7 Months

Today, sweet baby girl, you turn 7 months old. Remember back when I thought that 3 months old sounded old, when I felt like it marked the threshold of infant and baby? I have the same feeling today, the same sense that we have crossed some kind of boundary. Seven months. More than half a year. I know you're still a baby, but you're not a baby baby anymore. Not a little baby. You're a sweet, funny, energetic, happy, delightful baby. A baby who is more and more, every day, developing your own little personality. And more and more, every day, I am totally head over heals in love with you.

One of the most delightful developments of the last month is the evolution of your sense of humor. You are not, have never been, a giggly baby. It takes a lot of work to make you laugh. Your dad can do it best by smooching your right shoulder and arm pit--I think his stubble is the key to tickling you just right to get that awesome cackle of a laugh. But lately you have been cracking yourself up. Sometimes it's in the car on the way home from daycare. You sit back there and sing and talk to yourself, and sometimes, on the best days, you laugh. I have no idea what you are thinking about that makes you laugh, what adventure or silliness from your day at school you are recalling--but to hear you laughing all on your own back there makes my day. Another time you burped particularly loud after eating and then laughed at the sound you had just made. You love being tossed high in the air, and the higher we toss you, the louder you cackle. But the best is when you smile and laugh at your dad and me when we are laughing at you. It's like you know that whatever it is you are doing is entertaining us, and baby girl, you dig that. You watch us laugh, grin delightedly, and then do whatever it is again. My favorite example of this is a couple of weeks ago when you kept trying to pick up a freckle on my chest. I started laughing at your intense concentration of picking up that darn freckle, which made you look up at me, smile, and then try to pick up the freckle again, looking back at me quickly to see if you could make me laugh again. You, my dear, are quite the ham.

You are really working on your hand skills, including clapping, waving, and banging things together. You now pat me on the back when I carry you around, as if you are constantly telling me, "Good job, Mom!" I love it. You are a pro at clapping your hand against our outstretched hand, and you are working so hard on being able to clap your own hands together. Right now you holler (your version of "YAY!" which is what we say when we clap) and wave your arms up and down, hitting yourself in the tummy. So. Cute. You have discovered that you can curl your fingers and wrist, and are starting to wave at yourself, the way you see us waving at you. I can't wait until you can actually wave goodbye. You have also discovered that when you hit things together, they make noise! So now you are constantly banging toys together, against the wall, the table, a plastic bowl, and sometimes your head (that doesn't make noise, and you usually end up hurting yourself and holding your arms out to us for comfort and snuggles, which we are always too happy to oblige).

Another cool development to see is that you have started to develop an opinion. You have a favorite bath time turtle, and can pick this particular turtle out of the group of five bath time turtles that float around the tub with you. I can hold out two toys and you will look at them both before actually picking which one you want to play with at the moment. You also have a very strong opinion about the foods you eat. While in the beginning you took to solids without missing a beat, the more foods we try, the more we are discovering foods that you are really not a fan of. When you get one of those foods--you are currently not a fan of peas or zucchini--you let the food sit on your tongue and proceed to dramatically gag and make the most horrified, disgusted faces. It is quite hilarious, and you are quite the little drama queen. But when you find a food you like, you wait patiently for it with an open mouth . . . unless we are slow getting that spoon to you, in which case you squeal at us as if to say, "Focus, people!! I want more! Hurry up!"

You have not yet started crawling, which I have to admit I'm a little thankful for. I like that I can put you down somewhere to play with your toys and you still stay there. (Unfortunately you are also figuring out that we can put you down somewhere and you have to stay there, whereas we do not. You suddenly don't like to be in the living room while we are in the kitchen cooking dinner. You yell at us until we come and pick you up and love on you, making you magically perfectly content once again. I have started cooking dinner one-handed, and I think you like seeing all the different activities that go on up close and personal.) You are able to get the things you want though. You can spin yourself all around when laid on your tummy, and if you are sitting upright and there is a toy within reach, you can fold yourself in half--putting chest, chin, face straight down onto the floor in between your legs--grab it, and then sit right back up. If we stand you up and put you next to something, you are able to hold onto it and stay standing. And you look around with a big smile on your face, as if you are quite proud of yourself.

