Two!

Weston turned two months yesterday and I'm starting to remember how much I love two-month-olds. The random crying doesn't happen anymore--when he's fussing, it's almost always because he's tired now. Before he was born, I thought, "Oh, when the baby cries, I'll just nurse him and whether he's hungry or sleepy, that should take care of it because babies LOVE to nurse to sleep." As usual, the Universe decided to thwart my plans by giving me the one baby on the planet who does not, in fact, like to nurse to sleep. Instead, he prefers to be rocked with a pacifier. I mean, do you KNOW how much time and effort I spent making sure Luke took a pacifier because I didn't want him to be too reliant on nursing for comfort? And now that I'm over that particular brand of insanity, when I'm perfectly willing to nurse my baby to comfort him, I get the baby who wants a pacifier. Are you kidding me?!

He still doesn't like to sleep anywhere other than on my person, but that works out just fine for us because it means that I can still put him in a sling and go about my day, instead of being stuck at home when he's napping. He particularly enjoys napping in the great outdoors--parks, hiking trails, the backyard.

He started smiling about three weeks ago and since then, McMoose, Luke, and I have been making fools of ourselves trying to get him to smile. McMoose can make him smile almost instantly and he'll smile at Luke, as long as Luke doesn't get too close. (This might have something to do with the fact that when Luke DOES get too close, he tends to try to pick Weston up by his head or poke his ears or hug him with entirely too much enthusiasm and it's pretty hard to smile when you're being manhandled by someone who's almost three times your size.) When he sees me, on the other hand, his first thought is, "Holy cow, it's been FOREVER since I ate. I might even be starving. Must have food...WAAAAAAHHH!" So all of his mama-smiles are strictly reserved for AFTER he eats.

He enjoys his swing and seems to believe that the little stuffed animals hanging above it are his friends. He smiles at them. He talks to them. He tries oh-so-hard to reach them. Unfortunately, his limbs don't quite do what he wants them to yet, so while he's busily trying to get his arm to reach up and grab the stuffed animals, it comes and smacks him on the head instead.

He likes it when I put him in the carrier and sweep or mop the floors. He doesn't like it when I try to put away the laundry, possibly because I keep bumping hangers into his head. He's still not a fan of riding in the car--especially in the evening. I don't know why, but he's much more willing to sit in the carseat in the morning than he is later in the day. His favorite time of day is bath time and there comes a time every evening when he starts grumbling at me and the only way to fix him is to give him a bath. (Actually, he calms down as soon as he hears us turn the faucet on. What can I say? The kid knows what he wants.)

He gets called all kinds of nicknames, but he's starting to look at us when we say his name. We have his two-month doctor visit next week, so I don't know what his official weight is right now, but here's what I do know: the pants he's wearing right now? Have dirt stains on the knees. Why, you ask? Because Luke was wearing them WHEN HE WAS CRAWLING. And just as a point of reference, Luke started crawling when he was seven months old, which means that Weston is wearing the clothes Luke wore as a seven-month-old at the ripe old age of NINE WEEKS. I'm pretty sure that if he could talk, he'd ask for a steak.

I do have pictures for the month, but what I don't have is any idea where the camera cord might be packed, so pictures will be up at some point in the (hopefully) not too distant future.

Calm as a Cucumber

Smell is the sense that's most closely related to memory and emotion.

When Luke was about five months old, I stopped sleeping. For a couple of months, I slept in fits and snatches when I just couldn't stay awake any more. I was convinced that if I fell asleep, if I let my eyes stay closed long enough, my world would spin to an end while I wasn't looking. Every morning, I stood at the window watching McMoose drive off to work and fought waves of nausea because I was convinced he'd be in an accident and it would be the last time we saw him. I sat and held Luke while he napped because I thought that if I put him down, he'd stop breathing and I wouldn't know until it was too late to help him. I don't remember if the anxiety came first or the insomnia, but they fed into each other until I felt like the universe was constantly on the brink of disaster.

Recently, I've been trying to remember why I was that anxious. By that time, Luke was happy, he was eating well and gaining weight well, he was sleeping well. Objectively speaking, there was no real reason for it. And if it could happen out of the blue like that the first time, it could happen again, right? So I've been trying to remember what it felt like. And the thing is, I couldn't remember. It was like trying to remember what labor contractions felt like--when you're not there, you just can't recapture the feeling.

