My Son

My gorgeous Bubby is 8 months old.  I can't believe it.

Every month to a month and a half, we have a Healthy Babies home visit.  Healthy Babies is a free, voluntary service provided by the Canadian government to first time moms and dads.  I love learning, so I signed up for it.

Every few months, there are Nipissing Screens.  I think they are in correlation with immunizations.

Ever since Bubs was a little baby, he's been ahead of the game.  First, it was great neck control when he was 2 months old.  The next visit, he was sitting up fairly well, with some support around 3 months.  Then, he was sitting by himself but still a little wobbly around 4 months, with his two bottom teeth coming in.

I could go on and on.  You're seeing a trend, right?

He can stand up by himself now, without holding on to anything, and decided to show off to our visitor.  She said, "Just for fun, let's see how he compares with the 12 month screen!"  I agreed.

Well, my son is 4 months advanced, meaning he's hitting 12 month old milestones now, at 8 months old. 

I'm so proud of my baby!  Every day is a new adventure with him.

Sheldon and Francois Put on Hold

I have writer's block. :(

Today my son is 8 months old!  I can't believe how the time as flown.

Sheldon and Francois

This story is based on my mom's (Hi Mom!) fish tank.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sheldon and Francois were housemates.  They shared a 10 gallon salt water tank with Bob and Phyllis, and Starr. (But Phyllis doesn't think that Starr is her real name.  It's probably her stage name, that floozy!)

Bob and Phyllis, Starr, Sheldon, and Francois lived happily and peacefully for almost a year.  It wasn't until Francois had a little too much Domaine Romanée-Conti that the peace was broken.

Sheldon, a turbo snail, had been moseying about the tank.  It was the early evening, so he was winding down from a busy day of turboing around the tank, cleaning it, and chatting up Starr.  

Starr was a beauty that was all legs.  Francois, upon moving into the tank, had been infatuated with her.  He felt possessive and territorial with her.  Unfortunately for Francois, Starr wasn't into expensive wines and French culture, and to be honest, she thought hermit crabs were repulsive.

Bob and Phyllis were out on a date, and Sheldon and Starr were sitting around the live rock chatting.  Francois was in a dark corner of the tank, watching with his beady little black eyes and twirling his long mustache.

"Zeese," Francois mumbled as he slammed his claw into the glass, "eez preposterous!  'Ow can she be taken with zeese salaud.  I am clearly more of a gentleman zan 'e eez!  C'est des conneries!"

Bob and Phyllis came home to find Francois sulking.

"Oh no, there, Francois!  What are you so sad aboot?" Phyllis asked gently, placing her dainty fin around his eye stalks.

"Eet eez ze girl.  I am so in love with 'er and she is too blind to see eet!  'Ow can I get her to see, Phylli?"

Bob grumbled, "Stop wastin' yet time on a girl that don't want ye."

The food flakes came early that night, and the light went out quickly after the flakes were finished.

"Well," said Phyllis gently, "I think it's time to go to sleep.  Take care now, Francois.  Tomorrow is a new day, after all!"

Chapter Two will continue tomorrow.

Happy Hump Day!

We are at the top of the hill of the week!  It's all downhill from here!

I think my favorite days of the week are Wednesday, Friday and Saturday.  Wednesday because the week is half over, Friday because no work the next day and it's pay day, and Saturday because I get to spend all day with my hubby!

Sundays and Mondays are my least favorite days.  Sunday because all day it's like there's a cloud hanging over my head because I will miss hubby so much the next day, and Monday because Mondays just suck.  And Bubs is used to having both of us home, so Monday he's a Krabby Patty all day.  He stops the whining and brattiness when he gets to talk to Daddy on the phone and when Daddy is home.

Today he's being especially bratty.  I don't know why.  He doesn't have a temperature and he's not sick.  I guess he's picking up on the funk I'm in.

We were supposed to have a long weekend with Daddy, but it doesn't look like that's going to be happening because Daddy's boss decided to cancel the extra work this afternoon and drag it over to tomorrow.  That work, instead of taking Wednesday afternoon and part of Thursday, will take all day Thursday and part of Friday.

Plus I'm still not feeling well.  I think after my lunch, Bubs and I are going to take a nap.

Is It Friday Yet?

Sunday night I started feeling like poop.  My throat was hurting, my tummy was upset, and I was feeling feverish.  "Oh no," I thought, "I can't be getting sick.  Mommies aren't allowed to be sick."

Sure enough, I'm sick.  I have no idea what's wrong with me.  My throat hurts on one side, I have a low grade fever, and my head is pounding.

Enough whining.

While my husband was at work yesterday, there was no work to be done.  So they basically just hung out all day and got paid for it.

In his boredom, a coworker, we'll call him Gary, decided to hike to the top of a hill to see what was up there.  While there, Gary decided to have a cigarette.  He butted it out on the bottom of his boot, and walked back down to join my husband and the other men.  This was around noon.

