Hooray for Monday

All week long, I look forward to Friday evening because it means that for two whole days, I'll have another adult at home. I can eat without having to nurse the baby at the same time. I can do the laundry without worrying that he will wake up while I'm only halfway done folding the clothes. I can take a shower without chanting nursery rhymes to entertain Luke, who sits in a chair and growls at his fists the whole time (Yes, he growls. Like an annoyed little tiger).

And all that is wonderful. But. The beauty of weekdays? I have no schedule. I don't try to get him to eat or nap at given times, and as a result, he eats and naps like a dream. And even when I DO have a schedule--when I'm meeting a friend for lunch or when I'm planning a trip to the store or the library--he still senses that I'm more relaxed about it, so he complies with my plans. On weekends, on the other hand, I tend to hurry him through his meals and and then hand him off to McMoose so that I can catch up on whatever it is that needs to be done, and apparently, Luke feels all rushed and unloved because he turns into an ornery little grumpus.

A grumpus who refuses to play. A grumpus who refuses to smile. And, dear God, a grumpus who REFUSES TO SLEEP. Luckily, after a painfully nap-less weekend, the grumpus has retreated and we've been enjoying a Monday filled with naps and lunches with friends and long games of Stick-Your-Tongue-Out-And-Grin-Like-A-Fool. Who knew there would come a day when I'd look forward to Mondays?

Belonephobia

I got to go to the doctor yesterday for the first time since Luke was born and as I was sitting in the waiting room, it occurred to me that this is the longest I've gone without a doctor's visit since last August. On the other hand, I'll be spending lots and lots of time in the pediatrician's waiting room in the coming months, as Luke will have appointments pretty much once a month until he's 6 months old. It's still kind of strange adapting from being a Pregnant Woman to a Mom Of A Young Child.

In any case, after the interminable wait, a nurse finally came to get me and I have to admit, I was not looking forward to this visit. At least the prenatal appointments were exciting because of the ultrasounds and the hearing-the-baby's-heartbeat and all that jazz. Now, it's all needles and blood tests and un-fun examinations. So I'm sitting there, waiting for a finger prick and SHIVERING because I'm so nervous about it, which of course prompted the nurse to ask me how I ever got through childbirth if I'm so scared about a little needle. I thought about that and I've decided that the answer is this: my childbirth experience? Didn't involve so many needles.

I was kind of hoping that the whole pregnancy and delivery thing would make me get over my fear of needles, but that clearly hasn't happened. In fact, I think I'm even MORE scared of them now than I was before, which makes ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE to me, but there it is. I feel this probably means I'm going to be a basket case at Luke's 2 month appointment, when he will get his first set of shots (which I'm already panicking over. Awesome).

Sleeping Like A Baby

Last night, I fed the baby from 9 to 10, then went to bed at 10:30...and found myself waking up at 4:45 a.m., to the sound of a lightly fussing baby. That's over SIX hours. Of sleep. Blissful, uninterrupted sleep. And then, later this morning, we took a two hour nap together, bringing the grand total to 8 hours (my fingers are shivering with excitement just to type that sentence). And now, he's asleep again. In his crib. Where he has been for the past two hours.

Since I've pretty much OD'd on sleep, I took the past two hours as an opportunity to catch up on email...commune with the cats...start the laundry...drink some tea...clean the bathroom...drink more tea...and now, for the first time in 6 and a half weeks, I'm BORED.

I know I should enjoy this nothing-to-do feeling. I know that in all likelihood, he'll wake up every two hours tonight. I know that he probably won't nap like this again until his first birthday. I know all of this, and yet, here I sit, beside the crib, willing the kid to wake up so that I'll have someone to play with.

Milestones

Last week was a big one for Luke (aka Tookie, The Manicus, Smalls, and Chompers) because not only did he turn 6 weeks old and meet his grandpa from Canada for the first time, but he also figured out how to smile AND roll over. Like I said, a pretty big week. The rolling over was apparently not as exciting as he had expected because after spending an entire morning trying to figure it out, he rolled a handful of times and hasn't done it again since. Of course, I've been promising him ice cream and Transformers if he'll do it again, but as it turns out, he doesn't quite understand the concept of a bribe yet.