Except that smell is the sense that's most closely linked to memory and emotion. I used to drink this herbal tea constantly when Luke was a baby, but I hadn't had any since. Last night, I was rummaging through our half-unpacked pantry to find some tea bags and since I found a box of those herbal tea bags that I had left over, I decided to just use that. And the instant I brewed that cup of tea, my stomach knotted up and I felt like I was taking a trip back to two years ago.

As much as I didn't appreciate that particular, unexpected walk down memory lane, it was re-assuring to remember exactly how awful that anxiety felt because now, I know that all the little stresses I feel during the day? They aren't that. When I'm frustrated that Luke is moving at a snail's pace or annoyed because I'm sitting in traffic while Weston is SCREAMING from his car seat, it isn't that. And thank goodness for that.

House of Comedy (And Illness)

Luke was eight months old the first time he got sick. And I was very grateful, because I could not, for the life of me, figure out how we all would have survived that illness had he been any younger. He nursed constantly, he refused to sleep, and he acted generally insane.

As it turns out, acting insane is just how he handles sickness, as he has continued that particular habit with every illness over the past two years. Right now, for example, he has a little cold. A very little cold. He sneezed a few times, coughed a few times, and his nose seems to have developed and On/Off switch because it starts running at random times. And since I didn't want to spread this around to other, unsuspecting children, I kept him home from open gym today. As a result of which Luke's morning looked like this:
-Ate a plate of grapes. Fed me some grapes. Tried to feed McMoose some grapes. Threatened to feed Weston some grapes. I take his threats seriously because a few days ago, I had to extract a cracker out of my not-quite-2-month-old-baby's mouth.
-Asked what we were doing today. Yelled at me when I told him we were staying home.
-Ate a granola bar.
-Ate a bowl of oatmeal with raisins.
-Demanded a second bowl of oatmeal, only to pick out all the raisins and refuse to eat the rest. When I asked him why he didn't just ask for plain raisins, he informed me that he likes "wet" raisins better than dry ones. Seriously?
-Ran in crazy, hyper circles around the house and made me chase him. Screamed at the top of his lungs. Non-stop.
-Ate a cheese stick.

I mean, when I'm sick, I like to cuddle under a blanket and sleep a lot, but apparently, fighting your nap and running in crazy circles is a far better option.

Of course, Luke's sickness is also Weston's sickness and he has his own brand of crazy. By which I mean that he thinks sneezing is hysterical. He grins when he sneezes. He grins when Luke sneezes. In fact, even if he's in the middle of crying, he'll stop and grin when he hears a sneeze. And like his brother, he apparently also needs less sleep when he's sick, as evidenced by the fact that he--and therefore, I--woke up a full 2 hours earlier than normal. Awesome.

Perfectly Reasonable

Luke, while we were in the car: I want to spin, spin, spin.
Me: You can spin, spin, spin as soon as we get home.
Luke: Why?
Me: Because you're in the car seat and spinning is kind of difficult when you're buckled in, don't you think?
Luke: Just stop here. There's our house. *Points to a Kroger*
Me: I'm pretty sure that's a grocery store.
Luke: I'm pretty sure that's our new house. There's a potty there and lots and lots of food. We could live there.

Luke: I need a drawer.
Me: You need a what?
Luke: No! Nothing!
*5 seconds later* Luke: I need a drawer.
Me: You need a...drawer?
Luke: Noooo! Nothing!!! I don't want you to say that!
Me: Say WHAT? I'm trying to understand what you're saying.
Luke: I don't WANT you to understand what I'm saying.
Me: Why not?
Luke: Because I just want to WHINE!

Luke: I want something to eat. I want a banana.
Me: We don't have a banana.
Luke: I want a red plum.
Me: We're out of plums, too. Sorry.
Luke: I want some croissants.
Me: We're definitely out of croissants.
Luke: We need to go to the store.

