I poop on you

I got pooped on yesterday.

There I was, just minding my own business, standing with Jack on the porch, watching Josh build a new retaining wall on our patio, when WHAMMO, it's poop on Mommy time.

I heard this particular Jack poop, as we hear almost all of his poops -- he is what you might call an "explosive pooper" -- and I laughed and said to him, "Wow kiddo, that was a good one."

And he smiled and kicked his legs like, "You know it sister."

So we stood there a few more minutes until I figured it was time to go inside and change him. So I took him up to the changing table and he was going through his usual "I love being changed" routine of bicycling his legs and talking to the stars on his ceiling when I saw there was poop on his shorts when I took them off.

And then I saw the back of his shirt had poop on it too.

And in slow motion, I looked down at my own outfit, which now was streaked with neon yellow poop.

Which is good times.

He of course found this amusing and expressed his thoughts on the subject with something that sounded like "goo ahh eeee." Which I imagine is baby babble, roughly translated as "Ha, you have poop on your shirt Mom. Gross."

One year ago today...

This is what we made.



Happy Memorial Day weekend everyone!

Sleeping beauty

I swear to God this is not really a sleep blog. But maybe it should be. because that's all I freaking talk about anymore.

But please, bear with me.

I have an enviable problem, I know. I hesitate to write about it, because I don't want any moms with non-sleepers on their hands to jump on the hater bandwagon. Because seriously, I feel your pain.

But my dilemma has become -- dare I say it -- too much sleeping.

The shame.

Jack goes to bed every night at 8 p.m. Barring some crazy circumstances, he usually sleeps 8-9 hours, gets up to eat and goes right back down, and sleeps another four or five. So he starts his day around 9 a.m.

Which is awesome. On weekends, he's been known to loll around in bed until 10 a.m. Which, my God, this is a child after my own heart. I am the woman who would sleep til 11 a.m. each and every day if I could.

But all the sleep books? They talk about establishing the good nap routine. And they call for naps, usually around 9 a.m. and again around 1 p.m.

Assuming most babies wake up at the crack of dawn, I can see the 9 a.m. nap.

But Jack gets up at 9. So he doesn't go down for a nap until between 10:30 and 11 a.m. most days. And this brings us to my dilemma.

I would love for him to nap from 9-11. Then again from 1-3. That would work juuuuuust super for my work schedule.

As it stands, he naps from 11-1 and then again from 3-5 on most days*.

And obviously, I could start imposing a 7 a.m wake-up time on him. But for the love of God, why would I want to mess with my weekend sleep? Am I insane to value my sleeping in on two days more than a workable schedule the other five?



* Except when he takes 30 minute naps. Those are the days where mommy needs vodka. And runs skrieking from the house when daddy comes home.

Whistle while you work

My God. The work. Am drowning. Send reinforcements.

Jack? Who is that? Oh yes, the child who I see happily playing with his grandmas while I slave on the Internets.

Mommy ... no playing for you! One year!

Busy, busy

Hi. It's been a while hasn't it?

No, I am not dead, just buried under a pile of crap a mile high.

Between work, getting our house painted, taking care of the child, blah blah blah, it was crazy this week.

I also hosted book club. How cool is it that Jen Lancaster, who penned the wicked funny "Bitter is the New Black," actually came and spoke at our book club? She rocks the house. So, ya know, go buy her book. I'll even give you the link. Go ahead, I can wait.

All righty.

You would think after this exhausting week, I would be tired. Oh but no.

Jack slept through the night from 8 p.m. to 6 a.m. last night. Yes, 10 consecutive hours. Josh and I woke up at 6 when we heard him making little noises on the monitor and he said to me, "Did you get up with him last night?" And I said, "No. Didn't you give him that bottle before you went to bed?" And he said, "No."

So there we have it.

This has been a shitty, shitty week of sleep in our house. Jack woke up progressively earlier each night until Wednesday, when he woke up at 12:45 a.m. And then again at 3:55 a.m. He hasn't done that since he was eight weeks old.

Yesterday, I was able to trace it back to the removal of the white noise machine from his bedroom. I had read in a baby book that there was a study done, which refuted the theory that babies who slept with a white noise machine had hearing loss.

