10 months

My sweet, sweet boy,

Today, you are 10 months old. Double digits!! It's bittersweet to know you'll never be a single-digit month-age ever again in your entire life. Yes, I think about things like that. Yes, I'm a sap. And ten months? Do you even realize how close that is to a year?

This month has been amazing in a way that's totally different than the last couple of months. Those months were marked with a flurry of new skills and abilities and experiences, new teeth and new charms. This month, though? None of that. You had no new teeth (hallelujah for a teething break!!). You had no new big skills. You had no illnesses. You were just steady and sweet and happy. It was a calm month, a welcome month of tranquility after the flurries of the months before.

You ate great this month! We are finally, finally not having to worry about your weight. You are nursing well and eating solids with gusto. I can't wait to get you back to the doctor to see how much you've gained, but each night when I rock you and sing to you, I can feel your weight in my arms. I look down at you and you suddenly seem like such a big boy, no longer the little baby you used to be. You have just about outgrown your infant car seat, but for some reason, I'm dragging my feet on moving your into your big boy chair. Maybe it's one of those last little vestiges of infancy that some deep part of me is sad to cut loose.

Your communication abilities are really developing and it's so amazing to see. You surprise me daily with how much you really understand. In fact, the other day you were playing with a water bottle and were going to leave it behind as we left the room. I turned and told you to go get the water bottle . . . and you know what? You crawled right over to it and picked it up. You do the same thing when I tell you to go play with a ball, or go get a book. And you seem to have an insatiable desire to learn more. You are constantly pointing at different things and saying "da!" (which I interpret as "that!" as in, "what's the name of that thing?!") and you and I walk around naming all the different things in our house. I had forgotten how mind blowing it really is to watch someone figure out the world.

You are an incorrigible flirt. You love girls of all ages and have learned to smile and babble and give kissies, much to the delight of girls young and old. We are going to have our hands full with you for sure.

You are still waking once a night to eat. I have loved our quiet nighttime moments together, and loved knowing that I've been able to feed you as much as you want to help you gain weight. But as soon as I can get confirmation that your weight is back on track, we're going to work on getting you to sleep all the way through the night. I don't know how yet, but I know that it's important for you to learn, one way or another. I'm still waiting on you just dropping that night feeding on your own when you're ready. So . . . you know . . . whenever you're ready. . . .

You are standing on your own for longer and longer stretches now. It still works best when you're distracted. You pull up on something and then let go, and if we can keep you distracted, you'll stand there for a good 10 seconds before slowly dropping down to sit. You're a cruising machine and as much as I know how much more complicated our lives will get when you take that big first step, I know how much you want to be able to move and play and keep up with your sister, and I know how happy you'll be when you're finally able to do that. So, for your sake, baby boy, I hope you're walking soon. (For my sake, though, I'm happy happy happy that you're not quite there yet!)

I know next month will bring big things. I assume our teething break will come to an end. You'll learn more words (right now you're saying "ball," "book," "dada," "Ah-ya" (Ali), "ow," "hi," and "all done"). You might learn to walk. You might learn to sleep all the way through the night. I kind of feel like this last month was our last smooth month of things as we know it before you suddenly become a big boy.

This month has been easy and smooth and relaxed. You've been your wonderful, sweet, happy, laughing, smiling, babbling, snuggling self.

This was a good month.

Thanks for letting me be here to share it with you.

Love forever and ever and a day,
Mom

A Cinderella Story

It's hard raising a girl. To be sure, it's hard raising any child, regardless of sex. But with a girl, there's a lot of extra "stuff" you have to navigate through--things like body issues, safety issues, sexual discrimination, wanting her to know it's okay to be smarter than boys, etc.

I've already written about making sure that my daughter knows that she's smart and funny and beautiful and nice. I make sure to reinforce this message with her daily. But sometimes it's still hard to know if all the messages that she's getting from society are overriding my daily efforts. If the "Princess phenomenon" will prove too strong for us to defeat.

Every time I tell her a story, I am careful to emphasize that it's often the girl doing the saving, not the boy. My stories have strong heroines, women who feature the personality traits I'd like to see developed in baby girl. But when she requests certain stories, like Cinderella, it's sometimes hard to work those angles in. Unfortunately, Disney stories are a wealth of females who are judged by their looks and need rescuing by men. So when I am asked to tell these stories, I try to mold the story a bit to avoid those less-than-desirable messages.

The other day, I was telling her Cinderella. I got to the part where Cinderella goes to the ball, saying, "And when Cinderella walked in, the Prince saw her and though, 'Wow! She's beautiful! I definitely want to get to know her better.' So he started talking to Cinderella, and do you know what he discovered? He discovered that not only was she beautiful, she was also really smart!"

