not that you asked...

Light on content, heavy on photos

We finally babyproofed the house this weekend.

Asher’s been pretty mobile for way more than a month, but the babyproofing was put off until now simply because he hasn’t shown a bit of interest in exploring any more of the house than the twelve square feet of living room space we routinely plop him down in. But on Friday we placed him at the bottom of the stairs and watched, with a mixture of horror and pride, as he climbed all the way to the top in less than two minutes. He’s also now made his way into every room of the house on his hands and knees, including the kitchen, which is also not exactly where I expected him to be—at least, not quite so quickly—and therefore promptly stepped on his forearm.

Uh.

Twice.

All I have to say is thank you God for Weight Watchers or I would have stepped on him (twice) with 14 extra pounds on this body.

We made sure all our outlets were covered and did our best to hide all of our electrical cords. We put covers on the sharp corners of the entertainment center and put a gate at the top of the stairs. We bought cabinet locks and door handle protectors and a toilet lock because you know that if there is any kid who is going to attempt to flush valuable, non-flushable items down the toilet repeatedly, it is going to be my kid.

However. None of the aforementioned babyproofing activities did anything whatsoever to prevent him from attempting to stand up on a basket full of toys in his room and getting a bloody mouth in the process.

And then I had to laugh when I took him downstairs to put ice on his mouth (actually HE put ice on his own mouth, with the aid of one of these things, which I happen to think is the one of the best inventions EVER) because we spent all that time babyproofing and yet we somehow overlooked the gigantic mitre saw that is still sitting on the floor in the dining room. And then I looked around a little more and saw a box cutter lying next to the buffet and and handful of screws (with a few Cheerios mixed in) lying under the high chair. So clearly this babyproofing thing is what we call "an ongoing process."

We enjoyed Memorial Day weekend, with the minor exception of Baby's First Bloodshed. We're going through a bit of a rough patch with some nap and sleep issues though, so I have no time to post anything else except a few photos from the weekend.











   

Annoying Mom Moment #4925

I put Asher in the shopping cart yesterday when I ran out to Target.

There are many reasons why I don’t usually do this. For starters, Asher is squirmy. Really squirmy. Squirmy and impatient and clever and also completely capable of chewing through the belt restraint if I would just leave him alone long enough. What he lacks in the tooth department he makes up for with unbridled determination.

Also, we have a Maclaren stroller, which is what I prefer to take him into Target in. Have you seen the storage basket on a Maclaren? It holds like three Q-tips and a tissue. On the other hand, do you know what I can fit in a Target shopping cart? THE ENTIRE SHOE DEPARTMENT. And I could still probably squeeze a half dozen knickknacks, a case of Diet Coke and an assortment of greeting cards onto the bottom shelf.

My total yesterday came to well over a hundred bucks. Disturbingly, I probably would have only spent half of that if I had been accompanied into the store by the wee-basketed Maclaren. Instead I walked out of there with the essentials (baby food and formula) and a few pricey extras (doormat, kitchen rug, gigantic wrought iron stake to hang my bird feeder from).

It took me about ten times as long as it normally would to finally finagle my way to the front of the store. I was trying to distract Asher from gnawing his way to freedom while simultaneously maneuvering our load of “essentials” down extremely narrow aisles with a huge piece of iron sticking out six feet in front of the cart. A huge piece of iron that insisted on taking out a corner display of tennis balls. A huge piece of iron that almost decapitated a pregnant woman in the baby aisle. A huge piece of iron that nearly shattered the exit door when I left because I mistakenly tried to leave via the non-automatic door. (EMBARRASSING.)

I was so stressed out by the time I got to the car that I had accumulated some impressive pit stains with rather large circumferences. I put Asher in his car seat and loaded all of my stuff into the trunk and then I removed the Floppy Seat cover from the shopping cart.

Except that I had accidentally connected the Floppy Seat strap to the Target shopping cart strap. And the Target shopping cart strap wanted to KEEP my Floppy Seat. It wanted to keep it REALLY BADLY.

