The End

You should be viewing a picture of me, Josh and Jack on the hotel balcony in front of the ocean in this space for my Day 30 picture.

But I didn't bring my work laptop and Josh's doesn't have photo editing software and damned if Picasa won't let you crop by pixel size.

Instead you'll have to imagine it -- the waves crashing, the sun shining, the palm trees waving.

It's been a great 30 days. See you in a week kids!

Day 29 - almost there

With my penultimate post, I had planned to be get all retrospective on your asses. Talk about how much I have grown as a writer these last 29 days. How I have enjoyed chronicling a month in my life. How much I wish it could go on.

But I would hate to have to lie on my blog.

Actually, it's been fun. I like competition and I felt like I was pushing myself to get a post done everyday.

In the beginning, there was a lot to say. But by the end, I was struggling for topics.

Who knew I, the woman who brought home 12 straight years of report cards labeled, "Amy is a bright student but is too social and talks too much in class," could run out of things to say?

I have learned a valuable lesson this month, however. Even if you don't feel like you have anything to say, you can usually coax a few sentences out. But waiting until the end of the day can make the process a little nerve-wracking.

Tomorrow I plan to post something from sunny Puerto Rico and then I am taking a hard-earned week away from the blog.

My thanks to M. Kennedy at Fussy for organizing this swell event. And a hearty congrats to everyone -- all 400+ of you -- who took part in filling the internets with your prose. It's been fun to discover new blogs through the randomizer and to meet some new folks who stopped by here.

If you have some time, and want to get sucked in, check it. Refresh for a new blog each time!
http://www.pinkelephants.org/nablopomo/

Now, I am off to finish some packing (yes, it is 1 a.m.) and then to try to get some sleep before someone cries for some boob. That's a lot of somes, no? Eh. I am punchy. I am giddy. I am ONE DAY AWAY from the end of NaBloPoMo!

Tight quarters

When we booked our tickets to Puerto Rico last month, the lovely United Airlines representative, who no doubt worked out of their non-US customer service office, told me she could not request bulkhead seats for us. That would have to be done at the airport the day of the flight.

But the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that was not the case.

I just called to see about seat assignments and the woman told me all the bulkhead seats were taken.

Oh really? Is everyone at the airport already for tomorrow's flight?

So then I asked if it was a full flight. Because wow, I can't wait to spend five hours with Jack on my lap. Yeah, yeah, I know -- if you book a lap seat, you need to expect a lap seat. But you always hope that you will get an open middle seat anyway.

Nope.

Flight is completely booked.

Hope the nice person sitting in our row really likes Jack.

The last time we flew with him it was a full flight, but we got to board first and sit in the bulkhead (we heart you Southwest with your no-assignment seating and pre-boarding for families). So we could put Jack down on the floor in front of us for a few minutes to stretch his legs and let him play.

This time, not so much.

We'll definitely be needing the tiny bottles of alcohol.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

You know what's a total pisser?

When you test the Christmas lights ahead of time, like they tell you to, and they all work.

And then you string the entire tree in one continuous loop.

While watching Monday Night Football.

And then you get to the bottom of the tree and you plug in the lights to see how it looks.

And the damn string at the tippytop of the tree doesn't work anymore.

So you have to unstring the entire damn tree and start over.

Bah humbug.

We're anti-cow again

This past week, we had Jack at the pediatrician again and I was telling him about the eczema. Even when I cut dairy out of my diet and Jack's, it still never completely went away. It got much better, but it still existed in small patches. He thought perhaps it wasn't caused by dairy and could be something non-dietary.

Being The Mommy, I have the right to make executive decisions. I also run them by Josh occasionally.

So I decided we might as well start giving him his whole milk yogurt again. Josh thought it sounded like a grand idea. And I had been eating cheese here and there, and hell, let's just have ice cream every day too.

Five days later, Jack is covered in scaly red and orange spots again and we won't be posing for any "Got Milk" campaigns anytime in the near future.

I am actually mad about his food intolerance. He can't enjoy his yogurt. He won't be able to eat cheese. Or ice cream. Have you TASTED soy yogurt? It smells great and tastes like wet cardboard.

After he ate regular yogurt this week, I tried to give him soy again tonight and he cried and cried. After I busted out the YoBaby, he mmmm-mmmmed to his heart's content.

What the hell am I going to do when I need to give him cow's milk in two months?

The breastfeeding train is making its last scheduled trip in February. I had planned all along to transition him right to whole milk and now I am scared I will be nursing for the rest of my life.

Did you have a child with a dairy intolerance? How did you transition them when you weaned? Have they grown out of it? How long did it take?

I only look like I am awake

I think I need a vacation after all this holiday travel.

What's that you say? I am going on vacation after all this holiday travel? Ahh yes. Wednesday. Puerto Rico. Where I shall lie by the pool and relax. Scratch that. Where I shall play in the pool with the child. It will be a different kind of relaxing, I suppose.

