Maybe He's Been Sipping My Coffee

Today was Mason's nine month checkup, which was fairly uneventful. They offered us some shots, we said no. They did a little finger prick to test his iron and hemoglobin levels. I held Mason tightly and braced myself as the nurse cleaned off his little finger with alcohol (I totally felt for him since I hate having my finger pricked; it hurts worse than a shot anyday). I turned around and stared at George instead of Mason. I just couldn't look. I waited. And waited. And peeked over my shoulder as the nurse was squeezing the blood into little tubes. It was over. He didn't even make a peep. Toughy.

Now, for some odd reason, being weighed and measured was a whole different story. When they laid him down on the table you would have thought he was being tortured. In his defense, I can see tooth number two hiding right below his gums so I'm pretty sure it'll be poking its way through in the next few days, but he still looked so pitiful sitting on the scale, bottom lip protruding. Anyway, this all leads up to the issue that's been bugging me all day.

Let's look at the stats:

Birth: 7lbs - 20in
Two months: 16lbs, 11oz - 23.5in
Four months: 20lbs, 4oz - 26in
Six months: 21lbs, 7oz - 28.25in
Nine months: 21lbs, 10oz - 29in

What that means is that he's only gained three ounces in three months. In the past five months, he's only gained about a pound and a half. Granted, he did gain an insane amount of weight in his first two months on Earth. He weighed so much that he was off the doctor's fancy little growth chart. Now, he's sitting around the seventy-fifth percentile for both weight and height. Which is good. Really good. I mean, he still nurses six or eight times a day and he eats a ton of solids now, so I know he's perfectly heathly and happy. If he continued to grow at the rate he was growing at, he'd weigh fifty pounds by his first birthday! But still, when the doctor told me how much he had(n't) grown, I panicked. Maybe he'd just stop growing all together. I was having visions of my little guy at eighteen years old still weighing in at twenty-one pounds.

Seriously though, he's fine. Does this look like a malnourished child to you?

Chasin' Mommy

We have one of those floating island counters that separates the kitchen from the livingroom - this is the main prop in Mason's new favorite game. The game's called Chase Mommy in Circles Around the Counter a Million Times.

And it never gets old.

I peek around the corners, change directions, and grab his feet as he hurries away in the direction he thinks I'm going. Sometimes I climb up on top of the counter and watch him looking confused below before I say his name and see him peer up at me with a big smile on his face. He laughs until he's out of breath and chases me until my knees ache from crawling.

Eventually, he catches me.

Advice

The strangest thing happened last night at work. I got a table with two parents - probably in their early thirties - and a baby. I said hi and asked them the standard questions about their little guy: how old is he (six months) and what's his name (Carter). In an attempt to make conversation I offered up the fact that I have a little boy too, who's nine months old. The woman, who was really nice, asked his name and then asked, "does he sleep?"

A month ago, I would have instantly replied with a big ol' "heck no" and the two of us would have commiserated together over our seemingly-forever-lasting sleep deprivation. Instead, I surprised her (and myself) by saying, "yeah, actually, he does". Her and her husband exchanged glances, then stared at me. "How did you do it? We don't want to let him cry. Did Mason cry?"

I don't know, neither did I, and no, he didn't cry. I offered up all I could, explaining how one night he just seemed ready to be able to fall asleep on his own, in his own crib. It didn't happen 'til he was eight months old, but when he was ready, it hardly took any effort on our part. I explained that even though he doesn't fall asleep in our bed we bring him in when he wakes up, no matter what time of the night that might be, and he (usually) goes right back to sleep. I told them how him sleeping in our bed was (and still is) great for us and that no matter what grandma tries to tell you, your kid won't be sleeping with you 'til he goes to college.

I looked into their tired eyes and assured them that it really does get so much easier.

"You know, you're the first person to ever tell us it gets easier. Everyone's always saying it gets way worse than this". Really? Who are these negative people you've been talking to, and why are they having children?

