Happy Seven Months

It's kind of shocking to me to realize that the boy is already seven months old. I'm already experiencing the bitter sweet feeling of watching him enter into new phases. I'm ooohhing and aaahhhing as I pack away clothes that he can no longer wear.

Maybe it's because I never actually had him wear half of the stuff. We were completely inundated with hand-me-downs and gifts. I'm definitely not complaining. Keep them coming! I am a big fan of second hand clothing. But the amount of stuff we collected was enough for the Octa-mom.

I also have every single Baby Einstein product made in the last two years because of a job I had. While this has been a great gift, it's really difficult to hear Mozart or Beethoven played on a xylophone over and over again. You don't think it's possible to hear Bach's Menuet in the key of F coming out of a caterpillar's mouth? Come over to my house. The best is when the batteries start to wear out and the sound is warped, and you don't actually realize that something's wrong with the music. Or... when the toy was never turned off so the music has been playing for the last hour and I have no idea why I have a headache.

I went into a store the other day where I had gone to a breastfeeding support group when the boy was a newborn. I passed the room to see a group meeting and it was almost comical seeing all these first times moms with these panic stricken looks on their faces holding their 4 week old babies. They clearly had no idea what they were doing. I say "comical" because I know I looked like that. So I had to chuckle because I really wanted to point and laugh and say, "I'M SOOOOO GLAD I'M NOT YOU RIGHT NOW!!!!!" But then the more sympathetic side of me caused me to shoot a knowing smile to sleep deprived mom #7.

Speaking of sleep deprived... I have been trying out this reading program called Your Baby Can Read. I am thoroughly impressed and think it's a great program. I completely agree with the philosophy behind it. It comes with books, flashcards and several DVDs, all of which are very interactive. Well, yesterday I put on the DVD for the boy to watch. I put him in his little chair, which is like a little cushioned seat that you can place anywhere. And then I sort of curled my body around it as I layed on my side. This way I could still participate with him and help him do the actions and repeat the words. Brilliant plan, I thought. Well, laying down is generally not a good thing to do if I want to stay alert. Next thing I know, I wake up and the DVD has finished playing. The boy is just sitting in his chair, kicking his little feet, and staring at the tv which now just says "Main Menu. Parent's Guide. Kids' Songs." I'm quite certain that in the "Parent's Guide" it advises that the parent (that would be me) also participates in the interactive portions of the DVD. He is still a bit too young to point to his nose all by himself.

Other things to catch you up on...

We're still sitting on the fence about starting him on solids. Well, okay, it's me really. Dad is all excited to get the food flying through the house. But our pediatrician has told me that we can wait up to a year if we wanted so that is buying me a little more time. He said that there's no real set time that makes it "right". His check up was great. He's definitely a "big" boy. So, I know that exclusively breastfeeding him is not malnourishing him in any way. I know it's for completely selfish reasons, but breastfeeding is just soooooo convenient. There's nothing to prepare, clean up, heat up, and I don't have mashed peas stuck to my floor. Yeah, I know. We'll get to it.

Right now the boy is having lots of floor time. He's moments away from crawling. Well, actually he does crawl. Just not in any kind of straight line. Or forward, for that matter. He's got the backwards scoot down really well. And he's also practicing his Olympic sprinting pose. This is when he has his arms and legs straightened and his butt is pointing straight up into the air. He's like a little pyramid. He's usually on his tiptoes when he does this so his balance is WAY OFF. I think he actually thinks he can be mobile in this position. But instead he's just the Leaning Tower of Butt as he sways his butt left and right to try to gain momentum.

Okay, I've got to cut this one short. I've been asked about my homebirth story many times so I'm trying to edit the letter I wrote to Kien about how he was born. I'll try to get that posted in the next day or so. And the boy is anxiously waiting for someone to play with him. He's adorable I tell you!!!

I have to say the best sound in the entire world is hearing him laugh.

I'm Old (er) and still breaking the law

Today is my birthday. Not quite sure how to think about it. I've been completely kicked out of the cool group, Early 30's. So "Friends". And even when I was in that age group I was far from cool. But upon entering your "mid 30's" you start to get those special insurance rates. So not "Friends". My hubby tells me that I'm 12 for the 3rd time. Why would I want to be 12 again? Kind of like that movie w/ Zac Efron where some grown man gets to be 17 again. Well, if you looked THAT good when you were a teenager, then okay, maybe being a teenager ain't so bad. But I didn't look that good. I don't want to be a teenager. (Why do I even know about this movie?)