At 4, my husband heard a crackling sound and thought nothing of it.  A few minutes later, the men had to do something outside and came to the hill.  They took one look at it, and the entire thing was on fire.

Let me interrupt the story by saying it was close to 100 degrees here and very, very dry the last couple days.

So Gary grabbed a fire extinguisher and ran over and tried to put the fire out.  Well, it didn't work and someone had called the fire department anyway.

Meanwhile, the most exciting thing that happened here was Bubby spilling my lemonade.  And his apology to me was pooping in his clean diaper that I changed not two minutes before.

Oh, that and my husband's grandmother decided she wanted to give my son a stuffed dog that is "Colombian made" (my husband's family is Colombian).  The tag on the dog clearly says "Made in China".  She also had the audacity to ask me to be a part of her pyramid scheme selling Gano products.  Her stupid son (my father-in-law; I use the term "father" VERY loosely) already bought $1,200 of it.  I smiled and said I would look into it.  Which leads me to this question: Do I look stupid?

The Bubs has this awesome new thing he started over the weekend where he claps when he likes something.  It is so cute and so sweet.  He also says "I love you" and "I love you too" in Bubby-ese.  And "Mama" "Dada" "ba" or "baba" (our word for bottle).  We're working on "Na Na" (my mother; Hi Mom!) and "Po Po" (my father).

We tried Baby Sign Language with him, but he wasn't interested.  The day after we started it with him, he started saying "ba" and "baba".  And he grabs at his diaper when it needs to be changed.  So we stopped.

My husband and I want to teach him Spanish and Japanese too.  But neither of us speak Spanish fluently enough, and he barely knows more than I do (his family never taught him, and my mom's family never taught her).  And we both would like to learn Japanese.  I'm afraid it might be too late though, because Bubs is almost 8 months old and all he's ever heard was English and Japanese (from the anime we watch).  And some Spanish from when my in-laws were allowed to see our child.  But that's another story for another day.

Happy Friday!

Hi all three of my readers!!  

It's here!  It's finally here!  Happy Friday!  I love Fridays.  It means that I can spend a whole day with my gorgeous husband without having to feel sad that I am going to miss him at work the next day.


I'm most looking forward to going on our family walks.  We plop the Bubs in his stroller and we just walk.  It's great bonding time for my hubby and me.  Bubby usually falls asleep, and if not, he's quiet and sometimes he'll give us his take on the current scenery, but other than that, it's just us, without any distractions.

This is a short, lame post.  I'm sorry.  My mind is going in a million directions, I have a migraine, and it's hard to concentrate.

Have a great weekend!

My Perfect Mommy Delusion

When I was pregnant, I had this beautiful image of me being this perfect earth mama.  I was going to cloth diaper and breastfeed.  My son was not going use pacifiers (he doesn't, for the record, he hates them).

I had this idea about my labor, too.  I was not going to get an epidural (which I didn't!), and I was going to be moving freely and deliver in a nontraditional position, like on my hands and knees or squatting.

I was going to be the perfect mommy, damn it.

While I was looking at cloth diapers, my mother-in-law told me not to waste my time, that they are expensive, a hassle, etc.  So I gave up on the cloth diapers.  I'm glad I didn't cloth diaper, because, well, I'm lazy and disposable diapers are easy and convenient.  And, if you're out, you don't need to carry around a stinky poop diaper until you get home.

The first month I breastfed my son.  We went for his first check ups, and the doctor told me he was losing weight, and to offer him my breast, pumped breast milk and supplement with formula.

I did all three.  He still wasn't gaining enough weight.  She prescribed me some medication that would increase my milk.  It didn't work.

So, we started formula-exclusive feeding.  The next appointment, he was in the 96% of his weight.  I was happy my son was getting enough nutrients.  I was also sad and disappointed with myself, and I felt like a failure.  I couldn't provide the basic and most important thing in my son's life.

It was made worse one day when I had the car and I was picking my husband up after work.  (He worked with his aunt's husband at the time, and he would drive to the aunt's house and the uncle would drive the rest of the way.)  The Bubs and I got there about 10 minutes before my husband was supposed to arrive.  The baby being so new, he was only about two months old, the aunt asked to hold him.  He started fussing because he was hungry, so I handed her a bottle.  She looks at it and says, "Formula?  You have a bad mommy!" 

I'll let that soak in.  I'm a bad mommy because I'm not breastfeeding my son.


It was like a slap in the face.  I'm a fairly private person in real life.  I didn't feel like having my business broadcasted, so I didn't bother telling anyone.  She doesn't know the struggle that I went through, and she doesn't need to.  It's none of her business and she shouldn't have opened her big, ignorant mouth.

I struggle privately with this pain on a daily basis.  I look at my beautiful and healthy son and I wonder how much better off he would and could be if I had been able to provide the right food for him.  I wonder how worse off he will be because I didn't.

Must Be Doing Something Right!

This is Bubby when he was 4 and a half months old.  This picture was taken on Mother's Day.

