky snot, he absolutely detested tissue.  I would come to him with a tissue, gently wipe his nose, and he would start howling like a car alarm.  Soon, he realized what I was coming to do when I would reach for the tissue box and start shaking his head before beginning his screams of agony.  To the outside neighbor watering his plants, it must have sounded like I was cutting off the baby's nose with a dull butter knife.

I let the snot go as much as I could, and eventually bought some saline and sprayed it in each nostril which went over as well as could be expected.  I cranked up the humidifier our psychic friend bought for us, even though we didn't register for it when the baby was born.

The snot turned from clear to yellow to green to OH SO MUCH GROSSNESS.  It was absolutely never-ending.  Yeah, I felt sorry for the little dude.  But honestly, I was starting to lose my patience with the "THING" that wouldn't leave.

I asked my friend how long the "THING" stayed around.  

"Oh, my kids had it for about two weeks."  She said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"TWO WEEKS?!  I'M NOT GONNA MAKE IT TO TWO WEEKS!"  I cried.

"Oh, we ALL had it for two weeks."  She deadpanned.  The sympathy drained out of her voice quickly. After all, I just had one snot baby.  She had two.  Plus a snot husband.  Who was I to complain?

So I set the calendar to two weeks.  Five days passed.  Seven.  The snot dissipated a tad.  Now, on the tenth day, I am happy to report dry, crusty boogers instead of the river of mucus.

However, the baby lost his voice, and now he sounds like Harvey Fierstein.  It's distracting, but at least he's not clawing my face off when I come near him with a Kleenex.  

Sick Baby

Dear People in Charge of The Universe,

Really, what is the point of snot?

Signed,

Exhausted and Sleepy

Nine Months

Crawling babies are dangerous.  They creep around on all fours looking to destroy things, checking out the little details you forgot about because you're four feet taller and can't see under the couch.  They're stealthy, like midget ninjas.  Very scary stuff, here.

I have been keeping one eye glued on my kid ever since he started trying to launch himself from a crawl position.  He has yet to be fully mobile, but he's trying every which way to get from point A to point B.  He scoots, when he can, and now he's actually on his hands and knees eyeballing that loose wire sticking out of the floorboards.  He is concentrating on it so intensely I fear he is calling upon The Force to bring it to him so he can clamp his little drooly mouth on it.  Frightening.

Nine months has been an adventure so far.  A scary, brain-melting adventure that is sure to kill me from a massive heart attack.

Without a Trace

Hi there.  I know I've been absent for a month.  The twelve people who read this blog may be wondering, "Gee, what happened?"  I'll tell you what happened.  Seven months happened.

It seems that there is a turbo charger build into babies that mature at exactly the seven month mark.  When that day hits, the turbo charger revs up and BOOM!  Your life is complete chaos and hysteria for God knows how long.  That's what happened, and that's why I've been completely off the map for four weeks.

At six months I thought, "Eh, this isn't so bad.  He's a little squirmy, but nothing I can't handle."

At six and a half months I thought, "Well, he's a handful, but I can keep up with him.  At least he's not crawling yet.

At seven months I though, "Holy Baby Jesus, save me.  Who fed the baby a double espresso?!"

And now, at eight and a half months, I feel as though my brain has been scrambled.  Keeping up with this big baby has been keeping me at my wits' end.  How am I supposed to keep up the pace when he's turned into an octopus baby, complete with sticky gecko-like fingertips that seem to grab everything in less than a micro-second?

Yesterday, after my husband came home from work, I handed him the baby and I literally fell down.  For no apparent reason.  Yup, just FELL DOWN.

I AM DOOMED.

Eight Months

Wow.  I need to hire someone to help me with eight months.  No one told me he'd turn into the road runner when he got this age.

He isn't even crawling yet.  I'm planning on leaving the country for a while when that happens.  If I'm this whipped when he's just on his stomach, cooing at me, what will become of me when he's fully mobile?!

He's grabbing something poisonous as I type this, I'm sure.  I must run, and take some Tylenol...and maybe some valium.

Observations

I've learned one thing in the last month or so.  Do NOT cut the little tags off the stuffed animals, blankets, etc.  Why?  Because these are the most fascinating things on the planet right now...according to the baby, that is.

He toys with the tag, not the toy.  That's the general rule at the moment.  If I give him the most amazing toy ever invented by man, he will go straight for the little white tag sewn into the corner of it and stare, mesmerized.  He'll touch it between his thumb and forefinger for a good ten minutes before losing interest.  And ten minutes in baby time is like ten hours to a regular adult.  It's a good long time to be transfixed.

He also loves to make noises with his lips.  Current favorite?  Raspberries.  Timing?  Any time he has food in his mouth.  

He's not a fan of anyone touching his nose or wiping any general area of his face.   However, he loves to have his neck cleaned.  In fact, he laughs when we do it.  Weird baby.

His nursing has gone from 30 minutes on each boob to a lightening quick four minutes on just one.  He's still a poor latcher, but has learned to eat quickly.

He naps in the morning for 2-3 hours, easily.  He nearly claws my face off in the afternoon when I try to put him down for a second one, which usually lasts about one.  

This baby is changing at such a fast pace!  I feel like if I don't write all of it down, I will forget it in an instant.  Things have been happening at such a quick pace, it's difficult to remember the little things that amazed me in the moment.  I'm afraid I will lose appreciation for him in some way if I don't hang on to the tiny, miniscule things that slip away so quickly.  We discover new things about the baby in an instant...and then it's gone.

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.