Side note: I could be totally misunderstanding the movie because I have NOT seen it. But do we really believe that Matthew Perry looked like Zac Efron when he was in high school?

My 20's. Meh. A lot of growing still. A lot of "I know EXACTLY what I'm doing", and not really knowing a damn thing.

Early 30's. A lot of "Oh, my god. I really don't know what I'm doing. But I told everyone that I knew what I was doing. So, let me keep trying this tactic because it's working GREAT!" (You see how easily I am fooled?) I have also seen the effects of being out of shape, car accidents, and broken bones. Most of this early decade has been graced with a jumbo 1,000 count bottle of Motrin, courtesy of Costco. I've looked at the expiration date and thought, "Oh yeah, I'll be finished with this WAAAAY before then."

Now, I am solidly into my mid-30's. I hung on to the "Early 30's" label as best I could. In fact, I have tried to hold on to a lot of things that have fallen. Expensive bras, face creams, and promising lotions are now replaced with bra pads, spit up, and singing nursery rhymes ad nauseam. Things will fall where they may. Good thing my stomach is there to hold other parts up.

So, just as I was getting used to fooling myself that I knew what I was doing, I decided to have a kid. Now, I've drastically jumped head first into "OH MY GOD!!! I'M GOING TO SCREW THIS KID UP!!!"

Of all things in the world, a child keeps you honest. At least mine does. Maybe he'll have a future in the judicial system. He'll look at me when I do something stupid and the look on his face is screaming, "Really? YOU are going to raise me?"

Like when I put him in the car (which takes me 10 minutes because of the extensive strapping down system called a car seat) he miraculously sits patiently through it all as I pull his arms through the straps, then tug at his legs to get the buckle free, and then snap the chest strap snugly level with his arm pits (as the instructions say to do). Quietly he sits, watching me as I contort his body into Lock-Down position and tell him stories of way long ago about how when I was a kid seat belts weren't the law and how I could have legally thrown him in the back of a truck with the dog. However, he does not sit quietly as he tells me (through body language) that the buckle for the seat belt is scorching hot because it's been roasting in the car in 100+ degree weather. So, okay, he is not the perfect child.

This routine (I dare not say my daily routine because I sometimes give up the notion of getting out of the house if I've been trying for more than two hours.) is then followed by me getting behind the wheel, putting on my seat belt, starting the car, backing out of the driveway and then realizing that I've forgotten my wallet. I then re-park the car, put all the windows down, run to the door, then run back to the car because I've forgotten that I need the house keys. After I grab the house keys, I race about the house looking for my wallet. Mind you, the boy is still in the car because I'm not going to go through that whole shenanigan again. Racing, racing, racing, WHERE IS MY WALLET???? Well, maybe I did put it in the car. So, I check the car again and there it is sandwiched between a peed on diaper and yesterday's half eaten lunch, a Luna Bar. I'm remembering now that the wallet has been left there since yesterday so it smells kind of funny. What I actually forgot in the house is my phone. Go back to the house, NOW WHERE IS MY PHONE??? Oh, there it is, in his play crib hidden underneath all of his toys. I totally do not remember putting it there. Oh, and there's my sunglasses. I meant to grab those too. Race back to the car just in time to see the boy's expression on his face. "Really? YOU are going to raise me? I'm supposed to put my health in your trust?"

And this is how it is for me getting out of the house. Now, this does sound lame. I admit, it sounds like I am not of sound mind and body. But I'll have you know that during yesterday's excursion, after only two times of in and out, in and out of the car seat, my husband handed me the boy for his third visit to the car seat and said, "Your turn."