Smiling, on the other hand, has been a huge hit, in no small part because McMoose and I make such a big deal out of it. You'd think he'd just called manna down from the heavens, the way we carry on, but it's the first piece of evidence that there's a person in there. And let's be honest here, there's only so much time you can spend playing with someone who just stares blankly off into space. So the smiling, it's a big improvement. Much more conducive to conversation. Plus, it opens up all kinds of photo ops:

And, just to combat all that sweetness, he has also perfected his oh-so-fierce frown:

Guilt Trip

For almost two years, I worked in the infant room of a daycare. As you may know, daycare workers tend to be overworked and underpaid, so in order to (a) keep my job and (b) pay my rent, I worked 35 hours a week while I was in school and close to 60 hours a week while not in school. What all that means is that over a two year period, I spent over 6,000 hours with babies aged 6 weeks to 18 months. And not one of those 6,000 hours was spent one-on-one with a kid. In fact, I spent the great majority of that time with 4-5 babies in my direct care. So naturally, I expected that this whole Being-Responsible-For-One-Single-Baby thing would be a piece of cake...HA!

Now that the kid that I'm taking care of is mine, the task is somehow infinitely more complicated. I don't get to give him back at 6 PM. I don't get a half-hour lunch break. There are no co-workers in the room to take over when I have to go to the bathroom or get a drink. And inexplicably, the tricks that worked with the daycare babies don't work with this one. He isn't content to spend hours sleeping in the swing, he hates his little chair, and I could swear I saw him roll his eyes at me when I suggested that he hang out on his play mat for a few minutes. And perhaps the biggest difference of all--I can't let this one cry.

I never really had a problem listening to the daycare kids crying and, in fact, for the first two weeks or so, Luke's crying didn't bother me too much either. And then, the kid learned who I was and ever since then, he stares STRAIGHT INTO MY EYES while he screams. I'd like to further point out that when McMoose is holding him and he cries, he actually AVOIDS eye contact. So apparently, I'm the designated sucker of the family and at 41 days of age, my kid has already figured out exactly how to play me.

The Great Outdoors

We took Luke out "hiking" on a trail yesterday. And by hiking, I mean that we let the Dog lead us down a trail that was 0.6 miles long. McMoose spent the entire time looking for "cool caterpillars." I spent the entire time looking for not-so-cool snakes. And poison ivy. And mosquitoes. And bees. And serial killers. Because if I were a serial killer, I would totally hide in the forest if I were looking for my next victim.

Of course, because the trail was just over half a mile long, we were able to walk it in No Time At All, even going at the Dog's pace, so we decided to walk around the nearby lake for a while. Sadly, we did not think to take a camera, but oh, how I wish we had because I've never seen Luke's eyes wider or bluer. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen that kid happier. I mean, not only did he not cry for 45 whole minutes, but he actually looked around, seemingly interested in something outside of himself. And? He made happy noises. HAPPY NOISES! I was starting to doubt whether that kid had the ability to make happy noises because so far, most of his noises have been more along the lines of "Let me tell you what's wrong with the world today."

So apparently, in addition to having McMoose's eyes and hair and ears and mouth and head and fingers and toes, he ALSO has his appreciation of the outdoors. Which means that I better get over my fear of snakes and bees and serial killers because apparently, I'm going to be spending a whole lot more time outside.

Losing Time

I went out to lunch with a friend earlier this week and she asked me whether I was bored staying home with the baby all day. I instantly replied that I didn't have the time to be bored, which is the truth, but after I said it, it occurred to me that boredom was my number one fear about staying home with Luke. I knew I could handle the crying and the diaper changing and the feeding and all that, but I genuinely thought that I'd spend large portions of my day looking for things to do.

As it turns out, there are actually not enough hours in the day to get done all the things I want to do. My to-do list during the day goes something like this:
1. Feed the baby
2. Change the baby.
3. Try to keep the baby somewhat content. When that fails, return to feeding and changing the baby.
4. Get in enough naps so that I get at least 6 hours of sleep for every 24 hour period. This usually happens in frustrating, one-hour increments. (Today, however, I got in 3 two-hour increments instead, which means I feel like a SUPERHERO!)
5. Brush teeth.
6. Remember to eat.
7. Shower.
8. Do the laundry if (a) we're running low on cloth diapers or (b) the piles are spilling out of the basket and onto the floor.
9. Try to get out of the house at least one time per day.