Of course, I read five other baby books that mentioned nothing about white noise machines and hearing loss. I even read two books that encouraged their use, because they help comfort babies.

But I read the one sentence in this one book that mentioned the mere possibility and promptly freaked the freak out. Hearing loss? Not my baby.

And I took that white noise machine right out of there, by God.

But five nights of bad sleep can wear on a person.

Suddenly, a little hearing loss didn't seem so bad. I mean come on, my dad has hearing aids. How bad can it be? We'll just talk a little louder around Jack. It'll be fine right?

We'll miss you Jessica

Today the blogging world, and the world in general, lost a truly courageous, thoughtful and well-written woman.

"Cancer, baby" author Jessica lost her battle with ovarian cancer earlier today.

If you have a chance, stop at her blog and read a little. Her story, as seen through her archives, is one of a woman who just wanted to have a baby. Instead, she ended up discovering cancer and beginning a battle.

My grandmother died of ovarian cancer when I was in college. It's a horrid disease and in her case, as Jessica's, it ended badly.

It's days like this when I hug Jack just a little bit tighter and be thankful for the health of everyone close to me.

Tomorrow, our family will participate in the Susan G. Komen "Race for the Cure" in Peoria, IL. Josh's mom Marilee is a breast cancer survivor and we are so glad she is here with a second chance.

We want her, and grandmas and moms everywhere, to watch their children grow up. So consider donating to breast cancer research to make that possible. You can click HERE to donate and HERE to learn more.

Keep it clean

Hey Jack. Yeah, you. The little one with the diaper.

Yes, I am talking to you oh swinger in the swing.

Can we talk about the baby drool? It's really cute when you blow bubbles and all. And we find it endearing when you chew your hands and they are all slimy. And we even think it's funny when you slobber on your shirt front now.

But kid, you are cramping my style with the spit on my shoulders. Now in the summer, when it's warm and I don't have sleeves, I am sure it will be fine. I can wipe it right off. No harm, no foul.

But now? When almost my entire wardrobe is black? Yeah the white smudges all over my shoulder are kinda gross.

Yesterday when we went to lunch, I of course didn't give a second thought to my shoulders. For 32 years, my shoulders have gone without notice. But when we saw Daddy, he looked down and tried to wipe off my shirt. And of course, wiping it did nothing. It just made me realize there was white ick on my shirt. So I just went about my business with drool on me.

So, let's see about maybe keeping your spit to yourself next time.

Oh. Also. The cat.

Maybe not so much with the pulling of the fur. Today when you were petting Lucy it was very cute. But when you grabbed a fistful of hair and lifted the skin off her back, well, not so much. Poor Lucy, she likes being petted so much she just laid there and took it.

Then I had to pick the fur out of your hand. Because you now put your hands in your mouth. A lot. And cat fur -- it doesn't taste like chicken my friend.

Besides, knowing your propensity to suck my shoulders, you would just deposit the drool with a side helping of cat hair.

Three months

Dear Jack,

I can't believe that today you are three months old. It seems like these first months have gone by in blur. It's a good thing I write this stuff down, or I wouldn't remember any of it. They say women lose their memories when they give birth, and it kind of seems to be the case.

Where was I? Oh yes.

This month started out a little difficult. I went back to work and we needed to figure out how to balance everything out with me working from home and you playing from home. You've been a great co-worker for me, though. I'm used to working alone and not talking to anyone, so it's nice to have someone to shoot the shit with at the water cooler and go out to lunch with. They should start paying you a salary for all the time you spend sitting with me at the computer.

After a few weeks of this working business, you figured out that mommy sitting in the black chair meant she was working. And you started to not like going anywhere near the black chair because you sensed my attention was not focused solely on you. You're a perceptive one, Jackson.

But you seem to be OK with it when you get the boob while I sit in the black chair. This third month we've got the nursing thing down pat. I now know the difference between a fussy cry and a hungry cry and a dirty diaper cry.



You also developed a delightful whiny cry. You bust this one out when you are not being entertained in the right manner, when you want to move on to the next activity, when we are holding you and you have a bad vantage point of the world and especially, ESPECIALLY, when I don't feed you fast enough. I could walk around topless all day and you still would find fault with the speed in which I get you the food. But that's OK -- you're just hungry and you'll learn the meaning of delayed gratification when I don't buy you a car when you turn 16.

