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?

Oh Come Let Us Adore Me

My boy has had his share of love and affection these days. He's been passed from cousin to cousin to Auntie to grandmother to mother back to cousin. At first there was a bit of quivering of the bottom lip, which quickly turned into coos and smiles and displays of advanced babyness, you know, recitation of multiplication tables and the elements of various torts or tortes. He's a well rounded 18 week old. Truly.

A year ago I was pregnant. And today I have my happy, smiley, giggly boy.

Best Christmas ever.

What Kind of Mother Am I?

I've learned many things about myself in the last 14 weeks.

For example, I will put a furry reindeer hat on my child and take him out in public. Even though he looks like a Russian oligarch and in spite of the look you see at the right.

I will physically stop a stranger from touching my child. Hell, I'll even stop a nonstranger from touching my child if said nonstranger hasn't washed his/her hands and bathed in Purell.

Babies fascinate me. My own baby. Other people's babies. I had no idea babies were so interesting. I always liked older children...preferably at the age when they could do tricks. But babies have turned out to be fascinating. Who knew?

I could never be a stay at home mom. Too hard. Much harder than boardrooms and corporate intrigue and class actions. I am forever amazed and awed by the power and majesty of the stay at home mom.

On the other hand, I've never been so happy to get home from work and see my boy. That big gummy smile. Those chunky little legs (his, not mine). Those little squinty eyes so similar to my own. Boy oh boy, do I love this child.

It was almost a year ago that I began the IVF that brought us Adam. I went back and read through the posts and was struck through the heart of how immensely lucky we are. So, so very lucky. Lucky that the cycle worked, finally, and lucky that we were in a position to keep trying. And very cognisant that he almost wasn't.

We have much to be thankful for. Happy Thanksgiving.

A new woman

Two months.

Six hours.

A promise.

Two months.

Six glorious, splendiforous hours.

A promise kept.

Adam is two months old.

Last night he slept six hours straight. Merciful God. Six glorious, life affirming, eye bag reducing hours.

In exchange for those hours, I promised I would never again stuff him into a too small polo onesie, flip the collar and prop him up for a photo session.

He agreed.

I am a happy woman. Praise be.

Time Does Fly.

7 weeks tomorrow. I've started several posts...one about the birth, one about the first few weeks, one as recently as yesterday and, while time has flown, my words have fallen flat. I lack the talent to articulate how my smiling boy has changed my life. How his little self has sent my spirits and my heart soaring and at the same time brought me to my knees. Rejoice at the milestones, the first smile, the first coo (oh yes, "ma ma" will be the first word even if it isn't); frustration at his cries (all your needs are met little boy, what could possibly cause your tears?); worry for his well being which will surely plague me the rest of my days; and acute vulnerability...how is possible to feel so much so deeply? It's true, nothing could have prepared me for this. All of this. The love, yes, absolutely. Joy, wonder, awe. And at times the frustration, the dizzying inability to figure out his cries on top of crushing fatigue. (Trust me, you can have an army of help and you will still be tired.) But always, always, the pinch-me-it-can't-be-true, this child is mine.

It was all worth it. Every. Single. Step.