Thankful

I will be the first to admit that I have a lot in my life to be thankful for. The fact that I got pregnant, had a healthy baby, and enjoy motherhood make up only the tip of my iceberg of thankfulness. Yes. I just typed iceberg of thankfulness. How lame. But, in my defense, I am trying some new sleeping techniques with M, because the insanity that is his sleeping schedule has GOT. TO. CHANGE. So far, the only changes round these parts have resulted in less sleep for Momma and Daddy, but we are staying positive. Which is, in my opinion, a crucial part of not wanting to chuck your screaming baby out the window at 2:17 am.

Anyhoo, perhaps if my brain can manage, I can type out a thrilling entry on sleep later on this week. Right now I am not so sure why I am even trying to come up with coherent words at this moment since my brain is on permanent mush mode. Wait...it is coming back to me...slowly...ummmm...thankfulness. Not to be confused with tankfulness, which I previously typed and have no earthly idea if that is even a word. It's officially not a word, thanks to the red squiggly line that Word bestowed below that combination of letters. Okay. Seriously. What in the hell am I even talking about at this point?

Focus! Back to the core of this entry, which at this point, there really isn't a core. I guess what I am trying (very hard) to say is that being a new parent has brought change after change to my life, most of the changes have been exceptionally good, but a few I could live without. However, the one change that I was dreading, and pretty much knew without a doubt would occur once I birthed a kid...never did.

I suffered from depression in college, severe depression. It came on slowly; I didn't understand what was happening. I lost my appetite. I started crying frequently. I quit attending classes. I stopped showering (my poor roommates). I poured a bottle of painkillers down my throat and tried very hard to swallow them, but couldn't follow through. I was hospitalized. I scared a lot of people. I got medication. I found a therapist. I slowly got better. It took intense self-examination and an extremely long time for me to talk about what I went through, what caused my breakdown and depression. I knew that I could never be truly free from depression; I just hoped that I would be able to keep it under control and realize when I needed help.

Once I got pregnant, I was thrilled beyond words. But, through my entire pregnancy the one thing looming at the back of my mind was post partum depression, and to what degree I would suffer its wrath. It still baffles me to this day, but somehow after I gave birth, I never once felt the cold, merciless fingers of depression clawing at my insides. I don't know how I escaped, since I was a prime candidate to be swallowed up into that void of sadness and confusion. Yet somehow, I made it through unscathed. Relief that depression hasn't taken its toll doesn't begin to describe how I feel each and every day. Life can be tough, I won't deny that simple fact, but it could be much tougher trying to manage everything through the haze of depression, which I have not had to do in a very long time. I can only pray that I will continue moving away from that part of my life and towards the part which encompasses baby kisses, chubby thighs, hot chocolate, good books, family hugs, and peanut butter ice cream.

Sweet Pete, life is really great and for that I am thankful.

Riddle me this

How is it that I am fitting in pants that were too small for me before I became pregnant...and yet I have, for lack of better description, a gut?

That just is not fair.

8 merry months

I just need to type a generic post every time M turns a month older since all I do is sit down and marvel at how quickly the time passes, gawk at how big my boy is becoming, and bask in all the fun I'm having being a momma.

My very best friend came to visit this past weekend, and it was such a joy watching her interact with M. Thank God M has yet to enter the "cling to Momma" stage; he still willingly goes to anyone and everyone who will give him a smile. Watching two of my most favorite people in the world bond was almost too much for my heart to handle; it should have exploded from the cuteness. Thankfully, it did not. The explosion actually occurred after I held our friends newborn baby girl for the first time on Saturday, she was so tiny, so weightless, and it was hard to believe that M was ever that size. Seeing the two of them in one room together, and looking at the differences 8 little months make in development, did me in. I am both eager and at the same time dragging my heels to have another baby.

While having a new little baby to fawn all over would be divine, I would then have to worry about carting said baby around, as well as my son. M is a great crawler, he is all over the place, and is pretty quick, even though he is still doing his stomach crawl. The problem is, once he crawls within a two foot radius of any person who walks on two legs, he starts grunting and whining to be picked up, so he too can walk on two legs. I love that is so excited about walking, and the delight on his face when someone holds his hands to pull him into a standing position is priceless. That being said, it is really hard to get things done when the only thing my child wants to do is walk back and forth between the kitchen and living room all day long. And? My back hurts. He isn’t exactly tall.

