Goodby Gums

Tyler made it official yesterday, his front lower left tooth popped through. Joe discovered the tooth when he got home from work last night. It's a bittersweet moment. So, here's an ode to the gummy smiles (and frowns) that will never quite be the same:

A Parental "Duh" Moment

Tyler has been fussy for the last few days. I've deduced that it is from a combination of being over-tired (we stayed at my sister's house WAY too late on Thursday, which set in motion grump-a-tude for the days following) and the fact that he's teething. I looked in his mouth yesterday, and his lower front left tooth is on the verge of popping out. His gum is red and swollen, and I can see a little bit of white getting ready to show.... I'm not ready for his first tooth. In my eyes it's just another step into big-boyhood, and I'm not ready for that. Regardless, Tyler's grumpiness has also been accompanied with a lack of interest in nursing. I've read plenty about this, and know that nursing can increase the pain of teething. I, however, didn't bother to think that despite the fact that Tyler wasn't nursing well, that he was in fact still very hungry. DUH! Also, that him being hungry would then lead to more grumpiness. DUH again!

So, these thoughts final hit me last night. I felt horrible that I had been starving my own son (thank god for his extra rolls... I'm sure he has plenty of chub to live off of), and made him a bowl of cereal and sweet potatoes. He ate, or rather scarfed, 3 1/2 ounces of cereal and an ENTIRE jar of sweet potatoes, and then some bananas (not that he liked them that much). His eagerness to eat, shown by Tyler lunging at the spoon, proved that he was indeed starving. At some point during his meal, he sneezed... I'm sure as some sort of punishment for me letting him go hungry for so long, with his mouth full of food. Food went flying all over the high-chair and me. Here's a picture of his tray after the sneeze, it almost looks like a crime scene.

So, lesson learned; I should always consider Tyler hungry. It was certainly a "Duh" moment, not my first and definitely not my last.

Goodbye to my first son, Logan

I'm still very much grieving the loss of Logan, my first puppy, baby, and son. Joe summed up the events really well on his blog, and I don't feel like re-hashing that day or reiterating exactly what Joe wrote. So, in Logan's memory, I will write about some his quirks and my favorite memories of him.

*Before Delilah came into our world, Logan was a very SLOW eater. He frequently would leave half of his breakfast in his bowl, and snack on it throughout the day. However, when he would eat, he would pick up a mouth-full of food, walk 3-4 feet away, drop the food on the floor, and then proceed to eat it one kernel at a time.

*Logan was a butt-sniffer. And, fortunately for him, he was just the right height to perform his "duty" whenever he saw fit without any effort. Logan would sniff your butt EVERY time you walked into the house, even if you were only gone for a few minutes. He also saw fit to sniff my butt EVERY time I put on a new pair of pants. He would sniff my butt when I got dressed in the morning, and when I put my pajamas on at night. And, if I wasn't prepared to push him away, he would sniff my butt after I put on underwear. He definitely was a butt man.

*When we lived in Kalamazoo, MI, Logan and I used to go on walks EVERY morning before work. We walked in the rain, in the snow (which is why I bought him a coat), in the sleet, in the sun, and in the dark. I used to complain that I don't know why I even bothered to do my hair for work, because the weather would always destroy it on our walks. But, we would go every morning. Logan wouldn't have it any other way.

*Logan loved ice cream. It was one of his favorite treats. Joe and I used to take him with us to Dairy Queen and get him his own vanilla cone. He'd eat it so fast, and then longingly stare at what was left of our treats. We finally got smart, and would feed him his ice cream off of a spoon, to make it last longer. After his ice cream was gone, we'd give him the cone, and then let him lick our blizzard cups. This was one of our favorite things to do as a family in the summer.

*Logan was very peculiar about the toys that he liked. He didn't like ropes, rubber squeaky toys, or balls. He liked stuffed animals that had squeakies in them, and he liked them in the most vibrant colors available. Joe used to joke that Logan was gay, because his favorite toy was a purple and green monkey. Logan would allow us to play fetch with him SOMETIMES, but usually he preferred to lay on his back, hold the toy between his front paws, throw the toy in the air, catch it with his mouth, and then squeak the crap out of it. Logan would play with his squeaky toys so much that eventually the squeaker would break. I remember spending many long, pain-staking, love-filled hours replacing squeakers and sewing the holes in his toys.

