My sore throat is pretty much gone, which is great, only now I'm congested and sniffly and sneezy. I've always thought one of the most amazing things about breastfeeding is that when I'm sick, my body makes all these extra antibodies to help get me better, and those antibodies go into the milk, so Mason's getting all those extra germ-fighters at no additional cost. Sure, it's at my expense, but I'd gladly be sick all winter if it could keep him healthier.
I successfully kept Mason from getting strep throat, but I guess I couldn't keep him from getting a cold. I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure my baby's sick. He won't allow the sweet potatoes that he loved so much on Thanksgiving Day to get anywhere near his tightly sealed lips. He's sneezy, has a cough, and there are little dried boogies up in his nose no matter how often I pick them out. It just seemed like a little cold though, and until tonight, I wasn't too worried.
But bedtime tonight lasted about two and a half hours. He threw up twice and it seemed like every drop of milk he'd eaten all day came up. On top of that, he was making this horrible gagging sound as if he was choking on his spit or his vomit or something. When I tried to feed him, he moaned and groaned and just seemed so sad and miserable. I didn't know what to do. I don't think I've said a real prayer in years, but the words effortlessly ran through my head as I sat in his bedroom in tears. I can't remember ever being so worried or feeling so helpless.
He doesn't have a temperature and he's finally passed out in my bed.
I think I can breathe now.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Friday, November 28, 2008
Mason's Thanksgiving Day Charades
Well, I didn't wake up on Thanksgiving feeling any better. In fact, I felt worse. There wasn't anything that was going to ruin the day for me though. I was excited to see my family and for everyone to see Mason again. My grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins in Forty-Fort hadn't seen him for almost four months and George's family in the Poconos hadn't seen him for three. My dad and Kim came to pick us up around seven, and we were off.
When we got there, Mason got to spend some time with his grandpa, who he seems to finally be warming up to,
with his great-grandma, who he's loved from the start,
and, of course, with Mommy, as well as a whole bunch of others.
Soon it was time for the moment I'd been waiting for all day. With my golf ball sized tonsils, I figured I wouldn't be able to eat much, but Mason would be getting his first ever taste of anything but milk. His first food on his first Thanksgiving. Perfect. I wasn't even nervous about it.. I knew he was ready.
We'd brought him his own whole sweet potato, baked it, mashed it up, and added some cinnamon. This picture was taken right after his first bite:
He looks like he wasn't enjoying it, but I think he was just confused. He wasted no time before grabbing the spoon and trying to feed himself.
He probably only ate about six bites, but he loved every single one of them.
Then, of course, since he's a real food-eater now, he had to take the obligatory post Thanksgiving dinner nap:
When we got there, Mason got to spend some time with his grandpa, who he seems to finally be warming up to,
with his great-grandma, who he's loved from the start,
and, of course, with Mommy, as well as a whole bunch of others.
Soon it was time for the moment I'd been waiting for all day. With my golf ball sized tonsils, I figured I wouldn't be able to eat much, but Mason would be getting his first ever taste of anything but milk. His first food on his first Thanksgiving. Perfect. I wasn't even nervous about it.. I knew he was ready.
We'd brought him his own whole sweet potato, baked it, mashed it up, and added some cinnamon. This picture was taken right after his first bite:
He looks like he wasn't enjoying it, but I think he was just confused. He wasted no time before grabbing the spoon and trying to feed himself.
He probably only ate about six bites, but he loved every single one of them.
Then, of course, since he's a real food-eater now, he had to take the obligatory post Thanksgiving dinner nap:
Later, we went to George's parent's house. By then, he was pretty much over the whole Thanksgiving thing, but he was a good sport about it and let everyone pass him around and poke at him for a couple hours. By the time we got home, it was after ten. All in all, I think Mason had a pretty great, eventful first Thanksgiving. Before he passed out for the night, he compiled this list that he asked me to share.
I'm thankful for...
The diapers I poop in,
Hugs from my daddy,
A warm crib to sleep in,
New toys to chew on,
Kisses from Mama,
Finding my toes,
Unending giggles
Learning new tricks.
♥
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Mommies Don't Get Sick
But I'm sick.
I have a sore throat, which normally wouldn't be a big deal, only I'm well aware of where it goes from here. It starts out this way every single year, right around this time. I feel a little scratchy for a few days, then it gets sore, and then I wake up in the morning with the biggest tonsils in the world. This time, I'm determined to get past it before it gets really bad. Usually I call the doctor and he gives me a diagnosis of strep throat and some antibiotics. But these days, I can't take any medicine, so I guess that means no loading up on Nyquil and passing out. It's all natural, baby-friendly remedies for me. As I type, I'm eating non-mentholated coughdrops and choking down some kind of ginseng tea with honey.