J thinks it won’t be long until the boy is walking on his own, J himself walked at 9 months. It will be wonderful for M to walk independently; but it also means that I will have to do actual work around the house to childproof the place. Oh. And buy a baby gate. No, that still hasn’t happened. Don’t look at me that way.

In addition to becoming more independent, M is also becoming more squirmy. It is virtually impossible to burp the child now because he is constantly turning himself around to see whatever is behind him. Basically we spin in circles as I burp him, a fun new game, probably more so for M than for Momma. But, I would venture to guess that M’s most favorite game of all right now is “Imgonnagetchoo!” created and patented by Daddykins himself. All you need is a bed, a crawling baby, and a Daddy. This game can entertain for at least 5 minutes, long enough for Momma to haphazardly throw on some clothes, brush hair, and at least pretend that she is a little concerned with her appearance.

Another thing that will captivate M for more than a mere 2.3 seconds, are Cheerios. I hate to carelessly throw Cheerios his way for the sake of getting him to stay still so I can unpack at least one bag of groceries, since I don’t want him to associate food with staying still, but it is very tempting not to do. Cheerios don’t have quite the time occupying power they used to, since M can now get all the little ‘o’ shaped bits in his piehole in record time, but they are still a quick distraction when I need one.

And while I am constantly trying to distract M so I can quickly check work email, or start dinner, or simply use the bathroom, I try not to become distracted by everyday life. I am focusing on being an attentive momma, and it is a challenge, especially when I don’t want to sit at the edge of the coffee table and watch my baby sit and stand for ten minutes without stopping, because couldn’t he sit and stand while I read this here blog post? The answer is yes. Yes he could, and it doesn’t make me a bad person for wanting to have a little adult stimulation, but I also want to remember what M’s first few months are like, and trying to do too many things at once won’t help my memory.

Asking M whether or not I should be reading while he is playing will most certainly result in an emphatic NO head shake. He has mastered this skill quite well, and is willing to display his ability every time a question directed his way. (I’m not saying he understands the question, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to answer.) J has been trying to teach M to shake his head yes, and you can imagine his response to learning that. *Shakes head ‘no’.*

The power of positive thinking

Ever since M was born I have declared that he is a good sleeper. This is, for the most part true (see, I am using positive thinking even as I type this post!). We are able to put M in his crib at night and he usually goes to sleep right away, without a fuss.

(Here it comes) BUT, the chances that he will actually stay asleep all night long are slim to none. Every so often he will sleep from 8 pm until 5:30 am, and those are good nights. Lately he has been waking up and yelling at us between 10 and 11 pm, and he is yelling for what seems like no reason at all. We cannot figure out what is wrong. I feel so badly for him, and also for me, because there have been a couple of moments where I have almost lost my mind due to all the screaming. Also, I do not deal graciously with stress, and a screaming baby for an hour does not a gracious momma make. Instead the screaming seems to grind what itsy sliver of graciousness I did have into tiny shreds with every shriek, cry and whimper. I am not proud of that, and I am working VERY hard to deal with M's crying like a poised and professional mother. My first step in dealing is to remind myself that 'he is a BABY and he doesn't know any better'. Which, duh, but during the throws of crying this can be a hard thing to remember and I don't want him to learn that screaming like a wild banshee will get momma to pick him up. Sometimes I worry a little that I am being taken advantage of by an 8 month old, which really, is that such a big deal? In a way yes, because I don't want my kid thinking he rules the roost, but in a way no, because he needs to know he is loved and cared for, especially when he is so upset.

So, for awhile M was up with what seemed like teething pain, and he wouldn't stay up long, but he still was awake. Then, out of no where, he started crying out at random times, sometimes 12, sometimes 2, and (here is where I made my mistake) I would go in and try and comfort him so he could get back to sleep and so he wouldn't wake up J. Except, M wasn't learning how to soothe himself and that = problem. So now, when he wakes up at night, I think it's harder for him to get back to sleep because momma needs to be there to help facilitate the process.

Now I have realized that unless the child is screaming his head off, I should just let him whimper and cry a little in his crib and he will usually go back to sleep. It is hard though, trying to retrain myself not to jump up at every sound that comes from his nursery.

