Old MacDonald had an idiot

Some days, Jack takes good naps and I don't have to work very hard to make him happy.

Other days, Jack does not take good naps and nothing I do can convince him to be happy. Of course, his father comes home from work on those days -- when I am ready to jump off the balcony -- and gets a suddenly happy and charming child.

Then I sit listening to them play and secretly think Jack likes him better. Of course, Josh is not the one who makes him take these terrible, painful, my-life-is-over naps. Or the one who brandishes the snot sucker and sucks the very soul from him while suctioning out the snot from his little nose.

Ho-no. Daddy is the fun guy.

Anyway.

So today, Jack was having a little late-afternoon fuss. So I picked him up and laid back on the couch and started singing to him and moving his arms in time to "Old MacDonald."

And he started smiling and laughing. He appeared really into it and happy.

While we were singing, Josh came home and came upstairs. And he heard me singing the silly song where Old MacDonald had a Daddy on his farm and all I could think of for the Daddy to say was "Hi hi hi," but really, the Daddy could have been saying "Shit shit shit" and Jack still would have been laughing because I? Am a genius when it comes to entertaining the child.

All night long

Sweet lord. Jack slept eight. hours. in. a. row. last. night.

As in, we put him to sleep at 8:30 p.m. and he did not wake up until 5 a.m.

I think he might have gone longer, but I freaked out at 4 a.m. and made Josh go in and make sure he was alive. He was. Still swaddled up like a baby burrito. But then he started stirring and by 5, he was crying to eat.

This was his longest stretch of uninterrupted sleep in his almost-11 weeks of life. We're not sure what caused it but there are a few suspects.

1. A growth spurt. We are in the midst of one, evidenced by his wanting to eat every hour for the last two afternoons. That's 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7 o'clock. I should just leave my shirt open for the all-you-can-drink milk buffet.

2. A full tummy. Because he was eating all the damn time, he certainly must have been full up when we put him to sleep.

3. A re-jiggered swaddle. We use the Miracle Blanket, but he had been Houdini-ing himself out of it lately and wakes himself up because he works his skinny little chicken legs out of it and they get cold. So I tried wrapping the bottom half of it tighter around his legs and he stayed swaddled.

4. Dumb luck. He could just be screwing with us. Because today was the day of few naps. As in, his longest stretch was 35 minutes. That's always good times. Good thing Grandma was here or it would have been mommy hiding in the closet with her laptop time.

The best part about him sleeping through the night was that Josh had to get up for the 5 a.m. feeding. His first time getting up in the middle of the night for a feeding.

The deal was that since he can't lactate, and he likes to stay up until 1 a.m., he would take the late feeding with a bottle. He gets to feed Jack and I still get up to pump. But I can pump enough for a bottle in 10 minutes, versus the 20 it usually takes for me to feed Jack.

Well, since we're planning a trip to Vegas in July, I need to save up enough breast milk so Jack can eat while we are gone. I figure 24 5-ounce bags should cover it for three days at five months old. So I try to pump an extra feeding each day now.

With Jack sleeping longer, it works well because I can get an extra session in at night.

So while I could have just gotten up and fed him at 5 a.m., it was more advantageous for me to pump and Josh to feed him. Josh? Not feeling the love on that thought process at 5 a.m. Me? Feeling the love on him knowing what it's been like to get up these last 11 weeks.

Now he will tell you, I didn't stay up until 3 a.m., waiting for the baby to wake up and eat. I will tell you that he should have gone to sleep like usual and gotten up when Jack started fussing.

All I know is, Jack slept through the night and we were both exhausted today.

Hatless in Chicago

I am issuing an all-points bulletin.

Missing: One green froggy hat.
Last seen: Purple El Line, Friday

If you have any information regarding the whereabouts of said hat, please e-mail me.

I am so very, very sad. We took Jack to see the Bean at Millenium Park after work today and I left his little frog hat on the El seat when I got up. I almost cried when I realized it as we crossed the street.

For some reason, the heat was on in the train and it was 70 degrees today and my GOD it was like 100 degrees in the El car and Jack was wearing long sleeves and jeans and was in the Bjorn and my GOD we were in a sauna.