On their way out, I said goodbye and wished them good luck with the sleeping situation. The man thanked me and said that tonight they were going to bring Carter into bed with them when he woke; he said they were going to take my advice. I was a little shocked. I mean, who in the world am I to be giving advice? I have no idea. I wanted to tell them, then, that it might not work. I never read anything about babies or did any research before Mason was born. I've been winging it this whole time. I probably have no idea what I'm talking about, so they better not get their hopes up. After all, I've only been doing this for nine months. Nine months and I just learned how to put my kid to sleep.

Last night, as Mason slept peacefully in his crib, I wondered about Carter and if he was sleeping too. Maybe bringing him into their bed worked and all three of them got eight glorious hours of sleep. Maybe he was up all night and they cursed me over their coffee in the morning. Hey, it's trial and error. We all figure it out eventually.

Nine

It's true. Nine months old. On the twenty-fifth of each month I ask myself the same question: where does the time go? I still can't come up with an answer.




At nine months old, he's speeding around the apartment on all fours. He just learned how to sit down from the crawling position; it's really cute. He'd rather play with the remote control, my cell phone, light sockets, or carpet lint than any of his toys. His favorite things to eat are paper and cardboard followed closely by butternut squash. Diaper changes take at least six minutes because he's so squirmy and he'd rather be naked. He understands what I mean when I do the signs for water, more, and milk, but he hasn't done any himself yet. He likes taking long rides in shopping carts, checking the mail, and walking to the fish pond when it's nice out. He has the prettiest blue eyes and the silliest single-toothed smile.

He has his mama wrapped around his little finger.

Speaking Softly

Mason's loud; he's always yelling about something: screaming mama or babbling to his reflection or shreiking excitedly when he sees a piece of toast. But every once in awhile, usually when he's really happy or really excited, he starts babbling in this little whispered voice. If you're not paying attention you can't even hear it.

"da da. da da da da da."

It's adorable. I just wanted to make sure I remember it.

California, Here We Come

We were going to go in May, but I just can't wait that long.


We leave April first.

I can't wait to see Meg and Aaron and meet Baby Rocco. I can't wait for Mason's first plane ride and to be able to show him the ocean and the sand and whatever other amazing things La Jolla has to offer. And now, I only have to wait another month. A month and a couple odd days.

I'm so excited, and I'm trying to get Mason pumped up, too. Already, before he went down for his morning nap, we danced around the apartment to California Dreamin', Californiacation, Hotel California, and the theme song to The OC.

March is going to be a very long month.

Boing!

There's a new favorite toy around here. It doesn't light up, crinkle, or play music. It isn't plastic, wooden, or stuffed.

It's just... this:

Doorstops. The kind that are like a little spring. There are five of them around the apartment and Mason's found every single one. He's completely obsessed. If he crawls out of my sight, I don't even have to panic or wonder where he is. I just wait for the noise - the boing! of a spring being pulled and released - and go look behind a random door.





It's the coolest thing since tupperware.

Changing Games

I dread poopy diapers. It's not because I'm scared of poop (after almost nine months of wiping someone else's butt, I'm unphased by even the smelliest of turds), it's because there's no easy way to change Mason. Putting him on his changing table has become almost impossible. I thought it was bad when he wanted to roll over to look out the window, but recently he's started standing up, pulling down the blinds, and trying to dive off the table to his impending doom. It just wasn't working out.

So I started to change him on the floor. It's much safer that way, but that sure doesn't make it any easier. It's still a wrestling match, and now I have to follow him around the room while he giggles and crawls away from me at high speeds. I swear he poops more often on purpose now just so I have to chase him around.. and really, there's nothing I can do but laugh and play his game (and cross my fingers that he doesn't decide to pee).

Discovery

I remember the first day Mason found his feet. He was laying on his back on the floor and all of a sudden - completely out of nowhere - there they were! For some reason, feet finding is not on my ever-growing documentation of Mason Milestones, but I know he was right around four months old and I know he was thrilled with his find.

Can you imagine how it must feel to wake up one morning and discover a part of yourself you never knew existed?

I realize I'm always comparing myself to Mason, but I think that's because we're really not that different. I know, without a doubt, that he's taught me just as much as I've taught him. Actually, he's probably taught me more. I was never really a patient person, until Mason came along. I always had to be doing something and never wanted to wait around; these days, I'm perfectly content sitting around watching him play, spending hours helping him try to pull himself up on the chair, and laying in bed with him for an hour trying to get him to take a half an hour nap (okay, well, I'm working on that last one).