That's it. Those 8 little things right there keep my schedule completely filled up. In fact, there have been days (like today) when I haven't gotten past the 5th item on the list and really, I don't understand why. I mean, I could sit down and make a list of what I've been doing all day (Feeding...changing...napping), but even with the list, I just don't get it. I'm thinking that maybe babies mess with the time-space continuum in such a way that they create little black holes that just suck up time, so when you're around them for extended periods, you just start losing large chunks of your day. This would also explain the phenomenon whereby at some point, EVERY SINGLE PARENT on the face of the planet utters the phrase, "Wow, I can't believe how fast he/she has grown up...it seems like just yesterday that [insert nostalgic event here]."

Black holes. It's all about those darn black holes.

What's Up, Doc?

I have yet to find a doctor who makes any kind of sense to me. The closest I came was with my OB practice, but even then, each visit required a certain suspension of rationality. First, there was the midwife who was constantly disappointed with my weight gain and told me ridiculous things like "Eat a piece of cheese instead of a meal." And of course, the doctor whom I affectionately refer to as "Spyro," because (a) that was his actual name and (b) he acted very much like a cartoon dragon, breezing in and out of the room in 30 seconds flat. And finally, there was the midwife who was very friendly, but who felt the need to always stand within 6 inches of me and stroke my arm, leg, back, or hair. Plus, of course, their advice for any problem was "Drink more water," which got to be somewhat annoying once I was already drinking a good 16 glasses a day.

So naturally, when Luke's pediatric visits started, I expected some amount of ridulosity, but surprisingly, there was none. His pediatrician is very laid back and not at all an alarmist, which gives me great hope that she won't be the kind of doctor who prescribes antibiotics for a cold. And then, I took him to his one-month visit yesterday and the facade began to unravel. I should preface all this by saying that there's a lactation consultant (who shall be called "A" for our purposes) associated with our pediatrician's office who, judging by my last and only encounter with her, is utterly obnoxious. However, she did try to "diagnose" me with some disorder, for which she convinced the pediatrician to give me a prescription. Yesterday was the first time I had been back since getting that prescription, so of course, the doctor was curious about how it was working:

Dr: Did the prescription help with the pain?
Me: Um. Not really.
Dr: Yeah, I didn't think it would.
Me: You didn't?
Dr: No. Actually, A diagnosed me with that same disorder when I first had my daughter and she wanted me to take that drug too, but I decided not to because who knows what side effects the drug might have had. But I was curious to see what it would do to you.

So apparently, she prescribed me a medication that she didn't believe would work for a disorder that she's not really convinced really exists WITHOUT KNOWING ABOUT THE POSSIBLE SIDE EFFECTS, all because she was "curious." Which makes me doubly glad that I looked up the side effects on my own instead of relying on the "Oh, it might cause a slight headache" disclaimer offered by the lactation consultant. (As it turns out, the list of side effects include lowered blood pressure, severe headaches, and dizziness.)

At least she used ME as her guinea pig instead of Luke, but the next time she prescribes anything, I know to keep a healthy dose of skepticism. (I do still like and trust this doctor as much as I've ever liked or trusted any doctor, but I'm not ashamed to admit that I got a definite measure of comfort when Luke peed on her at the end of the visit.)

One Month

The Kid is officially a month old now, and as predicted, I am not entirely pleased by this new development. So instead of a post with a lot of words lamenting the overly fast passage of time, I'm going to post some of his more recent pictures.

Trying to eat everything in the world:

Sitting in his sling...you wouldn't think it would be all that comfortable to sit all bundled up like a baby kangaroo, but apparently, you'd be wrong about that.

I know this is a terrible picture, but it's the only one I have that actually shows his current eye color. I know it's entirely possible (and probable) that those eyes are going to turn brown in the next few months, but if not, I'd be fully justified in calling him a freak of genetics.