You are putting together all kinds of different syllables and saying things that sound like real words now--Mom, Ma-ma, bubble, and of course, your ever favorite da-da-da-da. This morning I think I heard the "n" sound for the first time!

Your hair is getting longer and is starting to develop the tell-tale curls that suggest that you may have your momma's hair texture, if not color. Your daddy loves your little curls. I think he's pointed them out to me seventeen times already. If you don't already know it, I think he's pretty smitten with you. The other fun thing about your longer hair is that you are starting to get bed head--whereas before your hair was always pretty much perfect all the time, now when you wake up in the morning it is messed up and sticking out every which way. Honestly it may be even cuter that way than it was when it was short and smooth and perfect.

You love the swing your daddy hung on our back porch. You love your sippy cup we give you at dinner time, and it is so cute to watch you grab the little handles on either side and drink from it yourself like a big girl. And of course, you love, love, love your mom and dad.

And we love, love, love you.

You make our lives funnier. Brighter. Sweeter. Happier. And filled with love in every corner of every second.

Happy seven months, baby girl.

Love,
Mom

Blowin' My Mind

I was talking with some friends the other day about when we would all be TTC (trying to conceive...remember that one from the good ol' early days of this blog?) again. I blithely responded that our original plan was to stop preventing (if pull-and-pray can actually be called "prevention") when baby girl is nine months old, and then start actively trying again--paying attention to all the fertile signs, etc--when she turns one. It was the same answer I've given a thousand times, the same timing that TH and I have talked about for years.

And then I started doing math.

She turns seven months old this week. Seven. As in, only two away from nine.

Holy hell.

You see, before when I gave that answer, baby girl turning nine months old seemed so. far. away. It was easy to say that we'd be ready to jump back into the game at that point because, well, we weren't at that point.

But now, now we're two short months away from being at that point. Two months. Two months is NOTHING. Consider my mind blown.

I don't think I'm ready. Don't think I'm ready to stop thinking about the here and now and start thinking about the future. Don't think I'm ready to stop giving 100% to baby girl and start having a portion of my mental capacity taken up with a future . . . and then gestating . . . sibling. Don't think I'm ready to return to the world of restricted diets and exhaustion and nausea and clothes that don't fit and swelling and sleeplessness and let's-not-forget-peeing-every-twenty-minutes. And this coming from a woman who LOVED being pregnant. Loved it. Every second of it. Couldn't wait to do it all again . . .

Except it turns out I can wait.

Maybe I'll change my mind. Maybe we'll hit the 9-month mark and I will wake up that morning and be suddenly ready, ready for the excitement, ready for the anticipation, ready to make our happy little family of three a happy not-so-little family of four.

But here, now, today . . . I'm not ready. I'm loving, LOVING our lives right now with baby girl. And I'm just not quite ready to do it all over again.

Crunchy Momma

It's no lie. Being a mom has definitely made me a lot crunchier than I was before. Crunchier, even, than I would have predicted I would be as a mom. But everything in life is relative, and living in Austin helps me realize I'm not nearly as crunchy as I could be.

So where do I fall on the Crunch-o-meter? I think that there are six main factors to consider when it comes to crunchy/non-crunchy parenting: birth, vaccines, sleeping, diapering, feeding, and, for lack of a better term, transporting. (Did I forget any? Let me know!)

Let's look at 'em one at a time.

Birth: Despite my crunchy endeavor to delivery vaginally with limited medical interventions, my big-headed, sunny-side-up baby girl had other plans. Emergency c-sections don't exactly fall in line with crunchy births. I get a big fat "non-crunchy" on that one.

Vaccines: I trust the AAP and modern medicine on this one. We follow the standard vaccination schedule. Another non-crunchy stamp. That's two.

Sleeping: I am way, way, WAY too paranoid to ever bed share. Ever. That and I don't want to even start down the road of creating a bad habit for my child (or myself) that would be painful to break later on. We did, however, co-sleep for baby girl's first three months before moving her to her crib in her own room. Semi-crunchy here.

