Kicking ass or is it ass kicking?

I'm back to my pre-pregnancy weight...but nothing is in the same place.  The number on the scale may be nice and pretty, but my stomach is most definitely not.  There is flab where there was never flab before.  I am up one to two sizes in pants to accomodate my flab and wider hips.  Is this the post-baby pooch everyone talks about?  And let's not even discuss the stretch marks, oh, ahem, war wounds.  It's driving me absolutely crazy.  I spent a fortune on jeans in my past life and I want to wear them again damnit!  

Enter Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred.  For the uninitiated, Jillian is the female trainer on The Biggest Loser and an all-around ass-kicker.  I need my ass kicked.  The Shred dvd comes highly recommended by many on the internets and even a few friends from real life. I want to see muscles in my arms that I have never seen before.  I want to see some semblance of a waist re-appear.  I want my butt to defy the gravitational pull.  I want my scrawny chicken legs to gain some shape.  Basically, I want a new body.  A body that doesn't outwardly show the blemishes of childbirth.  

By posting this here, I am publicly committing to 30 days of shredding.  Maybe not 30 days in a ROW but I hope to be finished by the beginning of December.  And maybe, hopefully, this will be just the beginning.  

Today is Day One.  Bring it on, Jillian, bring it on.

**Updated 10/30/08: Holy hell mother of god my muscles hurt today.  Muscles I didn't even know I owned.  Burning pain searing through my body.  I can't wait to do it again.  

Laughter was Noah's first response when he and I discussed whether or not I could finish the 30 days.  He can be such a jerk.

We call this the "professional baby photographer" pose

What the camera didn't catch was moments later when he face planted to the ground and began to flop around like a fish out of water. Was it so wrong of me to laugh for a few minutes before righting him?

Together

It's quiet in the room, the lights are off and the fan whirs its gentle rhythm.  Your breaths come softly as you snuggle into me just a little deeper, your fists taking hold a little tighter.  The night falls quickly outside as the rain begins to drum its sweet melody on the window pane.  And we rock.  We rock until your body becomes heavy with sleep.  We rock together.  You and me, little boy.  You and me.  It will always be you and me.

Three Months

Dear Noah,

Today you are three months old.  I don't know how or when it all happened, but all of the sudden you are not a newborn anymore...according to the internets you've graduated to "baby" stage.  And it breaks my heart.  In three short months I've nearly forgotten how tiny you were when the nurse placed you on my chest for the first time, or how your newborn diapers were so big on you with your scrawny little legs sticking out.  And it's only been three months, or 93 days, 11 hours, and 3 minutes, but who's counting?  

You are fascinating to me.  The speed at which your little brain is learning about the world around you is amazing.  It seems that everyday you are understanding just a little bit more...you are learning to use your hands!  You furrow your brow when you are trying to grasp at your toy and then when you actually get it in your hand you can barely contain your surprise.  You cannot stop smiling at everyone who you see, especially women; I think you get this from your father since he'll flirt with the cashier at the grocery store (ask him and he'll just say he's being "nice").  When you see a "pretty lady" your eyes light up and you start grinning like a maniac.  Keep it up kid and you'll be the favorite of all the girls.

You're also finding out that you have quite the set of vocal cords.  Not only do you coo, and gurgle, and grunt your way through a conversation with me, but you've also discovered how to screech.  When you're just awake from a nap and hungry, if I change you before I feed you, you express your displeasure with ear-splitting screeches and screams.   And I don't mean your average crying baby type sounds...these screams would wake the dead.  You enjoy yelling when we "talk" to each other and I love to imitate your sounds right back to you.  Apparently you do not like to be imitated because that usually incites a round of brow-furrowing and grumpy expressions.   But when you laugh, Noah, oh man do I fall more in love with you.  Your laugh comes from deep in your belly and just lights up the room.

We just can't get enough of you little man.  

Love,

Mama

The one where we talk about boobs, formula, and the big bad wolf

Brain dump begins now.  

For the past three months, Noah has been exclusively fed breast milk.  Either from me or from a bottle of expressed milk, but he has never had formula.  We have a good nursing relationship--it's easy, he's quick, and I suppose we both enjoy it.  I'll admit that I don't have that super special bond-y feeling when we nurse.  At least I don't think so.  And lately, the idea of nursing him when we are "out and about" away from the house is provoking major anxiety in me.  I have a nursing cover, which is handy, but I have not really gotten the hang of wrangling Noah while making sure the cover doesn't fly up and expose my girls to the world.  It seems so simple but for some reason I just can't get it together.  So instead, for the past three months, when I know we are going to be out of the house for a feeding, I pump and take a bottle with me.  