We've now slept in three different beds in three different nights. Jack has spent lots of time with lots of family and was all out of routine but did pretty well.

This afternoon his lack of quality sleep and short naps caught up with him and he fussed his way into a third nap. I think he was exhausted.

There were people and cats and dogs, oh my, the dogs. When he sees dogs now, he screeches and gets more excited than when I walk in the room. He spent the last two days chasing two dogs around and the dogs were definitely pleased to see him leave.

Like the dogs, I am exhausted. We went out last night and Mommy isn't used to staying out late. Late now being defined as 11:45 p.m. I was home in the house by midnight and I still feel like I was a run over by a truck today.

I think I shall go lie down now.

I really did publish before midnight!!!

For the record, I have three witnesses who will vouch I was at home and hit publish at 11:52 pm on Nov. 24. It was eight minutes early. Not sure why Blogger set it to midnight, but I now hate Blogger. I hope the powers that be believe me!!!

Would anyone object to me adjusting my publish time in the archive to reflect that?

Just in time

AHHHHH!!!!!

drunk. blog. almost forgot.

but ha! I remembered. 11:50 pm.

Am. awesome.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Gimme some turkey. Then I can spit it out. But I do like stuffing.

Turkey round I

The first of our Thanksgiving meals took place this evening.

The three of us drove up to Milwaukee for dinner with my family. We started the tradition of celebrating Thanksgiving on Wednesday night about 10 years ago, when I had to work on Thanksgiving.

I was a crime reporter at the time and seriously, nothing says "shoot your brother" like some turkey and football and liquor and cramped quarters with relatives. The crime beat was busy on holidays, so I was expected to work.

But we found we liked celebrating our Thanksgiving the day before the real Thanksgiving that we stuck with the tradition. So my mom cooks on Wednesday and we all sit down for dinner and no one is rushing to another relative's house to eat a second meal.

Delightful.

Tomorrow, we head to Peoria for Josh's family gathering.

With a feverish child.

Oh yes, didn't I tell you? Jack started running ANOTHER fever yesterday. We had him at the doctor for an ear recheck today and they said his ears look great but his throat was red. So they tested him for strep -- negative -- and said if the fever isn't gone in 72 hours then we need to come back.

So far, we're on 24 hours and change and he's still taking Tylenol and whimpering in his sleep.

Rub a dub cry

Now I know why his father gives him his baths.

Tonight Josh met a friend out for Happy Hour so I stayed home with Jack. We played and ate dinner and played some more and then it was bathtime.

Normally, this is Josh territory. He comes home from work and gives Jack dinner and they play a little and then he gives him a bath. It's nice that they have a little routine and get to hang out just the boys.

I am usually banished from sight because someone tends to whine if he sees me. Oh and Jack gets fussy too.

Well tonight I got Jack in his bath and we were playing for a bit with his tub animals before it was time to wash up. I poured a little water over his head and he fah-reaks out on me.

There was crying and protestations and he was trying to get away from me.

Of course, I continue with the washing, undeterred.

But when I go to rinse his hair, I try to tip his head back and he tries to get away from me and he bangs his head into the back of the tub.

So now he's really crying and needs me to pick him up. He's soaking wet, and I am wearing a sweater. So I wrap him up as best I can and carry his now screaming self into the bedroom.

We have to put lotion on him because of his eczema, so he's screaming bloody murder all the way through that process as well. He finally calmed down to a cry when his pajamas were all snapped and I picked him up and showed him the stuffed puppy on his shelf.

A boob was proffered and all was right with the world.

Who knew bath time could be so stressful?

Sleeping in

Two days in a row now, Jack has slept until 8:45 a.m.

Sure, there were night wakings in there and the last two-hour stretch was in the swing next to our bed, but MY GOD, we got some good sleep.

That is of course after I was both the non-stop human milk dispenser for almost an hour yesterday and then Jack's own personal jungle gym after that.

And who knew that trying to stick your finger up Mommy's nose could be so much fun?

After he tried to climb over me to see what was on the other side -- that would be the edge of the bed and the floor, buddy -- I poked Josh and told him he needed to put Jack in the swing. That was at 5:30. Next thing I knew, it was 8:45 and I could hear Jack chatting to the fish.

Poor Josh ended up waking early as he went in search of a Nintendo Wii (verdict: none to be had after driving around and trying online) and he was mighty disappointed to hear that he would have been able to sleep in.

Tomorrow, I think we'll have to get up early. We can't go to the swing too many times, or it won't work when we really need it. Like on the weekends. After Mommy and Daddy have been out with friends.

Get your move on

Yesterday I told you I spent the day moving my parents into their new condo.

And I was cool with it.

You see, my parents sold my childhood home last month. I was not happy to see that day come. It was the house I grew up in. The house I still said "I am going home" to when I went to see my parents.

We moved in when I was 5 years old and I moved out for the last time when I was 27. Jack and I spent the night there a few weeks before they moved out, so I could have one last weekend in my house.