I think it's an unspoken rule that moms can't get sick, and if they somehow do get sick, they sure as heck can't act like it. How could I perform my mommy duties if I'm lying around in bed all day? I don't think my mom ever got sick when I was little. I can clearly remember times when my dad had the flu or something equally as harmless. He'd be laying on the couch, eating soup and getting taken care of as if he were dying... but never my mom. It's just not allowed. I'm not worried about myself so much anyway, because the only thing I can think about is poor little Mason getting my strep throat. Everything I've read so far says it's highly unlikely. And anyway, I could wake up tomorrow morning and feel fine.
Let's hope.
I have a sore throat, which normally wouldn't be a big deal, only I'm well aware of where it goes from here. It starts out this way every single year, right around this time. I feel a little scratchy for a few days, then it gets sore, and then I wake up in the morning with the biggest tonsils in the world. This time, I'm determined to get past it before it gets really bad. Usually I call the doctor and he gives me a diagnosis of strep throat and some antibiotics. But these days, I can't take any medicine, so I guess that means no loading up on Nyquil and passing out. It's all natural, baby-friendly remedies for me. As I type, I'm eating non-mentholated coughdrops and choking down some kind of ginseng tea with honey.
I think it's an unspoken rule that moms can't get sick, and if they somehow do get sick, they sure as heck can't act like it. How could I perform my mommy duties if I'm lying around in bed all day? I don't think my mom ever got sick when I was little. I can clearly remember times when my dad had the flu or something equally as harmless. He'd be laying on the couch, eating soup and getting taken care of as if he were dying... but never my mom. It's just not allowed. I'm not worried about myself so much anyway, because the only thing I can think about is poor little Mason getting my strep throat. Everything I've read so far says it's highly unlikely. And anyway, I could wake up tomorrow morning and feel fine.
Let's hope.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
1/2
My baby turned six months old today. I've been a mama for one hundred and eighty-four days.
In six short months, I've learned more than I'd learned in the twenty-three and a half months of my pre-Mason life put together. I've learned how to wrestle a twenty pound baby into a diaper before he sends a stream of pee across the room. I've learned how to get poop and spit up out of carpet, microsuede furniture, clothes, and my own hair. I've learned that there's no reason for anyone to use the metaphor "sleeping like a baby" unless you wake up at least eight random times throughout the night to eat and play. I've learned that the only thing more difficult than trying to cut baby fingernails is trying to cut baby toenails. I've learned that I have more love to give than I ever realized. And that it isn't possible for a second to go by without me thinking about him. And that I can be completely selfless. And that everything else about me might change, but for the rest of my life, I'll be Mommy.
We spent our whole day together, just the two of us: playing, laughing, and practicing almost-crawling. He's so excited to be up a little higher than the floor, and I can tell he's really anxious to get moving. His legs aren't cooperating though. I still can't believe that he learned how to roll full-circle and get up on his knees like that on the day before he turned six months old. I kept checking his mouth today, half expecting to find a tooth or two. I'm so glad there weren't any. I don't think I can handle any more giant milestones this week.
In six short months, I've learned more than I'd learned in the twenty-three and a half months of my pre-Mason life put together. I've learned how to wrestle a twenty pound baby into a diaper before he sends a stream of pee across the room. I've learned how to get poop and spit up out of carpet, microsuede furniture, clothes, and my own hair. I've learned that there's no reason for anyone to use the metaphor "sleeping like a baby" unless you wake up at least eight random times throughout the night to eat and play. I've learned that the only thing more difficult than trying to cut baby fingernails is trying to cut baby toenails. I've learned that I have more love to give than I ever realized. And that it isn't possible for a second to go by without me thinking about him. And that I can be completely selfless. And that everything else about me might change, but for the rest of my life, I'll be Mommy.
We spent our whole day together, just the two of us: playing, laughing, and practicing almost-crawling. He's so excited to be up a little higher than the floor, and I can tell he's really anxious to get moving. His legs aren't cooperating though. I still can't believe that he learned how to roll full-circle and get up on his knees like that on the day before he turned six months old. I kept checking his mouth today, half expecting to find a tooth or two. I'm so glad there weren't any. I don't think I can handle any more giant milestones this week.
It's okay Mason, you can slow down now.
Monday, November 24, 2008
I've Gotta Move
I think I've mentioned before that Mason's been scooting all around the apartment. When he's on his belly, he pushes back with his arms, so he kind of slides along backwards. It's pretty funny to watch and he's quick about it, too. This morning, while I was doing my makeup for work, he got stuck in a pile of pillows in the corner of the bed where it meets the wall. Last week, I turned my back for two seconds to grab a bottle of water, and when I looked over at him he'd gone about four feet and was pretty much in the fireplace. What this means is no fires this winter.