 

 

 

 

My little family took a trip to Walmart the other day.  There was a sale on twin popsicles, a big ass box for $3 or something like that, so we bought a box.  Bubby wanted to taste the popsicles, so we shared with him.  He seems to like them.

On a daily basis, I fear that I am doing something wrong and my son is going to turn into the next Charles Manson.  But today, I was having an apple for my snack, and he crawled over, pulled himself up, and opened his mouth to share my apple.  After that, he kept insisting that I share with him.  He didn't react this way with the popsicles, so I must be doing something right, right?


He's great with trying new foods.  He loves fresh apples and mangoes (and bananas, but they don't like him).  He is great with jarred fruits and veggies.  He does not, however, like jarred chicken, rice and veggies dinner.  He made the most disgusted face ever when he tasted it and promptly spit it back out.  I wouldn't have eaten it from the way it smelled when I opened the jar.


I would love to instill the "I won't feed him what I won't eat" rule, but there are a lot of things I won't eat, and he'll be missing out.  The only thing I don't care if he doesn't want to try are Lima beans.  No one in my family eats them.  If we have mixed veggies with our dinner, and those gross green things are mixed in, we fling them at each other, or put them on someone else's plate when they're not looking.


We're not heathens, I swear.  Every family has their own thing, and this is ours.  Well, this and shooting Jell-O at each other using straws.  (We were on vacation and decided to go to a buffet style restaurant for dinner.  There were squares of Jell-O for dessert, so we each got a square.  I don't remember who, it might have been my mom (Hi Mom!), used her straw to suck the Jello up and shot it like a blow dart at someone else.  We sat there for probably 5 minutes shooting Jell-O at each other.  It was a lot of fun.)

I Has a Stress

Ever since our son was born on American Thanksgiving last year, I think my husband and I have had two dates.  His birthday and one other time that I can't think of.  Yes, I know getting to have a date with my husband is awesome.  It also means that except for maybe 6 hours, I have been around my darling little angel his entire life.  Nonstop.  All day, every day.  Since the day he was born.

I love my son with all my heart and I would kill for him, if necessary.  Some days I need time to myself.  Those days are few and far between.

Today is one of those days.  Today he is being a hellion.  He woke up right after Daddy left to go to work, and has been being fussy since then.  Nothing I do is good enough.

When Daddy called, he was all smiles and raspberries and bubbles and cheerful and giggles.  After I hung up, he started again.  He has been crying and whining and bratty.  Oh and he's crawling all over me.

If I cuddle him, he squirms out of my arms.  If I put him down, he crawls all over me.  If I try to feed him his bottle, he doesn't want it, but wants it when I put it on the nightstand.

I used to think my mom was joking when she said that the bathroom is the only place she can go to be alone.  She was right. (Hi Mom!)  

I'm tired of watching Pokemon for the 12th time in two days.  I'm going to put on Sesame Beginnings or Elmo in Grouchland.

Maybe Mama will scoop herself some delicious mocha caramel ice cream.  I'll imagine that I'm sitting on a secluded white sand beach with clear blue water sipping a delicious mommies-only drink.  Cheers!

Mission: Impossible

Before I had my son, I had cats.  They have super sharp little claws that always seem to find the 'mouse' under the blanket while you're snuggling down to get a good night's rest.  Those sharp little claws will find your feet and you will be wide awake and you will have 8 little open wounds on your foot.  Unless you clipped your cats' nails, like I did.

The first time I cut my son's nails I was so scared.  Here is this tiny little hand with even tinier little nails and I need to use a tiny weapon to clip those tiny little nails.  I was so afraid that I was going to some how cut his little finger and that it will lead to massive bleeding and I will have to rush him to the hospital to get it to stop.  CPS no doubt would be breaking my door down the next day.  None of that happened, thankfully.


His nails were insanely easy to clip.  He was about two months old, so he was squirmy, but manageable.  Since then, I haven't really needed to clip his nails.  Baby nails are paper-thin, and his would end up being hang nails before I would have to clip them, so I'd always bite off the hang nail.


He is no longer two months old.  His nails are no longer paper-thin.  He is no longer two-months-old-squirmy and he is no longer two-months-old-manageable.  He's seven months old, which means seven-months-old-squirmy.

So how am I supposed to clip his nails?  While he naps.  And he never naps.  Don't get me wrong, he's a great sleeper.  The very rare occasion when he's about to nap, the phone rings, or the yard people walk by the window with their superloud equipment, or I sneeze.  This only happens when he's drifting to Napland.  No other time will any of these events occur.


Oh, but when Daddy comes home from work, he snuggles down with no problem and naps, or naps on the weekends, but not when it's just Bubby and Mommy.  He'd much rather drive me crazy.  

Oh, and he's a perfect little angel when Daddy gets home.  I talk to my husband during the day, and complain about how the Bubs is doing this or that and by the time he comes home, my hair resembles Miss Frizzle's and I'm singing the Itsy Bitsy Spider with a twitchy eye.


Mama needs a drink.