I am sure the new people are nice. They are a young couple. I hope they raise a family there like my parents did.

Josh didn't understand why I was so upset. The house had been on the market for over a year and I still could not accept they had finally sold it.

My parents are thrilled. My dad won't have a heating bill for a five-bedroom house anymore. My mom gets her first-floor laundry room. They finally have a two-car garage.

But they live in their home now. It's not my home. And that's a little weird.

Hopefully, we can all make some great memories there. But I am still saddened by the idea that Jack will never have a Christmas in my house. He won't sit on the same porch steps or pump his legs on the swing in the backyard or run around on the lawn in circles.

I guess I have come to terms with all that. Can't you tell?

I almost forgot!

Dig if you will the picture...

I am lying in bed a few minutes ago, watching an update about the Tom Cruise-Katie Holmes wedding and something in the report made me think "I should blog about that."

A full second went by before I yelled "HOLY SHIT" and jumped out of bed.

I almost forgot to blog today. That was a close one. I was about to go to sleep for the night and wow, would I have been pissed.

It was a long day. I am exhausted. Jack woke up early, then we had to drive up to Milwaukee to help my parents move into their new condo. It was a day of moving and unpacking and putting things together and keeping the Jacker out of trouble.

So, thank you TomKat for jogging my memory!

Did they still get the miles?

I read this post over at Finslippy's other blog today and I about fell off the couch.

A woman was kicked off a flight for breastfeeding her child. Discreetly!

Now I can tell you, I am not one to whip out the boob in public. Even at home, if someone other than Josh is around, I just go upstairs. And most of the time, I feed Jack in his room anyway because he gets too distracted in other environments.

But I have no problem with any other moms nursing in public. I think it's great people feel more comfortable than I do. I once saw a woman nursing her baby on a bench on Damen Avenue in broad daylight. Go Momma.

I have, however, breastfed my child on a plane. Everything I read encouraged this in case the baby had a problem with ear pressure during takeoff and landing. I, like the woman in the story, was very discreet. I was in the window seat. My husband was next to me. There was no blanket involved because a. I tried to use one and Jack grabbed it off and b. I was not exposing anything. Jack was practically inside my sweatshirt.

We're going on three more plane trips in the next two months and you can be damn sure I will be breastfeeding him during takeoff and landing. I dare them to kick me off the plane.

For God's sake -- I have a friend who sat next to some random guy who read PORN for an entire flight. But breastfeeding is clearly off limits.

If you are as outraged as I am, please take a minute to fill out this petition.

Screw you Delta airlines. I hope you go bankrupt.*

Don't even get me started on the not being able to fly with expressed breastmilk. I will have a post about that in a few weeks after I fly to New York for business.

*But not before all the breastfeeding moms can use up their frequent-flyer miles on nice trips. They deserve nice vacations.

My clothes need Botox

This morning, because we were going to Kindermusik, I got all ready for the day and realized that the new shirt I wanted to wear was a wee wrinkly.

So I got out the iron and ironing board and IRONED MY SHIRT.

For those of you who know me, you probably just fell out of your chair and are now frantically checking outside for any pink pork flying by your house.

I just don't iron. Ever. My everyday wardrobe is made up of shirts that don't wrinkle and designer jeans. Yoga pants and T-shirts round out the choices, and then I have some dresses and dressy clothes in the closet for going out or special occasions – and if they need to be ironed, they usually also need to be dry-cleaned, so I just leave them in the bag until it’s time to wear them.

When you work from home, there's barely a need to get dressed in the morning, much less in something that needs to be pressed into submission with a hot metal object.

One of my rules about working from home has always been that I get up and get dressed in the morning. Something about working in my PJs always makes me feel unproductive. Not sure what the difference between boxers and another pair of shorts is in the summer, but let's not play the semantics game.

I am so averse to ironing that I could not even find our iron in Chicago a few weeks ago. Our friends, Gina and JD, were staying at our house and JD needed to iron his shirt before heading to a wedding shower in their honor.

I looked in the places I thought our iron might live, but alas, it was not in any of them. I apologized and said maybe he could just hang it on the back of the door while he showered and perhaps the wrinkles would steam out.

(Since that time, I have stumbled upon the iron; it was hiding in the bathroom closet on the top shelf. So next time someone needs it, I will have the Internet remind me where it is.)

It also works out well that Josh doesn't have any clothes that need to be ironed. He mostly wears polo shirts and khakis to work, jeans and non-needing-ironing shirts on the weekends.

"But khakis need ironing," you might say.

Not so much. I routinely send my husband off to work with wrinkly pants. He doesn't do his own laundry, much less whip out the iron, so too bad for him. I am sure his co-workers don't even notice. OK, that's a lie, I know they notice. But I am so beyond caring.

Poor Josh. His wife neglects his pants.

There are so many jokes just waiting to be made there, I will just decline to make any of them.

Scream if you love Mommy

We're halfway. Halfway through this damned posting-every-day-crap.

I am growing weary. But I shall overcome!