So, in conclusion, I like to say that M is a good sleeper, because I want him to be a good sleeper, and isn't positive thinking half the battle?

The long awaited BIRTH STORY, which took almost as many months to write as I was pregnant

I woke up on a Saturday morning, 11 days before my due date and felt the need to clean the bathroom. And not just clean, but clean. As in scrub the floor with a toothbrush and polish underneath the toilet. (That urge to clean with such gusto should have opened my eyes to what was about to happen, but...it did not.) Once I completed all those tasks I gravitated to the baby’s room, which was still in a bit of shambles, and started going through all the papers that were left from cleaning out the office. As Jim and I sat on the floor going through old pay stubs, bank statements and mortgage paperwork, I felt a cramp grip my abdomen. At first it took a second to register what had actually happened and then I got excited because OMG! my baby is coming! Now is the time, seize the day! Sound the trumpets, roll out the red carpet, all that jazz. But then I calmed down and realized that oh, my due date is about two weeks away, that cramp I felt was most likely Braxton Hicks and I was being the typical over-reacting first time Momma. So, I went back to sorting boring paperwork on my bedroom floor and didn’t think anymore about the cramp, until the next one came. Two hours later. Yes, crazy over-reactive first time silly Momma, thinking that cramp could be real. Twas most definitely Braxton Hicks, because when I got up and moved around the cramp *Poof!* disappeared, not to mention it was TWO hours after the first cramp. And those sorts of things never happen with real time labor, get with the program woman. (I will say that I had not had ANY Braxton Hicks during my entire pregnancy, so this was all new and exciting to me.)

The day continued on and I went about my business as usual. My business alternated between lying on the couch and then waddling into the kitchen and gazing longingly at my cabinets to find a dollop or two of Nutella I may have missed in my last spoon licking fest. Clearly, I was very busy during the last few weeks of my pregnancy.

As the afternoon wound down, I decided that I would spice things up a bit and sit in my rocking chair, instead of stretching my beached whale self out on the couch. At one point I thought I should go for a swim, but then I talked myself out of it, I had swum on Friday and was worn out from the exercise, and from cleaning my entire bathroom with a toothbrush (freak). I sat down in the rocker and turned on the T.V. and low and behold, there was another cramp. It had been a couple of hours since the last cramp, but as usual, when I got up to move around, the cramp subsided.

Friends of ours, who we had not seen in quite some time, were coming over for dinner that night and Jim was making his super yummy homemade pizza dough recipe. As dinner time approached I tried my best to help Jim with what I could, but I actually had another Braxton Hicks, this one was about 30 or 40 minutes after the last cramp, and I was feeling so worn out. Our friends arrived and we stood in the kitchen catching up for a little while and helping Jim out, when lo and behold another cramp hit. It was perhaps about 15-20 minutes after the previous cramp and for a moment I panicked and thought ‘I could really be in labor!’ but then I reminded myself that first cramps are usually nothing, and I was doing this little thing called over-reacting (the theme of the day).

I left the kitchen and went to sit down in the living room. Our friends were very nice and they stayed in the kitchen to cook with Jim (and talk loudly so that I might still be included in the conversation) while I sat in the living room and tried very hard to overcome the pains that were coming closer and closer together. During dinner prep one of our friends came into the living room with me, but I could barely concentrate on what she was saying because my uterus was talking much more forcefully. There were a couple of contractions that actually forced me up out of my seat (not an easy feat at 38 weeks pregnant) and it was getting harder to get rid of the pains by simply changing position. I had very little appetite and was feeling pretty shitty all around.

Dinner was ready after a little while and it was all I could do to force a piece of pizza down my piehole. Jim gently reminded me that I should try hard to eat something because if this was real labor then I may not eat again for a really long time. I begrudgingly agreed, and managed to gag another slice of pizza down. After eating I remained in the rocker and tried to rock my pain away, and what do you know? That seemed to work! The pains that had been coming faster and harder were fading and at that point it confirmed to me that everything I had been experiencing was indeed Braxton Hicks. Our guest left after dinner and Jim and I settled down to watch some good ole Saturday night T.V.

After numbing some brain cells with two exciting back to back episodes of Cops, I managed to waste another hour watching more crap on T.V. and then finally decided to go to bed around 10:30. I slowly got ready for bed and settled down for a good nights rest (minus the several trips to the toilet) around 11. Except my baby boy (I didn’t know he was a boy then, but eight months later (slacker), I am certain he is, in fact, a boy) had other plans.

