Archive for August, 2009

881

August 27, 2009

That’s how many pictures I’ve taken of the small one so far.  Eight hundred eighty-one.  Let that number sink in for a moment.

Okay, I’m lying.  That’s how many pictures were good enough to include in my weekly Picasa uploads so my father could get his grandbaby fix.  Meaning even more photos of the small one actually exist on my hard drive.  And we’re not counting the two professional photo sessions we’ve had which have each yielded 200 plus prints.

Now what makes me officially crazy is that I just had all 881 printed so I get to spend my evening stuffing 4 x 6’s into photo sleeves in preparation for the deluge of family arriving for the small one’s baptism this Sunday.  I figure I can somewhat quell the boos I’ll receive when I steal the babe from the “it’s my turn to hold him” queue come naptime if I can then hand them an impossibly large book of photos so they can coo over how small he was and how much he’s already grown.

An Update

August 25, 2009

It’s been a while.  A long while.  Here’s what you’ve missed…

  • The small one now crawls.  Everywhere.  And pulls up on everything.  And tries to put everything in his mouth.  So he is much more work for my dear, exhausted work from home husband.
  • Solid food is fun, especially when dad’s a chef.  Veal with garlic and thyme, check.  Organic carrots grown in our own garden and pureed with boutique olive oil and garden tarragon, check.  Local peaches for breakfast, double check.  And it’s so easy.  All you need is a cuisinart and you’ll never buy jarred baby food again.
  • One night the gourmet baby food went too far when my husband deglazed a pan of veal with sherry… opps.
  • I’m so over nursing.  Still doing it, still pumping at work, still no formula has touched the child’s lips, but while I used to say things like “I could totally see nursing him through the winter,” I now plan to wean as soon as we hit the first birthday mark and we know that the babe can digest cow’s milk.  Please don’t be lactose intolerant. Please please please.
  • I now smell terrible.  I don’t know if it’s the hormones, or the dehydration with breastfeeding in the summer, but I stink bad.  And I am not a fan.  Some days I stink so bad I have to shower before feeding the small one as he’s not into eau de armpit with dinner.  Is this normal?
  • Despite the solid 12 hours of sleep the small one puts in every night, my husband and I are completely tired out these days.  And a little punchy with one another.  I think the balance we’ve struck with my working and rushing home and his full time dad who also runs three businesses is a bit more precarious than either of us realized.  And we still have a full year before we go to preschool.  This will be interesting…

And tomorrow the small one turns 10 months old.  He was 21 lbs. and 29 inches at his 9 month appointment, so we’re no longer in 95% range… my husband laughed at me because I took this drop personally and looked a bit disappointed, like I must not be feeding him enough or something.  I guess it’s the little old italian lady in me.  These days we think he’s around 23 or so pounds, and while he’s still sporting thunder thighs, he has certainly grown into his size. 

And he’s so much fun.  He has so much personality and a little will of his own.  It’s entertaining and fascinating to watch him struggle to get a toy or get frustrated when we can’t reach something or I take something away from him (which I’m sure will lose it’s cuteness soon enough).  But it is defintely getting harder. 

I’d say the turning point was 8 months… by which I mean the first two months were so hard, the third and fourth month we hit our stride, months 5 through 8 were a breeze of happy, giggly baby and then the small one began to crawl and get bored and notice when we left the room (and not take too kindly to it).  And it sounds like it’s only going to get more complicated until we wake up and realize we have a potty trained and verbal 3 year old (hopefully).  At which point I’m sure we’ll destroy the new-found balance by having another one.  Ah, parenthood.