We were supposed to take an infant CPR class tonight. But Mr. Sickie had other plans for us.

He woke up from his afternoon nap early and he was scaaa-ream-ing. There was no comforting. The boob did a good job, but as soon as I tried putting him back in the crib, the screaming resumed. There was general fussiness all day and I was suspecting an ear infection.

Thankfully, a friend of Josh's parents is a retired Ear Nose and Throat doctor, so we asked if he might take a look in Jack's ears and see what was up.

He didn't see any infections, but said his eardrum was slightly pushed in and there was a teeny bit of fluid, but nothing that should be causing a fever or the screamfests.

So now I am down to two choices: either he really is teething this time OR he's just a general crankybutt.

Because I don't see any sign of white bumps on the gums, I might have to go with the latter. And isn't that pleasant?

So because we had to drive him hither and yon to have the ears inspected, we did not make it back in time for the CPR class. I was certified many moons ago, when I was working at a kiddie pool one summer, but Josh has no background in this.

Our pediatrician has been after us to take a class, so we finally followed directions and then we were thwarted! So hopefully Jack won't choke on anything in the next few weeks before we can take another class.

But if he does, at least we'll know his ears are infection-free when it happens.

Yet another fever

Perhaps I need to try a new tactic.

You know how people pull their kids out of daycare because they are always getting sick? Maybe if I PUT my kid in daycare, he will stop getting sick.

Last night, 2:30 a.m., Jack was really wailing. This was preceded by a lot of whining off and on throughout the night. The wailing got our attention and I went in to see if he had wet through his jammies or something.

No, no leaks. But there was the white-hot fire heat emanating from his body. He could have heated an entire solar system from behind those dinosaur jammies.

Because he was hysterical, I had to nurse him to calm him down. But I also needed to know how high his temperature was, because I think I had burns on my hands from touching his skin.

So while he is attached to the boob, I peel off the legs of his pajamas and pull off the diaper so I can take his temperature. Which I do, with one hand thank you very much, because Josh is in the middle of coughing up a lung and can't help me.

His little fever was 101.7 and that was probably a wee bit conservative because he started protesting and I couldn't leave it in for long enough.

Out came the Tylenol and after an hour of crying and pathetic sick whining, he fell asleep in our bed. He woke up feeling pretty warm, so I gave him some more Tylenol after his temp was 100.4.

For the most part, he was a trooper today. Just a couple fussy periods and really shitty naps.

But riddle me this Batman -- HOW DOES HE GET A FEVER WHEN HE IS ON AN ANTIBIOTIC??? He's still got two days left of this supposed super-duper once-a-day stuff.

Poor kid -- it seems like he's been sick more then he's been well this last six weeks.

Just under the wire

I got my 13th post in a mere 30 minutes before the deadline. I like cutting it close, living on the edge, writing on deadline.

We had a delightful dinner with our friends, Eric and Lisa, at their house this evening, sans children.

There was red meat. And wine. Lots of wine.

Mmmmm. I like wine.

Did I mention there was wine?

Two weeks in a row now I have consumed alcohol on a school night. Somebody stop me, I'm getting crazy.

Pillow talk

Before I birthed my child, I used to love to sleep.

On weekends, Josh and I would routinely sleep until 11 a.m. or later. I liked nothing more than to stay up late and then sleep in. If I had to get up before 10 a.m., there had better be money involved.

My friends knew better than to schedule brunch before 11 and usually, it was more like we were eating lunch.

And working from home made it possible for me to sleep until the last possible second during the workweek. When all you have to do is walk down the hall in your pajamas to your office, you can sleep pretty damn late.

When I was working late-nights a few years ago, I would sometimes work a 5 p.m. to 1 a.m. shift and wouldn't get to sleep until after 2. I would then sleep in until noon the next day. I was in heaven.

But since having Jack, I have adjusted my expectations. I now consider 9 a.m. "sleeping in" and that's only because someone else gets up with him.

Josh and I have had entire Let's Make a Deal-type conversations at 7 a.m. that consist of pleading, cajoling and the recitation of a mental spreadsheet of who has gotten up early when for the last six months.

On weekends, Jack still thinks it's a weekday, and really doesn't grasp the concept of "sleeping in." When he was a wee baby, we could get him to sleep until 10 a.m. on weekends by bringing him in bed with us. But now, he's quite chipper at 7 a.m.

For the last few months, we've kept the swing in our bedroom next to the bed. It's become the emergency exit. If Jack wakes up early, say before 8, we stick him in the swing and hope he is lulled back into slumber.

Most of the time, it works. This weekend, we got almost two more hours out of him. Saturday, he woke at 7 a.m. and the swing bought me another 90 minutes. I got up with him at 8:30 and Josh slept until 11:30 a.m.

Today, he got up at 7 and we got almost two more hours out of him, so Josh got up at 8:45 and I slept until 10:45, when he brought Jack in to nurse.

That means I got 12 hours of sleep. I can't remember the last time I was this well-rested. It's delightful.