While I was at work this afternoon, Mason rolled a 360. Back, belly, back. He even managed to grab the toy he was after in the process. He can travel - on his own - to get what he wants. Scary, isn't it? What this means is I'm going to have to keep a really close eye on him.
Closer than I thought, actually, because all this scooting and rolling just isn't enough for Mason. One minute, he was laying on his belly, looking all innocent and immobile:
and the next minute, he was doing this:
While I was at work this afternoon, Mason rolled a 360. Back, belly, back. He even managed to grab the toy he was after in the process. He can travel - on his own - to get what he wants. Scary, isn't it? What this means is I'm going to have to keep a really close eye on him.
Closer than I thought, actually, because all this scooting and rolling just isn't enough for Mason. One minute, he was laying on his belly, looking all innocent and immobile:
and the next minute, he was doing this:
That, my friends, is the crawling position. Let me be the first to say that I wasn't expecting it at all. A quick look at my developmental milestones chart tells me that the average age for crawling is eight months. Six months is early, but it might still be awhile before he crawls; he didn't actually GO anywhere, he just kind of rocked back and forth and then fell on his face. Really though, he's clearly advanced, and what this means is that it's only a matter of time.
And if that all wasn't enough to wrap my Mommy Mind around, a few minutes later he went from his knees into this position:
I'm pretty sure that in yoga, that little move would be called Downward-Facing Dog. He was either practicing his yoga skills or doing the cutest little baby pushup I've ever seen. Honestly, I'm just glad it was bedtime after that. I think that's enough new tricks for one day.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Endlessly Thankful For...
Mason and everything about him: his super-contagious smiles and laughter, his chubby baby cheeks, his easy going personality, his teeny little hands and feet, his cuddles and the way he burrows his head into my shoulder, his health, and his silly faces.
The unwavering love and support of my family.
My Nikon D40.
Pampers and their amazing absorbancy.
Coffee, even if it has to be decaf sometimes.
Bottled water.
President-Elect Obama.
Life experiences and the hard lessons I've learned.
Those who reinforce my belief that the world is full of good people.
My apartment and its warmth.
Music.
Hot showers, even the five minute ones.
Washers, dryers, and Oxyclean.
Sunshine.
A good book.
Warm coats, hoodies, and gloves.
Old friends and new friends.
Hope.
Ice cream.
A fridge full of groceries.
Second chances.
Nap time.
LOVE.
"When I'm worried and I can't sleep,
I count my blessings instead of sheep."
-Bing Crosby
The unwavering love and support of my family.
My Nikon D40.
Pampers and their amazing absorbancy.
Coffee, even if it has to be decaf sometimes.
Bottled water.
President-Elect Obama.
Life experiences and the hard lessons I've learned.
Those who reinforce my belief that the world is full of good people.
My apartment and its warmth.
Music.
Hot showers, even the five minute ones.
Washers, dryers, and Oxyclean.
Sunshine.
A good book.
Warm coats, hoodies, and gloves.
Old friends and new friends.
Hope.
Ice cream.
A fridge full of groceries.
Second chances.
Nap time.
LOVE.
"When I'm worried and I can't sleep,
I count my blessings instead of sheep."
-Bing Crosby
Friday, November 21, 2008
Silly Santa
I almost forgot!
After we got our pictures done, we had forty-five minutes to walk around the mall while they looked over our photos, edited them, and made us a proof set. I needed a new coat, so we did that first. It was on the way back I saw him - Santa Claus! He wasn't even officially open; his arrival was supposed to be today, but he just happened to be there so the elves could do their training with the camera and the cash register and everything. He was just sitting down when I spotted him, so Mason was the first baby Santa saw this year! He saw us and waved to Mason in the baby carrier, who was too busy playing with his vibrating teether to notice. I noticed though. I waved back, got all excited, and we walked over.
I couldn't guess how Mason was going to react. Kids usually freak out over Santa, especially at his age. That's just what happens. I held him, kneeled down in front of the big man in the red suit, and let Mason peer up at him. Santa smiled. I braced myself for the big frown face that inevitably turns into crying. But Mason never showed any sign of being upset; he just continued to stare and, a couple of seconds later, allowed a tiny smile. I took that as a good sign and quickly plopped Mason down on Santa's knee. Mason was unphased. He touched Santa's beard, laughed a baby ho-ho-ho! at him, and looked up just in time to give a big cheesy grin as an elf snapped a picture.
Now I just have to figure out why Mason's scared of my dad. It obviously isn't the beard.
