Huggies are NOT the new Hoover Dam

A PLEA FOR HELP! (And ignore if you have no opinion on diapers.)

We have a leak. Actually, not just ONE leak, but many, many leaks. Noah has been leaking out of his diapers, and I have no idea what to do. I change him every couple of hours during the day, always before and after naps (and the after change is always because he has leaked out during his nap), and since he is sleeping mostly through the night I can't change him then so we have a leak in the morning. I half expect that leak since he does go so long without a change, but it didn't always happen and I would really like it if we could face the morning without ANOTHER crib sheet change.

Here is where we are at diapers-wise:

Noah is 13.5 pounds, so firmly in the size 2 range for most diapers (12-18 lbs).  We're currently using Huggies Supreme/Gentle Care size 2 or Huggies Regular size 2. We haven't noticed much of a difference in absorbancy between the two, at least not enough to warrant the price difference.  We have also used Pampers Swaddlers size 2 which we had leaks with but even worse was that his clothes always felt damp in the front when he wore them.  

So, here is where you and your people come in.  I need recommendations for new diapers.  I am willing to try cloth diapering as well as using eco-friendly diapers (7th Generation, gDiapers, etc.).  And by cloth diapering I really mean pocket cloth diapers with the washable inserts.  I'm game for new disposables too.   I just need options and I don't want to spend a million dollars trying out every brand on the market.  I trust you.  My wallet is in your hands.

If you are not diaper-savvy, please, please send this on to any of your friends or family who may have an opinion on diapers.   Tell me what you/they use and if you like/dislike your choice.  Tell me if you cloth diaper and what you like most about it.  I need help, from you.  You're the best!

The end of an era (a very short-lived era)

My term as the mother of a stationary infant is officially over. I am now an eagle-eyed, one hand when on the changing table at all times, crib mattress-lowering mother. Noah has officially learned how to roll over. It was touch and go last week and he could do it with plenty of "assistance" from us, but now he is all about the rolling. All by himself. Nap time? No way, Mom, ROLLING TIME! Bed time? Nope, not sleeping then either! RollRollRollRoll! He can only go from tummy to back and since he sleeps on his tummy, every time he rolls onto his back when he's sleeping the eyes fly open and the arms start waving and the mouth starts yelling. It's super fun for us.

It's pretty fantastic though that he is right on target for hitting all the infant milestones. Rolling over, pushing up on his arms, sitting with assistance...all of these things show us that he is developing well and growing quickly. I find it reassuring that we can so easily see his progress and watch him grow.

I hear from those who have gone before me that the novelty of rolling ends pretty quickly, but I should resign myself to a week or so of lost naps and plenty of nighttime wake-ups. I just cannot express how excited I am. No words. Seriously. Excuse me while I go bang my head against the wall.

Happy Thanksgiving to you

We are thankful for many things at the Smith household but one stands out from the others:



May you have a happy and delicious Thanksgiving!

Pardon the interruption

When you tell your husband not to worry about getting you a gift/flowers/A CARD for your wedding anniversary and then he actually DOESN'T worry about it so you receive NOTHING, do you a) stomp your feet and complain, b) act all passive-aggressive and comment under your breath about it, or c) show him your blog where you are detailing, with loving and painstaking precision, your meeting and courtship and watch for signs of shame?

I chose c.  Note to self:  if you want something from your husband for your anniversary/birthday/christmas/the day you pushed an 8 pound baby out of your precious lady parts thereby ruining them foreverandeveramen, you better not tell him he doesn't have to do anything...reverse psychology doesn't work.  Ever.

It's a good thing he's cute and snuggly.  I suppose I'll keep him.  (And not that I NEED to say this, but I really am fine that we didn't exchange gifts or cards this year...money is tight, as we all know, and this fine man tells me everyday how much he loves me.  And I didn't get him anything so the playing field is still level.)