It wanted the Floppy Seat for its own so very much that I fought with the connectors for ten entire minutes. In the parking lot. Like an IDIOT. And there was no one else around, although in hindsight I realize walking up to a complete stranger and inquiring whether they had a knife might not have been one of my best ideas. Regardless of whether I did it politely.

I really didn’t want to pull Asher back out of his car seat and go back inside the store to buy some scissors or something because, as you other mothers know, putting him back in again after such a brief car seat respite would royally piss him off and at this point, I didn’t need another reason to sweat.

Also for some reason, I was terrified to leave the Floppy Seat out there alone. I suppose I was worried that someone would steal it, even though I had worked to free the stupid thing for ten solid minutes and I knew it wasn’t budging.

Eventually I just got angry and yanked on the belts as hard as I possibly could and they snapped apart. Without breaking, even. And relief flooded my soul and I got out of there as fast as I could. Faster even than I did a couple of weeks ago when I went to Target and put all my stuff up on the conveyer belt and the cashier cheerfully rang it all through and then I realized I had forgotten my wallet.

Probably because it wouldn’t fit in the stroller basket.



Today we will stay home where it is SAFE. And where there are baby swings.

After I publish this I'm totally going to find out how many POINTS Cheetos are worth

Things are slowly getting back to normal around here. Friday’s pediatrician visit confirmed an ear infection in the right ear and the beginnings of another in the left. Asher has been on antibiotics for a couple of days now and both his health and his attitude have already improved about six thousand percent. This is a welcome change for obvious reasons, my own personal favorite being that there have been no two-hour middle-of-the-night screamfests for three entire days now. Of course, there are downsides to having a perfectly healthy child back, too, and in our particular case this means Asher can now devote his full and undivided attention to becoming as mobile as is humanly possible for a seven month old.

I thought maybe he’d feel like taking a break for a couple of weeks once he mastered crawling and climbing stairs and pulling up to a standing position. But I was wrong. OH HOW WRONG WAS I. His appetite for mobility has done nothing but increase and is now somewhat akin to my appetite for chocolate cake: INSATIABLE. He has now decided that he will not be satisfied with an earthly existence that does not include walking. On two legs. All upright and homo erectus and biped-like. And also way, WAY too early for my own personal liking.

Last week I took him to Toys ‘R’ Us in search of something he could safely pull up on and then stand and play with. BECAUSE SITTING IS SO NOT COOL ANYMORE. We ended up with this, which he absolutely loved.



For like three days. Until he figured out that he could crawl over to it, pull himself up to standing and then take his hands off and lunge at whatever happened to be close to him. It’s like Ultra Daredevil Crazy Person Cruising. And he has yet to understand that the couch or the laundry basket or Hambone will not catch him like Mommy and Daddy will, even though he has given them all plenty of opportunities to rise to the occasion.

To be honest, even Daddy hasn’t risen to the occasion nearly as often as Mommy has but that’s because Daddy has been working on the deck for three straight weekends which also means that it has been TWENTY ONE DAYS since Mommy has had anything more than halfhearted childcare help. That means that next weekend? Mommy is going somewhere BY HERSELF. To the spa, to the mall, to the freaking GAS STATION for a bag of Cheetos. Anywhere where no one is pulling on her hair or smacking her in the face or drooling buckets all over her pant legs for more than 15 minutes.

Dave finished the deck on Saturday evening and it looks awesome. I am so proud of him. Not only did he do an awesome job, but he worked (and worked ALONE for a lot of the time) until he got it done. I think this is the first home improvement project that we’ve ever really and truly finished. Of course, there were no baseboards to re-install and no paint cans to drag out for touch ups and no finish nails to pound in—details which are not exactly our forte and would probably have been left undone. We hosted a little cookout on Saturday and the new deck was broken in with spills of barbecue sauce and chocolate cake, baby formula and margarita mix. And because I am overprotective and also a bit psychotic, I made sure the first thing I did after I changed Asher’s diaper on Sunday morning was to hose then entire thing off so that it looked brand-spanking new again.