After we got our pictures done, we had forty-five minutes to walk around the mall while they looked over our photos, edited them, and made us a proof set. I needed a new coat, so we did that first. It was on the way back I saw him - Santa Claus! He wasn't even officially open; his arrival was supposed to be today, but he just happened to be there so the elves could do their training with the camera and the cash register and everything. He was just sitting down when I spotted him, so Mason was the first baby Santa saw this year! He saw us and waved to Mason in the baby carrier, who was too busy playing with his vibrating teether to notice. I noticed though. I waved back, got all excited, and we walked over.
I couldn't guess how Mason was going to react. Kids usually freak out over Santa, especially at his age. That's just what happens. I held him, kneeled down in front of the big man in the red suit, and let Mason peer up at him. Santa smiled. I braced myself for the big frown face that inevitably turns into crying. But Mason never showed any sign of being upset; he just continued to stare and, a couple of seconds later, allowed a tiny smile. I took that as a good sign and quickly plopped Mason down on Santa's knee. Mason was unphased. He touched Santa's beard, laughed a baby ho-ho-ho! at him, and looked up just in time to give a big cheesy grin as an elf snapped a picture.
Now I just have to figure out why Mason's scared of my dad. It obviously isn't the beard.
Family Photos
Yesterday, we took Mason to the mall for his winter-Christmas-six month (SIX month?!!) photo shoot. He did great, so we got some really nice pictures. I've never done Christmas cards before, but this year, I'm definitely giving a photocard with Mason's little face on it to everyone I know. Distant relatives, people at work, the lady at the bank... no one's getting away without a Christmas card from me. How could you possibly have a crappy Christmas with a picture of Mason hung up on your refrigerator?
Anyway, this first one is my favorite. It's being super-sized as we speak and will be hung up next to his big three month fall picture.
I'm not sure where Mason gets his ability to be so photogenic. I have people, daily, telling me he should be the Gerber baby or something. Well, of course he should (although I might be a little baised), but he'd need a baby agent to even be able to submit a photo and I don't know about all that. Anyway, he definitely takes better pictures than his mama!
What a little ham.
Anyway, this first one is my favorite. It's being super-sized as we speak and will be hung up next to his big three month fall picture.
I'm not sure where Mason gets his ability to be so photogenic. I have people, daily, telling me he should be the Gerber baby or something. Well, of course he should (although I might be a little baised), but he'd need a baby agent to even be able to submit a photo and I don't know about all that. Anyway, he definitely takes better pictures than his mama!
What a little ham.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Bilingual Baby
It must be really frustrating to not be able to just open up your mouth and say what you want to say, and I feel pretty bad when it's clear that Mason wants something and I can't understand what it is. Usually, I'm good at guessing, but sometimes I just don't know what he wants or what's bothering him when he grunts and squeaks at me. Of course, I don't want to see him frustrated, ever. I want to be able to know what he needs and make it happen for him. My solution? Baby sign language.
American Sign Language has been around forever; it's the third most used language in the United States. It's actually natural for babies to use some form of signing as their first way of communicating, whether it's putting their arms up when they want to be picked up or waving goodbye. I've been reading about teaching ASL to babies and am totally getting caught up in all the positive things it could do for Mason. The whole thing sounds crazy at first, but I really think it'd be great for him to learn. He won't be able to talk for awhile, and one of the most important bonds between two people is the ability to communicate, so it would strengthen our mama-baby bond. Proponents of teaching ASL to babies say that those who are able to sign tend to have higher IQs, pick up on literacy skills earlier, and develop more extensive vocabularies. It leads to a sense of accomplishment and a happier, less frustrated baby. Sounds good to me!
So today I made a list of ten words I'd like to eventually teach Mason: Mommy, Daddy, book, full, hungry, milk, hug, hurt, more, and tired. Mason's a smart kid, I know he'll be able to catch on. My goal is to teach him three signs by the time he's nine months old. The best part is, I don't know sign language, so we're learning something together.
I figured I'd start with milk, since that's what he wants most of the time anyway, so all day today, I did the sign for milk over and over before I fed him. The sign for milk is just a squeezing motion like you're milking a cow with one hand. After I did it, I tried to open and close his little fist so he'd get the idea. He just stared at me, grabbed my hand, and tried to chew my fingers off.
This might take awhile.