Mason's helped me understand what it takes to be a good mommy: a good mommy isn't judged by how she feeds her baby, where she buys her baby's clothes, or how many toys clutter the living room. It's about the way you conduct yourself, the way you treat others, and the way you teach your baby to be a good person. It's about setting a good example. For me, it's meant backing down - being the bigger person instead of being a fighter. It's meant learning to relax and breathe and realize that the kitchen doesn't have to be spotless and that the laundry can wait 'til tomorrow. It's meant understanding that while things don't always work out the way I want them to, they'll work out regardless. It's meant giving up cursing like a trucker.

You know, it's all been worth it. There's still plenty that I need to work on, but every single day, Mason helps me become a better person. I've discovered parts of myself that I never knew were there. In that way, I'm just like him... always learning.

And what a fair trade: Mason gets to find his feet, his hands, and his ears, and I get to find out what I didn't know I've been capable of all along.

O Baby

I'm pretty sure that ever since Mason had his first taste of solid food, George has been wanting to give him snacks. George is a snacker, so that's probably why, and every time we're in the baby aisle he's pointing out crackers and biscuits and those silly "puffs" (seriously, if anybody can tell me what a "puff" is, Mason can eat one) and trying to sneak them in the cart past my watchful Mommy eye (with little success, of course).

Last week, while we were at the grocery store, George had his sights set on Cheerios for Mase. Cheerios? Why? They really don't have any nutritional value and they're small enough to be choking hazards for sure, yet you always see babies eating them. Well, I broke down and let Mason and George get a big box of multigrain ones. Today, we tried them out.

I'll admit, Mason had fun trying to pick them up and eat them, and when he did get one in his mouth (or when I helped him) he really did seem to like them. But we had some issues, too. Cheerios get really sticky when put in slobbery baby hands, which makes them quite difficult to eat.

Faux Hawk

I've been wanting to do this for a very long time.




Punk's totally not dead.

Say Cheese!

Now that Mason has exactly 1/2 of a tooth, his smile is changing. I've always loved his wide-open-mouthed smile, so it's a little sad to me that it's been looking so different lately. Still, it's just as cute.

This was his pre-tooth smile:

And post-tooth:





It's like he's trying to figure out how his mouth works all over again, but he can't quite get it and always ends up looking lopsided and silly (and adorable).

Happy Feet

You can always tell whether or not - and to what degree - Mason likes whatever he's eating by how much his feet kick while he chews.

Yesterday he had half of a toasted cheese sandwich for lunch.

I think he liked it.

Unraveled

Reason number 857 why it's important to pick things up off the floor when I'm done with them:

Let Me Count the Ways

♥

Dinner, a Movie, and a Standing Baby

Well, date night was a success. Of course I worried. I cried on the way out the door and checked my phone ten times in the fifteen minutes it took us to get downtown to Mad Mex. But after receiving several pictures on my phone of a happy, smiley Mason (and a margarita and a half), I suggested that George and I try to go out alone together once a month.

Mason had fun with his grandma, and even though they had a little trouble with bedtime, everything was fine. In the middle of dinner, I got a text from my mom that said, "did you know he could stand up in his crib?" Nope. Definitely didn't know that. But he did. And so far this morning, he's pulled himself up on the edge of the bathtub, his changing table, his toy basket, the box of our new tv stand, the coffee table, and me.


When I knew he was asleep for the night I stopped worrying. We saw Slumdog Millionaire (my pick) and it was really, really good. Now that the effects from Mad Mex's giant margaritas have worn off, I'm not quite sure I'll be ready to do this all again in a month, but I definitely won't wait another nine.

In the Closet

I put Mason in his bedroom, knowing he probably wouldn't stay there but trying anyway, while I got everything ready for bedtime. I picked out his jammies and went to fill the tub. When his bath was ready I went back into his room to get him but, of course, the little bugger was gone.

I checked George's bathroom. He wasn't there. I checked the living room. Not there either. Just as I was starting to panic, I heard a little noise coming from his room. What the heck? I went back in and heard the same noise again, coming from the closet.