So we took him out of the Bjorn and took his hat off him. I put it on my lap and then was grabbing the camera bag from Josh and then was worried about throwing my soda cup out in the garbage instead of littering on the train and I just lost track of the hat.

IT WAS MY VERY FAVORITE BABY HAT.

Jack, he looked like a little frog when he wore it. And now he can never be a frog again.

So, let's have a moment of silence for the froggy hat.

Do, Re, MeMe

Whew, haven't had time to blog the last few days. I mean first, we went to the Franz Ferdinand/Deathcab for Cutie concert on Wednesday and then yesterday was my book club night. And we all know that yesterday was 4-20. So I was toking a big fattie. (Really? No. But thought it would freak people out if I said I was. While breastfeeding. In front of the child.)

Painting Chef tagged me for a meme a few days ago. Since I have never done one, well, I will give it a shot.

Six Things You Don't Know About Me

1. I had a full athletic scholarship to play college softball.

I was a pitcher and was all excited to get to go to college for free and be an athlete. Except I had this little problem with my shoulder during my final season in high school. I rehabbed it and didn't pitch.

When I got to college in August, I went to the first day of practice and realized I might be in over my head. These chicks were GOOD. They were also, a majority of them, lesbians. Being 18 and naive, I was scared of them. Scared people would think I was a lesbian. (Now, no problem with lesbians! I like lesbians! And gay men! Everyone, grab hands and join me in a rousing rendition of Kumbaya!)

So trying to prove myself, I threw a lot of pitches. Hard. And I re-injured my shoulder.

School was not set to start for another month and I was all alone, missing my boyfriend and my family, going through tests to determine the extent of the damage to my shoulder. When they said I was done and would not be able to pitch, they took away my scholarship and I left. I went home, enrolled in my backup school and started a month later. I never fought the diagnosis or tried to come back because in my heart, I knew I was not good enough to play well in college. So I never even tried.

2. I didn't want kids until two years ago.

I was always the woman who wrinkled her nose at the thought of changing diapers, sighed audibly when kids cried in restaurants or on planes in my presence and barred all children from my wedding. (Although I still maintain weddings are not a place for children and mine will not be attending any.)

All through my 20s, I told my friends I did not think I wanted kids. Thought I was too selfish (I was) and didn't particularly want to bring any into the world with the JACKASS I dated for four years before Josh (he would have been a terrible father).

Before Josh and I got married, I got him our second cat for Christmas. I had never liked pets, but he had a cat and when we moved in together, Max moved in too. I started warming up to Max and then I got him Lucy.

And I was in love. We got her when she was a kitten and there were moments where I got a little teary because she was so cute and we had so much fun playing with her. That's when I knew I wanted kids. Josh sealed it when he told me, "Look how much you love Max and Lucy. Imagine how much you will love a baby we created." It was also seeing how he related to the cats that made me know what a great dad he would be. He's so natural with them, always willing to pet them and play with them.

3. I love the cats a little less since Jack was born.

Actually, I should clarify: it's not that I love them LESS per se, it's that I don't really have time for them anymore. When they come over and try to play near Jack, I always end up saying "No" "Don't" or "Stop" to them, especially Lucy. She's still only 3 years old and thinks anytime we get down on the floor, it's to play with her.

But she has knocked Jack's playmat bars onto him once and nearly sat on his head another time. I feel bad I don't play with her or pet her anymore. Max is more stand-offish with me, but Lucy will still try to climb into my lap while I am nursing Jack and I have to push her off. I try to pet her when she comes over to me, but sometimes, I would just rather play with Jack.

We sent them to Josh's parents' house this week so they could get some love and not be alone in the house.

4. I have seen a great deal of baseball players naked.

No, I am not a groupie. I was reporter. And to do my job, I had to go into the clubhouse. And in the clubhouse after games, they shower and change and, the boys, they walk around with towels on and sometimes, without towels on.

It was a bizarre experience every time. Every. Single. Time.

5. I won't read library books.

I read a great deal. Like a book or two a week. But I won't read books from the library. I have a strange obsession with owning all the books I read.

Josh has a conniption because I spend so much money. But I like to look over at my bookshelves and see what I have accomplished.