Uh-huh. That's what I thought. It wears on you. The car seat alone is enough for you to go criminal. Once, he was asleep in the car seat, so I raced into the pet store to get some dog food. Success. Of course it helped that I yelled at the cashier as soon as I entered, "SLEEPING KID IN THE CAR. I NEED DOG FOOD. NOW!" I think that because I was not holding a gun, she got over the shock of thinking that this was a robbery. The next day, however, I've learned that I could actually get fined for leaving a child in the car. I understand that I have just incriminated myself. But it was an ugly and desperate situation. Since he'd already been in and out of the car seat five times that day, I was thoughtful about my child endangerment. I left all the windows open and made sure to take my car keys with me. I also parked illegally in front of the store entrance to be close to him. And then of course, wouldn't you know it? There was a news story about a car jacking some where in LA where two kids were also kidnapped because they were left in the car. Okay, yes a horribly scary story and lesson learned. But I'd like to point out, isn't there some stupid advice about "Never wake a sleeping baby"? You just can't win.

Who ever gave that advice never had a child that slept in the car. Or perhaps they never ran errands. Otherwise, you'd be driving around in circles all day long just waiting for him to wake up so that you could legally run your errands. Yes, I have done this.

So, now I'm another year older. This time with a baby to show me all my flaws. I take that back. The boy loves me no matter what, at least for now. My society is quick to show me all my flaws. I'm doing the best I can.

A few hours have passed now since I wrote the above. I'm coming back to my entry as my birth date nears completion. I just wanted to say that I had a wonderful day. My husband made me breakfast. Then we actually got out of the house to go for a hike. It was after 4pm by the time we got in the car, but never the less, we got out. Then I had an incredible meal prepared for me. Again, my husband came through. And I end my birthday nursing the boy. He sat up from his feeding, leaned over and spat up onto my leg. I watched it drip down my sock and straight into my shoe. I LOVE my family.

Happy Birthday, Momma.

It wasn't a bath in a vat of coffee after all.

I woke up this morning and realized what it was that made the boy stay up so late last night. Yesterday, I had my first form of caffeine (other than chocolate) since he was born. I had my first soda in ages and I think that was equivalent to the coffee bath that I mentioned in the last entry.

And now, my vacation is about to start! I see sleep in the near future...

My pattern is to have NO pattern

So I just had a great EC (aka: Diaper Free) moment tonight that I have to share really quickly (for any other EC parents out there). I didn't realize until I got back just how cool it was.

I wanted to go to the store to pick something up but it was already 8:30pm so I was kind of in a hurry. I grabbed my wallet, my keys, and rolled up an extra diaper and stuck it in my pocket. And off I went! Oh yeah, I grabbed the baby too!!! This was the closest I've gotten to experiencing an outing without my four ton baby bag in tow, and I was damn proud. I just up and went, like back in the day when "leaving with a moment's notice" was still part of my lifestyle. And to add chocolate frosting to the cake, both the baby and I returned with a dry diaper! Yay for a good EC night!

Okay, on to my topic at hand:

Well, he's going to sleep later and later. Not quite sure how that happened. It used to be 8pm. Okay, 8pm-ish. Then all of a sudden, we've been getting him to sleep at 10pm. He sort of just skipped the nine o'clock hour. Last night, silence fell upon us at 10:30pm. I told my husband, "Maybe we should try to put him down 10 minutes earlier each night."

Tonight at 10:30, he was ready to run a marathon. Clearly someone bathed him in some coffee. Tonight's final bedtime? 12am. This was after a walk around the neighborhood to get him to pass out. Something very fishy is going on here. Perhaps we have lost all control and the boy rules the house.

However, lately I've begun to think it's a little sad to spend more time wishing my son was asleep than being awake. Yeah, sad isn't it? I mean, here is this little happy creature and all through out the day I would just look at him and say, "Why aren't you sleepy?" Looking forward to his naps because this is the time when I would (attempt to) "get things done." But he's six months old now. I've let six months pass by wishing he was asleep for all of it. I should probably start thinking of him as a human baby, not a bear in the middle of winter.

I'm facing reality now and acknowledging that even when he does take a nap I hardly get anything done anyway. I'm far too easily sidetracked to finish any project on the "list". So, I might as well just embrace his waking hours (which feels like 32 hours straight), and think of his naps as mere blips of silence in my day.

Sleep for us has been a family issue since the day he arrived. We all participate in thinking about it. The parents wish we got more of it. The child, not so much. Unfortunately, he's taken on his mother's trait of being a night owl. Like his mother, the boy is fully charged at 10pm. Ready to go and eyes wide open. Now I know how my poor parents felt every night that we battled this out. During my pregnancy I barely slept, often watching reruns in the early mornings. Early sleep training for the boy, I suppose.

