I Hope Our Arms Don’t Get Tired August 19, 2008

Tomorrow we fly. To Minneapolis. We have two flights to contend with tomorrow, since we connect in Milwaukee, which means two times up and down for little ears. I have read a bit about how to deal with an infant on a plane and feel like it’ll be fine, but we are getting baby Benadryl just in case. I absolutely hate to think of giving him something to help him sleep, but I also don’t want him to scream the whole time either. Rob and I were talking about it yesterday:

R: Are we going to give it to him before the first flight?
K: I think we should wait to see how he does first.
R: How long does it take to kick in?
K: About a half hour.
R: Both flights are really short.
K: Then the people on the first flight will be really irritated.
R: Yep.

The bigger question is: can we check the Pack N’ Play planeside? And does it count toward our checked luggage? If so, we have to make sure to pack everyone’s clothes in one suitcase. Why does something so little need so much stuff? Maybe because he has the potential to poop on three outfits a day. Rob and I don’t do that. That would be awwwkward.

Methinks He Doth Protest Too Much August 19, 2008

Sam must be growing again, because he threw a regular baby fit this morning at 5:30 when I chose to change his extremely heavy, stinky diaper before feeding him. (Bad Mommy!) It went a little something like, “tuh HUH tuh HUH, WaaaaAAAAAH!” And he gets the most pitiful look on his face when he cries. (I hate to see him so upset, but that little face is so cute.) He was so loud that it woke Rob up in the other room. He came in to see what was the matter and if I was, in fact, in there with him, instead of at the bar or something. After he was changed and in feeding position, he was smiley and happy again. What a trusting little baby. It’s amazing what they learn, isn’t it?

Back in the Saddle August 14, 2008

Well, we got back in the car and traveled back to Traverse City for Ken and Gina’s wedding celebration. It turns out that traveling with a 3-month-old is harder than traveling with a 6-week-old. What is normally an 8-hour trip sans baby, turned into a 12-hour trip. I expected that it was going to take longer, like it did earlier in the summer when we drove all over the country. But Sam has learned to be more vocal about his displeasure, whether it is the fact that he is hungry, or that he is So. Sick. Of. His. Carseat. He. Could. Scream. And he does.

We were 45 minutes from TC — the home stretch, if you will — when Sam had a melt down. He was fussy, so I got in the back seat to keep him company. Apparently, it’s worse to see the source of food than to just think about it, and he started wailing. Rob had to pull over while I fed him. We were so close. [sigh] Yesterday, Sam was all out of sorts from the long trip. He was not his smiley self. In fact, I thought for sure that he had left his smiler at home. But today, it has made its return, thank goodness.

The cutest new thing that he does is his fake cry. He will get fussy because he’s hungry, so I’ll take him upstairs to change his diaper before he eats. He will look at me, smile, then start to cry a little, then smile through his cry, remember he was supposed to be upset and cry a little more, then start talking and kicking. And then cry a little more. It’s so funny.

So, we’re in TC until Sunday, when we will make the trek home again. On Wednesday, Sam will have his first airplane trip to Minneapolis for Caitlin and Jon’s wedding. Hopefully, Sam will enjoy the trip and not be bothered by the flight. Never fear, we have earplugs for his tiny drums.

Laughter Is, In Fact, The Best Medicine August 11, 2008

Last night, we heard Sam’s laugh. I was holding him on my lap and saying, “ma ma ma ma MA!” and “da da da da DA!” and each time he would grin from ear to ear and “ha ha ha ha.” It wasn’t a belly laugh, but more of a “I can’t believe you are making such a fool of yourself, Woman” kind of laugh. If that is what it takes to hear that sound, I will make a fool of myself all day long.

I love my baby.

Get Me To The Church On Time August 10, 2008

We didn’t make it to church on time, but we went. And it felt good to go. (Even though they didn’t do the liturgy, which I love.) We sat in the very back in case of a baby emergency (crying, feeding, POOP) and participated. Sam was, as ever, a good baby throughout the service. He didn’t cry, he talked a little to Rob, had a nap, and pooped during the benediction for emphasis.

As for the parents, we decided we could go back and try that church again. Progress, I’d say.

Idiot Box August 9, 2008

It was bound to happen sometime. Sam has found the TV. When he’s lying on his quilt exercising on the floor, he now turns his head nearly 90 degrees with his ear to his shoulder to see what’s on. So now we figure it’s time for him to start DVRing his own cartoons so that we can leave him for hours on the floor with nothing to stimulate him but Spongebob.

Actually, I hate that he has found it. When I was on bedrest, I would often have the TV on in the background while I cross-stitched or surfed the web, etc. Now I find myself turning it off if there’s not something I am actively watching (which is better for MY brain, too!), because I don’t want Sam to get hooked on the fast image changes and get distracted from play time.

Stinkor August 7, 2008

Remember the He-Man character that was a big skunk guy named Stinkor? Yeah, well, that should be my new name. I swear that since Sam’s birth, I have become stinkier. Like BO stink. Is that possible? It must be hormones or the extra weight I’m still carrying around, because my hygiene practices haven’t changed. I may shower a little later in the day than I normally would, but that wouldn’t account for the excess stink.