American Sign Language has been around forever; it's the third most used language in the United States. It's actually natural for babies to use some form of signing as their first way of communicating, whether it's putting their arms up when they want to be picked up or waving goodbye. I've been reading about teaching ASL to babies and am totally getting caught up in all the positive things it could do for Mason. The whole thing sounds crazy at first, but I really think it'd be great for him to learn. He won't be able to talk for awhile, and one of the most important bonds between two people is the ability to communicate, so it would strengthen our mama-baby bond. Proponents of teaching ASL to babies say that those who are able to sign tend to have higher IQs, pick up on literacy skills earlier, and develop more extensive vocabularies. It leads to a sense of accomplishment and a happier, less frustrated baby. Sounds good to me!
So today I made a list of ten words I'd like to eventually teach Mason: Mommy, Daddy, book, full, hungry, milk, hug, hurt, more, and tired. Mason's a smart kid, I know he'll be able to catch on. My goal is to teach him three signs by the time he's nine months old. The best part is, I don't know sign language, so we're learning something together.
I figured I'd start with milk, since that's what he wants most of the time anyway, so all day today, I did the sign for milk over and over before I fed him. The sign for milk is just a squeezing motion like you're milking a cow with one hand. After I did it, I tried to open and close his little fist so he'd get the idea. He just stared at me, grabbed my hand, and tried to chew my fingers off.
This might take awhile.
Turn it Off!
Yesterday afternoon, I strategically placed Mason in his Jumperoo so I could make some lunch and clean up the kitchen. So he's in there, bouncing away happily, and I'm going through the twenty thousand songs on my iPod, trying to find something for us to listen to. I decide on The Counting Crows - perfect for a cold, thoughtful winter day.
Now, I didn't ask Mason's opinion, but he's always been okay with whatever I choose. The Beatles are his favorite, but he likes Say Anything, Brand New, Jeremy Kay, Better Than Ezra, Third Eye Blind, Matt Pond PA, The Fray, Guster... He's actually never protested any of my music before and there's nothing not to like about The Counting Crows, right? I shove the iPod into its slot in the iHome and "'Round Here" begins to play.
As soon as I held him he calmed down, but he didn't stop crying until I completely shut off the music. Needless to say, the kitchen never got cleaned up and I inhaled the rest of my lunch with Mason on my hip. Guess he's not a fan of the Crows. Oh well. As long as he doesn't decide he likes rap.
Now, I didn't ask Mason's opinion, but he's always been okay with whatever I choose. The Beatles are his favorite, but he likes Say Anything, Brand New, Jeremy Kay, Better Than Ezra, Third Eye Blind, Matt Pond PA, The Fray, Guster... He's actually never protested any of my music before and there's nothing not to like about The Counting Crows, right? I shove the iPod into its slot in the iHome and "'Round Here" begins to play.
Complete silence ensues. He stops jumping and just stands there, motionless. The Jumperoo stops making its little jungle noises and Mason stares in the direction of the music with the widest eyes. I wait for him to smile. He doesn't. I was able to snap one picture before I had to go running over and save him.
As soon as I held him he calmed down, but he didn't stop crying until I completely shut off the music. Needless to say, the kitchen never got cleaned up and I inhaled the rest of my lunch with Mason on my hip. Guess he's not a fan of the Crows. Oh well. As long as he doesn't decide he likes rap.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Buyer's Remorse
Today, I was away from Mason for the longest I've ever been away from him in a twenty-four hour period. I went to work from eleven thirty until two thirty, came home, then went shopping with my mom at four. I got home around eight thirty and Mason was already in bed. I feel like I haven't gotten to see him all day and wanted to run in there and wake him up with a big hug and a new toy as soon as I got in the door. Of course, I didn't. Babies need their sleep.
Anyway, I got him an outfit for his Christmas/six month pictures that we're having done on Thursday and am super excited about my find. I was picturing how ridiculously cute he's going to look when he's sitting on a reindeer in his little Gymboree clearance sweater vest and turtleneck when I decided to do something I never do: shop for myself. I'm now the proud owner of two new pairs of jeans and three new sweaters.
And the guilt is killing me. I never really thought twice about spending money on myself before Mason, but now I just can't stop dwelling on it. It's doesn't take much to understand that the hundred or so dollars I spent would be much better off sitting in Mason's savings account collecting interest, but I'm trying really hard not to beat myself up over this. In order to get past the initial shock of my little shopping spree and refrain from having some sort of mental breakdown, I'm trying to distract myself by looking at the pictures I took of my happy little guy before work this morning. Mason has learned a new expression. He puts his top lip over his bottom lip, tries to smile, and gets this:
I can only imagine that this is the face he's going to be making in all of his pictures on Thursday. But hey, who wouldn't want to get a Christmas card in the mail with that beautiful baby inside? And you know, I'm pretty sure that's a 'Mom, go buy yourself a sweater' face.