*Logan hated going for rides in the car. We'd put him in the car and he'd shake like a leaf for the entire trip. He also refused to eat in the car. Joe and I used to say that Logan didn't know how to act like a dog, because he showed no interest in sticking his snout out an open window, like most dogs do. Eventually Logan did enjoy the wind in his face and his ears flapping in the breeze, after Delilah showed him how it was done.

*Although we went for many, many walks in Logan's lifetime, and we have always lived in the city, Logan had a (valid) fear of street-drain grates. One time (the first fall that we had Logan), when Joe, Logan and I were on a walk, Logan stepped on a drain cover that was partially covered with leaves, and his foot fell through. From that moment forward including the last walk we took together, Logan went out of his way to avoid drain covers. Some of my favorite evasive maneuvers were walking around the drain cover as wide as the leash would let him and jumping over the cover with a nice little hop.

*Logan had a hole in his chin. Well, he may as well have had one, because every time he took a drink of water, more water ended up on the floor by his bowl then what he actually swallowed. And, there was always a trail of water leading away from the water dish after he was done.

*Just like me, Logan loved autumn, but for very different reasons. Logan loved to pee on piles of leaves. Why? I never knew, but I think it had something to do with the leaf-covered drain cover mentioned above. Joe and I also used to make fun of the way that Logan peed. Sometimes, he half squatted like a girl dog. And, when he did lift his leg, it was always awkward looking, with an aim that was far off of his target.

*Logan wasn't overly affectionate. He didn't really snuggle with you and he rarely gave out kisses, but when he did you felt like a million bucks and you knew that you were special. Joe and I used to brag each and every time that Logan would kiss us.

*Logan was never happier than when he was outside. Besides walks, Joe and I used to take him disc golfing, roller blading, and on bike rides. Logan loved to bask in the sun for hours at a time, he would chase snow balls in the winter, play chase with Delilah around our garage, or stare out the window wishing that he was outside.

*Logan shed like a mad man. To this day, I have no idea how he wasn't bald. I will be vacuuming Logan hairs out of my carpet until the day that we move out of this house.

*Every morning, after he went outside to do his business, I would scratch Logan's butt at the exact spot where his tail connected. I don't know what it was about that spot, but he loved to have it scratched. We did this EVERY morning.

*We couldn't even utter the "w" word (that's walk, for you non-pet owners), without Logan going berserk. He had a 6th sense when it came time to go for a walk. He knew the moment after I had decided to go for a walk that it was what we were going to do. It was a struggle to get your shoes on and grab the leash, because he would use his nose and shove it under your arms, wag his tail, get in your way, and of course... the red rocket would be out (ewh!).

*It's true, Logan was spoiled. And, I was the one that spoiled him. He had a basket filled with toys and bones, a variety of dog treats, and a collar/do-rag collection that any dog would envy. I loved dressing him in do-rags, he looked so freaking cute! He had a collar/do-rag combination for all seasons, holidays, and even sports teams (U of M and Detroit Lions).

Logan, you are missed. You will always have a special place in my heart and my memory. I hope that you are on a long walk, peeing on leaf piles somewhere special. I promise to never forget you.

Idependent much?

Yesterday was Tyler's 4 month check-up. His current stats, as taken by the nurse, are: weight - 20 pounds 10 ounces, length - 27 1/2 inches, head circumference - 43 1/2 centimeters. That still ranks our little man above the 95 percentile in ALL CATEGORIES! And, he has officially doubled his birth weight in a stagering 4 months.

