Twelve Month Pictures

Pushing his car around at a park. Hard to believe that just a few short weeks ago, he couldn't walk outside without holding onto something.

Luke-in-a-box:

(Very) early college prep:

I think it's pretty safe to say he has blue eyes...

Don't Come Preachin'

Every couple of months, Mormons come to our door to try to witness to us. It annoys me ENDLESSLY.

The first few times, I just told them I didn't have the time to listen because I was always rushing off to school just as they knocked on the door. But since having Luke, I've actually come to enjoy their visits. Not because I like being preached to by random people at my doorstep, but because it provides some unexpected entertainment in the middle of the day.

The last time they came, I told them that I had a personal belief in Jesus Christ and that he talked to me frequently, but that he told me that I wasn't supposed to tell anyone else what he said to me. They looked confused. Then, they tried to tell me about their prophet. I told them that if talking to God makes on a prophet, then I'm sure there are lots of prophets since prayer is a way of talking to God, right? They left.

They came back again yesterday. I told them I was Hindu. And to my chagrin, they started asking questions about Hinduism. So I dug down to all the things I remember from the stories my grandmother used to tell me and I told them about Hanuman (a giant monkey) and the blue baby Krishna who swallowed the entire world. Again, they left.

Next time, I might tell them I'm wicca. I'd better start researching...

Twelve!

Here it is, the very last monthly post for Luke...and four days late, to boot. He had his 1-year doctor's visit yesterday, which went startlingly well (but then, I'm always startled by doctors who have any level of common sense). He weighed in at 23 lbs and 12 oz, so he has tripled his birth weight and he's 31 inches tall, which means he's 10.5 inches taller than when he was born. It doesn't seem like a lot, it's less than a foot, but the difference is amazing.

He had to have his iron levels checked again because he was anemic last time and they're going (slowly) up: yay! Last Friday, he woke up with a fever and he was grouchy on Friday and Saturday and pulled on his ears a lot, so I suspected an ear infection. As it turns out, his ears are fine and all the discomfort was caused by the new TOOTH that came in yesterday morning. The first tooth must have lulled me into a false state of security because man, this second one was rough! And now, there's a third one lurking in his gums, probably waiting for an inopportune moment to poke on out.

Over the past two weeks, his walking skills have advanced by leaps and bounds. In fact, he's pretty much given up crawling now and is trying to master running (Gulp. Yikes.) His favorite game is putting things into boxes/buckets/anything with a hole and then pulling them back out. And of course, riling up the animals. And of course, climbing on Other Baby. And because he now knows how to walk, we've been trying to let him walk instead of riding the cart when we go to the store, which has been...trying. He seems to feel that he should be allowed to grab every. single. item off the shelves and when we don't let him indulge that particular desire, he lies down in the middle of the aisle and throws a kicking, screaming fit. Needless to say, we're trying to go at non-peak hours so as to expose as few people to the ridiculous tantrums as possible.

He had a great time at his birthday party, even though he wasn't feeling so great. A few of his baby friends came with their parents and his Paati (my mom) and Grandpa Ron (my stepdad) came from D.C. and his Papa (McMoose's dad) and KayKay (Papa's fiancee) came from Mississippi and brought his great-grandmother, Mimi with them. Luke loved being the center of attention, both during the party and for the rest of the weekend. I'm so grateful that our family members were able to travel to come to the party!

We didn't take any pictures of the party on our camera, so I won't be able to post any of those, but I'll post other pictures from this past month later this week.

Looking forward

I saw a blog recently in which the woman was trying to put together 500 pieces of advice for her baby daughter. I don't have the slightest desire (or the patience) to think of five. hundred. things. to tell Luke, but I did think it was a cool idea, so here are 25 things instead.