I also, given the choice, will buy the book in hardcover. Soft cover only when hard cover is not available. And NEVER, I repeat, never, the small paperbacks. I shudder when I see people reading those.

It's like watching a movie at a theater versus buying the DVD versus renting the VHS tape at Blockbuster. Sure, you can watch tapes, but why would you if you can see it on the big screen or DVD?

6. I miss being pregnant.

Holy shit, did I just say that? I kinda miss being the center of attention and having people ask me questions and be nice to me. I miss my husband doing the laundry and bringing me all my meals in bed. I miss my mom waiting on me hand and foot and making me whatever I want for dinner. I miss not having to do anything all day and sleeping in and reading all day and watching TV.

Do I miss the constant stress of a high-risk pregnancy? Certainly not.

But I do miss feeling him move and wondering what he would look like. I miss the fact that he was all mine and I didn't have to share him with anybody.

But the reality of him is far greater than the idea of him. I am so glad he's here. But I think I want to get pregnant again next year.

I think I just threw up in my mouth. I better go read the archives and remind myself of the hell that was ultrasounds and bedrest and hospitals and steroid shots.

OK, now for those of you I am tagging:
Sarah of Life at 45 Degrees
Becci of Miraclebabyb
Martha of Snarfle

Busy body

Blah blah blah sleeping six hours blah blah blah crazy easter holiday blah blah blah work is killing me blah blah blah back to pilates and working out.

That about sums up the last few days.

Jack is turning the corner on the sleeping. I think. I hope. I probably just jinxed it.

He has slept 5-6 hours overnight for five nights now. I am hoping this is a trend and not some game he is playing with my fragile psyche.

The daytime napping is good -- twice a day for two or three hours at a stretch, in his swing. Thank God for the swing. Because if this kid is not swaddled, he will have none of the putting him down in his crib.

Today, we transitioned him to his big-boy stroller. We took off the bassinette feature of the stroller and converted it to a reclined seat. He seemed to be bored in the buggy mode, and I would be too if I laid on my back and looked at the sky while some woman narrated the scenery to me.

So we took him to the grocery store in the new format and he didn't make a peep. He looked around at everything and seemed to like being able to check out his surroundings. And of course, the lights. This child is obsessed with the lights.

Unfortunately, that's all I got for ya.

I am exhausted after working all day. And I have had help with Jack almost every day for the last two weeks. But it's still a lot to wake up in the middle of the night, feed him, get him back to sleep and get myself back to sleep.

Even when Josh gets up with him, I still have to pump, so it's not like I get a real break.

Then I get up with Jack in the morning, get him ready for the day, get myself ready (if a ponytail and sweats counts as "ready"), work all day, head out to pilates two nights a week, come home, get him in the bath and to bed, shower and eat dinner. By the time I am ready to go bed, it's after 11 and I should already be asleep if I expect to function the next day.

I can't imagine working outside the house and having to get up and get myself and Jack totally ready to leave the house by 8:30 a.m. I would have a nervous breakdown.

Your reward for reading this drivel?


Mommy, come have a cocktail on the veranda with me.


Higher, Daddy, higher.


Seriously, can't I just go down by myself?

It does get better

I was talking to my friend Nancy this week about her new nephew (also named Jack) and I asked how her sister-in-law was doing with the baby. She said good, but that she was saying how no one tells you how painful nursing is.

And I told her to assure her sister-in-law that it will indeed get better. It doesn't feel like a red-hot poker in your bra forever. Nor do you cry every time you even think about a breeze hitting them. And yes, you can eventually take a shower and let the water directly touch the nipples.

Amazingly, the haze of the first few weeks is a good thing because it helps you forget about the horrid pain and recovery and the not sleeping and OHMYGOD THE NIPPLE PAIN.

Everyone kept saying it would get better around six weeks. I was skeptical.

When you're in the midst of it, there seems to be no way out. I was convinced I would be biting the inside of my mouth and digging my fingernails into the palm of my hand every time he latched on until he was eating solid foods and would take pity on me by weaning himself.

But it really did get better around six weeks.

Now at nine weeks, I don't even need to look at him. I can pop him off and on and tell if he's got the proper latch with my eyes closed.