When the doctor walked in her first words were, "If you haven't bought him a basketball yet, you need to." We discussed other sports options, including men's volleyball and football (our #1 choice). She then asked me how tall Joe was. I said, "5' 10"", which I now know, and have been corrected on haughtily, is wrong by 1 1/2 inches to his favor. geez. Either way, the doctor was amused by this. She must have assumed (by the look on her face) that I had married a giant, which lead to my giant baby. No, no, no. She then said, "Oh, well you two combined have super genetics." She showed me how Tyler was off the charts, but how impressed she was at how symetrical his height and weight curves were. This means that I don't have a short & fat baby, nor a tall & skinny baby.

At this point I'm smiling and secretly blessing these super genes. One of my greatest fears about having a baby boy was my genetic code. I didn't want to have a short boy. They're not cute, when being cute is important (read: highschool), they don't get picked for sports, and they sure as heck don't get dates... until much later on when ladies realize there's more to dating than looks. I didn't want to curse my son with these things. But, Dr. Dana has confirmed that I no longer need to worry about this. -sigh of relief- The Dr. then continued Tyler's exam. He got mad, angry, and even pissed off, when she tried to look into his ears, as it required her to hold his head to one side. Kids have their moments, right?

Flash forward to this morning's bath. The high of my genetic super kid has worn off, and I'm trying to wash his arms. (Lately I've given him his own washcloth, because he likes to gnaw on it while I'm washing him, and it's hard to share one washcloth. Plus, no matter how safe Johnson & Johnson's claim that their soap is, I doubt that consuming large quantities of it is good for anyone. ) I extract one of his hands from the death grip that he had on his own washcloth, to wash his hand and arm, and he started screaming at me, as if I had hurt him. I know better. He's pissed at me because I moved his arm. I calmed him down, washed his left arm, and he resumed eating the washcloth with both hands. But... there was that other arm that needed washing. I knew what was coming, but it had to be washed. So I did it. He screamed at me for the entire rest of the bath. It was then that it all came flooding back to me....

He has my genetic code...
He has my genetic code...
He HAS MY GENETIC CODE...

Good god man! I've passed on MY independent streak, my bull-headedness, my "I'll figure it out on my own, thank you very much", and my "I'll do it my own way and in my own time". SH*T. We're in for a loooooong road.

Fork in the Road

Tyler is changing on a daily basis. He is getting really close to rolling over from his belly to his back (again). For those of you who have been following our son's rush to grow up via my and Joe's blogs, you'll know that Tyler had a stint of rolling over when he was about 2 1/2 weeks old. He grew out of it when his body started weighing more than his head. Regardless, he's flirting with it again. He's minding tummy time much better these days, and pushes himself up with his chubby arms. For the last 3 days or so, he's been rocking side to side while on his tummy. He's really close to rolling over for real. He's also been scootching himself all over the place by kicking his legs. I frequently find him stuffed in the corner of his crib in the morning. I've also found him completely turned around in bed once too (I laughed out loud it was so funny).

I know that these things are important milestones for growth and development, but I find it hard to cheer for them. It's the end of an era. The end of his babyhood. Mobility marks the beginning of my son's independence. I just wish that he would stay a baby for a while longer.

Hear No Poopy, See No Poopy, Smell No Poopy

That's right folks, it's time for that never-ending, "god they are sooo parents now" topic... Poop. Now, normally no self-respecting adult would find themselves talking to another adult about poop. Joe and I happen to be parents of two dogs, one of which we've had for almost 5 years, and therefore have just about always talked about poop. Who (meaning dogs) pooped and who hasn't was always discussed after each outing. We somehow stumbled into bathroom-math when discussing the topic of our dogs bow-wow-els. #1 = pee, #2 = poop. So, in our secret language, I'd come in after walking the dogs and say, "Logan did a #3, and Delilah did a #1". There you have it. (Feel free to borrow this for your house.)

