This little piggy....

(photo) baby feet!

I thought I'd end the year with a picture of one of my favorite things: baby feet. Happy New Year's Eve, everybody! Let's hope that next year Mother Nature doesn't feel the same need to impress us with her ability to destroy our homes and families.
And in trivial news, Adrian finally pooped today, on day 11 of the great colon strike of 2004. Enough to fill 3 diapers while on the changing table.
I'll have to admit, I was impressed and horrified at the same time. How can so much come out of such a tiny person?
Maybe he's a robot....

For your viewing pleasure!

(photo) Wee bunny

Here is Adrian modeling the very cute bunny hat sent to him by Auntie Nessa and Uncle Sandy (sorry I haven't called you back yet!)
Now it is time to feed the wee bunny, so I shall sign off.
Much love to all.

(photo) Adrian and Mama 

Stethoscopes and needles, oh my!

We have survived the first round of Adrian's vaccinations! And I must say, hooray for Infant Tylenol.
Adrian did really well at his doctor's appointment yesterday, and made it through his shots with minimal screaming. Aaron was the one who took him back and witnessed the vaccinations because I am too much of a weenie to do so. And while Adrian was crying from being stuck with needles, I cried a little too.
Now the good stuff!
Adrian weighs 12 pounds, 4 ounces and is 24 inches long.
(That's almost a 4 pound weight gain from his birth weight, and a 3 inch increase in length. What can I say? The boy eats like a champ.)

Update: 8 weeks!

(photo) Baby power!

Dear Adrian,

Taa-daah! You're 8 weeks old! Well, 8 weeks and a few days--I'm a little behind.
But you! You're totally holding your head up on your own, as well as exploring all of the possible noises that you can make around the basic sound "aaah". My favorite is the ga-aah-ack that accompanies one of your lovely toothless grins. The same toothless grins that we receive every morning when you wake up in bed next to us. You can be quite the charmer.
On the other hand, you can also make our ears bleed when you scream and nothing we can do will make it better. It's those times when being a parent seems overwhelming and we wonder how anyone ever does it.
But then you turn around and do something that makes us giggle like 3rd graders...like last night when you farted in the bathtub. Or when you get hungry in the middle of the night and start sucking your thumb...which doesn't sound funny, but the way you place your thumb in your mouth your other 4 fingers are pointed up towards your forehead, so as you suck you're whacking yourself in the nose. You don't seem to mind that as much as you mind not getting milk from your own digit.
We've started to put you on your belly on the floor for supervised play time--you think it's great for 7 minutes, and then frustration sets in. But those first seven minutes have you kicking your feet and lifting your head and giggling.
Every day I marvel at how much I can love you and how small and helpless you are. I love when you support yourself on your legs while I hold you steady and you look at me like "what are you doing?"
I'm less fond of your attempts to pee on me when I change your diaper--you got me twice last week and you managed to get yourself a couple of times, too. There was a lot of laundry to be done. You've already outgrown all of your newborn sized clothing and are in the 3-month size now. If you continue to grow at this rate we should be able to send you to kindergarten when you're 3, and we'll probably have to take out a small loan to pay for all of the shoes and clothing you'll need as you grow like a bean vine. Or we can just follow your father's fashion-savvy advice and put you in a flour sack.
These past 4 weeks your personality has started to shine through and we have really enjoyed watching you take in the world. You seem to enjoy our weekly outings to the grocery store, and you no longer wail in protest when you're placed in your car seat.
You still haven't pooped, though, and I'm beginning to suspect you're saving it up to deliver at the doctors tomorrow when you receive your vaccinations. (Serve them right, too, sticking you with a needle!) The pediatrician has told us not to be concerned about your lack of a movement unless you exhibit certain symptoms--and giggling at your dad's rendition of heavy metal songs as operatic arias isn't one of them.
We love you little man (and we're sorry we have to take you to be stuck with needles).
Love,
Mama

Weary Parents

(photo) All I want for Christmas....