Two Years, or How We Ended Up Here, Part IV

Every day I discussed with my friend, L, at work when he would actually propose.  Every Friday we crossed our fingers that it would be that weekend, and every Monday I would come in with a bare ring finger.  I was emailing him pictures of rings hourly.  At one point I thought maybe I had dreamed up that he had asked my father for my hand. Or maybe he had reconsidered. One weekend, I was with my friend A at the bridal shop...we were either looking for bridesmaid dresses for her wedding or maybe just going for a fitting for her wedding dress.  (I can't remember every detail, you know.)  The whole thing kind of put me in a rotten mood since it was all wedding talk that day and I wasn't able to participate.  I sat in the dressing room with her complaining about how Tim didn't want to marry me and we were never getting engaged.  We had only been together for going on eight months so CLEARLY the end of the world was upon me and I was going to die alone.  Clearly.  

Little did I know that at that same moment he was sitting at the jeweler's with my mother picking out my diamond.  And designing the setting.   And I was sitting in a cramped dressing room bemoaning my future as a lonely old woman.  Someone really should have slapped me.  Two weeks later, Tim had made plans to pick me up after work, but he was running late.  It was now mid-December and snowing in Chicago.  I waited on the corner of Randolph and LaSalle for a half hour, in the freezing cold and snow, and when he finally showed up I laid into him with all my pent-up anger.  I just let loose.  I accused him of not wanting to marry me.  I accused him of being a liar.  And he didn't say a word.  The ring was in his pocket and was the reason he was running late.  He had just met the jeweler at the train station to pick up the ring and of course, I had no idea.   Here we were, my head exploding in anger and him probably wondering if this was such a good idea after all.

A week or so later, we decided to exchange one Christmas gift early.  It was the 23rd of December.  I had bought Tim an Illini hat so he could be a part of my love for my alma mater.  I picked that out as the gift I wanted him to open.  I opened mine first.  It was a framed photograph of a diamond ring, MY diamond ring, and when I looked up in confusion, I saw Tim, on his knee, in front of our first Christmas tree, holding the most beautiful ring I had ever seen, and asking me to spend the rest of my life with him.  He had tears in his eyes when I said yes.  Yes, of course.  And then I laughed.  I have never had the appropriate reaction to intensely emotional situations.  Why should this moment be any different?  And all I had to give him was a silly ball cap.

He had picked my favorite time of year to ask me to be his wife.  He made the moment incredibly personal and all about the two of us.  It was not extravagant, it was not over the top.  It was perfectly reflective of us.  The rest of that evening was spent at the Tiny Lounge reminiscing about the day we met, telling our (short) story to anyone who would listen.  The Tiny Lounge closed their doors on New Year's Eve that year so that was our time to say thank you to it for bringing us together.  For being tiny and only leaving two seats open.

And now, two years later, Tim still kisses my forehead when he walks by and my heart still beats a little bit faster everytime he walks in the door.  We have the most wonderful baby boy, our little family created in our cozy home.  So much has happened to us since that fateful night in April 2005...in three short years we met, married and started our family.  Every morning I get to wake up next to the most perfect man.  I am so very, very lucky.

Two Years, or How We Ended Up Here, Part III

He called.  Exactly when Mike said he would.  We went out that night...if you asked Tim he could tell you exactly what I wore but all I can remember is how impossibly nervous I was.  We didn't do sushi, but we did do tapas followed by a wine bar.  It was the moments at that wine bar, at a quiet, dark, candlelit table for two in the back, that I remember most.  He told me about himself.  About his failed marriage, his dreams for his future, his passion for his start-up tech company, his hopes for his life.  And when he got up to go to the washroom, he kissed me gently on the forehead and I think I swooned.  Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the romantic setting, but it was at that moment that I felt something I hadn't felt before.  Complete and utter comfort with another person.  The kiss, touching a usually unnoticed place on a person's face, was so perfect and right at that moment.  

He invited me back to his place (the horror! and so forward!).  I felt comfortable enough to know he wouldn't be untoward with me and I am really nosy about other people's living spaces so of course I wanted to see his condo.  And to 23 year old me, a guy who owned his own condo in the city was a novelty.  It was in that condo, at the base of the stairs, that he kissed me.  My knees may have buckled.  My head surely swam.  And then I told him I had to go.  