1. Get a library card. Every time you move to a new place, put this on your to-do list. You might stay away for months and years, but libraries are awesome places and there is always a reason to have a card, whether you just want to read a book you don't want to buy or you're on your way to a job interview and you forgot to print something out and you're all the way across town from your house.
2. Tip the waitstaff. Even if they get your order wrong. There's no reason to punish the kitchen staff and busboys and hosts/hostesses just because your waiter or waitress was having a bad day.
3. Take pride in what you do. You don't have to love your job, but do it well. With that said, if you experience more than a passing unhappiness with what you're doing and you're able to change it, do.
4. Smile at strangers. They'll probably smile back and it'll add some light to both your days.
5. Be true to your beliefs. If you don't believe in a certain practice, don't do it. By faking it, you're short-changing yourself, as well as those who genuinely believe in the practice.
6. Follow your destiny and find your path, but don't stay away from the people who love you for too long.
7. Act with purpose.
8. Wear socks. But not with sandals.
9. Try new foods, even if you don't think you'll like them. You might surprise yourself.
10. Try to avoid the middle seat on an airplane.
11. Be nice to children and animals. The way we treat those who cannot "tell" on us reflects who we really are.
12. Take every chance you can to watch the ocean, the stars, and lightning storms.
13. Speak on the issues that are dear to your heart. Speak on the issues that you know a lot about. On all others, ask questions and then be silent so that others have a chance to speak.
14. Being judgmental is not always a bad thing. Use your judgment to discern what is right or wrong for you. Allow others the same privilege.
15. Take vacations. They're fun, they broaden your horizons, and they give you something to talk about when you get back to your real life on Monday.
16. It's good to eat things that make you happy sometimes, but make sure you make an effort to also eat things that make you healthy. (And if they happen to be one and the same? Bonus!)
17. Always own multiple copies of car keys. If you're anything like me, you'll lock yourself out of your car frequently. It makes life so much easier if all you have to do is go inside and get the spare.
18. Open your windows when it's warm.
19. Always have someone that you know you can call if you're stranded by the side of the road. Conversely, if a friend calls from the side of the road, go and help, even if it's inconvenient.
20. Pay attention in fourth grade English class. That's when you'll learn when to use "me" and when to use "I" and when to use "good" and when to use "well," as well as the difference between "you're" and "your" and "they're" and "there" and "their" and "too" and "two" and "to." These are important things to know and they don't take that long to learn.
21. Try to be on time, but call if you're going to be late.
22. Once you've accepted an apology, don't continue to dwell on the offense.
23. If you're hungry and you don't think there's anything in the house, check the back of the pantry. It's usually a treasure trove of forgotten yumminess.
24. Don't eat finger foods with a fork and knife. It looks pretentious and is far less fun.
25. If you call someone and they don't pick up the phone, leave a message. It's always fun to get voicemail.

Most of these are things I'm still working on. The ones I've mastered (see number 17), I've learned the (very) hard way. Here's hoping Luke can learn from my mistakes, as well as his own.

Looking Back

This time last year, I was falling asleep on the couch. This time last year, I was hot and itchy and grumpy that the baby was STILL not here. This time last year, I was convinced that I would be pregnant FOREVER and that I’d spend the REST OF MY LIFE with Braxton-Hicks contractions that mocked me with their frequency. This time last year, I had no idea that I’d wake up two hours later in labor.

I never posted my birth story here because for a long time, I wasn’t ready to write coherently about it. It was too long and involved too many words like “cervix” and knowing my audience, I didn’t think that would be at all pleasant for anyone. But for the past couple of months, this post has written and re-written itself in my mind as I’m falling asleep, as I’m taking a shower, as I’m sitting at a red light, so here it is. If birth stories ook you out as they did me a couple of years ago, I suggest you close this browser and go on about your day. (And I’ll try to limit the number of ooky things I say.)

I woke up at 11 pm with contractions that felt real from the get go. Unwilling to share my experience (and risk looking like a fool), I did my level best to convince McMoose that nothing out of the ordinary was going on. And by “level best,” I mean that when he went to bed an hour later, I went to bed with him and then lay there in the dark, counting contractions and giggling internally at my sneakiness. (By the way? This is how you know that you’re not in hard labor yet. If you can still be (a) sneaky and (b) proud of your sneakiness, you know you’ve got a ways to go.)

After McMoose fell asleep, I snuck out of the bedroom and spent the next five hours laboring (sneakily) in the living room, until finally I thought that maybe the very next contraction might cause a tear in the time-space continuum and I might fall through it (yes, I ACTUALLY REMEMBER having that exact thought), so I woke McMoose, who sat straight up in bed and then launched himself into a flurry of activity.

I think I ate some jello. Maybe some honey. I know I drank a lot of water. I know I knitted. I know I called my mom, who told me that she had woken up in the middle of the night and had been unable to go back to sleep because she had been thinking about me. I know I showered. McMoose left to take the Dog to the kennel. When he got back, he convinced me that my plan of going to my regularly scheduled doctor’s appointment that morning was probably not the best idea, so we called the midwife, who seconded his recommendation that we go to the hospital. Turns out that was a good thing too, because had we waited the extra hour, McMoose would have had to CARRY me down the two flights of stairs from our apartment to the car. (The third floor apartment seemed like a good idea right up until I got pregnant.)