Itch, itch, scratch

My toes, they itch.

It's the damn weirdest thing. All summer long, I wore flip flops and sandals. I think my toes might have been covered a few times when I was working in the yard, but for the most part, they were going commando all summer. They were happy feet. Itch-free.

Along comes the fall and I switch to socks and boots. I don't even think I own a pair of regular shoes. Is that odd? It's all boots, flip flops, sandals and dressy heels.

Anyway.

So I cover the toes with my socks and shoes and I get this weird itching. They're not red. There are no weird bumps. They just itch. All. The. Damn. Time.

Right now as I sit here, I feel the dull sensation of needing to scratch. My toes are calling to me, "Help us! Help us!" I am fighting the urge because, damn, I can't type and scratch. And scratching one foot with the other is not as satisfactory.

Josh asked me if I googled this ailment. Well duh. Of course I did. I was able to ascertain I don't have athlete's foot because that is itching between your toes. I don't have a fungus, because there's no outward sign of anything gross or icky looking. I just have the itchies.

It's the worst in the middle of the night. Last night I fed Jack at 3:30 and I came back to bed and tried to fall asleep. Except I kept scratching my damn toes. And of course the itching is intensified by 1,000 in the middle of the night because that's all you can concentrate on.

Google was also a little scary. You never know when you might stumble upon some totally effed-up foot fetish site. I can only imagine the scary-ass traffic I am going to end up with from this post.

So if you know anything about itchy toes, could you help a sister out? So far, my idea of dabbing a little hydrocortisone on them is not helping.

Get in my belly

Yesterday I realized I am becoming one of those moms.

The ones who eat the leftover food.

I read someplace that eating the leftovers can be the reason one eventually needs mom jeans. It's like adding a meal to your day when you add up all the extra bites.

But yesterday, when Jack refused to eat the cantaloupe I put in front of him, I didn't want it to go to waste, so I popped it in my mouth. Same thing for the turkey and wheat bread.

I would have passed on the extra Veggie Booty, but Jack eats every last morsel and then licks his hands looking for more, so there wasn't any extra. I think it tastes like cardboard, but clearly, I don't have the refined palate of a child.

While I know intellectually that a half-slice of turkey should fill me up the same whether it's a slice or torn into 20 tiny pieces, my stomach just doesn't seem to get the idea. I was still hungry after eating it.

But now I see why moms eat off the kids' plates. After you feed them lunch, get the mess cleaned up and get them down for their afternoon nap, you're stuck with nothing to eat because you don't have any food in the house and you can't just run out for a bite because - duh - the baby is sleeping.

This has now happened to me more times than I can count. I always think I will have time to grab something, but then I realize I can't pick up anything hot before he eats, because it will be cold by the time he's done. Then he's asleep and I am considering eating my arm.

Yesterday I made a run for the border at 3 p.m. because I was desperate. Who eats Taco Bell in the middle of the afternoon? No one. Except starving moms.

Roughage

We keep having these mini Indian summers here in Illinois. Don't get me wrong, I love it. When it's 75 degrees in November, I'm not complaining. But it makes a liar out of me.

Each day that it is this nice, I say to Jack, "This is the last time we'll be able to play outside for awhile, buddy." And then the next week, we're playing outside again.

Today, I am convinced it really was the last nice day. Sunny, not a cloud in the sky, the light was just perfect. I had wanted to get some pictures of Jack in the leaves, so I figured after his nap I would could take him down the street to the golf course and get some nice shots of him with the leaves.

We arrived at the perfect spot under a tree and I got him out of the stroller and set him down on the ground. Before I could even get the lens cap off, he had grabbed a fistful of leaves and was munching.

"NO!" I admonished. "No, no, no. Yucky! Those are yucky! Give me those."

"Mmmmm. Buh buh buh maaaa," he replied, as he tried to crawl away with the leaves still in his hot little hands.

"Come on now, don't you want to take a picture in these nice leaves?" I pleaded.

He stared at a man driving by in a golf cart, who I might add, LAUGHED AT ME when he hears me saying "NO, don't eat that!"

I finally got the lens cap off and set him down again, but this time I had cleared the immediate area of leaves. His reach was a little farther than I anticipated, however, so we were back to our leaf-eating battle.

Finally I got him situated. I snapped a quick picture and noticed he was gagging.

"Oh for God's sake," I mumbled.

I went over and fished out a leaf that was halfway down his throat.

I would like to point out this is the boy who would not eat cantaloupe this afternoon because he didn't like the texture. But sticks and leaves? More please!

I gave up and left after that. As I picked him up off the ground, he was still trying to shove the remnants of the leaves and sticks caught on his hand in his mouth.

So here's what we ended up with. Lovely.


Are these teething biscuits? I love teething biscuits!


Ack. Ack. What the hell? These are crunchy.


Ooooh, let me eat them again!