He drove me home, and even at that point I wasn't sure if he would call again.  Remember, I was still feeling pretty bad about myself after the recent break-up and didn't think I would meet someone who actually liked me.  But he did call.  Yes, it took him three days, but he would later admit that he didn't want to seem too eager.  We went out later that following week, and then again, and again, and again.  I found myself driving by his condo on random days, just to see if the lights were on.  Definitely stalker-ish, but somehow reassuring to me.  Maybe he was thinking of me while he worked from his couch.  I was thinking about him every moment of the day.

I quickly made myself at home in his condo...we spent the majority of our time hanging out there.  It was on that rooftop, six weeks after we met, that he told me he loved me.  It was a warm June evening, and we had been looking at the view of the Sears tower, a few miles in the distance.  So many stars were out and the moment was perfect.  From single to in love in six weeks...our relationship started off on the fast track from the moment we met.  Some of you may be asking, hey!  what about the ex that you had plans with?  Yes, I did meet up with him, even though Tim and I were seeing each other, because we hadn't yet discussed exclusivity and I needed to make sure.  I knew after meeting up with the ex that I didn't want to be with anyone besides Tim.  It was just that easy.  

That summer passed by quickly, and by August Tim had asked me to move in with him when the lease on my apartment ended that October.  I knew I wanted to, but I didn't think my parents would approve.  I was turning 24, still very young, and I had a feeling my parents wouldn't feel nearly as comfortable with the idea of their first born moving in with a divorced man ten years her senior after only six months of dating.  I broached the idea with my mother first since she seems to like me a lot, and she could butter up my father for me.  I like to delegate my dirty work.  I didn't necessarily need their approval, but I did need and want their support.  Lucky for me, I am very convincing and they agreed to support me in whatever I chose.  

The plans were made, and on October 15th, I moved in to Tim's condo...with the verbal understanding that our relationship was headed toward marriage.  I would never have guessed that I would have moved in with a boyfriend with no ring on my finger, no major commitment to the future.  But never, at any point, did I feel that we weren't headed in that direction.  I knew Tim was completely committed to me, to us, to our future together.  We talked about marriage all the time, so much so that he asked my father for my hand in marriage over Thanksgiving that year.  And my father announced it to the entire table at dinner that evening.  When I was in the room...we'll blame excitement on him letting the cat out of the bag.  Ring Watch 2005 started at that very moment and every day after was riddled with WHEN, DAMNIT?  Patience is not one of my virtues.

...To be continued

Two Years, or How We Ended Up Here, Part II

So.  Apparently Debbie, and probably all my other friends, didn't think I was very nice if I had to be admonished like that.  I mean, I could totally be nice and talk to the strange men sitting next to us, I just didn't WANT to.  See?  There is a difference.  But I was being warmed by my first martini, so I decided to stop being a frigid bitch (it's true, there is no better way to say it) and turn myself around to "chat".  The guy next to me, we'll call him #1, didn't seem to be the more outgoing of the two so I was drawn to the other guy sitting to his right, #2.  Not drawn to him in an I'm attracted to him kind of way, but more in the he seems like he would be fun to bullshit with kind of way, and if you know me at all, you know I like me some bullshitting.  I can't really remember the conversation or what we four talked about but it definitely involved bullshit and as the conversation became longer and fueled by martinis (for us girls) and vodka tonics (for the guys) I started to notice #1 a bit more.  

He had started off kind of quiet but grew more interesting as the night wore on.  His eyes were an intense blue and he had a distinct profile that I found quite charming.  When he was thinking and listening, he involuntarily stuck out his bottom lip.  A little quirk.  He became more animated and he and #2 were clearly good friends.   They enjoyed arguing and bickering while Debbie and I sat there, quite amused.  Our conversations waned and Debbie and I started chatting alone.  At one point, #1 got up to go to the bathroom, and #2 asked me to give him my phone number...on behalf of #1.  I had a policy not to meet a guy in a bar, let alone give him my number, so I refused.  And if he wanted my number, he would have to ask for it himself.  None of this wingman bullshit.  So I told him just that upon his return from the bathroom.  And I wanted to know his full name.  He introduced himself as Tim Smith, and his buddy was Mike.  I gave him my phone number.  Mike declared that Tim would call me the next day and we would go out for sushi that night.  Ladies and Gentlemen, he is available for all matchmaking needs.