I remember one "expert" adamantly said "Nine o'clock is WAY too late for a baby to go to sleep." I never liked her "expertise". Supposedly it was a support group, but I felt like it was an hour all about things we (okay, namely I) were/was doing wrong. And they incorrectly marketed the group as a place where all parenting styles are welcome and there is no judgement. I did find there was no judgement from her, as long as we agreed with what she was discussing. But in regards to things that were "wrong": Judgement. Raised Eyebrows. A lot of silence after my verbal contributions. Well, no, in retrospect it wasn't just silence. It just felt like dead silence to me. It was more along the lines of first getting a smile through gritted teeth, followed by some silence to process what I just said. And then smoothly segueing into the next topic that she had outlined in her notebook.

My one big complaint was that I wished she could have remained more neutral. However, when she says something like, "I have my own opinion about this which I won't share." but knowing exactly what that opinion is by the tone of her voice isn't exactly what I would call without agenda.

Okay, I lie. My other really, really big beef with her was that she wasn't up to date with the latest trends, research, or parenting styles. As an "expert", I expected her to be able to suggest several ways to try things. Not just say "Here's what you do." and then send us on our way (more confused).

She told me that most people (clearly she was included in this group) feel that a child isn't ready to learn how to use the potty until they are around three years old. Then several weeks after I had been trying and learning about EC (no thanks to her) I happened to mention that it was going well. Her response? "So, you're still sticking with that?" She had that same teeth gritting smile whenever I spoke. AS IF my way was putting a big cramp in how she ran her class. AS IF she felt my crazy ways were completely worthy of a call to social services. AS IF I was blowing her cover that she really didn't know how to hide passing judgement. AS IF what I choose to do was making my life much more difficult than it had to be. Little does she know that I haven't changed a poopy, explosive diaper since the first week that I started EC'ing, four months ago.

My child will not be sitting in his own waste when he's three years old. To me, that is worthy of a call to social services. But what do I know? I ain't no expert.

I'm fine with accepting her opinion as merely an opinion, but so many times I wished she would have been up-to-speed enough to offer us other opinions or ways of thought. Instead, we got: "This is what the research shows, so this is really the best way to do it." What happened to: what works for some may not work for others. Or: Try methods A, B, and C. They're all good methods.

Call me weird, but that is the reason why I joined the group after all. "It takes a village." Ya know, that whole thing...

I remember one time the group was talking about a particular book like it was the bible. And I asked, "What is this book that you all are referring to?" And the "expert" looked at me like I was nuts that I hadn't memorized each page before the baby was born, let alone hadn't heard of it. She says (paraphrasing here), "It's called The Happiest Baby on the Block by Dr. So and So. Blah. Blah. Blah. It's a great book. He tells you the eight important things you should do to calm your baby. You should read it."

Apparently I was the only one in the room to not have read it. My boy (in the early days before he was capable of smiling and laughing) was quiet, content, observant, and I dare say, HAPPY. Okay, maybe, MAYBE he wouldn't qualify as the happiest baby on the entire block, but since when did this become a competition? Isn't it a little too early to be putting so much pressure on him?

Needless to say, I never read the book. My boy is quite happy, thank you. He's smiling about 90% of the day, every day. On a side note, you know what really makes me laugh? I've heard that the doctor that wrote this book on child rearing doesn't even have kids. To me, that's about as interesting of a read as the book that Britney Spears' mother was writing on parenting before her underage daughter got knocked up. Clearly these people know what they're talking about.

I had to get rid of all my pregnancy books because they made me crazy telling me things that I "should be" feeling. I spent more time worrying about why I wasn't feeling something instead of rejoicing in the fact that I felt friggin' GREAT!!!! I clearly remember reading that if women don't experience morning sickness then there's a higher chance that there will be a miscarriage over women who spend their mornings leaning over the toilet bowl. Well, I did not have one day, not even a full hour of morning sickness. Can you imagine what my crazy neurotic mind was thinking???!!!??? For months, I cursed the day this author was born, and then I cursed myself for even buying the book.