"Just like me!" my daughter interrupted.

I could not possibly have smiled any bigger. "That's right!" I said. "She's smart just like you!"

"Yeah, I'm the smartest of all!" she said proudly.

"Yes, you are," I told her.

"Is Cinderella funny like me, too?" she asked.

"Yes, of course! She's smart and funny and nice, just like you!"

"Yeah. I'm the nicest, mommy!"

"Yes, you are!"

And I finished telling the story with my feet about ten feet off the ground.

Parenting is hard. Parenting a girl is harder. It's so great when you have these little flashes that let you know you're doing something right.

So this what burning out feels like.

I'm in a bad place.

I want to quit my job. And not even necessarily pull the kids out of school. Really, what I want is the freedom to stay home, pursue my little passion project that has started to gain momentum, keep our house in order, and go to the gym. From looking at my list of short demands, it's pretty clear that I'm craving something that I have absolutely zero of right now: time to myself.

If you're a stay-at-home mom, you might be thinking, "pshhh. You work. That IS time to yourself." But it's not. No really. For the last five years, our company has had lay-off after lay-off. That has amounted to fewer and fewer people left to do the same--no, more--work. Often with smaller budgets and shorter project timelines. From the second I get here, I am stressed and grumpy. I sit through meeting after meeting and listen to decisions being made that are the WRONG decision, but all our hands are tied because of time constraints or budget constraints or staffing constraints. Then my lunch break rolls around and I go nurse baby boy because he won't take a bottle anymore. Then I come back and eat my lunch at my desk while I work. Then I rush out at 4 to go nurse baby boy again. Then I get home with both kids and feed baby boy immediately, then cook dinner for everyone, then we eat together and play until bath time. Then I nurse him again and do baths and books and bedtimes, and then when they're both sleeping, I have a choice: laundry? kitchen? bag/freeze milk? wash pump parts? put away dishes? pick up the house? spend time with my husband? watch TV? get on my computer and veg out for 30 minutes? One of those options--ONE--is time just spent on myself, and I have to rotate nightly which one I pick so that our house and my marriage doesn't fall into disarray. Then I pump once before bed and try to be in bed by 9:30 or so so that, despite the fact that I'm still getting up at night with little man, I can function at a somewhat human level the next day.

The only downtime I get is on weekends, during the afternoon nap window when both kids are sleeping. And baby boy sleeps anywhere from 30-90 minutes, so it's kind of a crap shoot.

Don't misinterpret things. I LOVE my lunch dates with baby boy. His smiles and coos and giggles are the total bright spot between 8 and 4. And our evenings are not just on me--TH helps out with everything listed as soon as he walks in the door.

But still,y'all. I feel like I'm drowning in life. Losing myself. I can keep everything above water but my own head.

And I know it's temporary. Really I do. I know in three months or less I'll have my lunch breaks back. That will help. I know at some point I'll stop getting up in the middle of the night. That will help. But I don't see how there will ever be more hours in the day, more hours for me to take care of all the chores around the house so that the limited time that I DO get with my kids is spent enjoying each other and relaxing and playing rather than trying to pick up and keep up. So that I can start doing things like working out again without having to sacrifice something else in order to do it, like time with my family.

I just feel stuck.

I'm even considering quitting and pulling the kids out of school (the only way we'd be able to afford me not working) so that at LEAST I'd get nap times, once a day, where there was just quiet, where nobody needed me for anything, where I could just sit.and.be.still. All by myself. A once-a-day break seems like such an incredible luxury to me.

Like, actually considering it.

First world problems, eh? Not enough time for me.

I'll go ahead and give myself the ol' violin.

9 months

Dear baby boy,

Today, you are nine months old! It's interesting--when your sister was a baby, I always thought she seemed so grown up, even when she was younger than a year. You, though . . . you're my baby. Even when you learned to sit up, crawl, eat real table food, wave . . . all of it . . . you still seemed so young. But nine months? Nine months sounds so old. You're not a little baby any more. You're a big boy, doing big boy things. I'm both excited and saddened beyond words that, day after day, you keep growing up.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, the first year is SO amazing! Nine short months ago, you were a tiny, wriggly, snuggly, sleepy, helpless little newborn. Now? Now, baby boy, you are amazing. The things you've learned this month have left me shaking my head and smiling and laughing in bewilderment and amazement. You do adorable things like clapping and pointing at things. Your communication has exploded this month--you are starting to sign "more" and "all done." And, most amazing of all, you have started to talk!!