The reason I’m writing about this is that I tried a new all-natural deodorant. Regular deodorant is bad for our bodies, because of the aluminum in it and blockage of sweat glands, etc., so I thought I would try aluminum-free stuff. I asked Rob to let me know if he noticed a change in my smell with the new deodorant. Here’s our conversation from last night:

K: So can you smell a difference today?
R: Did you use the new deodorant today?
K: I did.
R: Ok, I was wondering because you have more, uh, you smell different.
K: I DO?!? Uuuuuuugggghh!
R: Well, I didn’t know if you used the new stuff so I didn’t want to say anything in case you hadn’t and you smelled –
K: I smell bad!
R: I don’t care! You always smell nice to me. And I couldn’t smell it all the time, just when you were really close to me.
K: [sigh] Ok. Thanks for telling me.

So. It DOES NOT WORK — for me, at least. I am stinky. So I have returned to the aluminum-filled Dove deodorant and I’m not going to worry about it. [sigh]

Month Three August 6, 2008

Dear Sam,

Yes, that’s right. You’re getting another letter. I’m playing catch-up, because we were able to spend a month with family and friends in the midwest. It was amazing. You were able to meet more people than a little baby could ever imagine. And they all loved you. Love you — present tense. In that time, you’ve had many “firsts”: your first wedding (Paige and Wyatt’s), first swim in the lake, first boat ride, first trip to TC, first trip to the cabin, first “ride” in the Baby Bjorn carrier, first bachelorette party (you crashed Caitlin’s weekend!). You are a child who rolls with the changes each day brings.

You are easygoing, there’s no doubt about it. This month you’ve been passed from person to person, all reaching out to snuggle with you, and for the most part you greeted them with smiles or the ultimate sign of contentment: sleep. Everywhere we go, people comment on what a good baby you are. (”I’ve never heard him cry!” “Does he ever cry?”) It’s true, you are a very good baby. But Sam, we would love you just as much if you were a little more fussy, squawked a little more, or even cried. People have asked, “What do you do to make him so happy?” I give my tongue-in-cheek answer, “It was all that bedrest!” But as our family friend, Mary Gage said, “You’ll get it coming or going,” so we are prepared for you to assert your will at any moment. And we will delight in it, even if we might not always show it.

Some bodily function updates: You DROOL. You are a little faucet. I have never seen so much spit come from a baby. And you’re balding. It’s ok, it’ll grow back. Almost all babies lose some of their newborn hair. I think your hair is going to grow in a little lighter. You have major poop blow-outs. It’s incredible the number of outfits that you get poop on. In fact, last night, you pooped up through the back of your diaper to make a splotch of poop the size of a saucer on the back of your onesie. I was holding you, which means I had poop on my shirt, too. You just have to laugh. What can you do?

Grandma Nancy (perhaps Nonnie, we’ll see what you think about that when it’s time to name people) put you in the bathtub for the first time. You LOVE to take baths. No more bath seat in the sink for you. As soon as you realize you are in the water, you start to kick and splash around with vigor. (Verve. Vim. I love that all of those words start with ‘v.’ Sam, your mother is a word nerd.) I hate to interrupt your play time to do such mundane things as wash your body, but it must be done, because, well, see the above paragraph. You’re a dirty bird.

You have found your voice, Sam. Your little baby language has started. Your favorite sounds are “Err” and “Geh.” I love to have a little conversation with you, mimicking the sounds that you make. I like to think that I’m saying your words right and that you are having as much fun as I am. It will be so exciting to hear your first real words. I practice with you every day. I say, “Ma ma ma ma ma.” And if Daddy is in the room, I play fair and add, “Da da da da da.” But we both know your first word will be Mama. I can hardly take my eyes off your little mouth as you form your babbling sounds. It makes it very difficult to get anything done.

Speaking of which, you have reached a stage where you would prefer to be constantly entertained. By us. While it is so wonderful that you love our company — and I wouldn’t trade it for the alternative — I would like to be able to pee without having to bring you into the bathroom or sing to you while I’m there. Someday, you’re not going to want to have these little field trips to every place with me and I’ll look back fondly on these high-needs days. There are times where you are content to hang out on your play mat and talk to the yellow lion that hangs over your head, or sit in your bouncy chair and sing to the fish that swim in front of you, but those moments last for mere minutes and then you’d like to be in the arms of a human again. You love faces. This month you have started to mimic facial expressions. If I stick out my tongue, you will stick yours out to match. And just in the last week, you’ve started initiating the game yourself. If I am holding you and talking to you, you’ll smile at me, say, “Geh” and stick out your tongue. When I stick mine out to match yours, you smile and do it again. So cute.

I swear I can see your brain getting bigger. You get this look on your face when you are concentrating or seeing something for the first time. It’s very serious, this brain-growing. Your little brain is creating new synapses as we speak, which is amazing. You are very smart. I can tell.