So, come time for boy-raising, I decided that I'd do something a little risky and follow my gut for the mommy stuff too. Heck, let's just say intuition is my guide. So what that I've screwed up a few times here and there. So what that I let him stay up until 10pm. It's not like we're up watching America's Got Talent and eating popcorn. I'm actually doing things to stimulate his cute, little growing brain.

And by the way, Ms. Expert in Child Rearing, my husband happens to come home from work at 9pm. So, unless it's better to have my son go to bed every night after not seeing his Daddy all day, then I'm going to do things my way. It ain't like the boy has an important meeting to go to in the morning.

This is certainly not in any book, but this is how we do things around our completely schedule-less house. Here's a picture of the boy, lying naked, without a diaper on our bed. No blanket, no sheets. Directly on the mattress. Oh, and wait a minute! What's that on his face? I think that's the beginning of a smile. Yeah, my boy is happy.

So, it's too late for me to write about what I was really going to write about. I sort of went off on a tangent about my support group "expert". She'd have a conniption if she knew my boy's un-schedule. I guess today's topic was really more about how I've chosen to follow my heart and do my own research instead of just doing whatever it is that I'm told to do. Sure, I admit, this entry sounds a little fueled. But I'd like to think of it as having some passion.

Well, as the rest of my life goes, I'll have to finish what I meant to do another time. I think I was going to talk about patterns. Getting sidetracked is really exhausting.

The Sandpaper, The Wig, and The Basketball

I forgot to say earlier that I posted some additional photos on my earlier posts, so if you wanna see new pics of the boy and the "cigarette tray" then go back to my July entries. There's also a picture of one of my dogs. Because. Well, every one deserves a little recognition for what we've all sacrificed since the arrival of the boy.

And speaking of pics, I am not high tech enough to know how to photoshop so these pictures are not doctored up for effect. Unfortunately, this is the real state that I find myself in. And let's just say today's topic is all about vanity. Mine. Not yours. But mine.

The Sandpaper

This is in reference to the feeling of my once soft and supple skin. No longer do I have the time to apply body lotion, hand lotion, face lotion, scrubs, or masks. I also have certain body parts that are off limits to lotion because, well let's just say I signed a contract once I became a mother. For instance, my breasts can not have lotion on them because I breastfeed the boy. So, the reason is obvious. My shoulders can not have lotion on them because when I hold him, he likes to suck and drool all over my shoulder. My hands can't have lotion on them because he likes to eat and chew on my fingers, all the time. Not only is this due to the teething phase we are in, but I am a replacement for a pacifier. My nipples have also been given this job as well. (Again, the Teething While Breastfeeding blog hasn't been written yet. Need just a little more space away from what is now the harsh reality.)

Now, I understand that I have only mentioned three body parts, but there are several reasons why it's pointless to put lotion on the rest of my body. If I can't have lotion on my hands, then how else am I supposed to get it on to the rest of my body? I dare you to come up with a solution. And let's just say, for old time's sake, that I do manage to get lotion on my legs. I will immediately get it completely licked off by my dog. So, then I'll have not just baby slobber on shoulders, but both legs will be dripping with dog drool. Not to mention how much more difficult it will be to get anything done with a dog right underneath me.

And my other point: lotion on my hands would be a complete waste of money/product/time/energy because I am washing my hands incessantly. Warm water, soap. Just like my dad taught me.

I do not have a picture of my lizard-esque skin. You will just have to use your imagination. Or go to the hardware store, pick up some sandpaper, rub it right across your eyelid (please close your eyes first), and then you will know what it feels like to rub your eyes in the morning with my new mommy skin. Or perhaps that feeling is simply a hangnail that I just don't have time to attend to.

The Wig

I was warned. I laughed. And now I suffer. The hair loss is INCREDIBLE!!!!! No one ever told me... Oh, wait a minute. I just lied. Yes, people told me that often times women lose hair either during or after pregnancy but I thought I had super human powers and such things didn't affect me. And anyways, I have always had mass amounts of thick hair so I didn't think I would miss a few strands of hair falling out.