All I want for Christmas is a baby who sleeeeeeps instead of screeeeeeeams.
That's right folks! We're here in week two of the developmental stage called "screaming for no reason". He's been fed, burped, changed, swaddled, unswaddled, left in his crib, carried around, rocked, and sung to. All of these efforts give us, at most, a 5 minute reprieve from the angry beasties that have possessed our son.
To top all that off, it's been six days since Adrian last pooped. Aaron's convinced that he's just seriously in need of a good movement to make him feel better...Which has led Aaron to say things like "poop for Daddy".
(At least we can find a few moments of humor in between banging our heads against the walls)

(photo) Further evidence: she thinks she's people. 

(photo) The general consensus.

(photo) The general consensus.

We are a sleepy bunch 'round here. Maybe it's the shortening days, maybe it's the nightly feedings.
The one thing you can count on is a good long afternoon nap, shared by both baby and myself.
Tomorrow is the Winter Solstice (known in some circles as Yule)--the longest night of the year and the time when the seasons begins to tilt towards spring. Hooray for spring!
Also, something neat happens here.
We'll be eating quiche and putting silly hats on the baby.

(photo) Lunchbox, the camera slut. 

(photo) December in Oklahoma 

gaaaah...

My brain has turned to oatmeal. And not the good kind of oatmeal, but the generic-store-brand-microwaveable kind.
I apologize for the sporadic postings of late, but Adrian is in the midst of rearranging his schedule. If he wasn't such a cutie, I'd probably be sitting in the corner like a lobotomy patient. As it is currently my ability to form sentences and get them out of my mouth intact is severely damaged.
Par example:
How go with the thing in the square?
translation: How about you put that DVD in the player?
It's a wonder Aaron talks to me at all anymore.

Also, I was thinking that using a smaller plate as a means of portion control is probably not so effective when you refill the plate twice.

Ta ta for now,
Oatmeal for brains.

(photo) Adrian and Aaron

(photo) Adrian and Aaron.

As per your many requests, here's a photo of Adrian and his daddy. It's not the greatest of photos, but Aaron rarely sits for a photo--so count your blessings.
Also, check out our awesome box collection behind Aaron. It's a fort for the cats. (Yes, we're those people)

A busy week!

Hello all!
Happy holidays!
This week has been a full one for little Adrian. Monday he and Lunchbox had a staring contest, Tuesday was another horrible pooping incident, Wednesday he accompanied me to my doctors appointment--and had to wait to eat...Which put him in a terrible mood for the rest of the day. His screams can (and will) melt the wax right out of your ears.
On Friday, he'll be six weeks old. It's hard to believe that six weeks ago he was living inside of me. And now he's his own little person. A person that can only look out of the beloved window for short stretches of time before demanding a new activity. I'm running out of ways to entertain a person who can't sit or stand on their own and has wobbly head control.

Enjoy the photos, as they won't commence screaming or do any pooping.

(photo) The window! 

(photo) Check out my cute jammies! 

(photo) A small smile. 

(photo) Baby, meet Cat. Cat, Baby. 

Not just a mom...

I'm also a bed, apparently.
Lately the little man has been refusing to sleep unless he's in physical contact with someone. Right now, he's asleep on my chest while I type this. I'd love to be able to put him in his bed and have him sleep there, but every time I put him down he wakes up. I don't have the cojones to just leave him there--it seems cruel to let him "scream it out". He's far too little to figure out that he's not been abandoned, we've just left him to sleep on his own. Maybe I'm just expecting too much from him. After all, he's only 39 days old.
On the other hand, it'd be great to be able to do stuff that I have to stand up to accomplish while he's sleeping .
Is it too much to hope that it'll all sort itself out?

Are you kidding me?

Today, Adrian has been eating every hour on the 40 minute mark.
I am officially nothing more than milk-on-tap.
(Again with the stuff nobody mentions until the baby gets here)
Aaron suggested I mix it up and try to create white Russians on tap.
I don't think I'm up to that challenge just yet--I haven't perfected the groove in the recliner where my butt has been ALL FREAKING DAY.