Around 1 a.m. I woke up with a start. I had another contraction that lulled me from depths of sleep and reminded me that I was not a fan of my uterus when Braxton Hicks came knocking. It took awhile to get back to sleep, the contraction was pretty painful. Finally I fell back asleep and hoped and prayed that was the last pain I would feel until my baby actually arrived. Wrong!

2 a.m. – the mother of all contractions wakes me up, and as I jolted up from the pain, I wondered why in the hell Braxton Hicks had to be so painful and why on earth they had to come so frequently. Granted, an hour apart isn’t frequent in contractionland, but come on, I was a novice and totally didn’t realize what I signed up for. I thought about trying to go back to bed, but another contraction came only about 15 minutes later and I knew that I was going to be up for awhile. Little did I realize how long…

I went into the bathroom so I would not wake up Jim and sat hunched over on the toilet to protect my weak little body from the evil contractions threatening to destroy me. I think I had one more contraction in the bathroom and then broke down and woke up Jim, because I realized that those little devils were painful and I NEEDED support. Jim woke up bleary eyed and confused, and it took him a second to get oriented, but once he realized what was happening he helped me recall my breathing techniques and stayed close by so I could dig my nails into him when the pain started, and rub my back. The contractions continued on, and being the brave solider that I am, I faced off against the contractions with my awesome breathing skills. Things were going swimmingly for about two hours, but the contractions were most certainly stronger and closer together and then the puking started. To say that was surprising is an understatement, and though we were warned about contractions that induced vomiting in our birth class, I just didn't think it would happen to me. I think I threw up around 7 or 8 times total, and each time I threw up, it became more painful. After awhile there was nothing left for me to regurgitate, so I started throwing up stomach acid. FUN! TIMES! At one point I took one sip of Gatorade in hopes that would help prevent dehydration, but as soon as the liquid went down my throat, it came right back up.

Around 5 am I decided that I needed to get in the shower and let the warm water distract me from the pain. The shower was blissful, and I remember wishing I could just stay under the water forever and not have to face anymore contractions, but that just wasn't possible. So, after what seemed like a veeerrrrylooooongtiiiiime in the shower, I emerged from the soothing water and promptly started throwing up again. Jim decided that he would call the doctor and let her know I was in labor, however it was so early in the morning that the answering service was still on and the message clearly stated that if the doctor received a call that was not an emergency there would be a fee for the call. I immediately told Jim to hang up, I did not want to be charged a fee to be told that I was in labor! I had a few more contractions, and tried very hard to practice my stellar breathing, but that was slowly going out the window.

Jim watched me contract and throw-up a little longer, and made the executive decision to call the doctor again, maybe about an hour after our first attempt? I don't remember. I do remember that I was in such pain I didn't care by then if we were charged $100 a second for the phone call, I just needed to be somewhere besides my bed, lest this baby decide to make it's grand entrance into the world. Jim was on the phone with the doctor, describing my symptoms, when everything started, and so on. The doc wanted to talk with me after speaking with Jim for a little while. As Jim handed me the phone I felt the stab of another contraction coming and I could barely say 'yes' or 'no' before having to drop the phone and succumb to the pain. The doctor confirmed with Jim that we should go ahead and leave for the hospital, and those words sent Jim into a flurry.

Jim ran downstairs and started trying to put everything together for the car, he needed to eat, so he shoved some pizza down his throat, and then rushed my suitcase and pillows out to the car, he brushed his teeth, got himself some snacks for the long wait and raced around the house at top speed. Meanwhile, I was still hanging out with my baby, who was lodged inside my body and being a big fat pain in the uterus. I could not believe that we were leaving for the hospital and that in a short time I would meet the kid who was residing inside of me for the last 9 months! I started to get really eager, and I let out a cry of excitement, which prompted Jim to yell and see if I was still alive. I suppose in my current state, a 'happy' cry and an 'in pain' cry sounded much the same. Jim flew up the stairs to make sure the contractions hadn't killed me and then hurried me out the door into the car. We were on our way!