With this in mind, once Tyler was born we had no problem poop-talking about our son. It was a natural progression for us. Color, consistency, frequency... yes, we're just those people. Very romantic, I know. Shortly after we brought Tyler home from the hospital, and we were out of that retched meconium phase, I remember Joe reading me an online article (boldly) stating that breastfed babies don't have stinky poo. In fact, the author of said article went as far as saying that breastfed babies have poop that smells like "buttered popcorn". (ewh, I know. Ask Joe for the article... he MIGHT be able to find it again.) I decided that if this was in fact true, I could easily change Tyler's diapers for the next several months, having only sacrificed the guilty pleasure of movie theater popcorn. No problems.... except the fact that the author of this article is a FREAKING LIAR!!!!! Tyler has some of the smelliest poop, dare I say, ever. Sometimes, heck most of the time, it gags me. I know he could clear a room. And I know, you're lectures regarding my diet are on the tip of your tongue... but I assure you, my diet doesn't matter. I don't drink milk (it gives me migraine headaches), I take my vitamins regularly, and I try my darndest to eat well-balanced meals. hmpf. Clothespins anyone? Gas masks? I'll take whatever you got.

I would be completely disgusted by my own son, except for the fact that he is so cute when he poops. I usually get a front-row seat to his pooping-face, because he frequently decides that nursing time equals a good time to poop. I have my suspicions that he is just trying to make room for more food. But, or should I say butt, when Tyler goes, he makes the cutest concentration face, elevates his shoulders, arches his back (I told you... front-row seats baby), and makes the cutest squeaks anyone has ever heard, all while letting it rip. I think that we need to video tape it; Joe thinks it would ruin any and all chances with the ladies in the future. We'll see.

And, I'd also like to challenge makers of diapers. Could you make them better? You know, so they'd work. That would be great. We are once again in the no-diaper-can-hold-in-my-poop phase. I know that we don't need to get bigger diapers, my kid is only 10 weeks old and he's in size 3 (16-28 pounds, for those of you not in the know). Still, we have a blow-out on what seems like a daily basis. It doesn't matter who installs the diaper, whether it's on super tight, super loose, or just right (sorry, we've recently read goldilocks)... blow-outs still happen. It's like his butt crack forms the perfect tunnel to send poop shooting straight out the back of the diaper, up his back, and all over his outfit. I'm tired of it. And, I'm tired of soaking and scrubbing poo out of Tyler's clothes. Short of putting him in rubber pants or a paper sack, I don't know what to do.

So it's now official; I'm that mom. Talking to strangers about her child's poop. Is there a membership for this club?

My Broken Heart

Woe is me. My son no longer loves me. At least he certainly didn't last night. Once Joe got home yesterday from work, I spent an hour or so prepping for my big night out. That's right, I was leaving the house alone to... wait for it.... the suspension is killing you isn't it????..... go grocery shopping. Whee, the joys of being a stay at home mom. :) After Tyler finished nursing I handed him off to Joe, and I gathered my list and my carefully clipped and organized coupons. I was prepared to spend money while saving money all at the same time. Blows your mind, doesn't it? Regardless, I was ready to leave and so said my goodbyes to the two loves of my life. I bent down to give Tyler a kiss, and he turned his head away from me! My baby! How dare he! I was so broken hearted I instinctually reverted to childhood and started pouting. Joe, of course, was laughing. Joe then tried to cover his tracks (and Tyler's) by saying "he didn't mean it" and "it was just a coincidence" and something about bad timing and trying it again. It didn't matter, the damage had been done. And, Joe's attempts at making me feel better didn't work, as he couldn't wipe the grin off of his face.

Boo Hoo. I did manage to get in a few kisses afterwards, but still my poor heart and feelings were stinging. Having given birth to a boy, I am well aware that this moment was bound to happen (being too cool to kiss the mom). But I wasn't prepared for it to happen this early on.

2 Month Check-Up

I would firstly like it to go on record that this post is a week overdue because I am a good mother. It is because I spend so much time with Tyler and because I provide him with quality care (read: time NOT spent blogging or on the internet), that I am tardy in this post.

Tyler is now 2 months old, and therefore went in for a check-up last week. His stats are:
Weight: 16 pounds, 3 ounces
Height: 25 inches
And in case you don't happen to have a growth chart in front of you, this once again puts him above the 97th percentile. Doctor Dana was impressed with his strength and could tell that he gets plenty of tummy time (way to go Joe). She also asked whether he was smiling and cooing, and (as if on cue) it was about that time that Tyler warmed up to her, and did exactly those things. Everything was great, and Tyler didn't mind the check-up one bit, except for the tongue depressor... which we all know tastes bad anyway.