(OK, I will probably buy you a car when you turn 16. Don't tell Daddy. He'll probably say you have to get a job and pay for it yourself. But I won't make you get a job. Besides, if we say no, you can always ask Grandma and Grandpa. We know they don't know how to say no.)

Last month you smiled for the first time, but this month, you are smiling all the time. And these are the big, gummy, whole-body smiles with giggles thrown in for good measure. Today when we were sitting on the couch after Daddy got home from work, you turned to him and just laid one on him. Your face lit up the entire room and I thought to myself that every minute of your fussiness can be erased with just one of your smiles.



You rolled over for us from front to back this month and we clapped and showered you with praise. You did it eight times one Sunday afternoon. And then you decided you had enough of that and you refused to do it again since. So we'd really like to see some more of that please. You know, if you find us worthy.

We weighed you last week and you were up to 12 pounds. You've gained almost four pounds since you were born and you are rapidly growing out of almost all your newborn outfits. I went to put a little pair of tennis shoes on you this weekend and they didn't come close to fitting you.

Your hands are even bigger than your feet. Your aunt Beth says they should have a percentile for hands, because if they did, you would be above the 95th. Your hands look like they belong on a 5-month-old.



Those would be the hands you discovered one day about three weeks ago. Suddenly, you could bring them together in front of you and you are now coordinated enough to bring them successfully to your mouth every time. At first, it was kind of hit or miss. Then you would get frustrated and start all over. But now, it's a bullseye. And boy, do you think those hands are tasty! I want to pour barbecue sauce on them and eat them up because your chubby little fingers are so cute. But you would fight me to the death for them before you would take them away from your own mouth.

But by far your cutest feature is your hair. It started to grow like crazy in the last few weeks, and you have the sweetest little fuzz that stands straight up now. You look like you have a little light brown/dark red buzz cut. A woman at Panera actually asked if I cut it like that. Yes, I cut my 11-week-old's hair. It's all the rage in Hollywood now. I follow all the latest trends.



You also started "talking" to us in the last few weeks. You coo and widen your eyes and move your legs a mile a minute. We make sure to respond and have little conversations with you. But then again, you also "talk" to the bear on your car mirror, the bird on your activity gym, the bumper pads in your crib and the white wall.

The sleeping has gotten so much better, too. You are on a great nighttime sleep schedule, going eight or nine hours overnight. We have a little bedtime routine of bath, jammies, nursing and stories. Most nights, you go down without even crying. You will get up for the day around 9 a.m. and this weekend, you slept in until 10:15 a.m.! Guess which mommy and daddy are well-rested and thrilled about it?



The naps are getting better and for the most part, you sleep pretty well during the day. That helps immensely because I need to get my work done and when you sleep, I can blow through projects like there's no tomorrow.

Last week we had a bad day. The naps totaled about an hour over the entire day and Daddy had to come home to help me out so I could get things done. There were some tears on my part and protestations that I couldn't do it and I was worried I was a bad mom for working and not being able to pay enough attention to you.

When I came home from pilates class, there were cards and flowers from you. The cards said you were sorry you didn't like the naps so much and that you and Daddy thought I was a great Mommy and doing a great job. You also got me candy, for the times when you were not being so sweet.

Those were the first cards I got from you and I cried when I read them. They were Mother's Day cards. I am a Mom now. I will celebrate Mother's Day with my son. And I am lucky that I am a Mommy at all. When I was pregnant with you, there were some dark days when the odds were stacked against us. But I always believed that everything would turn out OK. Your Daddy and I are very lucky to have you here with us.



I cherish every moment I have with you. I know I might sound exasperated when you poop up the back of your diaper and all over your outfit. For the second time that day. And I might beg you to just stop crying already because I don't know what you want and could you just TELL ME what you want already and my God, please stop giving me the whiny face. But all of those moments are part of being a Mommy. And I would not trade them for anything.

Love,
Mommy

Someone to watch over me

As I write this, Jack is sitting next to my desk in the bouncy seat. He's talking to the fish in his bouncy-seat activity center and trying to suck both of his hands simultaneously.

And this, folks, is what it's all about for me.