While in route to the hospital I started feeling queasy again. Luckily, it was early on a Sunday morning, so when I asked Jim to pull to the side of the road so I could vomit, there was not a lot of traffic on the road. I remember Jim asking me if I was serious about pulling over, as if he didn't believe his wife, who had just thrown up the entire contents of her stomach and more, could possibly throw-up anymore more. It surprised me too, but who was I to argue with this baby? I puked (theme of the day) and then we resumed barreling down the highway to the hospital. Jim pulled into the garage, parked (I wanted him to be with me when I walked into the hospital) and started unloading my bag and pillows from the car. We were about to walk across the lot and out of the garage when the mother of all contractions hit me and I could not stand up. I bent over in pain and Jim kept persistently trying to remind about my breathing, which: Thank you very much and shuttupa your face. I thought at one point I would have to crawl through the doors of the hospital. Thankfully, that did not happen.

Jim had to check me in, and after what felt a lifetime, we were finally allowed to go upstairs to the labor and delivery floor. The whole time Jim was checking in at the main desk I sat on a nearby chair and clutched a pillow around my mid-section. I remember trying to breathe, and by this I do not mean "practice my breathing techniques", I mean simply BREATHE because it seemed as though this labor was killing me slowly. We took the elevators up to the delivery floor and went to a second desk to check in, the triage area. We sat down and watched as three different nurses ignored us and I wondered what I needed to do to get the attention of someone, anyone, on this floor. Were flashing lights and a neon sign required for an intake? I had inadvertently left mine at home during our rush out the door, please excuse my hastiness, but nevertheless, COULD ONE OF YOU PLEASE NOTICE THAT I AM IN LABOR AND NEED A FUCKING INTAKE? Thanks.

Finally a nurse looked at me and asked me to come on back so they could check me out and find out far along I was. Considering it took me about five minutes to get up out of the chair, because I was IN PAIN, I'd say I was pretty far along. Only that's the thing. I wasn't. I changed out of my clothes, and into a paper sheet designed to only cover half of my body, and expose copious amounts of flesh to innocent bystanders should I turn the wrong way, then hoist myself onto the examining table. The nurse strapped various belts to me and we learned that I was 4 centimeters dilated. What? That cannot be right. I was already two centimeters dilated before I went into labor, and you mean I have been laboring for almost SIX hours and have only gained two centimeters during that time frame? Labor blows.

At this point everything becomes a little more fuzzy because of the equation:

PAIN = MEMORY LOSS

I was wheeled down the hall to a labor and delivery room and asked if I wanted an epidural. For a long time I wanted to believe that I could sail through labor without and epidural, that I would not need to sequester my pain because I was going to stare down labor and would not be beaten into submission by pains my uterus was emitting. I was young and foolish, and also, foolish. When the nurse asked if I was going to get an epidural I cast my eyes away and whispered "Yes". I was sad that my uterus had taken over, and had beaten me into submission at a mere FOUR centimeters. But, pain was pain, and I couldn't take it anymore. I was told I would need to wait a little longer for the anesthesiologist to come and give the epidural. Jim tried his best to distract me, but I just lay on the bed wishing I could sleep, breathe, leave, do anything but be on the bed. Finally, after what felt like eons, the anesthesiologist arrived and hooked up the epidural. It took about 20 minutes for the pain to start subsiding, but after that, I was a new woman. The epidural was given to me around 9:30 or 10? I think.

And! When I finally did get the epidural, I was 6 centimeters dilated! I made it further than I thought I would, and while I didn't make it all the way through labor without drugs, I was proud of myself for making it that far.

After the epidural kicked in I was able to relax for the next hour or so. Jim and I rested in the room and nurses came in every so often to check my progress and see how I was doing. I had to get a Pitocin drip, which meh, didn't bother me at all. Around noon I told Jim that I felt my contractions start to pick up and become more intense. I called the nurse in and she confirmed that I was 10 centimeters dilated. WOO HOO! My doctor came in and she told me that I would soon be able to start pushing, the were going to monitor me a little more just to make sure that everything was okay.

My doctor came back in the room, still dressed in her regular clothing, which was surprising to me because I thought she would don scrubs for the occasion. (She did, but not until the baby was almost out.) The nurse trained me about how to push, three long pushes for 10 seconds each, and then the festivities began! I began pushing and in between pushing I would talk with my doctor, the nurse and J. We talked about how I ran a marathon, and made comparisons between running and childbirth, we talked about baby underwear, we talked about a lot of things. During the beginning of my labor I thought, this is a piece of cake, this should take no time at all. Only, I was very wrong. After pushing for what seemed like an eternity, my doctor told me that I was getting closer, and she was going to put on her scrubs after I went through another cycle of pushing. Only, I went through about five more cycles of pushing and she didn't put on her scrubs. By this point, I was tired. I tried not to look at the clock at all, because I didn't want to get discouraged, but I had been pushing for about an hour.