When we were first starting out, I would get frustrated because he would be so hungry and flailing his arms and moving his head back and forth. I would desperately be trying to shove the boob in his face and hold his arms down and get his mouth open and keep his head still.

I joked that I was the only woman on earth who needed her husband to help get her kid latched on. Josh would hold his arms and steady his head for me until I could get him to take the damn thing correctly.

But I knew stopping was not an option for me. I really believe he gets such great benefits from breastmilk and it's a good thing for me too. The weight came off quickly and I learned that for 20-30 minutes at a time, I just need to calm down, chill and let him do his thing. I rarely try to multitask when I feed Jack, just because it's a good time for us to bond.

(If you decided to formula feed, I applaud you. I see the benefits to that and I am a little jealous you aren't tied to the baby or the pump 24 hours a day. It's awesome we have a choice of how to feed babies and I support formula so please, no e-mails. I am not a hater.)

But as this breastfeeding relationship evolves, it continues to make me laugh.

I think back to the face Jack used to make right before he started eating. He would shake his head back and forth and screw up his features like "What the hell is this?"

Now, he sees the boob and he gets excited. Much like any other red-blooded man. It's almost like I can't get him situated fast enough. He gets so pissed if I take too long, almost like he's saying "God DAMN woman. Give me that boob. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200."

Recently, he's started flailing around and pushing at me with his arms. It's like he has a love-hate relationship with the boobs.

"No, I want to look around! But yes, I want the food! Gimme the food! Gimme gimme gimme. Mmmmmmm. OK, more looking around, and now, let's grab her shirt. And what's this? I can scratch her with my nails? Cool! Let's see what she does when I pull my head waaaaay back with the nipple in my mouth. Wow, I had no idea mommy's eyes could roll back in her head like that."

He even banged himself so hard in the eyebrow with his fist tonight, he left a red mark. he rubs his eyes like he wants to poke them out of his head and he's taken to staring at me like "I dare you to try to stop me. I am the master of this domain."

Single White Mommy seeking same

Some people spend their single years in bars looking for their future spouses. They have a few drinks, work the crowd, strike up conversations and occasionally, they hook up.

I am proud to say I met Josh in a bar five years ago. Some friends and my sister and I were out in Wrigleyville at Goose Island on St. Patrick's Day 2001 and decided to leave and go to Sheffields instead. Within 10 minutes of being in the back bar, Josh and his friend, Dave, stopped to talk to my sister and I, and the rest, as they say, is history.

No, we didn't hook up. In fact, after we chatted and I refused to give him my phone number (I gave him my business card instead -- he could have been a psycho) he eventually left without even saying goodbye. He e-mailed me a photo of the two of us the following Monday morning and we began a little e-mail discourse for a few days before going on our first date.

So while I didn't set out with express intention of meeting my husband in a bar, it worked out well for me.

But there is no equivalent for meeting new friends. Specifically, new mom friends.

I wish I could just head out on a Friday night with a drink in my hand and chat up some cool moms. Because, clearly, the cool moms are at home with their kids. And if they were out at a bar on a Friday night, they wouldn't have their kids with them and then how would I know they were moms to begin with?

Instead, I head over to the kids section at Barnes and Noble. Or strike up chats with other stroller-pushers at local cafes. Or smile and nod to women with kids in the diaper aisle at the grocery store.

Josh makes fun of me and says I am a mommy stalker. I can see how it would appear that way. When we walk by the playground down the street and I see the moms and kids playing, I always stare wistfully.

It's not like I can throw Jack down the slide and start a conversation with another mom. He's somewhat lacking in the ability to hold up his end of the playdate potential. You can't have a playdate if all you do is lie there or suck the boob. That's a nursing date. There's no playing involved.

Sure, we have a few friends who have babies. And we've gotten together with them a couple of times. But I am still not sure how to go about making new mommy friends.

It's like dating all over again.

Will they like me? Will I like them? What should I wear on our first date? Why is it all the good moms are taken? How far should I go on the first date? What if she's coming off a bad relationship with another mom?

THE PRESSURE. IT'S TOO MUCH.

They should have something like match.com for moms. You fill out your interests, post an amusing profile and set up get-togethers after a few "get-to-know-you" e-mails. If if doesn't work out, you tweak your profile and search again.

