"So what's the deal with first birthday parties anyway?"
Seriously. Why do parents go SO CRAZY over FIRST BIRTHDAY PARTIES? I honestly don't get it. Yes, the first year is a huge milestone—and so much HAPPENS during that year, yes. But why oh why do we have such elaborate and crazy parties for our babies?
Yes, I realize this sounds incredibly strange. It even sounds strange to me. But I'm just going to go balls out here and say it:
I want to breastfeed your child.
There. Done. Judge me all you like. Now let me explain myself a little better...
You know how when some people see new babies, and they feel an incredible urge to put their feet in their mouths? "I just want to eat them up!" Well...that feeling has never really happened to me (Okay, I lie. It happened to me BEFORE I had a baby...but not since having a baby).
Since we've moved to the 'burbs and now have storage space, the Grandmas got a little excited at Christmas. And by little, I mean a lot. They were probably singing carols, squeaking out excited farts as they raced down the aisles of Toys R Us.
*Side Note* I have a theory that the reason you smell farts so often in shopping malls/grocery stores is because people get excited and their sphincters relax.
My son is now ten months old, and only recently did I stop getting into the bath with him. This seems ridiculous, I know—but it was the easiest way (I found) to bathe him without fear of losing grip of his slippery body or without crushing my ribcage against the hard porcelain tub. Therefore: bathtime for Cole also meant bathtime for Mommy.
I've recently crawled out from beneath a pile of boxes, since we decided it would be a good idea to move five days before Christmas—which was just about as good of an idea as the time I decided to try to give myself a Brazilian. Sigh. Anyway, we are all settled now (no we aren't), and I've taken some time (five seconds) to think about goals for the new year.
My laptop is currently propped up on my counter so I can stand while I type. I'm swaying back and forth to keep my baby asleep in his carrier, because he won't nap anywhere else. He has his first cold :(
I must say, we've been lucky to make it almost nine months without as much as a sniffle. I guess I was just hoping he could hold off getting sick until he was at least...five. Or fifteen. Or fifty. He's pretty advanced (of course) so I was hoping he had also developed an immune system of steel and would simply avoid getting sick. Ever.
The tower is very high, and I keep removing blocks from the foundation. Just when I think I can't possibly pile on any more blocks, I find a way to wiggle another one loose. I hold my breath—and place it on top. Amazingly, the tower hasn't come crashing down yet—but I know it's only a matter of time.
My chest feels tight with anxious anticipation. How did I get myself into this situation?
I am a city mouse. I am also a country mouse. (Please tell me you've at least heard of these books?) And for the past year or so, my husband and I have been talking about possibly moving out of the city. But every time we dangle our toes into the water of suburbia, I shiver and we hop right back into our city life.
The cafes! The restaurants! The culture! The parks! The arts scene!
We have officially entered the "stinky poop" phase. Gone are the days of relatively odourless diapers (thank goodness for my Diaper Genie) because we are onto solid foods at the Warman residence. And if you're a parent, you know that solid foods = a stinkin' mess. In every sense of the word.
I love being a Mom. I am very fortunate to have a happy and healthy baby who I formed a strong connection with instantly. I have a very strong support system, I receive a lot of help, and am surrounded by love. Yet, I am still finding myself exhausted and overwhelmed at times.
My baby boy is now seven months old, and he is actively exploring the world around him. With his mouth. With his hands. With his toes. He licks, chomps, smacks, pulls, and grabs just about everything in sight.
My once cozy living room has now been transformed into a play-pen where I try to keep my wild little animal corralled. I have a new full time job that requires me to be both psychic and physically nimble: I need to predict what dangers might lie ahead and be quick enough to react to them.
It's hard to believe, but my baby boy is SIX MONTHS OLD! Phrases like "He's growing so fast" and "Where has the time gone?" come to mind. I wish I could think of something less cliche to say, but it's true.