The hard part of the check-up was talking to the doctor about refusing his vaccinations at this time. Not because it's something that we believe strongly in or because I was afraid to talk to the doctor about it, but because Joe was the one that did all the research. And as Joe could not make it to the doctor's appointment, I felt unprepared and lame. Luckily Joe, being the awesome guy that he is, printed out the research article he found which has the alternate vaccination schedule in it. Bonus.

I talked to Doctor Dana about the schedule. She said that she appreciated the research we had done, and that we provided her a copy of it. Although she believes in the "tried and true" vaccination schedule, she said that she honors parents' wishes. We're really lucky to have an understanding and non-pushy doctor.

The past two months with Tyler have been amazing. I can't believe how much he's changed and grown. I love that he recognizes me and greets me with wide, chubby cheeked smiles. I adore his sweet coos and laughs, and the fact that we can now have our own conversations. I think it's amazing that he now likes to play and has favorite toys, and that he's figuring out how to scootch himself across the floor with his legs. I love each of his new developments and look forward to all of his future ones.

I'm a FemBot

I woke up this morning in a panic at EXACTLY 5:19 a.m. I was panicing not because Tyler was crying, but because he wasn't. In fact, he hadn't cried all night long. Normally a parent would dance a little jig at having a full nights sleep, but I doubt that the blue suede shoes came out the first night or two that it actually happents. I, of course, rush into Tyler's room and put my hand on his chest to make sure that everything is ok. Sure enough, he's sound asleep. I breathed a sigh of relief.

The next feeling I had was that of pain. "Pain?" you ask. Yes, pain. You see my boobs were rock hard because I was so engorged (gotta love nursing). I hadn't nursed Tyler since he went to bed around 10:30 p.m. the night before. Anyone remember Madonna's cone boobs? Had someone dropped me off of a bridge, I'm sure I would have sank, as I had boobs of concrete. It hurt. In a nano-second, and probably because I was still looking at Tyler, they decided it was time to start leaking. I was wearing my night-time bra sans pads... and thus milk was going everywhere. I (silently) cursed, and rushed around to grab burp clothes to soak up the mess, and then frantically started setting up the breast pump.

After I started pumping, I realized to myselft that I could have been cast in an Austin Powers' movie as a FemBot. Although I don't think anyone has ever been killed via breast milk, it gave me a good chuckle this morning as I was visulizing it. Thank god for a sense of humor, even at 5 in the morning.

He’s already a man

Ugh. My child HATES shopping already. Allow me to elaborate. Today my sister, her girls, and my mom went shopping at the outlets in Fremont. We were in OshKosh looking at adorable clothes. (I practiced some extreme restraint, as I really could have spent a ton of money there but didn't.) I held an outfit up to Tyler, who was sitting in his stroller, to see how long the 9 month outfit was on him. While I was holding the outfit up to him, he PUSHED IT AWAY. It's as if he said to me, "Mom, I'm so over this shopping experience. Men don't try on clothes, we just buy them. Please move on." Grrrr. How has this trait rubbed off on him already? Who tainted my baby?

Little does he know... he's in for plenty more shopping trips. He best learn to like, nay, love it.

Photographic Eyes

I sometimes wish that I had photographic eyes. Much like a photographic memory, but more like a camera, but then I'd some how need to up-load the images so I could share them with my friends. Reason being, I saw one of the most ridiculous things EVER yesterday while I was gassing up the car.

First, this must be prefaced by the fact that I live in Indiana (usually this is enough said). Now, in Indiana people are allowed the right to choose whether or not they'd like to wear helmets whilst on their motorcycles. Most choose to go without. It's a very odd sight, considering I grew up in Michigan, where there are helmet laws. I have seen people, while helmetless, riding their motorcycles AND smoking cigarettes. I have also seen the helmetless talking on their cell-phones while cruising on their motorcycles. As if the roads weren't dangerous enough by just being on a motorcycle.