Diapering: disposables, bay-bee. As a working mom, I have a fraction of the time I would like to have with my child. I am not going to spend any more time than I already have to doing laundry. That and I feel that the decision to cloth diaper should take into account where you live. Texas is a state that is constantly dealing with droughts and water shortages, and I could not in good conscience do something like increasing my family's water usage, an arguably very un-green thing to do, in the name of doing something green. Kinda cancels it out, non? I get over my minuscule guilt by recycling. Another non-crunchy mark. That's 3.5 to .5, if you're keeping up.

Feeding: We exclusively breastfed--no solids, nothing but boob--for the first six months (okay, 5.75 months), and now we are still breastfeeding and I am making my own baby food.

Love love LOVE our Beaba babyfood maker!!

Well, at least, I make all her fruits and veggies. I buy the jarred meat dishes 'cause I'm not brave enough to puree my own meats. But I do buy organic jars. And we do a quasi-baby-led-weaning approach. I let her nom on fresh fruits and veggies to get a feel for textures and flavors, but also puree a lot of her food to make it easier for her to eat.

Here's baby girl giving me the "give me the apple and nobody gets hurt" stare...

I think that amounts to several crunchy marks--breastfeeding, making my own food, kinda baby-led-weaning, and buying organic. Hey, this is my own post and I can tally however I want. We'll go with three crunchy marks here. All tied up: 3.5 to 3.5.

Transporting: I couldn't really think of a better label for this category. Basically I'm talking about how we get around when we're out and about. I'm a big, big fan of baby wearing. The moby was a lifesaver when she was an infant. Her daddy loves wearing her around in the Bjorn. And a friend lent us their baby hawk that I use most of the time now.

Heading out to the park!

If we're heading down to the park or out on a quick shopping trip, I'd much rather wear her than deal with a stroller. But if we're going for a long walk or jog, a stroller is the way to go. And I drive an SUV. That's not very crunchy, is it? Hmm. We'll go with half-crunchy on this one.

So folks, looks like I'm all tied up at 4 crunchies to 4 non-crunchies. Kinda like I thought it would be! I'm kind of a crunchy momma but not nearly as crunchy as I could be. I like that. Life is all about moderation. You start getting to the extreme of anything and you start getting into trouble.

So I'm crunchy with a little "c." Where do you fall?

Wordless Wednesday

My Supermom Moment

Before having baby girl, there were times I thought my life was stressful. There were times I thought I had a lot going on. Times I felt overwhelmed with housework. Then we had a baby. And I discovered whole new universes of overwhelmed. In a life that is a constant stream of feeding and changing and playing and cooking and picking up and washing clothes and putting away clothes and packing diaper bags and oh-lets-not-forget-everything-you-used-to-do-before-you-had-a-baby, feeling like I am surviving with my nose barely above water is pretty much a constant. And I've gotten used to that feeling. Comfortable surviving on the brink of chaotic collapse. In a life like this, moments where I feel like I'm not dropping seven of the balls I'm juggling, moments where I actually feel like I am not only juggling everything successfully, but able to even brandish a "hey, come on, throw me another couple! I got it!" attitude are few and far between. But when they do happen: so, so awesome.

Cue scene from yesterday. TH was working late. I am unloading the car. In my left arm, I'm holding baby girl, who by the way no longer likes to be plopped on the living room floor with all her toys while I unload the car thank you very much separation anxiety crap. In my right arm, I am holding my breast pump, my purse, baby girl's diaper bag, and two grocery bags. Baby girl is holding her favorite toy of the hour--an orange plastic ring. I think in the back of my mind how it would be a bad thing for her to drop her favorite toy of the hour onto the floor of the garage, replete with dead bugs and lawn fertilizer crumbs and whatever I track in on my tires every day.

I'm sure we can all guess what happens next.

To recap: left arm--baby girl; right arm--five different bags probably totaling about 30 pounds. Favorite toy of the hour held in the one-handed grasp of a six month old who is still learning how to control her hand muscles. Mom and baby treading over a relatively germy, dirty, potentially toxic floor.

Cue dropping of orange plastic ring.

I never played soccer. Not really. I was on the city league for two years when I was like 8 years old. And I helped my friend coach the soccer team at the middle school we taught at a few years, but I was really just there to hang out and have fun. But somewhere along the way I must have picked up some sort of soccer skills by osmosis because in that moment, standing in my garage trying to balance breast pumps and diaper bags and grocery bags and baby girl and her favorite toy of the hour, in that moment when her orange plastic ring dropped from her chubby little hand, my inner soccer star emerged.