And so, the pushing continued. And I became more and more tired. Perhaps scrubbing the bathroom on my hands and knees the morning before was not the best use of my energy. Silly me. At some point in time the top of the baby's head emerged, but I don't know how long I'd been pushing at that point. (J later told me that it was so bittersweet, because the top of the baby's head emerged when I would bear down and push, but then the head would slide back inside after I stopped pushing, so it was as if no work had been done at all and I was starting all over again with each push. Luckily, I had no idea this was happening, because I probably would have been a little aggravated that this was happening.) After awhile my doctor said AGAIN that she was going to put her scrubs because the baby was almost out. I should have known she was lying, but in my delirious state, I got very excited. What my doctor MEANT to say was: "Push for another 45 minutes and then I'll put on my scrubs and your baby will arrive."

After I had been pushing for an hour and 45 minutes my baby finally decided that it was time to break free. I remember the doctor telling me to push in conjunction with a contraction, and then she asked me if I had enough strength to push again immediately after I was done pushing. I didn't know if I could do it. I was tired, worn out and wanting to be done. But...whaddaya know. I did it! My baby's head emerged, and I was fully ready to keep pushing and huffing and puffing (because a doctor friend of ours said that pushing out the shoulders is often the hardest part of birth) but, that wasn't the case. The baby came out quickly, and J looked at me and declared "It's a boy!" and then before I knew it he was in my arms and I gave a yelp of surprise, because it all happened so quickly once his head came out. I just laid there, dumbfounded, and completely and totally in love. He was here. He was finally here and life was perfect.

I got to hold him for a little while, then he was taken to another part of the room to be weighed, etc, while the doctor put me back together. He was so tiny, so small, and I wanted nothing more than to be able to protect him forever and ever. Good gracious I love that boy. He is, without a doubt, awesome.

(Oh my holy heavens, this took me FAR too long to write. If I am able to have more children, I do hope to document their births as well. However, it may take me years to write about those births, seeing as how I only have ONE child right now and this took me eight months. Am slow.)

Snippets

- M got a flu shot yesterday, he yelped as the needle was coming out, and then looked over and gave the nurse a big ole grin.

- After thinking about it for quite some time, I have decided I am not high maintenance, like J claims. There are days that I barely remember to put on deodorant, I buy makeup once a year, and I only just now learned that people with straight hair can use straightening irons to help their hair look better. Who knew (besides everyone in the world but me)?

- I feel extremely sorry for my breast, which are being shoved into bras that fit SO poorly. I keep reading that some of the most fundamental pieces of clothing are good fitting under garments, so I am going to try and remedy this as soon as possible.

- I am seriously wondering if M is okay, he has spit up no less that 600 bazillon times in the last two days.

- Fall weather is finally here, thank GOD, I can't stand the heat.

- There are some people in this world I will never, ever understand, no matter how hard I try.

- Why are the most dangerous things so intriguing for babies? M is attracted to plastic bags, dangling cords, electrical outlets, and a slew of other items that are not exactly 'baby friendly'. I think it's wonderful that these things are actually holding his interest for more than 1.3, so I let him play with them whenever it strikes his fancy. Oh, I jest. He only plays with them under adult supervision, of course.

Stand in the place where you live

Matthew has started pulling himself up when he is in his crib. As in: PULLING HIMSELF UP.

Another definition: Standing. Alone. By himself.

He does this quickly, without any problems, and then stares at me overtop his crib railing, waiting patiently for me to clap and get excited. And yes, I am thrilled that he learned this skill, and especially that he mastered it so quickly. However, I would have preferred for him to learn it when he was older, like 5 or 6. That way, I wouldn't have to worry about him standing up and I could continue to put him in his cage for safe keeping and not stress out about he is trying to escape from said cage, and I really do mean crib.