I know that sounds ridiculous. A DECK. A deck that LIVES OUTSIDE. Where it is exposed to the elements ALL YEAR ROUND including the very disastrous and dirty element of bird poop.

The deck finally passed Hambone’s rigorous inspection process on Sunday afternoon which is when he gingerly laid his canine body down on it for the very first time. Up until then, this is the most of his person that he would allow to touch it for more than .004 seconds:



Updated pictures of our outdoor masterpiece after I dress it up properly. Of course, on my wee limited budget that means that I’ll have to settle for outdoor accessories from Big Lots, not Pottery Barn. I guarantee you this: YOU’LL NEVER KNOW THE DIFFERENCE.

Well. Actually, you’ll know next year when all my merchandise is rusty and falling apart and also practically worthless. But this year? This year, YOU’LL NEVER KNOW.

Roundup

Raging illnesses: 2

Trips to the doctor’s office: 2  Make that three, we've got another scheduled for this afternoon

Scheduled seven-month immunizations that have done nothing except complicate things: 2

Nights in the last week with more than six cumulative hours of sleep: 0

Days in the last week filled with what feels like continual crying: ALL OF THEM

Current status of rectally-monitored fever: 100.1 degrees

Explanation for continuing fever: Tylenol bottle eaten by the dog

Discovery of chewed-up Tylenol bottle: Leaking red gooey dye all over the carpet, naturally

Number of showers taken by me this morning: 2

Number of showers taken by me this morning for the sole purpose of washing vomit off of my back and out of my hair: 1

Number of baby wipes required to wipe the vomit off Dave’s back in the middle of the night last night: I believe he chose to use the towel from his bathroom instead. GROSS

Number of other household items christened by vomit: 4

Household items that now require upholstery cleaner: 2

Household items that will need to be replaced altogether: 2

Replacing said household items a good excuse for trekking out to the Pottery Barn Outlet: YES

Situations where the vomiting was kind of funny: 2

Situations where the vomiting and subsequent choking was so completely unfunny and scary that I cried: 1

Things that settle the baby down easily in the middle of the night: *intentionally left blank*

Minutes we have spent huddled together in a steam-filled bathroom, sweating like pigs: 50

Decision we have made about ever trying to co-sleep again: YOU COULD NOT PAY US ENOUGH MONEY

The only thing that could make the week any worse than it already is: The arrival of my period

What the arrival of my period at least explains: The pressing and urgent need for a Quarter Pounder and fries last night

What cheers me up: The thought of this and this arriving by mail next week*

*I am wearing the printed dress (probably without the detachable spaghetti straps) to two weddings and as always, your shoe recommendations (with links, if you like) are more than welcome. I might need a new clutch too.

Out of retirement

Remember this?

It's now THIS:



That's the same skirt, except that it is ON MY BODY. Meaning that it FITS. Correctly. With nary a whiff of muffintop. (And so does everything you can see thrown on the bed behind me.)

I'm down 10 entire pounds in a little less than four weeks. And only last night did I finally finish my chocolate Easter bunny. And even MORE impressive: there's actually a second one waiting in the freezer.

I feel great. I feel proud of myself. I feel like I look pretty good.

I also feel like buying myself something, BUDGET BE DAMNED.

You didn't know I had such strong feelings about toilet paper

Yesterday I started a new job.

It’s nothing fancy, a little at-home contract editing, but it’s a REAL JOB, one that pays me in genuine American money and everything. I am excited about it—not only do the people I’m working for seem really nice and flexible, but also because more money in our bank account means that sometime in the near future I will be able to walk into Target and purchase the brand of toilet paper that ISN’T ON SALE. I am working towards the kind of cushy existence that will enable my family to clean their nether regions for FULL PRICE!

While we’re on the subject I should tell you that I will continue to staunchly refuse to buy Charmin until they stop making those ridiculous commercials. It is not cute or funny or even remotely amusing to watch animated bears wipe their butts in the woods. I AM SERIOUS ABOUT THIS, CHARMIN.