That's where I found Mase, calmly relaxing amongst his shoes and dirty laundry:

I have no idea what he was doing in there.

Date Night Worries

Tomorrow night, my mom's coming over to babysit Mason while George and I go out on our first baby-free date in nine months. She's watched him before, when I had to go somewhere and couldn't take him with me. My brother and sister-in-law have watched him before, too. But that was a long time ago. And it was only for a few hours at a time. And it was during the day.

Nighttime babysitting is completely different. As George and I have dinner, my mom will be giving Mason his dinner, watching him splash around in the tub, and wrestling him into his jammies. While we see a movie, she'll be reading Mase his story, giving him a bottle, and tucking him into bed. That's a lot of work. Not that I don't trust my mom; of course I trust her. I know she won't let him cry and I know she won't do anything I wouldn't do, but I still know I'm going to worry the whole time. I can already see myself texting my mom over dinner to make sure he ate enough and played with his toys and didn't seem upset. And honestly, I'm not sure what is worse: Mason crying because he misses me or not crying at all and being completely fine without me.

For almost a week straight, George has put Mason to bed. He gives him his bottle, kisses him, puts him in the crib and... silence. My baby can put himself to sleep. For Daddy, anyway. Well tonight, George is working, so it's my turn again. I started to feed him around seven thirty. Twenty minutes later I gave him a kiss, put him in his crib, and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind me. He was wide awake. I heard a very quiet "cooo" and a "dada" or two and that was that. He's sleeping. At least I know bedtime shouldn't be too traumatic for my mom tomorrow.

Now for me, on the other hand...

Lunch

Lately I've been trying to come up with creative things to make Mason to eat. I don't want to branch out from the fresh fruits and veggies too much just yet, but he's had (and loves) wheat bread, organic pastas, YoBaby yogurt, cream cheese, and oatmeal. We tried egg yolks, but they look too gross to even try when I scrambled them, and he gagged on them when they were hard boiled.

We have tons of organic produce around here, too, after a trip to Wegman's the other day: banana, mango, peach, pear, avocado, sweet potato, butternut squash, carrots, and eggplant, all frozen into cubes or chunks or slices and tightly sealed in labled ziplock baggies in the freezer. There's something about turning fruits and vegetables into baby food that I just love and I know I'll be sad when he doesn't want my Mommy Purees anymore.

But, yeah, I've been trying to be creative. Breakfast is always easy - toast with cream cheese or a fruit spread, either yogurt or oatmeal, and some kind of frest fruit. Dinner is easy too - just a whole bowl of veggies and a half a bowl of fruit. Lunch, though. Lunch is tricky. I just never know what to make.

Today, though, I got a little crazy. I branched out. Eggplant parmesan (well, minus the parmesan.. we haven't tried cheese yet)... baby style:

He loved the eggplant. Liked the pasta too, but since it was a strange shape (it was the edges of the ravioli I had for lunch) it was kind of slippery and took him about three days to gum each piece. I don't think he was a fan of the sauce.

I never realized how seedy eggplant is! If you look closely in this next picture, you can see an eggplant seed sticking out of his right nostril:

Still happy though. Always happy. Even with eggplant in his nose. Gosh, I love him.

Mason Edison

We have those night lights around the apartment that only light up when it's dark or when there's a shadow over them. This morning, Mason discovered how much fun they can be.

On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.

And so it went for five minutes or so, which is when he discovered how to pull the night light out of the socket. He ripped it out, discarded it on the floor behind him, and started eyeing up the holes that are just the right size for his tiny fingers to fit inside. Needless to say, his fun ended there.

I swear, this kid is too smart for his own good sometimes.

One Pearly White

I bought this onesie probably four months ago, when I was expecting Mason's first tooth to pop through.


Even though Mase has moved up a size or two since then, I was able to squeeze him into it today, and resolved that I'd get a picture of that elusive tooth, if it was the last thing I ever did. Unfortunately, he still wasn't in the mood to let me see inside his mouth.

But, after a whole bunch of failed attempts (and some really cute pictures in the process), I finally got it:

It's the cutest tooth ever, isn't it?