Holding his first toy. Actually, it's Yellow Cat's toy. The cat was not happy about having to share.

Sitting. Screeching. Etc.

Practicing his spy skills.

Date Night

Last night, McMoose and I got to go out without the baby for the first time. Okay, that's not entirely true because we did go through the drive-thru at Dairy Queen a couple of weeks ago while my mom stayed with Luke, but last night, we actually went out for a reasonable chunk of time and got through a whole meal.

Granted, my definition of "a reasonable chunk of time" is now an hour and a half because that's the upper limit of Luke's ability to exist without eating, but that was still longer than we've been away from him before, so off we went to a sushi restaurant. Actually, off we went to ANYWHERE THAT WASN'T THE APARTMENT and it just so happened that we came upon a sushi restaurant while driving frantically around, dizzy with the knowledge that we would both be able to eat at the same time, using two hands, and without having to listen to frenzied screeching. (Okay, I was dizzy with that knowledge. McMoose was being a very good dad who was appropriately worried about his child. Then again, McMoose had not spent the past 10 hours thinking up ways to entertain a baby who has an attention span of 30 seconds).

I always expected that I would be the kind of parent who would hate to leave her baby, who would linger over good-bye kisses and last minute instructions and then worry about the baby all through dinner. As it turns out, I'm actually the kind of parent who jumps at the chance to leave her baby, who didn't even kiss the child for fear of waking him, and who only worried about the baby when McMoose's phone rang halfway through dinner.

In the end, Luke slept like the angel he is (HAHAHAHAHA) the entire time we were out, and then continued sleeping for long enough f0r me to check both my email accounts, write two blog posts, and play a game of sudoku.

Twilight Zone of Clothing

McMoose and I decided early on to split up the chores (in other words, I decided that I hated cleaning the litter box and doing the dishes, so those chores were passed on to McMoose). In the process, I inherited the laundry, which I've been doing with reasonable regularity for the past three years or so now. Except here's the thing: along with the coming of the baby, there has also been an exponential increase in the laundry. So I'm kinda feeling like I got the raw end of this particular deal.

And the odd thing is, most of what I'm washing ISN'T BABY LAUNDRY. It's McMoose's and my clothes. Apparently, we now go through about three times as much laundry than we did four short weeks ago. Someone want to explain that phenomenon to me? And also, what did people do back when they only owned two or three outfits? Wash every two hours? Walk around with baby slime all over them?

Monday Bullets

• I've had a lot of time to analyze baby clothing recently and here's what I've decided: We're spending way too much time and money training our babies to expect lives filled with wild, ferocious animals. At least 75% of Luke's clothing pictures one (or more) of the following: a bear, a lion, a tiger, an alligator, or a dinosaur. And most of those same items of clothing also feature the phrases "Chomp," "Grr," or "Roar." Seems to me it would be far more useful if his onesies had helpful tips for him about how not to scream during diaper changes. I'd much rather he learn that useful skill than learning how to chomp because honestly? The child already has powerful chomping skills and as the person he currently chomps on, I really don't see the need to encourage them any further.
• The kid spent all of yesterday being a complete beast, which is to say that he refused to sleep for longer than 15 minutes at a time. In contrast, he has spent all day sleeping today. Which further reinforces my belief that he thinks each day actually lasts 48 hours and 24 of those hours are for being awake and the other 24 are for being asleep. I've believed this to be true ever since my 6th month of pregnancy, when he would spend an entire day kicking, and then I wouldn't feel him moving AT ALL the next day.
• Yellow Cat has decided that his new favorite activity is to sit on my lap and lick Luke's head while I'm feeding him. Luke is decidedly unhappy with this new development.
• The Dog has been "trapped" under the crib all morning. Since he knows perfectly well how to go in and out from under there, I'm not sure why he suddenly thinks he's trapped, but it keeps him out of trouble...although it is annoying when, every 20 minutes or so, he scratches ferociously at the carpet in an attempt to get untrapped. Come to think of it, maybe Luke's onesies should have a picture of the Dog, along with the caption "Dumbest Animal Alive."