At that point I figured, game over, let's move on to the next bar.  I had given him my phone number, he wasn't REALLY going to call, so let's hit the road. I hadn't yet realized that Debbie had already called her sister and friends to come meet us at the Tiny Lounge so we were clearly going nowhere soon.  We four ordered another drink and continued to talk.  We spent an inordinate amount of time listening to Tim and Mike make fun of one another...a mark of good friends for sure.  Debbie's sister arrived and immediately recognized Mike.  They had stood up in a wedding together.  Well, damn if Walt Disney didn't hit it on the head, it IS a small world after all.  At some point, we decided to leave the Tiny Lounge to go dancing (i.e. a bad bar/club with dance music where I would be just drunk enough to think I was actually born with rhythm) and invited Tim and Mike to come along.  The rest of the night was a whirl of dancing, bar-hopping, and talking with Tim until the wee hours of the morning.   

Even by the end of the night, I didn't think he would ever call.  You just don't meet good guys in bars.  It doesn't happen like that.  At around 4 pm on Saturday, my phone rang.  It was Tim.  

...To be continued

Two Years, or How We Ended Up Here, Part I

This Tuesday is our two year wedding anniversary and to mark the occasion, I thought I would recount our meeting and subsequent whirlwind courtship from my point of view over the next few posts (In parts!  Because I am nice like that and don't think you would want to devote the next ten hours of your life to reading this story.  I willingly break it up for you.)  It's romantic, and lovely, and will have a touch of sarcasm for good measure, of course.  Come along, my friends, on this trip down memory lane.

It was late April 2005. I was 23, living in Chicago with my roommate and friend, Rebecca, and working at my office job.  My weekends consisted of playing around the city and whining and moaning about the end of my last (completely waste of time/energy/space) relationship.  Isn't it funny how hindsight is always 20/20?  ALWAYS.  I knew that guy wasn't going to be the loveofmylifeomg, but for some reason I was irrationally worked up over the demise of that relationship.   So worked up that I had begun calling my high-school/college ex-boyfriend because he always made me feel better about myself.  In retrospect, that was not the nicest way to keep in contact with him, always calling when I was lonely and between boyfriends...he was, and I imagine, still is, a very nice guy. Which must be why he put up with me and my behavior.  I wouldn't have that's for damn sure.  

Anyhow, he was coming in town that upcoming Memorial Day weekend and we had plans to meet up.  Why, you ask?  Because I liked the attention.  I admit it.  You find me a girl who doesn't love being adored and I will call you a damn liar.  But now it is Friday, April 22nd, and my hometown friend, Debbie, was in town from NYC where she was working and living post-college and she wanted to Go! Out! And! Party! Yeah!  This was when martini bars were where it was at and since she was a high-class New Yorker, I wanted to show her a fun time in Chicago. However, come Friday night I was completely uninterested in going out.  You know how it is:  nothing to wear, feeling fat, looooooog week, SO TIRED, ad nauseum.  (Or is it "ad infinitum"...according to Wikipedia, my best source of information by way of Capt'n Google, both could work here.)  But Debbie wouldn't hear of it.  She whipped out the bottom lip and pouted her way into me agreeing to go out.  I've always been a sucker, nothing new there.  So, I put on my "uniform" of black top (I believe this was a one shoulder number and admitting that reminds  me that I had terrible taste in clothing), jeans, and heels and off we went to the closest martini bar, the Tiny Lounge.

The Tiny Lounge was very aptly named as it seated less than 40 and held less than 60 standing up.  It was tucked under the Addison Brown Line El stop and you could hear the trains rumbling overhead.  I walked by it everyday, making my way to and from work downtown.   The Tiny Lounge had a martini-heavy menu...the type of place that drew an older, more mature crowd and not so much the frat-boy, pink polo popped collar crowd that I was regularly running around with.  This older crowd was probably why I thought Debbie would like it--much more like her usual NYC haunts.  Our game plan that night consisted of a martini there most likely followed by frantic calls to friends to find the next fabulous stop.  So, it was meant to be a quick warm-up to our evening...she had somehow convinced me to make a night of it.  