I caught the falling plastic ring between my right knee and the grocergy bags I was holding in my right hand. So now I'm standing on one foot, baby girl in left arm, breast pump, purse, diaper bag, and two grocery bags in right arm, and one orange plastic ring pinned between my right knee and said accumulation of bags.

And then (now, I'm going to need you to picture this in your mind like you're watching a wicked cool slow motion scene in a movie), then I raised my knee and the grocery bags up with enough force to toss the orange plastic ring up into the air, catching it with my left hand (the one that is also holding my baby) on its way down.

No shittin'.

I paused for a beat to revel in what I had just done, to mentally pat myself on the back, and as we walked back into the house, I kinda felt like there should be some cheering going on or something. But no one was there to have witnessed my moment. No one but baby girl, who will never remember, who was already clamoring for a new favorite toy of the hour. Life didn't stop to celebrate. A heartbeat later and it was time to keep juggling, time to steam veggies and do dishes and fold laundry and feed baby girl dinner and once again I was just a regular mom, trying to keep up.

But for that moment in the garage, for those five seconds that seemed like thirty, I was a supermom who could do it all.

Mom's Freckle

Another memory I hope to keep forever.

This morning when baby girl was nursing, she kept trying to "pick up" a freckle on my chest. She would grab at it, pull her hand back in a little fist, and then slowly open her hand, looking for it. When it wasn't there, she would realize it was still on my chest, and would try to pick it up again. Back and forth. Try to pick it up . . . check the hand . . . try to pick it up . . . check the hand. She tried different angles. She tried using the tips of her fingers and she tried with her whole, raking grasp. She tried softly and she tried with more gusto. But each time, the same concentration. The same slow pull back with closed fist. The same careful opening to see if she had been successful.

Eventually I got so tickled I started laughing, and then she started smiling because she made me laugh. Then she would try to pick up the freckle and immediately look at me to see if she was making me laugh again.

I never knew such cuteness existed until her.

I never, ever want to forget this memory.

Learning to Crawl

One of the things I absolutely love most about being a mom is watching baby girl discover new skills and figure out new things. It is incredible to see the light bulb go on, to see her concentrating on something, to watch her delight when she figures out she can do something new. Some of these discoveries happen in the blink of an eye--one minute she can't do something, and the next minute, and for the rest of her life, she can.

Learning to crawl is not one of these quick ones. And I like that. It gives me time to actually soak it all in, to revel in the gradual learning process. And it gives me hours and hours of entertainment.

She's never been a big fan of tummy time. When she was younger she would get tired of being on her stomach and drop her face straight down into the floor in a dramatic woe-is-me gesture. Once she learned how to sit upright independently, she had little interest in lying down to play; she wanted to see the world from her new, upright vantage point. The pediatrician said it wasn't necessary to even give her tummy time anymore, that we could just put toys out in front of and to the side of her as she sits up and that would develop all the core muscles she needs to crawl. Well, after watching her figure out how to bend herself completely in half--tummy, chest, face on the floor--while reaching out for a toy and then sit herself back up in a snap . . . I wasn't really too sure that was much of a challenge for her anymore. So we still do tummy time.

TH tries to show her how to get on all fours, how to support herself on her knees and her hands at the same time. But her legs are too strong--or her arms are too weak, one or the other. Because as soon as she vaults her butt up into the air and brings her knees up under her, her arms give out and she face plants. Then, still trying to push her butt higher and higher into the air, she will push herself over to one side or another. Then she'll push back up with her arms and her butt will fall back to the ground. While she can do this teeter-totter move and actually get places--usually backwards or in a circle--she has yet to figure out the whole "purposeful forward momentum" thing.

And I'm not really in all that much of a hurry to have her learn. Like I said, I like watching the learning process take place. And I like that she will still stay where I put her. The day she gets mobile is the day our lives get a whole lot more complicated!

Starting off good enough...

Then the butt comes up and the face goes down!
Then the twist to one side...
...and the twist to the other side.
Whew! This learning to crawl thing is hard work!