Herein lies my problem: when I bring a bottle of expressed milk I have to keep it cold, so I pack it in a little soft sided cooler with an ice pack.  Ok, I can do that, it's a bit bulky but whatever.  But then, when he needs to eat, I have to find a way to heat that bottle to a temperature deemed appropriate by Mr. Must Be 98.6 Degrees Exactly.  At a restaurant it's pretty easy to ask the waitstaff for a mug of hot water.  But how about when we're out for a long walk and Noah decides he must eat immediately, not later, but rightnowthisveryminutesohelpyouwoman?  And he'll do that even if he was nursed right before we left the house.  He's wild like that.  And very demanding.  That's when I find myself on the nearest park bench fighting with a arm waving maniacal baby and trying to keep from flashing the poor kids walking home from school.  It's just a lot for this new mama to handle successfully.  Not to mention the extra pumping session I have to throw in there to make sure we have milk on hand.

I broke down and bought formula today.  I have been thinking and thinking and thinking about buying it for weeks.  I've talked about it with Tim, my mother, my mama and non-mama friends alike. I've spent more time than I care to admit on the internet looking for advice.  Should I or shouldn't I?  Will a random formula feeding here or there hurt my milk supply?  What if Noah prefers formula to my milk? (That is secretly my worst fear with this whole thing which I guess goes to show you that I am far more attached to breastfeeding than I care to admit).  

I suppose I always saw formula as a back-up to breastmilk when breastfeeding didn't come easily or your situation didn't allow for breastfeeding.  But if I can breastfeed easily, which I can, then why would I turn to formula as a method of feeding my child?  What I have to give him is free while formula is ridiculously expensive.  My answer is that at times it is going to be far more convenient for us, for me.   If I am happy and relaxed then so is Noah.  If not battling with nursing in public makes me happy and relaxed then there you have it.

He will not suffer if fed with formula here and there.  He will not stop breastfeeding.  He will continue to grow strong and healthy regardless of where he gets his nutrients.  My boobs have given him three whole months of immunities and antibodies and nutrition.  And now they are going to share that job from time to time with Similac.  We'll just consider it a special treat for Noah and a mental health break for me.  

Brain dump concluded.  Carry on.

Adventures in Ebay-ing

Yesterday I scored a vintage mid-century modern chair on Ebay that I plan to re-upholster.  By re-upholster, I really mean enlist my friend D to do the dirty work all on the premise of "learning" from her.   But I'll totally buy the fabric!  Anyhow, it was a local seller so after I won the auction I contacted her to schedule the pick up for this morning.  I drove about 45 minutes south of the city to her suburban home where she sells her wares--apparently mid-c furniture hidden under a tarp in her yard is considered her "store".   That was kind of weird in itself, but what happened next takes the cake.  

I walk into her backyard through a HUGE wooden gate, seriously 25 feet tall.  I am greeted by two insanely large dogs that I am told are some sort of wolf/hound hybrid but totally nice!  so sweet!  don't worry about them!  Sure, lady, sure.  They did turn out to be lovely dogs, insistent on smelling my butt and everything, but that did not prepare me to come face to face with a COYOTE (ok, there was a chain link fence between us but still!  A LIVE COYOTE, people.)  She launches into some story about saving the coyote and raising it and she couldn't have just one since they like packs so now she has SIX coyotes, in pens in her yard, in the Chicago suburbs.  ?????  I'm all for animal rescue but methinks she's lost her mind.  I asked her what her neighbors think (the houses are less than 100 yards apart) and she giggles nervously.  I didn't ask any other questions.  

Then she asks if I want to PET the coyote...hmmm, let's see, what part of me looks like I want to pet a coyote?  Sorry lady, I didn't dress in proper petting zoo apparel today.  Good god.  I paid for that chair and hightailed it out of there, but only after she tells me that the cash I gave her is going to help her buy food for her coyotes and I have done a good deed for the day.  Super.  I am an enabler.  

Jazz hands

Newsflash!  Noah has found his hands!  And he has discovered that he can TOUCH things and GRAB things and BRING THEM TO HIS MOUTH.  It's like the discovery of ancient ruins or my original hair color.  In all seriousness, I feel like he has just blossomed this past week.  He is so much more alert and aware of his surroundings.  His laughs are contagious.  And the smiles...oh the smiles.
 

He loves to "talk" to inanimate objects, especially ceiling fans. Those ceiling fans, they are the best conversationalists I tell you.  Our days are lazy and revolve around what rattling, primary colored, squishy toy we are going to play with next.  I honestly couldn't ask for anything more.  He's a good baby--I know most parents are going to say their baby is good when pressed, but he truly is a sweet, even-tempered baby.  We've not had colic (I have no idea how awful colic must be...to those of you mamas and papas with a colicky baby, I pray for your sanity), we've not had hours and hours at night of glass shattering screaming (at least not since he was a few weeks old), he's sleeping through the night again, I could go on and on about how easy we have it.  There are definitely some days when I want to put him up for sale on Craigslist, but then I always think about how awful it would be to end up the lead story on the 5 o'clock news when I most likely haven't showered yet that day.  (Just kidding, Jojo!  I would never wait that long to shower!)