When I thought about having a baby, I always pictured it somewhat realistically. I knew it wouldn't be all sunshine and roses all the time. I knew there would be fussing and crying and diaper explosions.

But I also pictured him sitting next to me on the floor, amusing himself with me watching him. And that's the best part about this moment: I can watch him watching the little fish and having a conversation with it and actually see the joy in his face.

He doesn't know I can see him, and I bet he even forgets I am here until he turns his head to the side, and OH HI THERE ARE MY BOOBS! MILK, PLEASE!, but I can.

And in this moment it hit me. This is my son and he's going to grow up, but for a while at least, I will be there to see the wonder and amazement in his eyes. I will be there when he discovers new things. And he doesn't know I am watching, but I am.

Which is pretty much a metaphor for the rest of his life. I might not always be there with him, but I will always be watching him from afar.

Crib blanket bingo

Over at Zoot's site this week, she talked about an incident with her daughter where she could have been badly injured because she did not take the necessary parenting precautions.

I can sympathize with her as I had one of those moments myself this weekend.

We are currently trying to figure out a way to put Jack down for naps without swaddling him. At night, we use the Miracle Blanket and we get a truly miraculous 8-9 hours of sleep out of him. But for naps, I am worried we will stunt his growth by keeping him wrapped up all the time.

It even says on the Miracle Blanket package not to swaddle for more than 10 hours in a 24-hour period. And I am all for following directions. Stop here on red. Don't covet thy neighbor's wife. No carrying a concealed weapon.

So I had the bright idea that we would wrap Jack's arms in a receiving blanket, but leave his legs free! Brilliant!

So we fold the blanket into a nice rectangle shape and we wrap it around him and tuck it under his back and smugly leave the room. We heard him trying to Houdini his way out of the blanket, but ha! we are parents and we are smarter than you baby! You will not break free! You will sleep soundly and not startle yourself!

So I decided to run downtown to Sephora for some new foundation and a foundation brush (thank you Amalah for that advice) and hightailed it out of there while Josh stayed home to mind the napping child. (He begged to come along to help me pick out new makeup. He cried when I told him he had to stay home with Jack.)

I got home two hours later and asked if he had checked on Jack. Josh said he heard a few noises on the monitor, so he was fine.

Because I am psycho, I wanted to see what he was doing in his crib and I had left the door cracked a wee bit. So I went upstairs and tiptoed to the door.

"Huh. That's funny," I thought. "It looks like Jack has something white over his head. OHMYGODATHEREISABLANKETOVERHISFACE."

I do believe if we would have had a home defibrillator, it would have come in handy at that precise moment SINCE MY HEART STOPPED. Hyperventilation ensued once my heart started beating properly again.

I threw the door open and flew the two steps to the crib and grabbed the blanket away from his head. Let me just say, this was no light covering. This was tight around his face and I had to yank it away.

His pacifier was going a mile a minute and he was fine. I did, however, scare the living hell out of him when I scooped him up, covering him with kisses and telling him how sorry I was that I almost killed him.

Now I know why they tell you not to put blankets in a crib. It's not because the baby could die, it's because the mommy could when she discovers the child's head wrapped in said blanket and child is fine.

Shake, rattle and roll

So yesterday, we were just hanging out at home because it was so crappy outside. Rain, wind, rain, cool, rain. Ick.

Our friend Courteney was visiting and I decided to put Jack down on the floor for some tummy time, knowing how much he hated it. I was hoping he might behave and impress our guest with his general love of all things tummy.

He wasn't on the floor a minute before he flipped. himself. over.

I looked at Josh and we both were shocked and said to Courteney, "That's the first time he's done that."

He had actually done it one other time, but it was after about 10 minutes of hysterics because we had put him on his tummy and he had worked himself into such a frenzy that he flipped himself over.

So I flipped him back over to see if this was an anomaly.

He rolled over again.

I pounce on him, clapping and saying what a big boy he is and how proud we are of him.

Let's see -- can he do it again? Yes! Again? Yes! One more time? Why, yes!

How about one for the cameras?

Then he started to fuss because, come on woman, enough with the rolling over already.

So 11.5 weeks old and he rolled front to back. This is clearly grounds for early enrollment to Harvard.

He must be taking after mommy.