My kid has also mastered the army crawl quite well; he can motor all over the place in no time at all. Currently his favorite crawling path is from his room to our bathroom. This is all fine and dandy, except this particular path takes Matthew by the stairs of death, for which we have no gate (GASP!). Unless me standing at the top of the stairs, telling Matty not to come near me counts, then we have a gate.

Really it is amazing how quickly Matthew has mastered the stomach crawl, so I am guessing it won't be long now before he is up on his hands and knees moving around, which will only perpetuate me singing even more bad 80's songs. Right now my song of choice is compliments of Sister Christian, and though I only know a few words, you can pretty much guarantee that I am singing it all damn day.

You're motoring
What's your price for flight

Good times. I have a fabulous singing voice. I promise.

In other news: what is up with my hair post baby and will I ever be satisfied with it? Granted it finally stopped falling out every time I took a breath, but what's left is well...deflated...limp...not shiny. Basically I feel like I look very raggedy all day long. I yearn for shine, for smooth, luscious locks. I need serious hair intervention that does not involve clippers and a buzz cut.

A little or a lot crazy?

Am I losing my mind because I am thinking more and more about using cloth diapers? Jim keeps talking about it, and I keep pretending that I didn't hear him, because cloth? Seriously? No thanks.

But the more I think about it, the more I am willing to try it. I need to do some serious research, because I don't know the first thing about cloth, covers, how to clean them, etc. But maybe... just maybe I can make this work and help the environment while helping our wallet. Who knows. Or I can just completely gross myself out, either way, it will be a fun experiment!

Cheerios, boogers, and teeth (not in that order)

During the last few nights (i.e. the earliest part of morning when all normal people are still asleep) when Matty cries out I have just ignored him. I didn't so much act as though he didn't exist, I just didn't rush into his room after his second or third cry. I truly think this has helped the situation immensely. He is old enough to be able to soothe himself, and if he truly became arm flailing, non-stop sobbing upset, I would be right there at his side to soothe him. But, the glorious thing about me pretending that he isn't making any noise? He has been somewhat going back to sleep. I say somewhat, because he still likes to make a bunch of noise, just so I know he's there, but then after his noise making session, all is quiet for another hour or so. My new best parenting tip: Ignore your kid, it'll do wonders for your under eye bags!

While my eye bags may be a little less severe, the number of times my heart stops beating per day has increased, due to the fact that my boy has started to pull himself along on the floor and grab onto whatever he can wrap his chubby fingers around. I am beyond thrilled that he is moving around on his own, but would like very much for him to listen to me when I politely explain that the top heavy oscillating fan, which is not secured to the floor in any way, shape, or form, is not a chew toy for babies. He just doesn't seem to be listening to me, since the fan is the main thing he tries to put in his mouth when we are in the kitchen. Well, that, and the dirty throw rugs that get washed about once a year. I just tell myself: the more he chews on the rugs, the less sick he will be in the months to come because those rugs probably hold every germ from 2005 to the present inside them.

Although, perhaps chewing on said rugs contributed to Matty's snotty nose and stuffiness. Jim and I have been on booger patrol for the last week now, and poor kid, I feel so badly for him, but he doesn't seem to getting any better. Actually, it wasn't the rugs at all that made him sick, this I know. We visited some friends about two weeks ago and Matthew decided that putting every single toy they owned in his pie hole was a very good idea. Since I am nothing if not alert, I didn't realize he was making out with these toys until it was too late, and by then the damage was already done. Far be it from me to interrupt a make out session, (especially one that involved toy cars, of which Matty has none) so I sat back and let the debauchery continue. It was only after the snot started oozing from Matthew's nose at an alarming rate that I realized: 'Hey. Chewing other kid's toys is not recommended and this is why. Duh.' Well, what's done is done and now I just hope that his Royal Snottiness feels better soon. He doesn't act like he's feeling bad, he just has constant drippings from the middle of his face, which really isn't that cute. Go figure.

One last report on the boy: Two new top teeth! With another one on the way! He'll have as many teeth as he does fingers on one hand. Amazing. We gave him cheerios for the first time last night and you would have thought we were trying to poison him according to the look on his face when a cheerio passed through his lips. Jim and I couldn't help but burst into laughter at Matty's expression, and he tried so hard to get rid of the cheerio nastiness, only to have it fall out of his mouth and stick to his lip, then his chin, then his bib. Trust me, it was funny, and not just because I need to get out the house more often.