I've heard several theories, so this is only one. Apparently when you are pregnant all the extra hormones causes you to grow hair more rapidly and also you stop losing hair that you normally lose on a daily basis. I'm not sure if this is a survival thing. You know, like maybe the cave women back in the day used all this extra hair for weaving a basket or something? To keep their baby warm? To give the baby something to hang on to if they should fall? Anyhow, after the pregnancy you supposedly lose all of this extra hair that you never lost while you were pregnant.

But this hair loss doesn't happen right away. They did not tell me this part. So I thought three months into Kien's life and no sign of hair loss, that just proved that I was super human. I secretly did my "I told you" dance, while I shook my extra, extra thick and long hair. Well, month four: BAM! WHAM! WHERE'S MY BASKET WEAVING NOW?!?!?

My hair fell out in clumps. Massive amounts of hair with every brush stroke. No exaggeration, with every stroke of the brush I would have to clean it out because it would be too full to run through my hair again. The floor would often look like the floor of a hair salon. Pride has prevented me from picking it all up and making a wig out of it.

I learned the hard way that I had to rigorously and viciously brush my hair before I got in the shower to prevent a disastrous clog. While showering has become a rare, almost extinct practice, it has also become rushed because at any given moment I might be needed to perform some life saving task. And I never want that moment to happen with shampoo stinging my eye. So now with my new lesson learned about brushing my hair before entering the shower, this gave me even less time to shower. This is why new mothers just don't bother to shower. What is the point of a 90 second shower?

My attitude is confirmed by my mother-in-law's famous story about when my husband was a baby and she had to exit the shower immediately to rush him to the hospital. Shampoo in her hair, mascara down her face. So, let's follow this timeline for a second. She obviously had just started her shower since she hadn't washed her face yet, and she was still in the beginning of washing her hair. This meant that she had probably only been in the shower for 60 seconds before she had to exit. I have often thought of killing two birds with one stone (figuratively) and showering with my clothes on. That way, if I made it through my shower I would also have clean clothes. If I didn't make it through my shower because of some emergency then I would already be wearing clothes.

Sorry, I digress. The point was to tell you about the time I discovered that it would behoove me to brush my hair before getting in the shower. I jumped in, got my hair wet, squirted some shampoo on and before I even had time to start scrubbing, my whole body was covered with my dead, fallen out, soapy hair. From my shoulders down to my knees. Planet of the Apes re-enacted, right there. Going back to the image of the hair salon, it was as if all that hair that is on the salon floor was swept up and then thrown onto my wet body.

Getting that much wet hair off of my body before it goes down the drain is not how I wanted to spend my precious shower minutes. I mean, c'mon, I finally get the opportunity to get in the shower and it became the most un-relaxing experience of my life. Not to mention, unnerving. I saw so much hair not attached to my head that I thought for sure some animal had died. A sasquatch perhaps. I spent the next 10 minutes pulling all the hair off of me and sticking it to the shower wall. It covered two walls.

Then comes another BAM! WHAM! moment. (NOT to be confused with an Oprah "Ah-ha" moment.) I've discovered that I've lost so much hair that I now have a receding hairline. (Refer to the evidence now.) Do you see that triangle of baldness? Well, I have a matching

one on the other side. It was not there before. Draw a line at the base of the "triangle". Go ahead. Now point and laugh. That is how much my hair has receded, in two months. I think I will just paint the triangles red and dress up as satan for Halloween. My very nice and comforting friend has told me that it's simply a distinguished Widow's Peak. Thanks.

What sucks about it all, is that my favorite, easy mommy-do (the ever popular pony tail) is the perfect hairdo to emphasize these bald patches. But honestly, who really cares about your receding hairline or your sandpaper skin when you have a deflated basketball where your stomach once was.

The Basketball

There's not a lot of explanation necessary here. I had an eight pound baby, extra fluid, and a placenta growing inside my stomach. I have often wondered what happens to your stomach after the baby comes out. This concept always fascinated me. Even though I have stated many times how pointless it is to wear clothes now that I'm a mother, my stomach is precisely the reason why clothes were invented. Forget warmth and fashion or modesty. It's to hide The Basketball. Look at the picture. Study it hard.