Shot and a beer

The big two-month doctor visit is behind us.

Jack now weighs 10 lbs 2 ounces (25th percentile, up from the 10th) and is 22 1/2 inches long (50th percentile). So he's gained a little over three pounds and two inches since he was born.

His hip click is gone, so we don't need to get a follow-up ultrasound, and he hit all the developmental milestones. The doctor was pleased and said he looked great. No low temps, so no need for a hospital stay. Which is always nice.

He also got stuck with four needles.

After much thought and the having of grand ideals, we decided to let Jack get vaccinated.

We had originally been anti-vaccine. The possible connection to autism was scary and I couldn't see putting him through possible mercury poisoning.

My mom and sister were horrified at the thought of Jack not being vaccinated and railed on me every chance they got when it came up. Josh's sister was in the no-vaccine camp and told us about her friend who didn't do it and offered to get more info from her.

But in the end, our pediatrician stressed how important it was to get it done and told us that vaccines no longer contain the mercury, which acted as a preservative. He directed us to the Philadelphia Children's Hospital website, which is a great resource for vaccine info, and we did some research.

So we bit the bullet and let them shoot him up.

During the first second after the first shot, he paused like "What the HELL was THAT?"

Then a split-second later, he started to wail. He wailed through three more shots, and after the nurse put his Snoopy band-aids on, I picked him up and tried to stop the crying. He calmed down a little and I nursed him, and he quieted right down.

We walked home from the office and he was out like a light in the stroller. He slept for about two hours. At the four-hour mark after the shots, he was sleeping in my arms and started to cry -- a pain cry -- in his sleep. It broke my heart to see him like that.

I gave him some baby Tylenol and it helped and he was able to sleep. He was down for the night by 7 p.m. Poor kid was worn out.

He slept quite a bit the following day and seemed just a little bit off. He might still be feeling the effects today, BECAUSE HE REFUSED TO TAKE A DECENT NAP. Once again, today, our first day in Bloomington for the week, he was all about the non-nap.

He would sleep 10, 20, 30 minutes. My mom is here helping with Jack this week, and she tried all her tricks. Rocking. walking. Bouncing. Swinging. This kid was having none of it.

I am starting to think the travel throws his schedule off. He seems to have bad days our first day back. Maybe babies get jet lag with a two-hour car ride?

(I have a photo of the aftermath of the vaccination, what with the band-aids and the BLOOD on his shirt, but there is no camera cord to be found. So I am sad and can't upload any photos. Bah.)

Two Months

Dear Jack,

Today you are two months old. You turned eight weeks old last Wednesday, but because it's easier to go by the date on the calendar, let's call it two months today, mmm-k?


In the last month, you have changed so much. You've gone from a skinny little boy to our little man with the round face and the belly and the fat indentations on your wrists and legs. I thought you would be lean and mean forever, but apparently, the breastmilk does a body good. And now you're rounding out ever so slightly.

Your little personality is still developing, but you showed us your smile for the first time at exactly six weeks old. I was holding you on the couch and Daddy was sleeping on the floor next to your activity mat (you really wore him out playing) when you looked at me and grinned.


It brought tears to my eyes because it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Your dad jumped up to see it after I yelled "He smiled! Josh, he smiled!" and we managed to get a picture of you doing it again.

Secretly, I was so pleased it was me to whom you chose to reveal that first smile. I felt like the most important person in the world and while you could have easily smiled at anyone else, I like to think you chose me because you know I am Mommy.


We're working hard on getting you on a sleep schedule, but you aren't too interested in the napping portion of the plan. It's impossible to get upset with you, though. When you're crying (even if it's the fifth time in an hour) and I pick you up, you immediately calm down and throw your arms on both sides of my neck as if to say "Thank you woman! You have saved me from the sleeping!"

I always kiss you when I pick you up -- no matter if you are cranky, smiley, smelly or sleepy. I want you to feel loved and secure. And if a little kiss can do that, I will gladly give you a thousand little kisses a day.


This week, Daddy thought you were starting to prefer me when you were upset. He had a hard time calming you down one night, and when he handed you over, the crying stopped. He looked a little bummed out, but I assured him, it's only because I have the boobs. It's nothing personal.