We walked to the Tiny Lounge quickly; April in Chicago is still cold and I think I was still young (read: stupid) enough to think I didn't need a coat.  Me and my one shouldered top shaking and quivering my way down the street, around the corner, and into the Tiny Lounge.  We got there around 8-ish, I thought early enough to definitely get a seat somewhere or at least we would have a choice of places to sit.  Au contraire.  Upon walking in, and shaking off the cold, we saw that there were two seats open at the bar and looking around, those were the last two seats available.  And next to those two seats sat two men.  And no no no, I did not want to deal with those two men.  "Why, Sara", you say, "that is very presumptuous of you that you thought those two men would automatically want to talk to you and Debbie."  And to that I say that, yes, possibly presumptuous, but also RIGHT.  In my eyes, two assumedly single women walk into a bar and the nearest men would want to chat them up.  So, I turned on my heel, grabbed Debbie who was behind me and told her we were going somewhere else.  She shook off my grip and made her way to the empty bar stool and told me to knock it off and sit my ass down.  

So I did.  And whined, and complained, and whined some more about not wanting to make small talk with strange men.  Within moments of sitting, I turned my back to the guy closest to me and ordered my drink.  Not minutes later, he and his buddy tried to strike up a conversation with us.  I ignored them, obviously.  Call me rude, but I am also a stick to your guns type of girl, and I was NOT INTERESTED IN SMALL TALK.  But, and this is WILD and TOTALLY CRAZY and COMPLETELY UNCHARACTERISTIC of her (insert major sarcasm), but Debbie was interested in chatting with these random guys.  Her words to me, verbatim:  Sara, be nice.  It won't kill you to be nice for once.  She had no idea what was about to happen...

...To be continued (I know, the anticipation is KILLING YOU)

It's not all bunnies and rainbows over here

This is unacceptable.  Apparently I contracted some snot-nosed kid's cold while we were at the pediatrician's office yesterday.  ME!  I mean, it's better that I am sick than Noah, but come on.  Last week it was a belly ache and this week it's a runny nose and chest congestion.  I can't PARENT when I am sick.  I take that back, I can parent, just not WELL.  Do mom's get sick when their kids are older and are walking/talking/being royal pain in the asses?  Wait.  Don't tell me.  I can't comprehend such potential hell.  (I know it will totally happen.  I just don't, can't, won't think about it.)

Let's just hope Noah doesn't get sick.   If he does, Tim will have two whiny, annoying people on his hands and it's his birthday and he doesn't deserve that.  He's nice.  And in a good mood today.  

Happy Birthday to my husband

These same days one year ago were some of the best of our lives.  Everything changed in a matter of minutes with two pink lines.  We celebrated a baby-to-be, a birthday and an anniversary...and now, one year later, we're celebrating everyday.  Today is Tim's birthday and this year's birthday is even more special with Noah here.  

To my husband,

Today, on your birthday, I want you to know how much I love you and appreciate you.  Thank you for supporting our family, not only by working so hard for us, but for being the best bedtime book reader and dirty diaper changer.  You're 100% devoted to taking care of us and I am so grateful to you.  I am inspired by you everyday...by your constant optimism, your love for life, and your dedication to our family.  I love you more as the days go by and look forward to all this year holds for us.

Happy Birthday to you!

Love,

me

Four Months

Dear Noah,

Today is your four month birthday and my what a month it has been.  I don't know about you, but these past few weeks have been pretty fantastic.  You've always been the cutest baby ever, but lately you have just blossomed.  You love to play with anything you can reach with your chubby little hands and of course it all goes straight into your mouth.  Speaking of your mouth, oh my god, the drool!  There is drool everywhere, covering every inch of your shirt, your hands, and even my hands.  Teething is on the horizon, yay!  Or should I say, yay?

I know I say this every month, but you constantly amaze me with all the new things you learn on a daily basis.  Your newest thing is high-pitched squealing when something delights you.  You haven't yet learned how to laugh or smile when you're excited so you squeal instead.  And it makes me laugh every. single. time.  You wave your arms rapidly and open your eyes wide all the while squeaking and squealing with happiness.   I can show you your stuffed lion puppet and without fail the arms start going and the eyes go wide.  It never fails to delight us.  YOU never fail to delight us.