Also, Snuggle Bear? I wish you would go ahead and climb into the dryer already and die a hideous HEAT-RELATED DEATH.

Anyway, of course the job has barely started and I am already panicking about whether or not I will be able to do it. In theory, working two to three hours a day doesn’t sound like a big deal, does it? I can always squeeze in a little work time during naps, or wake up a half-hour early, or devote a small portion of my evenings to a profitable venture rather than what I usually do, which is to simply zone out in front of HGTV. Do you know how I know that I watch an embarrassingly large amount of HGTV? Because I can identify designers SOLELY BY VOICE.

I know. We’re living la vida loca over here, people.

I am already freaking out about when I’ll be able to fold laundry or make the bed or cook dinner if I’m going to have to grab snippets of time for this job whenever I can. It’s really the unknown that freaks me out, the new schedule I’m going to have to settle into, the new pace that my day will be taking. I don’t really like change and when I know something is going to change, I continue to panic about it until I’ve settled in. Fortunately the positives generally outweigh the negatives at this point. And did I already mention the money? And Target? AND THE VARIETIES OF TOILET PAPER I WILL BE ABLE TO BUY? Not to mention all the presents for my lovely readers.

Today I had a full day planned that included a stop by my old office for a visit, lunch with some former co-workers, attending my book club and I was even going to babysit a friend’s one month old for an hour or two this afternoon but wouldn’t you know? Asher screamed inconsolably for nearly two hours last night and I’ve cancelled everything so I can take him in to the doctor because I think he’s got an ear infection. He could just be teething (and probably is, and that squandered co-pay could have bought us several rolls of toilet paper), but I’d rather be safe than sorry. Because I am a NEW MOM and that is what we do best.

I am kind of dreading the part of the office visit where we take Asher’s clothes off, though. I kind of let him run around in just a diaper this morning and surprise! He managed to throw his little naked body on top of every remotely pointy toy we own so now he has big welty scratch marks all over his chest and back. And some scabs on his face. And toenails that are way too long. Oh, and a rash.

Good God, an ear infection is the least of our worries. Thankfully, Dave is at work or I’d have to add “Box of Screws” to that list as well.

Also, did anyone else just get the new issue of Real Simple? Go on and get it and turn to the article on updating your music collection. Now is it me, or do you think the person who wrote the Pop section totally cheated by just reading this post?

A big round of applause to you, readers—YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT. Sadly, I am only cool by association.

I don't believe in karma

And that's really too bad, because if I did, I'd know exactly why the deck-building process has been so lousy.



This could also explain why this bird's mother felt a pressing need to take giant craps all over our entire upstairs. AND I CAN NO LONGER BLAME HER.

If someone dropped a gigantic box of screws on Asher's head, a head that is about a billion times bigger and stronger than this little itty bitty bird's head, I think I might do something a lot worse than take a dump on that someone's personal effects.

But that's just me.

Have to post this quick because his Off setting just became On

I don’t know how long that bird was inside the house before I discovered it. What I do know is that I came home all normal-like and transferred a sleeping Asher from his car seat to the crib (HE DOES NOT WAKE UP AND I KNOW YOU THINK I AM LUCKY BUT DID YOU SEE THE PICTURE OF THE STAIRS) before walking into our bedroom where the bird was alighting on the dresser.

The first thing I thought was, of course, GET IT OUT OF HERE. And then I thought, Hey! That bird looks mighty familiar! Which sounds weird until I tell you that this particular bird has been flying directly at my face for the last month or so because I can’t help checking in on her and her babies in the nest she built in our outdoor closet. A prime location, really, sandwiched safely in between the wall and our 10 gallon bucket of ceiling paint.