Anyway, I got him an outfit for his Christmas/six month pictures that we're having done on Thursday and am super excited about my find. I was picturing how ridiculously cute he's going to look when he's sitting on a reindeer in his little Gymboree clearance sweater vest and turtleneck when I decided to do something I never do: shop for myself. I'm now the proud owner of two new pairs of jeans and three new sweaters.
And the guilt is killing me. I never really thought twice about spending money on myself before Mason, but now I just can't stop dwelling on it. It's doesn't take much to understand that the hundred or so dollars I spent would be much better off sitting in Mason's savings account collecting interest, but I'm trying really hard not to beat myself up over this. In order to get past the initial shock of my little shopping spree and refrain from having some sort of mental breakdown, I'm trying to distract myself by looking at the pictures I took of my happy little guy before work this morning. Mason has learned a new expression. He puts his top lip over his bottom lip, tries to smile, and gets this:
I can only imagine that this is the face he's going to be making in all of his pictures on Thursday. But hey, who wouldn't want to get a Christmas card in the mail with that beautiful baby inside? And you know, I'm pretty sure that's a 'Mom, go buy yourself a sweater' face.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Something to Fight For
Walking downtown the other day, I saw a group of maybe fifty or sixty people on the corner of College Avenue and Allen Street holding signs that promoted equality and protested Prop Eight. Usually, where they were standing, there's a man in his fifties, all by himself, quoting the Bible and calling random people sinners. It was a nice change, seeing people screaming about equal rights and acceptance rather than hate and fear, and the scene was somehow so inspiring that I wished I had my camera. I later found this picture online:
It used to amaze me when I saw people passionate enough about something to make them want to leave their homes and stand on a street corner to fight for change and acceptance. Sure, they might get the changes they want, but it's likely that, in the process, they'll be looked down on and challenged. It's not like I never felt strongly about something before, but I could never quite picture myself out on the street holding that sign.
But as I walked past the other night, I felt like grabbing one of those signs and yelling with them. Everything's more important now, and everything needs to be taken care of with a new sense of urgency. From gay rights and racism to global warming, I feel like fighting for it all, with everything I have, because I can't know what issues Mason's going to have to deal with and I don't want it to be as hard for him as it is for so many people. I recycle, I don't litter, I shut the water off when I brush my teeth, and when I get my license back you're dang right I'll be driving one of those eco-friendly SUVs. I pay attention to the news, even the stuff I don't fully understand, like taxes and bailouts and the stock market situation. I could come up with a very long list of things I would stand up for... ending the war, fixing our health care system, reforming education, limiting childhood vaccinations, breastfeeding, showing tolerance/giving equal rights, protecting the environment... I could go on and on and argue passionately over any and all of them.
I never cared about fighting those fights before. But now I have something to fight for. This little guy:
Friday, November 14, 2008
Winter Wear
I was so excited to walk out of the Olive Garden this afternoon and see that it wasn't thirty degrees out. It's November in Pennsylvania and I actually couldn't see my breath - amazing. I walked home, took one look at Mason's smiling face, and decided we needed to go out for a walk. We haven't been able to go for a couple days and I'm sure he's getting sick of being stuck in the house all the time. Even though it was warm for PA, it was still probably only in the high forties, so Mason tried out his winter coat.
Remember that part in The Christmas Story where Ralphie's little brother has so many layers on that when he falls in the snow he can't get up? Yeah.
Remember that part in The Christmas Story where Ralphie's little brother has so many layers on that when he falls in the snow he can't get up? Yeah.
I'm pretty sure I over did it. It didn't even feel that cold, and Mason hated not being able to find his hands in the sleeves of his coat. Once I dug them out for him, he was okay with the whole thing. Really, he was probably just thankful that I didn't put a hat and mittens on him, too. I tried to get a good picture of the two of us all bundled up, but it wasn't working. He doesn't sit on the dresser very well because he's slippery, especially in that coat, and I'm always looking insane since I'm trying to get him to smile.
Oh well. He still looked dang cute in that puffy coat. Turns out he's happier naked, though.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Baby Mama
Dear Mason,
Guess what? Your mom was a baby once too, see?!
Please remember this when you're telling me how old and weird and uncool I am.
Love, Mommy
Guess what? Your mom was a baby once too, see?!
Please remember this when you're telling me how old and weird and uncool I am.
Love, Mommy
When Giraffes Attack
Now that Mason is beginning to get a little more mobile, a whole new world of possibilities is opening up to his little baby brain. I'm seriously terrified of crawling and walking, but this rolling and sitting stage isn't too scary. It's hilarious to watch his little head bobble around when he's sitting up and I get so proud when he flips onto his belly and gives me a big smile.