Moving Like Molasses

We've been in the process of moving into our very first house (yay!!!) and oh, my what a process it has been. We had lived in the same apartment for three years, so I completely underestimated how different it is to move with two little ones around. Especially when one of those little ones likes to pull things out of boxes and the other one likes to be held. Constantly. So here's what moving with the two of them has been like:

-The stairs are such that our regular baby gates won't work on them, so we had to order new ones. The new ones will get here on Friday, but until then, there's a whole lot of bargaining with a two-year-old, which goes something like this:
Me: Luke, I need to go get something from downstairs.
Luke: Not right now.
Me: Um...I wasn't actually asking for permission. I need to go downstairs. Do you want to go with me or stay up here?
Luke: Ummmm........The trash can is green!
Me: Yes, it is. Do you want to stay up here or go downstairs with me?
Luke: I saw a lawnmower this morning!
Me: Yes, fine. Downstairs or upstairs?
Luke: I like to eat bananas.
Me: Luke! For goodness sakes, do you want to stay up here or go downstairs?
Luke: I will stay here.
Me: Ok. I'll be right back. Do NOT go down the stairs by yourself.
Luke: Ok!
Me: *RUN downstairs as fast as I can, usually while holding Weston, rummage around, get what I needed, and run back to the stairs, where Luke is trying to slide down the stairs.*

-The door on our apartment could only be locked from the outside with a key, so locking myself out was not an option. It's very much an option at the new house, as I found out last Friday. Luckily, I had both kids with me when I walked out the back door, pulled it shut, and realized that (a) it was locked and (b) the keys and my cell phone were sitting on the kitchen counter. I was pretty grateful that the weather was nice because sitting outside with two kids would've been far less pleasant a month ago, when the highs were regularly in the triple digits.

-Weston really enjoys his swing, which is downstairs. Weston also really enjoys the rocking chair which is--did you guess?--downstairs. Which means that upstairs is the least fun place ever for him, and therefore, for me. GUESS WHERE ALL OF LUKE'S TOYS ARE. (This will change. We just have to strip wall paper and paint the playroom before we can move his toys downstairs. And at this rate, that should only take, what, about a year?)

-I call it a good day if I manage to unpack half a box each day. Of course, we currently have oh, about eight-hundred-and-eleven boxes, so we should be all settled in by the time the kids are ready to go to college. At which point we won't NEED to paint the playroom, so hey, bonus.

Raising a Sumo

I've now experienced the smaller-than-average baby and the bigger-than-average baby, and you know, the bigger-than-average baby? So much less stressful. Not the baby itself, mind you, but the goofy reactions from strangers.

With Luke, up until he was about 5 months, it was a constant barrage of, "Wow, he's really little!" and "Is he eating enough?" and "Are you sure he's actually 3 (or 4 or 5) months old?" To which my only response was to grit my teeth and smile because when you're already obsessing over feeding issues, the last thing you need is strangers pointing out that hey! Despite your best efforts, your baby is still teeny-tiny!

This time around, I've gotten a lot of, "He's ONLY 6 weeks old?" and "Wow, look at all the rolls on his arms!" and "Are you sure he isn't older?" (As an aside, why is it that people always want to ask you if you're SURE your baby is as old as he is? I mean, is that really the kind of thing you're likely to forget?)

Since my experiences with Luke have left me with some vestigial paranoia about whether my baby is getting enough to eat, I'm very much enjoying all this wow-he's-so-big feedback. And yet, I still feel the need to weigh him once a week. Anxiety, I tell ya...there's no logic to it.

One Strange Duck

Luke woke up at 6:30 this morning.
McMoose: Luke, lie down. It's still dark outside.
*Luke lies down.*
Luke, 5 minutes later: Dada, can you make it be bright outside now?

Luke, watching Toto walking around on the porch: There's a spiderweb!
Me: Ok.
Luke: A spiiiiiiiiiiderweeeeeeeeb!
Me: Oooooookaaaaaaay.
Luke: I want Toto to go away from the spiderweb.
Me: Why?
Luke: The spider will eat Toto.
Me: Um. No. The spider is small. Toto is too big to be eaten by the spider.
Luke: The spider will drop on Toto.
Me: If the spider drops on Toto, Toto will eat the spider. Toto likes eating spiders. Don't worry, Toto is fine.
Luke, trying to open the porch door: I like to eat spiders, too.

Luke, crawling on the floor on his belly: Ssssssss! Sssssss! Sssssss!
Me: Oh, My! There's a snake on the floor!
Luke, sitting up: I am not a snake. I am a duck, actually.
Me: Ducks do not crawl on the floor and say "Sssss!"
Luke: Ducks DO crawl on the floor and say "Sssss!" sometimes.
Me: When do they do that?
Luke: When they pretend to be a snake.