I first noticed when you were done nursing. You'd wave your arms to sign "all done" and then you'd say something that sounded remarkably like "ah-dah." I thought it was a fluke the first time, but after hearing you say it two, three, five, ten times, I knew it was true. You were saying "all done!" I told your daddy about it and that I didn't really want your first words to be "all done," and you know what he told me? "He's been saying 'ball' for a couple of weeks now." WHAT?! And then when I was telling your day care teacher this story, she said, "Oh yeah, he's been saying 'duck,' too." WHAT?!?!!? And then today, I swear I heard "book." It's still mostly babbles, but I'm so excited and amazed at how communicative you are already--even your babbles sound like full-blown conversations, complete with facial and vocal expressions. You are brilliant, baby boy.

Not only are your communication skills growing by leaps and bounds, but your physical skills continue to amaze (and scare!) me. To start with, you are, apparently, a climber. You show no fear in things that are too high or too low for you to reach--we've caught you climbing on top of toys, benches, steps . . . really anything you can get your little legs up onto. And if you are sitting on the couch (with me or Dad, of course) and you see something on the ground you want, you just go for it. There's no thought to "I'm about to fall off a piece of furniture." You just lunge your body at the ground and trust that we'll catch you. You do the same when I sit you at the top of the little plastic slide in the back yard--immediately thrust yourself down the slide with a huge smile on your face, trusting that I'll catch you. I have a feeling you're going to keep us on our toes, little boy.

And then there's the standing. That's right. Standing. At 8 months. I first noticed it when I was walking by one evening and you were standing between your dad's legs, both hands on a toy you had crammed into your poor teething mouth. "Um, look at Sam," I said to your dad. Of course, right then, you fell. When I told him you had just been standing there, not holding onto anything, he laughed and said I needed more sleep. And then you did it again, the next day. And you've continued to do it ever since. You are most stable when you're distracted and not thinking about it, but sure enough, you are standing on your own. When you combine that with the speed at which you are cruising along furniture now and moving back and forth from the coffee table to the couch, and I see the writing on the wall. Your dad and granddad have a bet about when you'll be walking: Dad thinks 10 months, Granddaddy thinks 11. I think mom wins if you're doing it at NINE.

Notice above where I said "poor teething mouth"? You broke another three teeth this month, bringing the grand total to six. Six teeth in seven weeks. You really don't have to do it all at once, you know. I believe that you're a big, strong boy even without you proving it like this.

The ultra-teething, combined with your continued on-again, off-again illnesses this month, have continued to do a number on your sleep. The last couple of weeks have been much better, though. You are going to sleep without too much of a struggle and are back to waking once a night to eat. We are still rocking you to sleep. I know we're going to have to break ourselves of that habit here pretty soon, but in all honesty, I have really loved rocking you to sleep every night. Most of the time it's easy, and I love holding your sweet sleeping form in my arms, love hearing your slow, deep, sleeping breath, love how at peace and comfortable you are in my arms. I know it's important that you learn to put yourself to sleep, but I will be so sad when the day comes that we have to start working on that. Until then, I will just soak up those dark, quiet, sleepy moments we still have.

Your pediatrician has also said that we really don't need to be feeding you at night anymore, but the thing is, your weight gain really suffered from the long months we tried to get you to take bottles and from the sick stretch this winter. Not only did you not gain as much as I'd like, you actually lost weight while you were sick. You are back on track now, and your eating is going great, but until I'm more comfortable with where you are, weight wise, I'm going to just keep on feeding you whenever you wake up hungry.

As for food, you are really doing great! We're on about half purees, half finger foods now (when you were six months old, you would NOT let us feed you purees, so we started with finger foods; then you got sick and stopped eating finger foods and started liking purees; now we are working you back toward finger foods again! You sure do keep us on our toes.). Your favorites are black beans, green beans, wheat bagel, graham crackers, apple slices, and veggie puffs. Oh, and meat! You LOVE meat! Any kind of meat so far has been a win . . . you even loved gnawing on the rib bones from our local barbecue restaurant. You still won't take bottles, so we've just stopped trying. I use my lunch break to nurse you every day. I know our nursing relationship is another thing, like the rocking to sleep, that won't last forever, so I'm trying to savor every moment while it lasts.

You are nine months old. Cruising. Talking. And still the cutest little boy that anyone's ever seen. Strangers come up to us all the time and tell us how adorable you are. Especially your eyes. Your dark, twinkly, gorgeous eyes. You smile at anyone and everyone, and love to talk-talk-talk in your special baby language. And still, still you snuggle me, bury your face in my neck, touch your forehead to mine. You are such a sweet boy, and you make every day sweeter for me, your sister, your dad.

Love you to the ends of the universe and beyond,
Mom

Inside Out Day

Last Friday was your inside-out day, baby boy.

The day that marked the tipping point between time spent growing inside me and time spend growing outside me.