(photo) Clean baby!

Because there are few things in life cuter than a baby in a hooded towel.
Enjoy!

Owie.

Note: This post has very little to do with Adrian; so if that's why you're here you may want to read something else. This post does involve my breasts, but more in a discussion of function rather than form...
You've been warned.

Now.
Owie!
My right breast is broken. Broken, I tell you!
I'm not sure if this is possible, but it feels like engorgement all over again. But not the whole breast, just a section of it. (For those of you not in the know, engorgement is the misleading term for when your milk comes in--I say misleading because the word does not begin to describe the pain that is created by over-full breasts. Imagine, if you will, squeezing into an outfit that is meant for toddlers. Then, apply a generous amount of swelling to your entire body which becomes rock-hard and incredibly sensitive to the slightest draft. That's kind of like engorgement, but not as painful.)
My right breast has been a troublemaker through this whole breastfeeding adventure--first it was a cracked and bleeding nipple, which healed after a week or so. Then it was a bruised nipple, courtesy of my beloved son and his misaligned suction-grip of death. Now it is the swelling and the firmness and the pain of it all.
If it weren't for ibuprofen, I'm pretty sure that I'd give up on breastfeeding altogether (despite the indignant screaming of my conscience).
So if you call, and I sound a little cranky...It's because I am.

Update: 4 weeks!

(photo) One month old!

Hooray, hooray!
We've made it FOUR WHOLE WEEKS without any desires to throw ourselves out of the window or attempts to sell Adrian to the Gypsies.
Although I have threatened to shave the cats on more than one occasion...But that's neither here nor there.
Taking the lead from another blogging lady , I shall be writing monthly letters to Adrian which will be up for all to see.
Here begins the first installment of many letters to our wee man:

Sweet Adrian,

These past four weeks you have astounded me with your development. You are holding your head up, propping yourself up on your elbows, and your newest, favorite trick is to throw the lower half of your body around when I'm trying to change your diaper. You've nearly thrown yourself right off the changing table twice now, and you think this is great fun--as evidenced by your smiles.
Yes! You are smiling now, and I have to admit that my heart melts a little every time you do it. Of course, you're a surreptitious smiler, so I haven't been able to catch any on film yet.
Our days involve a wobbly routine of feeding, diaper changing, and staring out the living room window. You love to sit and stare out the window--I have no idea what it is that you find so entrancing, but it keeps you from fussing; so stare away, little man.
All in all you're not a big crier, you fuss mainly for four reasons: you're hungry, you're in need of a diaper change, you're lonely, or you're falling asleep. Man, do you hate falling asleep. The easiest ways to get you to sleep are to nurse you to sleep, or to rest you on my chest and rub your back. You are a very snuggly baby--and I enjoy it because I know that a day will come when you shrug off my hugs and kisses. At night, you sleep in the bed with me and are a complete bed-hog. I'm now competing with you and two cats for my side of the bed.
The cats have warmed up to you--Lunchbox more so than Jack. Lunchbox will spoon you when we sleep in bed together, and she checks up on you when you stir in your sleep. Jack will spoon with us occasionally, but he still doesn't understand that he can't sit on you like he sits on us. I spend at least 2 nights a week pushing Jack to the foot of the bed b/c he's trying to stand on you. This is part of the reason that I've threatened to shave him.
Your relationship with your father is funny and sweet. He is in charge of bathing you, as I couldn't stand your screeeeeaming in the first few weeks of life. You now enjoy the bath part of bath time, but don't like the cold nakedness that book ends it. Your dad is the one who carries you around in the baby-harness when we go out in public, or when you're tired but won't sleep at home. You guys hang out and nap together in front of the TV--it's very manly. He's been singing songs by Slipknot, Type O Negative, and Marilyn Manson to you...So I've tried to counter-balance with Taj Mahal, Jimmy Reed, BB King, Ani DiFranco, and Tori Amos. If nothing else, you're experiencing as wide a variety of music as we can manage.
We love you immensely, little man, and can't wait to see what surprises lay in store in the next four weeks.
Love,
Mama
P.S.--If you could just get your butt under control, that'd be great. This past Tuesday I had to clean your poo off the walls in a horrible ricochet incident involving an unguarded tushie and an open box of baby wipes.
(the horror!!!)