We like to call you our little Houdini, because you can get yourself out of almost any swaddle we concoct. You need the swaddling to help you sleep, but you will not stand for it. You want your arms free, but then you flail them and wake yourself up.


Two weeks ago, you Houdini-ed yourself not only out of your swaddle blanket, but also your pajamas. I walked in to your bedroom bleary-eyed at 3:30 a.m. and burst out laughing when I saw your bare arm stuck straight up next to your ear.

You've also developed a taste for your vitamin. Every night, we get out the eye dropper of Tri-Vi-Sol and when the first drop hits your mouth, it's like we've given you candy. You smack your mouth and stick your tongue out trying to get more of this sweet, sweet nectar. We're hoping you feel the same way about broccoli and carrots as you do about this medicine.

One morning last week, you had a very stuffy nose and I was so scared you couldn't breathe. I ran into the bedroom with you and Daddy and I spent a few minutes suctioning out your nose. I never thought I would be so focused on essentially picking someone's nose, but I now attend to the task with great zeal.

We thought the stuffiness might have come from some germs you came into contact with at the museum. We took you there when you were seven weeks old for your first field trip. You saw mummies and dinosaurs, but pretty much slept most of the time. We took you on the El like a regular Chicagoan and I was struck by the thought that someone could just grab you and run away. And I held you a little bit closer after that.


My heart almost stopped when your dad posed you on a bridge railing for a picture with his hand behind your back. I literally felt sick and told him never to do that again. You looked so little and fragile and I freaked out thinking he could have dropped you. Of course he wouldn't have, but that was my first real case of Mommy Overprotectiveness. You'll get more of that as you get older.

Before you were born, I was worried about what kind of mom I would be. I worried I wouldn't bond with you or that I wouldn't know what to do or how to take care of you. I considered myself pretty selfish, so having a baby seemed scary, what with the 24-7 attention babies need.

But I have never been happier. You and I have settled into a comfortable rhythm of feeding and playing and hanging out. You are happy to just stare at me like I am a lunatic when I sing "The Wheels on the Bus" or tell you that there was a dragon on Old McDonald's Farm and it goes "Rar, Rar, Rar."


You look at me with amazement when I tell you stories about what we are going to do that day and grab my hair with both fists when I lean in toward your face. By the way, it hurts when you grab ahold and pull. So let's work on unclenching those fists in month three.

You have learned that you can also grab the breast while you are eating, essentially trying to get as much of it in your possession as possible. You put one hand on each side and pull a bunch of skin toward you. You also like to knead and stroke my skin when you are not trying to shove it all in your mouth. I don't feel special, though, because you do the same thing to Daddy's hand when he feeds you.

Watching you with Daddy is one of my favorite things about being a mom. You two have your own little routines. He bounces you on his knee and hums the "William Tell Overture" and it always calms you down. He is also the one who gets you ready for bed at night. He gets you into your PJs and reads you "Good Night Moon" and rocks you before he hands you off to me for your feeding. He changes his fair share of dirty diapers and he gives you a bottle every night. He plays with you and does the "flying baby" game and gets down on the floor with you for tummy time. He sings to you and reads to you and you couldn't ask for a better dad.


You guys are also "sleep buddies" in the mornings when I have to get up early. I bring you into bed after I feed you and lay you down next to Daddy and he cuddles you in his arm. You both sleep with your arms above your heads and look so peaceful and relaxed when I come back in that I fall in love with both of you a little bit more each time.

Love,
Mommy

Hypnotic

You know those old movies that show someone being hypnotized and there is a watch dangling back and forth and some old scientist is saying, "You're getting sleeeeeepppppyyyyyyy, very sleeeeepppppyyyy?"

That's what I need for this child to take a good nap.

Jack is on a great nighttime schedule. We bought "Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child" by Dr. Weissbluth last week and it's become the Bible in this house. Jack is on a schedule and damn it -- he's going to get his sleep.

So we're been putting him down for the night between 8-8:30 p.m. He gets a bath, gets some books and the he gets swaddled and goes to sleep within about five minutes.