I LOVED, absolutely loved being pregnant. I was very proud of my basketball (my son) then. I gained a "normal" amount of weight- 30 pounds. I was very, very, very lucky and lost all of it by the third month. (Producing milk and breastfeeding burns 500 calories a day. Equivalent to running two to three miles every day.) But even though I lost all the weight immediately, my stomach looked deformed. Not all pretty like when there was a baby inside. You know what a basketball looks like when it's deflated or has been run over by a car? All lumpy? My stomach- same concept. It didn't deflate evenly. It's sort of flabby in a way I didn't know flabby existed. And a whole lot of sagging skin. Similar to when someone has gastric bypass surgery and they have a lot of extra skin.

I am sharing this photo with you for educational purposes. (This was taken two and a half months after delivery with only five more pounds of baby weight to lose.) Study it closely and then determine if childbearing is for you. Perhaps I am doing my part in slowing down the overpopulation of the world. Notice the concave shape on the left? And the sagging skin on the bottom?

Now, there is hope. My basketball has deflated even more since this photo was taken but the misshapen look has been lovingly adopted by my husband as the "new" me. And the further it deflates, the more "extra" skin I have discovered resting on my thighs. I should point out that my stomach was never in great shape. I've never seen a six pack there before (neither a four or a two pack for that matter). But now with my "new" stomach, engaging in sit-ups causes a whole afternoon of ridicule and finger pointing.

I have also found that all of this loose, saggy skin on my stomach is extra sensitive now. Rubbing my stomach gives me the heebie jeebies. I don't mean sensitive in the ticklish kind of way. I mean in the irritating "don't touch me" way.

And last but not least, there's the bellybutton. It still looks as stretched out as during the pregnancy. It's like it's lost and doesn't know whether to be an inny or an outy. It changes it's mind on a daily basis. And the sensitivity- Oh My Goodness!!!! Sometimes when I'm lying in bed next to the boy, he gets really active with his legs. It's looks similar to how Fred Flintstone looks when he's driving the car. And while I want to support the growth of my boy, sometimes his tiny little toes will get caught in my bellybutton. Yes, caught. As in "stuck". And then he moves his foot all over the place, taking my bellybutton and all it's extra skin with him. This does hurt. Who knew a bellybutton could be so ridiculously delicate?

So, I have caught you up on the appearance of three body parts post-childbirth. It's a pretty sight. But of course, I'd be lying if I said I was unhappy. The boy that laughs and grins every time he sees me makes it all worth it.

A Journal Entry for the Baby

I found this journal entry that I wrote to the baby today and laughed. This was my very first attempt at writing my memories down for the baby. I thought I would post it. I laughed not because I thought I was funny. I laughed because even though I wrote this in April, I am still experiencing the exact same thing in August. I'm certain that it gets better. Right...?

PS. Notice in the beginning that it says that I'm going to try to write to the baby often. I don't think I wrote too much after the first week!

April 21, 2009

Today you are 12 weeks old. I have been wanting to write to you for a while now and of course have never found the right time. And even now, as I write you are with your Daddy who is trying to put you to sleep. Actually, I think you are hungry so your cries are distracting me. I’m not sure if this idea of writing will actually hold for long. It’s now 11:02pm and there is still so much to do. I just don’t understand where the time goes. Before you arrived I was always so busy but at the end of the day I felt like I was productive. There was always something, no matter how small, I had been able to accomplish. Now, that “small” thing is simply getting out of my bathrobe. It drives me crazy to see all of these projects left undone. Or even worse, left half done. Any attempt at organizing a room is off set by the next room looking like a bomb hit it. I just don’t see an end to it. And your Daddy always says, “We’ll get it done.” But he’s been saying that for at least five months. Yes, that’s right. Before you arrived. And the hardest part of all is that I think it’s harder for me to live in this state than for your Daddy, so the incentive on his end is not as strong.

So, why can’t I get anything done, you may be asking? Well…honestly, I ask myself that every day. Your Daddy will come home and say, “Tell me about your day.” And I’m thinking, “What?!?! Are you kidding me? It was the same as yesterday.” In fact, I think it’s still yesterday. What day is it? How did it get to be 7pm? I just want to take a nap. Why aren’t you sleepy? Are you hungry, AGAIN??? There’s no end to the cycle. Well, there is, but I have to work really hard to do anything differently. And sometimes the effort is just too great for me. So we end up spending the entire day just lying in bed, staring at the animal pictures that I taped to the ceiling, and wondering when your next nap time is. (Even though you probably just woke up from one.)