268 days inside me. 268 days outside me.

I didn't get to write your blog post on the actual day, but I looked up when your inside-out day was a few days before, and on Friday, I paused for a moment and smiled. I thought of all that time you were inside me, and all this time you've been outside. I paused and I smiled and I marked the day in my heart of hearts.

What on earth did I ever do before you were an outside baby, before you graced my days and hours and minutes with your sweet smile and your easy laugh and your twinkling eyes? You filled a part of my life that I never even knew was missing. The last 268 days really have been the happiest of my life. No matter how harried I get at work, no matter how tired I am from lack of sleep, there is a level of permanent contentment deep in my soul that no temporary feelings of stress can touch.

And you are such a big part of that contentment.

For the last 268 days, I've been able to kiss your elbow dimple and say "ma-ma-ma" against your cheek and feel your breath on my neck as you sit and quietly snuggle with me. I've heard you squeal with delight and heard your first words. I've seen you crawl and throw a ball and stand and walk along furniture. Inside babies are nice, but outside babies fill your heart and your arms and your eyes in the most delicious ways possible.

But the first 268 days were their own kind of special. You grew perfectly inside me. You and I were never apart. I was never alone. I could reach down at any point, in any mood, and feel a bulge that belonged to you, and love you and know that you were right there with me. But more than the constant companionship, I knew that for those 268 days, you were protected. I could keep you safe and healthy. No cold would touch you, no germs, no illnesses. You never cried. You never needed anything.

In a world where mothers want nothing more than to love and protect their children, those first 268 days were our honeymoon.

I guess growing up is a gradual movement from safety to vulnerability, but also from passivity to interactivity, to fun. That is to say, the older you get, the harder it is to take care of you but the more fun it is at the same time.

So happy inside-out day. You are now more a child of the world than of the womb. 268 days from now and you'll have likely had your first scrapes and bruises. You'll probably have gotten sick a few more times. You might even start to have tantrums, begun those battles with feelings of frustration and injustice. We'll probably have had to start some kind of limitations, some kind of discipline. But you'll also be walking (running!) and talking. You'll know how to play games. You'll be learning your letters and colors and shapes. And you and your sister will be able to play together for hours and hours and hours.

I wish I could protect you forever.

But always know that we mothers let go so that you can experience the thrill of flight for yourself.

Ditto.

Read this.

Especially moms of girls.

But really, if you have a kid, or know someone who has a kid, or ever interact with someone who has a kid or with that person's kids, read this.

http://viewsfromthecouch.com/2012/02/12/you-didnt-thank-me-for-punching-you-in-the-fac/

I give it a big, fat DITTO.

The King and Queen of Drama

A coworker and friend of mine just started her little boy at my kids' day care. She actually had her older son there first, and recommended the place to me when I was pregnant with baby girl, so she knows all the teachers already.

She came by yesterday to chat about how the first couple of days back at work have been for her. She always lets me know when she sees little man when she's there visiting her son and often gives me little updates on what he was doing. One time he was irate because one of the other boys had done something or other to him. We laughed about how he and that baby don't really get along. Well, yesterday she told me he had been playing quite happily with the other boy.

"Oh, good!" I said. "No drama." And I smiled. Because I am the first to admit my kids are, well, dramatic.

"I know!" she exclaimed. "Ms. Teacher told me they don't even call him by his name. They just call him 'Drama King' and everyone knows who they're talking about. She said they don't call his sister by name, either. They just say, 'Drama Queen' and everyone knows who they're talking about."

I smiled through all this. Laughed at the end of it. But inside my stomach shrank to an ice cube.

The teachers at my kids' school call them the "Drama King" and "Drama Queen"? They don't even refer to them by name anymore?

My initial reaction to this was indignation. Aside from the fact that this teacher is talking about my kids with another parent, they don't even refer to them by name anymore . . . they just call them "Drama King" and "Drama Queen."

Indignation and anger.

But then, there was a little voice in my head that said . . . "so what?"

Yes, my kids are dramatic. But you know what that means? That means that they are passionate and expressive. That means that they are confident enough to stand up for themselves when they feel they've been wronged.

Do I really want to raise children who are passive and meek, children who quietly follow others because they lack the guts to blaze their own trails?

Hell no.

If I could pick attributes for my adult children to have, passion would certainly be near the top of the list. To raise a child who is passionate, who thinks for him or herself, who is strong enough to stand up for him/herself, who isn't afraid of expressing him/herself . . . if I can do that then I know I'll have been a successful parent, will have set my children up as best as I could for success.

Strength.   Passion.   Expressiveness.   Confidence.   Spirit. 

Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes.

So go ahead. Call my kids Drama Royalty.

I'm damned proud of them for it.