Dave came up and tore the screen off our window and after flitting around the room for a few minutes more she flew out. And then we laughed for a bit and I called some people to tell them the story and I laughed a little more until I walked around the rest of the upstairs and found BIRD CRAP ALL OVER EVERY OTHER WINDOWSILL AND ON TWO PICTURE FRAMES. Which was kind of sad, in a way, because I know she must have been desperate to get out, but which was also really annoying because remember? BIRD CRAP ALL OVER EVERY OTHER WINDOWSILL AND TWO PICTURE FRAMES. Also she tried to land on my fake flowers and knocked the entire vase over. And I know you are thinking, fake flowers? But I am telling you, they are COOL fake flowers and they must be extremely good imitation flowers if I fooled a BIRD into landing on them.

Then again, it has been proven that birds will land on ANYTHING.

Also I just deleted an entire paragraph explaining the other Deck Drama because I was boring myself writing it. Just know that we’re having issues with the deck; issues that resulted because the lumberyard screwed up. Issues that are not being fixed by the lumberyard and that makes Dave very very angry because it is going to cost us more money and it makes me want to cry because WHEN WILL I GET TO ACCESSORIZE MY NEW DECK? It is looking like not anytime soon.

The reason I am looking so forward to that deck being finished is because it will be 100 extra square feet of space for Asher to attempt to destroy with his wrecking ball personality. As an added bonus, whenever he barfs I can just spray it off with the hose! ENTIRE HOUSES SHOULD BE BUILT THIS WAY. I wonder if there’s already a patent for that.

Unfortunately for me, he did not forget how to pull himself up to standing after the Mattress Lowering Incident. While Dave was lowering the slats with that ridiculous little wrench tool that came in the crib box (which, WHY DID WE KEEP THAT, we have about six billion from IKEA), I remember thinking, “Here we go, young inexperienced parents completely overreacting about this entire situation.”

But I was wrong. For like the one hundred thousand millionth time in my parenting career. Asher is a baby with only two settings: On and Off. His Off setting is going pretty well at the time, he’s napping decently and his nighttime sleep is improving. His On setting, frankly, EXHAUSTS me. I am terrified of what the toddler years will bring.

He is pulling up on everything: the couch, the TV stand, my legs, the coffee table, his toy box, the Exersaucer. He initiated the stair climb completely on his own and made it up three of them before we stopped laughing and taking pictures and figured out what this really means and pulled him off. It was slow, deliberate climbing but he was completely determined to do it. He crawls now without ever taking a rest on his belly, but no matter where you put him, he is only interested in getting somewhere where he can pull back up. For the most part, he is not interested in a toy unless he is standing up to play with it.

We are still rocking him to sleep unless he falls asleep in the stroller or the car seat. A few weeks ago I started getting a little worried about it. Habits and breaking habits and bad sleep patterns and all that nonsense. But the more active he becomes during the day, the more I find myself really thankful that we still let him fall asleep in our arms. For starters, it always works and he transfers easily to the crib without waking up. But the real reason is that Asher is not a snuggly baby. He is on the go all the time. He squirms to be let out of our arms. He has no patience for sitting in the high chair unless food is being shoveled rapidly into his open mouth. He only ever sits peacefully if he is restrained by the car seat or stroller straps.

But when we’re rocking him to sleep we can hold him and kiss him and snuggle him all we want and he never protests. Whereas I used to want to get him in the crib as soon as possible so that I could grab some “me time,” I now find myself lingering just a few minutes longer in the rocking chair, stroking his hair and his cheek, hugging his little warm body a little closer. Listening to his breathing and smelling his neck, kissing his nose and his forehead and his little hands.

It makes the squirming and the whining and the exhaustion all worth it.

P.S. Asher? Put your tongue back in your mouth.

Compensation

I squandered my precious blogging time on a nap this morning. Because someone decided that 5 a.m. seemed like a perfectly good and reasonable hour to start rising and shining. And now that particular someone is down for another nap, but the chances of it lasting even half as long as I would require to punch out a post that includes everything I want to tell you about is laughable. IT WAS A BUSY WEEKEND.

So here are some pictures instead.

My first niece and Asher’s first cousin, Jaklin Ryan, born on Thursday evening at 10:30pm and tipping the scales at a massive 8 pounds, 6 ounces. AND SHE IS NOT WEARING A TOUPEE.







