No really, every boy needs a tractor.

Yes, indeed, 2010 would not be complete without a nearly lifesize, or boysize, tractor. How the worm turns.

Happy New Year!

One Year.

One year. A year. Already. I was prepared to be overwhelmed by the love I would feel for my little Adam. I was unprepared for what fear would feel like. Stark, paralyzing, heart wrenching fear that something, anything could happen to my little boy. It scares the hell out of me, but I've never felt so alive. To love like this...to have such a wonderful, funny, smart (oh, she can go on and on and on) little boy. And to think, it almost wasn't.

One year. On Wed. One year ago. My little boy. My funny little bad boy who warns me before he does something he's not supposed to..."no, no, no" (pronounced "nyah, nyah, nyah") with a shaking of the head and a wagging of the finger. Whose little eyes squint like his Mommy's and whose skin color is ridiculously tan like his Daddy's. My little boy who walks like a little Frankenstein with arms extended and points to every person, in every picture as "Mama." My avocado loving and paper eating sweet boy.

Sigh.

One year.

hey Baby

Almost 11 months old. My little Adam is helmet free and if you look closely, you can see bumps and bruises and battle scars. He's walking and into everything. EVERYTHING. Behind him is a stack of newspapers; what you can't see are the weeks of newspapers on the floor. I'm getting better about not stressing about the constant mess, but years of OCD are difficult to shed. He's finally, finally consistently sleeping through the night.

Isn't he a cutie? Really, isn't he just a cutie!

My Big Boy

My boy is not so little anymore. Almost 10 months old. Crawling, standing, babbling, almost just about there trying so hard to walk. Sleeping through the night. Although 6:30am like clockwork feels pretty damn early. He has his own little personality and eight little chicklet teeth.

So, so, so worth it.

Go Speed Racer, Go

My little furry headed boy is now a helmet head. His torticollis and our slavish insistence that he sleep on his back (swaddled as tightly as a burrito) has resulted in a flat head. Parental guilt dictates that that be corrected, as well as the possibility that the bald is beautiful movement heats up in his later years. He has adjusted well; his parents? Not so well.

Our first experience with another little helmet head was at the plastic surgeon's office for Adam's consultation. I went over to talk to the mother (of said little helmet head) to find out how it was going and got a good look at her son. One eye was squinty, the other was as wide open as a cyclops. His skin around the helmet was red and scratchy and he looked, well, foul. She brought him over to see Adam, who eyeballed the boy and then looked up at me and said, "Ah Goo." "Ah Goo" is universal Adamese for, "what the hell are you getting me into." I assured him that he was too darn cute to get the permanent stink eye.

Take a look at the picture above. Yes, Ah Goo.

He's actually loving the helmet, though it's impeding some of his developmental milestones. For example, he's learned that crawling's more fun if he uses his helmet to propel himself forward rather than his hands. Look, Ma, no hands! I've caught him banging his head on the hardwood floors and deliberately rolling into furniture just to experience the inner helmet twanging sensation. The great thing is that he was helmeted during our viewing of the winter Olympics so he was able to bond with his own kind.

His sleeping sucks, truly sucks. I'm not sure if it's helmet related or teething related, but he's definitely regressed. Last night, he woke up every three hours. Crying, inconsolable. I can handle this much better now than when he was an infant and I didn't know what the hell I was doing. I still don't know what the hell I'm doing but I figure the child will sleep through the night at some point in his life. It now makes sense to me why people have children in their 20s and not their 40s; they're too young and dumb to have any expectations.

I hope all is well out there in blogland. More later.

What Happens When the Rents are at Work.

Usually Adam and Rodrigez (the Rat) cage fight in the pack-n-play. Many, many times, I've glimpsed over at my child and Rodrigez

has pinned the poor lad. I was happy to see that, while I was at work, Adam and Rodrigez learned to play well together. Look at the handholding and laughter. I was also impressed that they were able to set up the camera and get such a good shot of them playing nicely. And Adam's only six months old. Rodrigez, no idea when he was manufactured.

Well lookee there....

Two little toofers.

Imagine Whirled Peas

Milestones for this week:

1. Did not detest peas. In fact, ate them all. What???

2. The tips of two little bottom teeth made their appearance. Two tiny little nubbins.

3. Reached out for his mommy. Reached his little chubby arms out for his mommy. Me. Melt.

4. Slept 11 hours last night. Hear the chorus of angels?

I am so tempted to go on and on and on about this child. I truly have become one of those women. I gush and rave and pontificate about this boy, this magical child. No one could have prepared me for how I would feel. I'm waiting for the moment someone says to me, "um, would you shut about that child, people have been loving their children for centuries." But, until then...

Is it ethical to give codeine to a baby?

I KID, I KID. Really, the sleeping is getting better. In other words, the adult members of the household are getting more sleep, so functionality is definitely on an upswing. In the days of sleeping glory, we would put Adam down, swaddled, at around 10pm and he usually slept until 5am or so. Now, in our unswaddled world, we put him down around 8pm, he sleeps until 2am, and on a really, really fabulous night, he'll then sleep until 7:30am. Last night he was up at 1am and again at 5:30, but he slept until 8:30am. It's just strange how it's all changed.

But, then, he's changed. He's rolling over...and over...and over. Yesterday, he rolled all the way across the room. I asked him to roll to the fridge and get me a beverage, but that's sort of an advanced skill. Next week. He's fascinated with his hands, though he's chewing them until they're raw. He flexes his fingers and waves his hands in front of his face, simply mesmerized. You can hear his little baby brain thinking "wow, these are mine, look at the cool shapes they make." But the best, most delightful Adamism is the laughing out loud, "Dad, you're hysterical," stuff. Everything just delights him. And his mom and dad just stare, rapt.

On the non-Adam front, work is crazy and it's crazy cold here. I'm not a winter girl, I abhor being cold and it's damn cold. But, my little chunkopotamous takes the edge off...

To Sleep, perchance...

My boy has always been a good sleeper. (I note that "always" refers to his mere five months of life.) Except for the last week. The last looonnngg seven days. He's teething. He's congested. And, he can flip from his back to his front and back again, so the pediatrician said it isn't safe to swaddle him anymore. No swaddle = No sleep. No sleep = pyschopath mom. I'm stymied on this one.

night one with no swaddle -- Adam slept on his side for 4 hours then woke up screaming. He slept in fits of 2 hours the rest of the night.

night two with no swaddle -- The nanosecond I put his sound asleep body in the crib, he immediately flipped to his belly and started crying. After three pick ups and soothings, he went to sleep and repeated the pattern from night one.

night three -- ditto. mom cries. yells at dad. surely it's his fault.

And so on.

So I ask, what the hell? How can a baby who's used to sleeping 8+ hours a night revert to a newborn?