Mason loves animals, but I'm pretty sure giraffes are his favorite. While he used to be satisfied to lay on his playmat and gaze up at his giraffe friend from below, he's realized that life can be much more fun when he's up at Giraffe's level.
Now, he can eat Giraffe,
strangle Giraffe,
and pull on Giraffe's tail.
So maybe he's a little rough with his friends. But Mason and his new BFF paused their wrestling match to pose for some pictures together.
Hopefully this doesn't mean Mason's destined to be a bully in junior high. I'm sure Giraffe started it.
Mason loves animals, but I'm pretty sure giraffes are his favorite. While he used to be satisfied to lay on his playmat and gaze up at his giraffe friend from below, he's realized that life can be much more fun when he's up at Giraffe's level.
Now, he can eat Giraffe,
strangle Giraffe,
and pull on Giraffe's tail.
So maybe he's a little rough with his friends. But Mason and his new BFF paused their wrestling match to pose for some pictures together.
Hopefully this doesn't mean Mason's destined to be a bully in junior high. I'm sure Giraffe started it.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Cooking 101
Let's just get it out there, before we go any further: I can't cook.
Well, I can, I suppose. Pretty much anyone can follow a recipe. I just don't... and with good reason. My attempts at cooking have never turned out as planned. As soon as I think everything's going okay, disaster strikes. A long time ago I learned how to make alfredo sauce from scratch that was better than anything the Olive Garden could ever think of making. I caught a dishtowel on fire in the process. Then, another time, I made these awesome stuffed chicken breasts, and the twice-baked potatoes that were supposed to go with them were so hard they were almost inedible (how long are you supposed to bake a potato anyway?!). Once, while making brownies (from the box!), instead of putting a half cup of vegetable oil I put in two whole cups. And I'm sure there are plenty more kitchen nightmares than I can recall right now.
And that's as far as I got. I tried every knife in the kitchen and still couldn't cut the darn thing. I guess it never really ripened. Or maybe I just picked out some freaky, fossilized pumpkin. But I cut, I stabbed, and I sawed, and this is all that happened:
Seriously, these kinds of things only happen to me.
Well, I can, I suppose. Pretty much anyone can follow a recipe. I just don't... and with good reason. My attempts at cooking have never turned out as planned. As soon as I think everything's going okay, disaster strikes. A long time ago I learned how to make alfredo sauce from scratch that was better than anything the Olive Garden could ever think of making. I caught a dishtowel on fire in the process. Then, another time, I made these awesome stuffed chicken breasts, and the twice-baked potatoes that were supposed to go with them were so hard they were almost inedible (how long are you supposed to bake a potato anyway?!). Once, while making brownies (from the box!), instead of putting a half cup of vegetable oil I put in two whole cups. And I'm sure there are plenty more kitchen nightmares than I can recall right now.
But I'm determined to learn. Moms cook, that's what we do. Now that Mason's going to be starting solid food in a couple of weeks, and since we're not doing jarred food, the pressure's on. I know he's not going to require meatloaf and mashed potatoes, but I have to least learn how to properly use an oven and a food processor. So yesterday, I gave it my first shot.
Remember Mason's little pie pumpkin? That pumpkin and I had a plan. I was going to bake it with some cinnamon, mash it up, put it in ice cube trays to freeze, then put the pumpkin cubes in plastic baggies, where they'd stay for three weeks until I was ready to thaw them out and serve. Easy right? What could go wrong?
Remember Mason's little pie pumpkin? That pumpkin and I had a plan. I was going to bake it with some cinnamon, mash it up, put it in ice cube trays to freeze, then put the pumpkin cubes in plastic baggies, where they'd stay for three weeks until I was ready to thaw them out and serve. Easy right? What could go wrong?
So yesterday, while Mason took his morning nap, I got to work. I wanted to take pictures of the whole process since it was the first time I was ever cooking for my baby. To bake a pumpkin, all you have to do is cut the top off like you would if you were going to carve it, then cut it right in half and scrape out the seeds. Here's Mason's pumpkin, all ready for its date with the knife:
And that's as far as I got. I tried every knife in the kitchen and still couldn't cut the darn thing. I guess it never really ripened. Or maybe I just picked out some freaky, fossilized pumpkin. But I cut, I stabbed, and I sawed, and this is all that happened:
Seriously, these kinds of things only happen to me.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Cribs Are for Sleeping
Our nights of awful sleeping have been catching up to me. For three weeks, Mason's been waking up three or four times a night to eat, almost as many times as he did when he was a newborn. Not only that, but it takes three tries and two hours to get him to fall asleep initially. I'm exhausted to the point that I can't even finish the laundry, leaving it in the dryer until, days later, I remember it's in there and have to wash it again because it's so wrinkly. I fall asleep every time I sit down to feed Mason, and I believe I was falling asleep standing up at work today. Clearly, it's time to do something.