Today, I was supposed to get your birth certificate. Well, lo and behold, your mother was late and the lady at the counter told me that I needed to make another appointment because I was 15 minutes late. So, I drove 45 minutes in morning traffic to downtown LA, struggled to find a parking spot with a meter that actually worked, changed your diaper, strapped you into the Ergo, and hiked my way the two blocks to the ugly grey county building. All that for her to tell me to come back. I actually almost broke down in tears at the window as I begged her to just make the darn certificate. I take that back. I might have actually threatened her. And I even put my old acting skills to work. I came up with some crazy story about how we were moving out of the country so I really needed to get this taken care of now, and I made a strong point to say that I just couldn't come back. That didn't work. She just looked at me and said, "Oh well. How does May 7th work for you?"

I guess I'm coming back. I will attempt to arrive more promptly for my rescheduled appointment because I don't think I can use that story twice in a row. And I'm really sorry that you witnessed your mother lying at such an impressionable age but the idea of lugging you all the way down there again was so overwhelming. Let's just say that I let my emotions have a little too much power over me. And I say lug you down there because, yes, I do have to bring you with me to prove to the lady behind the plexi glass window that you do in fact exist. If it was for a more joyous trip I would not use the word “lug”.

Then I went to Target with you. You were quite a delight there. But I bought a clock that is too big for our wall. (It's not like time means anything to me anymore anyway.) So, I must bring it back. I’m pretty sure I spend more time in the Return Line there, than in the actual store. I have this same relationship with Babies ‘R’ Us. Then after Target I had a smoothie and sat outside while you sat in my lap. You were so cute, looking around at all the people walking by. I also helped you to pee in the bushes. Don’t worry, we were very discreet. You were so relaxed and in a great mood.

For the record, you’re in a great mood almost all the time. You’re a wonderful baby. Except when we went to the post office. Definitely not happy with your environment then. It was super hot and we both were sticky and sweaty. This is now our third errand for the day and I think you had it with the in, out, in, out, in, out of the car seat straps. We went in to mail some things but you were crying sort of half way on and half way off. You weren’t quite sure how to express your feelings to me. So I thought that if I take you outside to feed you then with your full, content stomach I could continue with my errand in peace. But as we waited in line to have the post man hold my things you really started to let it out. And then we were being stared at by most everyone there. The customers and employees at the counters were all yelling at each other so that they could hear each other over your cries. Smiling and screaming at each other, at the same time.

It was kind of funny. People minding their own business with this look on their faces, "What cry? I don't hear any crying." But it was quite obvious we were all suffering from some hearing loss in those five minutes.

When I finally got to the counter, the nice man told me to take my time and he would hold my things. Well, after trying to feed you in 100 degree weather you were still not satisfied so I just decided to pay for my packaging material that I had already sealed up and get the heck out of there.

That whole expedition took about 45 minutes and all I got out of it was a $2.08 cushioned envelope. And still my packages are sitting on the kitchen counter. Still. But you looked so miserable that nothing really mattered at that point. I just wanted you to be happy.

I have to end this for today. It’s now 12am. I bounced you back to sleep. (Daddy had put you down but you woke up a short 10 minutes later. We just can’t fool you, can we?) I didn’t mean for my first writing to be so whiny. You are so loved here. I am in so much love with you. I am so happy to be with you all the time, really. It’s hard to explain the love that I feel for you. And as far as babies go, you are really quite easy to care for. You’re such a joyful baby and you don’t ask for many things. You love being held. You love to smile. You love when we talk to you. You love to watch things. You seem to be a very old soul, always looking so philosophical and interested in life around you. I am in heaven being your mother. Today was just one of those days where many projects were attempted but each project left only half done.

So, good night for now. Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that I’ve been wearing pants for about 12 hours now that have poop on them. Your poop. And my shirt has your spit up on it. I’ve gotten used to smelling like a carton of rotten milk. But poop on my clothing is sort of a new dimension of motherhood. I just never found the need to actually change my pants. So now I’m going to peel off my clothes and crawl into bed next to Daddy who is waiting for me. I do hope you sleep well tonight. That would mean a lot to me.