You are a mover and a shaker, Peanut. You can stand up very straight and tall with support under your arms. You like to kick, kick, kick and flail your arms about. Tummy time is much more fun this month, since you can hold your head up higher and look around. Your neck is getting very strong. In fact, at 10 weeks and 6 days (July 28), you rolled over! I just about jumped out of my skin, I was so excited! Daddy was so sad that he missed it. (He was in Canada fishing with both of your grandpas and Uncle Ang.) In fact, his one charge to you while he was gone for those five days was, “Sam, don’t reach any milestones while I’m gone, ok?” He has vowed never to leave for five days again. You haven’t rolled over since then, so I think it was a moment where all the stars aligned and you tipped over. We put you on your tummy every day in the hope that you will do it again. We are impatient, to say the least. You have also figured out that arms are for more than waving around. You will bat at your bug that we hang over your carseat and reach and grab for things that are put in front of you. You’re still working on hanging onto the things that you reach for, but the journey is the reward, right? When we were driving home from the midwest, Daddy and I would hear the crinkle of the bug wings and the tap-tap-tapping of the plastic rings and smile at each other, knowing you are doing your important work of playing.

Sam, we love you. We love sharing you with family and friends. We love watching you grow before our very eyes. We love seeing you develop new skills and using them when you play. We love snuggling with you. We love wiping the drool from your chin. We wait for the day that you can say our names. And another roll-over would be nice, too. No pressure, though.

Love,
Mommy

Stranger Danger August 5, 2008

What is it with babies and strangers? Maybe it’s a Pennsylvania thing, but people seem to think that carrying around a baby is an invitation to strike up a conversation.

“Is he sleeping well? My kids never slept well. Let me tell you all about the woes that were my nights.” (I’m sorry you had a hard time, strange woman. Please spare me the details.)

“Oooohhh how cuuuuuute! Look at it in the little carrier!” (It? He’s obviously a boy!)

“Is he sleeping through the night? You should put some cereal in his bottle. That will help.” (Hello. No. And he doesn’t drink from a bottle. Thanks for the advice.)

“Oh I remember those days. Cherish this time. It will go so fast. My kids are 14 and 11 and I feel like it was just yesterday that they were that small. Are you having another one? You shouldn’t wait too long so they can play together.” (Yes, time goes fast. Yes, we’ll have another. Thanks for your thoughts about our procreation time frame. We’ll think of you when it’s time.)

Do you think I’ll be like that in 15 years? If I start, please slap me on the forehead and remind me of this post. Thank you in advance.

Month Two (July 8) August 5, 2008

Dear Sam,

“You’re huge.” Daddy and I say that all the time. It is amazing how big you’ve gotten in four short weeks. We throw around ideas about your future occupation: hockey player, basketball player, resident giant in freak shows. So far, all of your careers center around the fact that you’re huge. Huge. I’m sure you have many more talents, but for now we have to go with what we know. So there.

This is the month of the intentional smile. On July 1st, you smiled at me for the first time. I felt a little like an idiot for the facial acrobatics I had to do to wrestle it out of you, but there it was. I captured the moment on my cell phone. And if I hadn’t thrown away the little piece that connects to my computer, I would be sharing that smile with all of your faithful blog readers. But alas, I looked at that piece and said, “I’ll never use this,” and threw it away. You have a dimple on each cheek when you smile, just like your dad. But the cutest thing is that your eyes start to smile before your mouth actually breaks out into that grin. You smile easily. In the morning, you greet the day with a smile, which is a treat for whoever gets you from your crib. Often, when you’re eating you will grin for no apparent reason. Even when you’re a little sleepy, you manage a smile or two. I will never tire of seeing your smile.

You love to kick. At first I was a little worried that you would only kick your right leg. You would pull it up and kick it out while keeping your left leg ramrod straight. My paranoid self thought, “Oh no, he’s got hip troubles and can’t kick his other leg.” It turns out you were just practicing one leg at a time, because a few days later, there went the left leg, while the right one was straight as an arrow. Perhaps you are methodical in your work like your mother. We shall see.

The nights have gotten better. You will sleep four to five hours in a row at night before needing to eat. I have gotten many, many books read while feeding you. At first I tried to talk to you and sing to you the whole time you ate, but after a while, the one-way conversation became repetitive and boring. I swear you were as bored as I was with the meaningless chatter. I talked with my mom about it, saying that I wanted to help you develop good language skills by talking to you, but it was exhausting to keep up the flow of words. She said, “Ohmigod, eating is work, not play time. Give yourself a break!” As in, get over it, his language skills will be fine. So I read. I read novels, books that I would never have time to read during the day. I’ve read more books in the last two months than I think I read the entire time you were in my belly. I enjoy that time with you. We can be close and snuggle, you doing your work of eating and me reading for pleasure. It seems like a good trade.

I have a feeling that I could end each letter with this statement: this month with you was better than the last. You are developing your little personality and showing off your wonderful self a little more each day. And I am the lucky one that gets to watch it all unfold.

Love,
Mommy