So, all this to say that we're good, we're thriving, we're waving our hands in the air.

Can I "Make It Work"?

I got my hair cut last night.  Am I totally rocking it or do I resemble your neighborhood Republican, suburban, soccer mom?  Please be honest.  I just don't know how I feel about it.

P.S. It gets "flippy" at the ends.  I don't think I'm ok with "flippy".

(Disclaimer: suburban, Republican, soccer moms are AWESOME!  The world needs them.  I'm just not one.)

I don't think she feels the same way as I do about pie

I think this should be inspiring me to work out and lose this last bit of baby weight but it just kind of pisses me off. Damn you Jessica Alba.

Just when you think you have it down...

SOMEONE has decided to quit sleeping through the night.  We had almost four whole weeks of 12 hour sleep at night but now?  Not so much. 3 am is party time in our household...again.  I am hoping that this is just a short phase and that Noah will go back to sleeping like a champ.  If he doesn't, Dr. Weissbluth* and I are going to have a little chat.  A little chat that may involve some strong language.  My guess is that he's going through a bit of a growth spurt since he demands to be fed at 3 am, but I also blame every change on a "growth spurt".  If he's fussy at a different time-growth spurt.  If he poops more-growth spurt.  If he sleeps more/less-growth spurt.  Pretty soon he'll be a giant.  

Also, today I was out shopping with a friend and another mom walked by in the store pushing her huge ass stroller (that is apropos of nothing, just that it was much too large).  She stopped when she saw Noah (I was holding him) and asked his age. When I told her he was almost 3 months old she responded with a "Oh!  He's so SMALL for 3 months!  Mine is 2 months and much bigger."  Huh?  And also SHUTTHEHELLUP.  Here is a lesson for all you lovely people out there:  Never, I mean never, comment on the size of someone else's child.  I didn't really get why this was such an issue until now.  It is RUDE and OFFENSIVE to comment on a baby's size.  Noah just so happens to be very average in size and maybe her baby was just a little fatty.  And a fat baby is a-ok!  But so is a smaller baby.  I kind of wanted to run her over with her own stroller AND shove her 5 carat diamond up her ass.  And twist it a little.  

Noah will bring the muscle to the showdown.

(* Author of "Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Baby")

It's The Great Pumpkin, Noah Smith!

Over the weekend we took Noah to the pumpkin patch.  Not so much so that he'll have some fond memory of picking out his pumpkin but more so because mama wanted photo opportunities.   Who can resist a little munchkin dressed in farmer flannel sitting atop a pumpkin?

And of course we needed a family shot.  We don't have many pictures of the three of us so it's always nice to bring along the grandma to act as the photographer.  (Just kidding, Mom.  We really brought you so you would buy me pie.) (Not that I need more pie...obviously.  See below for evidence of too much pie.)

And the smiles.  The smiles are becoming so frequent but they never fail to make ME squeal with delight.  Who can resist this little boy?  

 

He is so awesome.  And the perfect size to sit atop a pumpkin.

Ok, why didn't anyone tell me about this?

How cool is this?

(Sorry it's so small)

Its called a Wordle (http://wordle.net).  You can put in your own words, like I did above, or you can link to a blog and Wordle will import the words and randomly arrange them.  I have a very special place in my heart for fonts so this is like my Garden of Eden.  I made quite a few variations and I am planning to print my favorite one and frame it in Noah's room.  Don't be surprised if you start getting these as gifts, folks.  

Also, www.blurb.com ?  Where you can MAKE YOUR OWN BOOKS?  Anyone?  Bueller?  I mean, this is the best discovery ever.  I know I am so far behind as far as knowing about these things, but how does that saying go?  One man's trash is another man's treasure.  You might be sitting there saying, oh THAT?  Sheesh, Sara, that was SO last year.  But to me?  These websites are shiny and new and oh so much fun.

(Disclaimer:  I am in no way saying that Wordle or Blurb are trash.  Got that?  Good.)

Go forth and CREATE.

She'll have an AWESOME wardrobe

Just a quick congratulations to our good friends, A & M, on the announcement of a little GIRL due in February!  I can't wait to buy that little sweetheart a few flouncy dresses and teeny ballet slippers and little be-ribboned doo-dads.  I don't care what they say, baby girl clothes are still far cuter than baby boy clothes.  No one can resist them!  Lots of love to you THREE!