My time at the hospital is blurry. I know I ate another jello cup. I know I spent a lot of time in the bathtub. I knitted some more. Someone came and took my blood. Nurses came, nurses went. I was 5 centimeters dilated when I got there…7 while I was in the bathtub…7 while I was in the bed…7 while I was in the chair. I became convinced that the world would end and I would still be at a 7. I asked for drugs. McMoose reminded me that I didn’t want them. I tried to impress upon him that maybe the world was ending and that the drugs might stop that from happening. He continued to remind me that I didn’t want them. We scared off my first nurse. A second (much more helpful) one came along. I asked for an IV with fluids so that I could delay the decision about whether or not I wanted drugs. I went back to the rocking chair. I focused every fiber of my being on the IZOD symbol on McMoose’s shirt. (Luke still looks intently at that symbol every time McMoose wears that shirt, as if it looks somehow familiar and he’s trying to place it.)

My contractions started doubling up, then tripling, then quadrupling, until I lost track of how many came in a row with no break. But between sets, I’d have long breaks—sometimes 3 minutes, sometimes 10. (The birth books lie when they say that you ALWAYS get breaks between contractions. You don’t. They also lie when they say that labor isn’t “real” until your contractions are coming at regular intervals. Mine never did.) So I spent the breaks napping. (It’s weird what a tired, sleep-deprived body will do.) By the time the IV was finished, I was riding high on whatever hormones were coursing through my system and was confident in my refusal of the drugs.

At some point, I started pushing, even though the nurse told me not to and even though I told her that I wasn’t. By that point, my body was TOTALLY not listening to my head and my head was TOTALLY not listening to the nurse. So I pushed. Slightly. Covertly. Sneakily. Until finally, she decided that I was “allowed” to push. Then, I had to stop again while the midwife came. Then, I was allowed to again. I mean, do they really expect people to listen to all these ridiculous instructions?

I think I pushed for about an hour? Best. Hour. Ever. Don’t get me wrong, it hurt. Kind of a lot. But finally, I was DOING something and people kept saying they could see the head and then somebody said he had blond hair and then I got to (ick, ick, ick, ick, ick) TOUCH the head and then the midwife was telling me that the people from the special nursery would be there because the baby might have aspirated meconium and might therefore not be able to breathe (wait, what?) and then the head was out and the body was still in and the midwife said something about not going crazy with pushing but did you hear what I just said the head was OUT and the body was IN and that’s some crazy stuff right there so OF COURSE I went crazy with the pushing.

And then, there was Luke. Breathing. Crying. Showing that he did not need any help from any people from any special nursery. 7 pounds, 11 oz. 20.5 inches. Looking like an exact replica of McMoose. And then, there was Luke.

My Day So Far

Who needs a bullet post? (Me.)

• I spent 15 minutes looking for my glasses today. They were ON MY FACE. Because apparently, the whole being-able-to-see thing didn't tip me off.
• I should really stop making predictions about Luke's napping habits. Today, I was SURE that he'd fall asleep really easily because he was just so tired. Barely made it through breakfast, in fact. And yet, it took a good 25 minutes of back-patting to get him to quit. twirling. around. in the crib. Oh, the endless twirling.
• We had strawberries for breakfast. I think I've mentioned before that Yellow Cat loves strawberries. So I finally got both babies down for their naps and came back out to the living room, planning to collapse in a heap on the floor, and realized that Yellow Cat had GONE THROUGH THE TRASH, pulled out several cut up strawberry pieces and dragged them through the carpet. The WHITE carpet.
• The strawberries seem to have acted as some kind of hallucinogen because since I've been out here in the living room, Yellow Cat has been tearing around, pouncing at the walls, and hissing at Luke's toys.
  

Ever Elusive

I knew that having a kid would interrupt my sleep for a few months, but dude. The more I listen to people of older kids talk about the issue, the more I'm starting to realize that I am NEVER going to get a full night's sleep, EVER again.

I mean, last night, for example? I woke the baby to feed him at midnight before I went to bed and then? He slept until 7 am. People, that's seven hours. In a row. Without needing any food or patting or snuggles or bribing. Seven. Hours. And yet, did I sleep seven hours? Um, no. I slept about 2 hours, woke up, looked around, listened for the baby, tossed, turned, woke up again an hour later, got a drink, peeked into the baby's room, tossed, turned, woke up again an hour later, went to the bathroom, had a fight with Yellow Cat, tossed, turned, etc.

AND IT'S NOT JUST ME! McMoose woke up at about 7, sat straight up in bed, checked to make sure I wasn't lying on top of Luke (this is McMoose's constant fear, by the way. I think he fully expects that one of these mornings, he's going to wake up and I'm going to be lying on the baby. Even though the baby is now a toddler who would no sooner let himself be lain upon than he'd let someone wipe his nose) and then informed me that it was seven and the baby was still asleep and was I sure that the monitor was working?

I've been afraid to jinx it, but this whole sleeping in the crib all night and not waking up until morning thing? This is becoming somewhat of a regular occurrence around here. I feel pretty confident in saying that the (almost) one-year-old is (finally) sleeping through the night. So...when do I start?