This brings me to the sight seen yesterday. I was gassing the car up, and I happened to look up and see an elder gentleman on his hog at the light. I had to then do a triple take to make sure what I saw was correct. There, on his lap, WAS A DOG! That's right, a dog. A little lap dog draped across his legs, that he was absent-mindedly petting while waiting for the light to turn green. Are you freaking kidding me?

Of course, neither of them had helmets on. A doggie helmet would just be taking it too far, don't you think?

Smuggling Melons

To be honest, I've never really been overly fond of my body. Blame the media, marketing, Barbie, or whomever, but it's true; I've got some insecurites. When I was in high school, I made a list of the 5 things I'd change about myself if I could. They are (in no particular order): 1) my height (I'm close to 5'3'' in the right shoes), 2) my weight, 3) my teeth, 4) my fingers (very chubby and too short), and 5) my cheeks (hello, have you seen them... it's like I'm storing stuff for the winter!). Let's skip over the fact that I both made the list and still remember the list. The one thing that I never complained about was my chest. Yes, I truely believe that both the Lord and genetics blessed me in that category.

Now let's skip forward to present day. The insecurites are still there and on full alert because I just had Tyler. I need to start working out, but I don't have the energy. And I hate that I can't really wear anything in my closet. I have 6 shirts that fit me, and I'm tired of looking at myself in the same old boring outfits day after day after day after day. Part of my wardrobe problems is the body weight, the other is my boobs. They're ginormous! When I was pregnant Joe and I used to joke around that my boobs were trying to keep up with my growing belly. It was funny at the time...

Seriously, breast-feeding has giving me boobs that people pay to have (minus the milk, of course). The problem I'm having is that even if I wanted to wear anything that I wore prior to being pregnant, it looks like I'm smuggling melons under my shirt. It's ridiculous. It'd be comical, if it wasn't me I was looking at in the mirror. Too much of a good thing is still just too much. At this point I'm wishing I had the old me back... insecurites and all.

Children's Magic

Saturday night Tyler and I were on our own, because Joe was at a car show in Grand Rapids with my dad. Typically when Joe is gone for the night, I treat myself to Chinese take-out because: 1) I don't have to cook, 2) it's good, and 3) Joe hates chinese and we never eat it. So when I called Joe, and he said that he wouldn't be home until after 8:30 p.m., I decided that beef chop suey and egg rolls were calling my name. I put in my order (amazing ready in "10 minute"... oh wait... it always takes that amount of time), put Tyler in the car seat, and left the house.

When I walked into the restuarant, the lady ran to the back to get my order. On a side note: it is my firm belief that they don't actually make your order until you walk into the chinese restuarant. I believe they wait til you get there, and then decide to either make it right then or take it out of the buffet line. Either way, it's never ready when I get there. I put the car seat down while I was waiting, because my kid is a tank, and way to heavy to hold in his car seat for any length of time. I literally put him down for maybe a minute when a young boy spotted him and came over to investigate.

The little boy was, I'm guessing, 3-4 years old and Chinese. From my interactions with him previously (that's right, I've seen him before on my Chinese food runs... don't judge me) I've realized he doesn't speak English. He immediately started playing with Tyler. He held his hands and feet, gently touched his cheeks, rocked his car seat, and showed Tyler how to play with the toy monkey on the car seat handle. It was so cute. Me, I wasn't concerned. Tyler has 2 cousins, one of which is only 18 months old and her version of gentle isn't... well... gentle.

The boy's family, once they realized what he was doing, rushed over to try to tell him to back off (at least that's what I'm assuming they were saying). I told them that it was ok and smiled. They were playing together. The boy was so enamored with Tyler, smiling, and chatting away.

What I found amazing is that children don't really care about culture divides. They are just so curious that it doesn't really matter. When did the rest of us lose that? When did we learn to pass judgement or make assumptions? Is it possible for me to keep Tyler innocent, curious, and open?