My brother, attempting to breastfeed his dog. I would have a photo for you of that dog in the Baby Bjorn but he wasn’t cooperating today. Which is annoying because he cooperated just fine last week.



Hambone, with a contraband pacifier.



And my not-even-seven-months-old son, CLIMBING THE FRICKING STAIRS.



And hey! Just for kicks, here’s one last picture that gives you a good glimpse into how well the deck-building process went over the weekend. Why, yes! That in fact IS our bedroom and no, WE DO NOT HAVE A PET BIRD. Discuss.

No title, this post ain't worth one

We demolished our deck this weekend.

Actually, Dave's the one who pulled up the boards. He ripped them up with a gigantic crowbar, then pulled out the old nails with a smaller and presumably lighter crowbar, then he threw the boards into a big pile in the backyard. Afterwards he called his friends and they came over with a truck and carted all the scrap wood off to the county dump.

I know it must sound like he did the most important part. That is until I tell you that I'm the one who picked up and threw all the old rusty nails into a bucket. That's right: I made sure no one got tetanus.

The whole process was a little bit anticlimactic. I was really really hoping to discover something interesting under the deck. Maybe an old time capsule. Maybe a forgotten stash of money. Preferably bodies. When I mentioned this to Dave he reminded me that a corpse under the deck would likely smell—and smell BADLY, at that—but I wasn't necessarily hoping for decomposing corpses as much as I just wanted to unearth an old skeleton or a skull or anything I could poke curiously with a stick while he continued on with the hard labor.

We didn’t find anything except a toad. A little black VERY UNFORTUNATELY ALIVE toad.

Well. I suppose that’s not entirely true. We did find something else, although the other thing we found is simply the fact that we’re now the biggest rednecks in the neighborhood. The only things missing are a few rusty kitchen appliances and a late-model Chevy up on blocks. I mean HONESTLY. Take a closer look and you’ll see that our bucket sports a NASCAR logo.



We’re only going to leave it like this for a week. Or two, tops. Maybe three, but that’s only because my brother was supposed to help us out this coming weekend and he’s getting out of it because his wife is probably going to give birth to their first child on Thursday. Which, you know. WHATEVER.

Asher could not care less about the imminent birth of his new little cousin. And that’s fine because some day in the future when he has a crush on one of her cute friends and wants her to put in a good word for him, she can just tell him to remember that one time when she was being born and he totally wasn’t excited about it? Yeah, SUCK IT.

Right now I am actually afraid that, should we decide to actually show the new baby to Asher, he will promptly chew her leg off with his one emerging snaggletooth. Everything is going into his mouth these days: pacifiers that he has refused since he was four months old, Hambone’s tail, the remote control, my knees. And the scary thing is that he can get a hold of all of these things because he’s CRAWLING. Granted, his technique isn’t pretty, but it is most certainly effective.

The hardest thing for me to comprehend right now is that my future niece, who will be younger than Asher by almost exactly seven months, will someday be in school with him IN THE SAME GRADE. It’s hard to believe that they’ll catch up to each other within a few years both in physical and mental capability. That in just a few years, the seven months between them won’t be a lifetime. It is so hard to believe that the floppy, defenseless newborn phase ever existed when I look at Asher now, even though there are moments when I almost wish he was one of those floppy babies all over again just so I could put him down on the floor somewhere and walk away without worrying that he’d be eating the laptop cord or the wipes case or the latest issue of Network World when I got back from using the bathroom. 

Not that I would ever leave Network World on the floor to be soggified with baby drool on PURPOSE!

Thank you all for your music suggestions last week, but even more, thank you for not making fun of how completely and ridiculously uncool I really am. I spent a very late night on iTunes the other night but I haven’t committed to anything yet. Of course I will let you know when I do. This week is looking bad for doing much of anything except calling my sister-in-law and repeatedly asking her if she’s gone into labor yet. Or if she’s SURE she’s not carrying twins. Aren’t I the most loving and supportive sister-in-law you’ve ever heard of? That's what I thought.