I would have to say that this age you are at right now is the very best.  I clearly don't know what you have in store for us in the months to come, but I am loving everything about four months.  You are sleeping through the night pretty consistently (again), getting two solid naps every day, eating like a champ, and smiling every chance you get at me, your daddy, the world.  You're still small enough to fit in the crook of my arm and you will nuzzle my neck whenever you're getting sleepy.   I wouldn't say you're the cuddliest of babies...if I bring you into our bed you think it's play time rather than cuddle time.  But I love that you look at me with such wonder and adoration, my own little fan club.  I can't wait for you to learn how to hug and give kisses.  I will savor each and every one.

Noah, thank you for showing me what unconditional love is.  Thank you for being you.  When you were inside me, I didn't know what "flavor" of baby we were going to get.  Now that you're here, and you're you, I know I got the very best flavor out there.  A little chocolate, vanilla, carmel and nuts...and even a little bit of sprinkles for fun.  We love you.

Love,

Mama

Watch out, Giada

I'm kind of liking this cooking thing.  I know!  I'm as surprised as you are!  A couple of weeks ago I decided that a) eating out four times a week, though tasty, is extremely expensive and not budget friendly (sound the alarms, this is BRAND NEW INFORMATION to you, isn't it?) and b) I need to try a little harder at home.  Taking care of Noah is my top priority, and one I take very seriously, but after that and doing the laundry, I didn't feel that I was really pulling my weight.  I have a cleaning lady for god's sake so I don't do any heavy cleaning, save the bi-weekly bathroom wipe down extravanganza.  And Tim deserves a wife that actually knows how to prepare a meal and put it on the table (tv tray table...tomato, tomahto).  He pecks at his computer all hours of the day and night to afford for me to stay home so the least I can do is feed him.  And I adore food so it's a win-win for everyone.

So, in this effort, I semi-organized all the torn out recipes from magazines that I have been collecting over the years into a binder.  Next up is getting them all inserted in plastic sleeves so I don't ruin them.  So far I have made:

• Butternut Squash Soup
• Winter Lentil Soup
• Chicken Parmesan
• Chicken Enchiladas
• Turkey Chili
• Scallop and Corn Chowder
• Some crazy ass casseroles my friend taught me how to make (please note that I usually despise casseroles because the mixing of the food just makes me squeamish, but these turned out pretty tasty)
• Triple Layer Mud Pie (holy hell this was delicious and will be making it's way to my mother's Thanksgiving dessert table)

Hmm.  That list seemed longer in my head.  Anyhow, it's a start.  If you have any favorite recipes that you would like to share with me, please leave them in the comments or email me at saraashmansmith@gmail.com.  I kind of think I'm a big deal in the kitchen (self-confidence is key, even if it is totally faked), but recipes that include twenty steps and/or obscure kitchen gadgets aren't really my thing.   Noah thanks you in advance with a smile.

Can you even BELIEVE how big he is getting?  He is turning into a BOY and there is nothing I can do to stop it.  4 months this Thursday, people.  

If I had a Twitter account, this would be a tweet

I'm listening to Tim read Goodnight, Moon to Noah over the monitor and my heart is breaking into a million pieces.   He is such a terrific dad.  Little moments like this remind me that I married the best man.

Just thought I would let you all know.

Starts with a "G" and ends in "uilt"

It's everywhere.  I didn't attend a function for my former employer because I didn't have anyone to watch the baby even though I had RSVP'd months ago.  Guilt.   I don't make dinner every night (or even every other night) for my family even though I stay home and have the time.  Guilt.   I put my kid in the swing when I'm tired of paying attention to him.  Guilt.   I sometimes leave him in a wet diaper at night because I know that changing him will wake him and I just want another few hours of sleep.  Guilt.  I don't always spend evenings paying attention to my husband and instead read blogs.  Guilt.  My baseboards are dirty.  Guilt.  The laundry hasn't been done in days.  Guilt.  I haven't called my friends often enough since the baby has been born.  Guilt.  I ate too much pie.  Guilt.