So, twenty-three minutes ago, I placed a sleeping Mason in his crib for the first time ever. Maybe it's true that most babies sleep in their cribs from the moment they come home from the hospital, but the only time Mason's been in his is when I need his mobile to entertain him for a minute and a half while I pee. I know I'm a pretty loud, restless sleeper, so I'm sure I'm keeping him up at night when he's in bed with me. And he doesn't seem to like his bassinet anymore either... he's so big these days that when I lay him down in there his little feet are touching one end and his head is touching the other end. Besides that, it isn't very soft at all, and I feel bad putting him in there when he could be in his crib, relaxing on his Sealy Baby Posturpedic.
So... he's in his own crib in his own room. I put him in there and came out into the living room and cried. I've peeked in at him a dozen times to make sure he's okay, and now I'm watching muted CNN with the baby monitor cranked up as high as it will go. I'll probably sleep worse tonight than I have in a long time.
Edit: After being in his crib for approximately thirty-one minutes, Mason woke up squealing, eyes wide. He appeared scared, but unharmed. He was returned to the crib for another try.
Edit Again: Another hour later, he woke again. A little rocking and an off-key version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star seemed to do the trick. One more time though, and it's back into Mommy's bed for little Mason.
Last Edit: I went to bed at nine o'clock, snuggling with the baby monitor. At 12:45 (I think) Mason woke up. I really should have just put him back in his crib, but I brought the little bugger into bed. What can I say, I missed him. He woke up four times within the four hours after he came into bed with me and has been up since about five. Five in the morning. Lovely.
He'll be staying in his crib tonight.
So, twenty-three minutes ago, I placed a sleeping Mason in his crib for the first time ever. Maybe it's true that most babies sleep in their cribs from the moment they come home from the hospital, but the only time Mason's been in his is when I need his mobile to entertain him for a minute and a half while I pee. I know I'm a pretty loud, restless sleeper, so I'm sure I'm keeping him up at night when he's in bed with me. And he doesn't seem to like his bassinet anymore either... he's so big these days that when I lay him down in there his little feet are touching one end and his head is touching the other end. Besides that, it isn't very soft at all, and I feel bad putting him in there when he could be in his crib, relaxing on his Sealy Baby Posturpedic.
So... he's in his own crib in his own room. I put him in there and came out into the living room and cried. I've peeked in at him a dozen times to make sure he's okay, and now I'm watching muted CNN with the baby monitor cranked up as high as it will go. I'll probably sleep worse tonight than I have in a long time.
Edit: After being in his crib for approximately thirty-one minutes, Mason woke up squealing, eyes wide. He appeared scared, but unharmed. He was returned to the crib for another try.
Edit Again: Another hour later, he woke again. A little rocking and an off-key version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star seemed to do the trick. One more time though, and it's back into Mommy's bed for little Mason.
Last Edit: I went to bed at nine o'clock, snuggling with the baby monitor. At 12:45 (I think) Mason woke up. I really should have just put him back in his crib, but I brought the little bugger into bed. What can I say, I missed him. He woke up four times within the four hours after he came into bed with me and has been up since about five. Five in the morning. Lovely.
He'll be staying in his crib tonight.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
One Way
By now, Mason's a pro at this rolling from back to belly thing. For the past couple of days, every time I lay him down on his back he waits two seconds and then flips onto his belly, seemingly without effort. The problem? He can't roll back the other way. I've tried rolling him myself, so he gets the feel of it. I've tried demonstration. I've tried leaving him there, figuring that he'll get sick of being on his belly, realize that I'm not going to flip him back over, and just roll himself, but he can't (or he won't, I'm not sure which). Nothing works.
My new ploy is putting a toy just out of his reach, thinking that he might roll over there and get it. Nope. Instead, he picks his upper body way up off of the ground and pulls himself with his arms, wiggling along and dragging his legs behind him. It takes awhile, but he moves.
When he's not in the mood to wiggle, he army crawls towards his goal:
My new ploy is putting a toy just out of his reach, thinking that he might roll over there and get it. Nope. Instead, he picks his upper body way up off of the ground and pulls himself with his arms, wiggling along and dragging his legs behind him. It takes awhile, but he moves.
When he's not in the mood to wiggle, he army crawls towards his goal:
I mean, it's true that he basically spent the first four months of his life laying on his back, but still, you'd think he'd want to have that little bit of extra mobility that he'd have if he could roll in a full circle. Plus, the look on his face in some of those pictures makes it look like he's really struggling. Rolling's got to be easier. Then again, who am I to judge? He looks happy enough.
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