Nine months

Dear Jack,

Today you have officially been out of my tummy as long as you were in it. And that is really hard for me to wrap my brain around. The nine months I was pregnant seemed to drag on forever, but looking back at how much you have changed in these nine months, I realize the time has flown by.



We took you to your doctor appointment on Monday and you weighed 18.8 lbs (still 25th percentile) and were 28 3/4 inches (still 75th percentile). Your Grandma remarked that you had grown 8.5 inches since you were born and I had to think about that for a minute. I swear it was just yesterday that you were wearing newborn outfits and I only needed one arm to hold you when you were nursing. I didn't notice you getting so big. Stop it!

You have learned so much in the last month. Your army-crawling turned into full-fledged up-on-all-fours crawling and you started pulling yourself up on everything: the couch, the table, the highchair, Mommy and Daddy's legs and the crib bars. I think you would pull yourself up on one of the cats if they would sit still long enough.



You've taken a few tentative steps from me to Daddy, but I think they were more by accident than by design. You cruise along the furniture like nobody's business and you've learned how far away is too far when it comes to reaching out for something. You still fall down -- a lot -- but you're getting better.

We average about five falls a day that require Mommy to kiss it and make it better, and about five falls a day where you just go about your business as if nothing happened.

Last month, you got sick for the first time. This month, not even three weeks later, you were sick again with a cold and another ear infection. I really hope this is not the beginning of a winter of discontent, let me tell you, because the co-pays alone could bankrupt us.



When we had you at the doctor, we asked about this wacky rash you had developed. What started out as a few stray rough patches of skin blossomed into a rash on almost all of your little body. Your pediatrician said it was eczema and was probably caused by something you were eating. We traced it back to your yogurt, and deduced you were probably sensitive to dairy. After we cut yogurt out of your diet and all dairy out of mine, your skin made a marvelous turnaround and the patches -- now fading -- only reside on your back. Thankfully, we discovered YoSoy (from the makers of your beloved YoBaby) and you have returned to the world of yogurt eating.

The nursing continued last month, and I can honestly say, it's been a piece of cake. You are down to four or five sessions a day and it's like second nature now. Daddy keeps saying he's not sure how we will soothe you come February when the milkbar closes. I think it will be OK, but at this point, I can't even imagine how on earth we will start the weaning process.

Your eating habits have not been affected by the fact you have no teeth. Not a single one. Not even a bud. But you don't care. You just chew your hands and drool all over the place and bite everything in sight. You've had all the signs of teething for the last five months. No, really. I think you might turn a year old and still look like a hillbilly.

But a well-traveled hillbilly.



This past month we took you on your first plane ride. Daddy and I had extremely low expectations for this trip. We were worried your head would explode when you realized you had to sit still for four hours and your shrill cries would cause the air marshal to pull his weapon on us and force an emergency landing somewhere in Nebraska.

But you were a champ. You didn't cry, you actually slept for part of the trip, you charmed everyone from gate agents to fellow passengers to the crew. You were presented with a little pair of wings and a certificate marking your first flight and Mommy and Daddy left the plane with smiles on their faces. Because you did so well, we booked some more trips for the near future, so we'll see how that goes. But you loved San Francisco and had a great time touring the city with us and Grandma and Grandpa.



Right after we got back from our trip, we decided it was time to start letting you Cry It Out. You were waking up six or seven times a night and trying to make it your personal mission to spend as much time in Mommy and Daddy's bed as possible. I had developed a permanently pulled-muscle in my ribcage from sleeping on my side and nobody was getting much quality sleep.

The first day was rough. But after the first 39-minute shriekfest, you seemed to get the idea. The crying has been less and less in the last two weeks and now, if you cry in the middle of the night, you usually put yourself back to sleep within five minutes. You started sleeping from 7:30-7:30 with a brief nursing session around 5 a.m. and everyone is in a better frame of mind these days.

When you were a wee little baby, you used to scream during bathtime. We never thought we would see the day you would willingly play in the water. But it's become one of your favorite parts of the day. Every night before bed, Daddy takes you upstairs and gives your bath. You play with your floaty toys and sit in your little bath seat and splash and chatter away. I can hear you laughing and babbling on the monitor and it makes me smile every night.



For Halloween, you were a Jack-o-lantern. And I know I am biased, but you were the cutest pumpkin I have ever seen. You hit a few houses for Trick or Treat, and Daddy appreciated your pimping candy for him. I know the first Halloween is obviously more for the parents than it is for the kids. You'll never remember it, but it's probably the one I will remember the most.



There are so many things I tell myself to remember. I think to myself almost every day "I will never forget him looking like this." And then the next day, you already look different and I have forgotten. I look back at pictures of you when you were born and I can't believe you have changed so much. I see you every day and I don't notice the subtle changes, but recently I noticed you are becoming a little boy.

I love it that you are so independent. You are happy to play by yourself for a few minutes at a time. You have no problem with other people holding you. You still smile at strangers. I hope you keep this trait because it's something that will serve you well for your entire life. Being able to entertain yourself and create your own fun means you'll never have a dull moment.