But you know what?  I cut myself a little slack.  All this guilt lives in my house and sometimes I sweep it under the rug.  I feel bad about all of the things listed above and yes, I wish I could change them, but I also know that I probably won't.  Except for the calling friends thing...that I have to be better at.  None of those things are so-called "deal breakers" for me.   I am happy.  My husband is happy.  My baby is happy.  And if I live my day-to-day with a little guilt, then meh, so be it.  It's there, it's real, and it can sleep on the couch in the basement.  It just better not expect a home-cooked meal.

G'day to you

Lo, it is Monday.  Which looks just like a Saturday in my book except that it isn't Saturday, OBVIOUSLY.  Noah is currently hanging out in his swing chewing on some sort of baby toy that looks like a cow but I would consider it more of a cow with gay tendencies what with the rainbow necklace.  This is a huge accomplishment people...up until a few weeks ago he would scream every time I placed him oh so gently in the swing.  Now, he'll play contentedly for quite some time.  Which leaves me plenty of time for doing stuff, like blogging, or watching tv, or painting my toenails.   

Noah's new "thing" is sounding like a little goat.  It's a vibrating noise that starts way back in his throat and comes out in a cross between a goat and donkey.  Except everytime he does it, he ends up with a mad case of the hiccups.  But it is pretty incredible to listen to him make noise, other than crying, because up until now he was only silently judging me.  Now he can actually do it outloud.  In all seriousness, this whole vocalizing thing is amazing.  His brain is growing at an incredible pace and he's turning into a sturdy little baby.   He's no longer a wobbly newborn whose arms and legs flail about in random fashion (we never did get the hang of the swaddle). And it's only been 3 and a half months.  Tim and I were discussing this morning that in a matter of WEEKS he'll be rolling over.  WEEKS.   It takes me months to master new skills, so the fact that he can do new things in a matter of weeks rocks my world.  And every night, when I watch him on the video monitor, sleeping so peacefully, I turn to Tim and say once again, "That's our boy, all ours, and I love him.  We get to keep him forever and ever."  

Maybe the zombies ate it

Did you know that when you have a baby your brain falls out of your ears onto the floor and scurries away to that far corner under the couch that you can't reach and begins to live with the dust bunnies and rogue clumps of pet hair? And while it takes up residence under that couch, the cavity that formerly hosted your big, smart, intelligent brain now fills itself with floating thoughts like "when did the baby last poop?" or "what should we have for dinner? egg salad sandwiches or tuna salad sandwiches?" or "how many days in a row can I wear yoga pants? can I wear the SAME yoga pants?"

I was smart once upon a time. I used to pride myself on being well-read, up to date on current events (YES, I know who won the presidency...but hell if I know who our senators are now), and always curious about that which I did not know but wanted to learn about. When Tim and I first met, he could start talking about his technology business or a new project he was working on and I could ask intelligent questions and we could have a two-sided conversation. Now? He'll start talking about a project, my eyes glaze over and I think about what to dress the baby in for the next day or perhaps I think about how we're doing on our nap schedule. I mean, really? I can't focus on an adult conversation for more than two seconds? What happened? It's like I went to sleep and woke up in an entirely different life.

I want my brain back. I want to string sentences together and have them make sense. I want to know exactly what word I'm looking for rather than snapping my fingers and saying "you know...that THING with the STUFF" all the time. Keeping this blog helps. It makes me focus and THINK. Now I'll just go dig out that brain, dust it off, and give it another chance.

A new beginning

Well done, America, well done.  



Congratulations to Senator Obama and a bigger congratulations to our country for finally making a right decision.

He tried to vote for Elmo

We voted!!!



This was my second time voting. My first was Bush/Kerry in 2004...I neglected to register in time for the Bush/Gore election in 2000 and man do I seriously wish I could turn back time. I am not one of those people who thinks my measly one vote doesn't count. Every vote counts. Every last one. Here's to hoping that the vote Noah and I cast today makes a difference. His future depends on it.

Go here if you want to laugh your ass off today.  Click your mouse anywhere in the room for an interactive Palin as President scene.

Monkey-ing around

A few pictures from Noah's first Halloween.



He was a good sport about the whole thing. It was an amazing fifteen minutes of adorable baby/monkey-ness before he decided we had been making fun of him for long enough. Isn't he so damn cute though?