He'll sleep for between three and four hours before he eats, then goes right back to sleep, sleeps for three hours, goes right back to sleep, sleeps another three hours, and then he's up for the day around 8:30 a.m.

So 12 hours, with a few interruptions, at two months old, is pretty good.

But these daytime naps are killing me.

He shows the tired signs anywhere from 90 minutes to two hours after he's been awake. He usually falls asleep while I am holding him. So I carry him to his crib and put him down.

Anywhere from 5-20 minutes later, he is crying.

I can get him to sleep for an hour or two around 11 a.m. most days. Then he's up for a bit and then we play the nap game.

Up, down, up, down. Crabby, fussy, sleepy, fussy, sleepy, fussy.

As a bonus, he will sleep for hours on end in his carseat, but I feel like I am cheating if he sleeps in his seat and not in his crib. Somehow, I think this will develop bad habits.

Today, we played the game with Josh's sister here to help out. I think she had enough because she ran screaming from the house when Josh got home. Oh wait, that was me. Moving on.

Anyway, we're working on the sleeping. But in the meantime, I need a nice hypnotist. Or a really good brandy.

04-05-06

Please let me point out the significance of today: 04/05/06. How cool is that?

And at 1:20:03 a.m., it was 01-02-03-04-05-06. Run for your lives. It has to be some weird cosmic thing signifying the end of the world.

Or, just the end of my maternity leave.

Today, I went back to work.

OK, so I simply put on my workout clothes and sauntered over to the desk instead of the couch, but damn it, I am working again. Wah!

So now instead of playing with Jack all day and going for walks, I code html and read e-mails. I suppose it's time. I have been off for six months, what with the bedrest and the popping the kid out.

But all good things must come to an end, they say.

I want to do fun things with Jack. Instead, he'll just have to go out and about by himself. In preparation for that, we gave him permission to ride the El and hang out downtown last Friday.

First, he commuted, with his iPod, naturally.


"Haha, that Mommy is stuck at home working. Sucker!"

Then he stopped for a rest and a view of the skyline.


"I'm just a guy out on the town. Now where are all the ladies?"

He wanted to make sure he got the lakefront in the background.


"Navy Pier? That's for tourists. Not baby pimps."

And then, because he was all alone, a dinosaur tried to eat him.


"Oh shit. Mooooooooooommmmmmmmmmm! Help me!"

See, that's why babies can't be trusted alone. They get eaten at museums.

Easter parade

Jack had an encounter with his first bigger-than-life fake furry mascot this afternoon.

In an annual rite of passage, I took him to see the Easter Bunny.

I'm not really sure why we take kids to see a rabbit. Santa, sure. He's a jolly old man. He talks. He wears velvet boots and a matching belt. He brings you TOYS. I mean come on, it's a no-brainer.

You sit on his lap, you make your request, you hop off and wait a few weeks to see what shows up under the tree.

But the Easter Bunny is a tricky one. He can't talk. He is furry in a matted-down, "smells like a wet dog" sort of way. You don't ask him for anything. It's odd.

Why don't we get photos with a Turkey? Or the Tooth Fairy? What about Uncle Sam? Perhaps a tree, for Arbor Day?

There were several 2-year-olds warily eyeing the rabbit from afar while their moms encouraged them to try to go sit on his lap, just for one picture, but they were having none of that.

I was not about to raise a scaredy-cat, so I marched Jack up there and plopped him down on the bunny's lap. The nice bunny knew how to support his head and the photographer captured the moment for us.

For the low low price of $11. ELEVEN DOLLARS FOR A PICTURE WITH A PHOTOSHOPPED EGG BORDER. I was also granted permission to use my own camera, since I forked over a month's pay for their copy.

At least he was not crying and we got a decent shot of his face. Because that's an awful lot of money for the pissy face.

There was a grandmother behind me who convinced her granddaughter to go sit with the bunny and then tried to take her own picture, but the Bunny Nazi swooped in and brushed her aside, saying that they had a "no camera" policy. The grandmother had spied me clicking away, but was told it's because I had paid for a copy.

She huffed off. It's a good thing too -- her kid was nowhere near as cute as Jack.

So without further ado, I present to you, The Bunny Shot.