In the last few days you have learned possibly your best trick yet.

For the last couple months I would say "Can I have a kiss?" And then kiss you and make a smacking noise and say "Thank you!" And most of the time you would laugh, or grab my nose, or squirm away from me. But last week, I said to you "Can I have a kiss?" and I pursed my lips and waited a second. Then you leaned in and softly touched your little lips to mine.

I did it a few more times to be sure, and each time you would get very quiet and lean in and kiss me. I shower you with kisses and hugs all the time, but to finally have you reciprocate was an amazing feeling. Just this weekend, you did the same thing for Daddy and he felt the same way.

Your smile has always melted my heart, but your kisses may have liquified it permanently. I know someday you won't want to kiss me, and that's OK, because I will always have the memory of the first time you did.

Love,
Mommy

Wine-y playdate

Checking out at the liquor store tonight, I was chatting on my cell phone to my friend, Gina, and I told her I would have to call her back because I was on my way to a playdate.

The clerk did a double-take when he overheard me, what with the bottle of wine in my hand.

"Well who goes to a playdate without a bottle of wine?" I asked aloud.

The clerk snorted. Glad I could provide the comedic interlude in your evening, buddy.

So we and our wine went for a nice dinner playdate with my friend Kristen and her husband Brad and their baby Grace. Kristen made a lovely dinner and we hung out with the kids and drank some wine.

Midweek wine drinking! In Bloomington! Exclamation points!

Ear infection v2.0

There's nothing like finding out at your 9-month well-baby checkup that your 9-month-old is unwell.

During Jack's exam today, his doctor discovered an ear infection.

For those of you playing along at home, this would be the second ear infection in one month. And we're all about equal opportunity here, so this one is in the right ear.

I knew he had a cold, but it seemed to be just about gone. The cough had completely disappeared and his nose was much less runny. He was grabbing at his ear a few times yesterday, but I figured it could have been teething.

So another round of antibiotics, although this stuff must be stronger. Omnicef is the name and we only give it once a day for 10 days.

I think he must be picking up the germs at daycare. I am totally going to quit my job and pull him out of there. Oh wait. Shit. He's not IN daycare. He stays home with me.

My sister is having a good time with this one. She pointed out my stay-at-home, breastfed baby who only eats organic food is kind of a sickie.

"You might as well switch him to whole milk and cheetos," she remarked.

Yard work

Nothing says "I love you" like some yard work.

For the last few weekends, I have been saying we needed to get some stuff done outside. But we've been traveling hither and yon and never had any time until today.

And being the cool wife that I am, I took it upon myself to do the work today. Josh stayed inside with his fantasy football prep and listened for Jack while he was napping. I went all Handy Andy on the house.

There was a leaf blower involved and I am proud to tell you that we no longer have any leaves in our yard. I use the term "yard" loosely, however, as we have a patio and a little walkway and rocks. No grass.

But living on a busy street, we get a lot of crap in the sub-ground level yard and the leaves accumulate in the corners and it looks kind of ghetto. The planter boxes on the front of the house were full of dead flowers and stringy vines.

So I sucked up all the leaves. And I pulled all the dead flowers out of the boxes. And then I emptied all the pots that we had flowers in. And then I sucked up all the leaves in the back of the house and hosed down the siding and cleaned the back porch. And then I disconnected the hose and drained it and put it away.

And I wasn't done yet. I also swept the porch and changed the lightbulbs on the front porch lights and then I built a small dwelling out of sticks and mud with sod for a roof. Afterward, I canned some fruit and churned my own butter.

OK not so much the last things. But I could have. I was on a roll.

A cut above

I have been threatening to get Jack's hair cut for weeks now. It's always in his face but he really only has long hair on the top. The sides are still really short, so I kept thinking it would be a waste of money to pay for a whole haircut.

But today I had enough of this face-obscuring hairdo and Josh and I took him to Snippets, an adorable little kids hair cuttery where the chairs are little cars and fire trucks.

We sat him down in the car chair and he immediately grabbed the wheel like a seasoned pro. As his usual charming self, he was smiling and flirting with the woman cutting his hair and generally being the life of the shop.

He looked like such a big boy and I just can't believe he's old enough for his first haircut.

Here's the goods, which I know is what everyone is here for:

Fall down and go boom

So Mr. I Stand Up And Try Not To Use My Hands found out the hard way what happens when you stand up at the coffee table and try to walk around the corner of it to get a toy.

You fall down. And go boom. On your forehead. Ouch.

That was a doozy. One minute he's laughing at me and showing off, the next he's falling and I hear the "clunk" and then the loooooong pause and then the crying.

I pick him up and see a red bump already forming with a white line -- where he hit the table leg -- down the middle of it. By the time Josh got home five minutes later, it was a pretty shade of purple.

This did not stop him from getting right back up and standing at the coffee table again. Or from standing at his high chair. Or the kitchen chair. Or the gate.