A photo and a train of thought

(photo) Read the shirt, dammit!

The phrase "you are not the boss of me" no longer applies in this household.
My day develops around his schedule, and my activities are subject to his whims. To this I say "whee". The newest development is the screaming (with the red face and forgetting to breathe) before falling into a comatose-like slumber. I've taken this as further evidence that he is his father's son; as Aaron once said to me " If I didn't have to sleep, I wouldn't".
Not me, dude.
I love sleep. I'd sleep for 10 hours a night if you'd let me. I sleep now whenever the opportunity arises, and it's not nearly as delicious as sleeping in one giant chunk. Love the sleep. I believe that the work day should start at 10am so that nobody has to get out of bed before 8, if they don't want to. Mmm, sleep.
Napping with the little man is touch-and-go. If he awakens to find me sleeping, I get an earful of his outrage. So now, not only am I sleeping less, I'm sleeping lighter--the tiniest sounds of stirring from him and I am awake! and on the job!
These are the "joys" of motherhood that everyone mentions but you don't fully understand 'em until you're here. Feeling like a mom is synonymous with being exhausted, in dire need of a shower, and eating foods that can be prepared and consumed one-handed.
Here is where I publicly applaud all single mothers. (applause)
I don't know how you do it.

(photo) Grandparents Flecker after a day of "pass the baby". 

(photo) Here's Adrian's Uncle Spud. 

Update: Week 2 and 3 days.

Hello, Internet.
I am a tired, tired lady. I never knew that I could be so grateful for 3 consecutive hours of sleep.
You see when Adrian first came home, and I had the able assistance of my mother and my husband, he was on a schedule! A schedule that meant getting up only once in the middle of the night to eat.
Oh blessed schedule, where hast thou gone?
Now every day is different. Last night was the night of "every 2 hours I shall be fed, and it will take me an hour to doze off between feedings".
So today, we slept pretty much all day in between feedings that were 3 1/2 hours apart. Which means that tonight I should expect another wide awake baby.
wheeee!
I understand that he's growing and that his needs change on a regular basis. I know that there's nothing I can do but feed him when he's hungry.
But I'm only human, and as such I get frustrated when I can only sleep for an hour at a time...
That's when how cute he is overwhelms how unbelievably tired I am.

(photo) Behold the pie hat! (Thanks, Kathleen!)

This nifty hat was knitted by my talented friend, Kathleen C. She and I have been friends for 17 years and she never ceases to amaze me with the stuff she can do.
We call this the "pie hat" because she told me she was making a hat that would make my baby's head look like a small fruit pie. I believe that it would be a blackberry pie if it were edible.

Big Weekend

This weekend, Aaron's family came to visit.(hi, guys!) We had an early Thanksgiving and played many rounds of "pass the baby".
Posted below are pictures of Adrian and his extended family, with the exception of his Uncle Spud (which I am currently working on in Photoshop).
That's right--Adrian has an Uncle Spud and an Uncle Buckethead.
How lucky can one kid get?

(photo) Adrian with Grandpa Gary. Grandpa Gary says "Go Hawks!" 

(photo) Adrian does baby yoga with Grandma Nina 

(photo) Adrian with Aunt Erica 

Yet another picture...

(photo) Adrian chillin' in the kitchen.

Here's Adrian in his "Kick and Play" seat (Thanks, Courtney!). This chair is a miracle of modern invention. We actually got to eat dinner AT THE SAME TIME the other night because little Squirmy kept himself amused for 15 minutes in this chair.
15 whole minutes!
Also, I thought I'd show you that there are times when he's awake and not eating or crying because of gas pains.

(photo) A piece for Adrian's room, in color.