In the last five days, this child has fallen, bumped his head or frustrated himself more than he has in the entire nine months of his life thus far. I feel bad for him, but at the same time, he is so insistent on standing that we feel he needs to learn how to fall down.

I used to say that I thought he would happier when he learned to roll over, because he could maneuver to toys. Then I thought he would be happier when he learned crawl, because he could go wherever he wanted. Now I know he won't be happy until he walks. Because after that, there's nothing left except world domination.

Just now I caught him trying to pull up on the wall. He got to his knees before I stopped him and re-directed his attention to his stuffed elephant and a Dr. Suess book.

I think we're in for it with this one.

You're getting sleeeeeepy

So I haven't blogged about sleeping in a while. And I know you are all dying for an update.

I am pleased to announce that we have achieved sleeping through the night once again. (Or if not the whole night, until 5 a.m. with a quick wakeup for feeding and right back to sleep.)

What I am about to tell you will have some people nodding in agreement and some hitting the "delete this blog from my blogroll" button. The secret for us was to let him Cry It Out.

Oh, yes, the polarizing sleep wars. Who doesn't have an opinion? People without children, that's who. They're all "Cry? Why would I cry? I sleep until 11:30 on the weekends." If you are that person, you may kindly shut yer piehole because I used to be that person and BOY DO I MISS SLEEPING IN ON THE WEEKENDS.

Oh, but this is not about me. Right. Back on topic.

So last week, when we returned from San Francisco, we decided the Crying It Out would commence. Jack had started waking between six and seven times a night, as early as 10 p.m. on most occasions. He was sleeping with us almost all night and I had developed a permanently pulled muscle in my ribcage from sleeping contorted on my side, with my boob hanging out so he could have all-night access to the milk bar.

Josh has been pro-CIO for a few months and I could not bring myself to do it. At the first sound of a whimper, I was in the bedroom trying to head off a full-blown screamfest. But things were getting worse and we really needed a change.

The first day, Tuesday, we started with his first nap. He screamed for 39 minutes and finally got himself to sleep and he was out for almost two hours. Grandma was here and I thought she was going to cry herself. (The grandmas are not too keen on the CIO -- but Josh and I have made it clear this is what we think is best for Jack, so they are abiding. Neither is pleased about it, we can tell, but they are doing it.)

His second nap he didn't cry at all, because he nursed to sleep and didn't wake up when I put him in the crib, and when he went down for the night he fussed for 10 minutes and that was that.

He woke up three times that night, and he cried, but it lasted less than 10 minutes each time and he stayed in his crib the whole night. Since then, his night-wakings have significantly reduced, to one or two, and he's routinely sleeping until 5 a.m., when I think the hunger overtakes him. I feed him and get at least another two hours of sleep out of him.

His naps have gotten longer and his schedule more predictable.

If you would have told me two months ago that I would be a CIO Mom, I would have laughed at you. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. But now, seeing the miracle it has brought forth, I am so pleased we did it.

Josh was right. And let me tell you, it's not often that you hear those three words.

And so it begins

So I am taking part in NaBloPoMo.

Bless you? No, I didn't sneeze. It's National Blog Posting Month. For 30 straight days, yes EVEN WEEKENDS, I will be posting blog entries.

I figured this was a great kick in the ass for me, since I have been a wee bit lazy about my blog as of late. Have you a blog you are lazy about? Well jump on the train and do it with me (HINT HINT Sarah!!!).

But there's more! If you don't have a blog, you can still participate by leaving a comment on a blog each and every day this month. And really, what better blog to leave a comment on than this one?

With the general announcements out of the way, let me tell you that I almost didn't make it to post Day 1. That would be because I almost died during a coughing fit this morning.

You see, Jack and I both have colds. Again. Actually, I shouldn't really say "again" for me, because I never officially kicked the cough from my initial illness THAT STARTED OVER A MONTH AGO NOW.

So Mr. Sickie with his constantly-dripping snot and pathetic, heart-wrenching little cough and I are under the weather. This morning Josh let me sleep in a little and got up with the child.

I felt somewhat better after a solid night's sleep. Until late morning, when I began to cough. And cough, and cough and cough some more. I staggered to the bathroom and coughed in there. Gulping some water, I still couldn't get it under control.

After a brief respite (and by brief, I mean about 2 minutes) I went downstairs to investigate my sickly son, who was playing with Grandma. I noticed his nose was snotty, so out came the nasal aspirator, aka Snot Sucker.

He must have really needed it, because he actually sat still for a decent amount of time. But then, of course, he started bucking and squirming and generally acting as if he were at Guantanamo rather than our living room.

As he is making things difficult, I start to cough again. I think I might have lost consciousness during this one. That or I was being dramatic. Hard to tell.

Eventually I went for the cough drops -- conveniently still on the counter from the last time I got sick -- and that seemed to calm things down. But if I go missing in the next day or so, I succumbed to the cough. I just hope if I pass out on the floor that the cats don't eat me or anything.