12 or 13, who's counting?

Tyler had his one year check-up today. You're probably saying to yourself, "But Sarah, isn't today July 21st? And wasn't Tyler's birthday almost a month ago?" Yes and yes. The doctor's office rescheduled his appointment twice, and then I had to push the appointment back even farther as to not interrupt our glorious vacation. Regardless, today was the day albeit one month late. Tyler's newest stats are as follows:
Height: 32 inches (95-97th percentile)
Weight: 26.4 pounds (90th percentile)

His ears and tubes look good and clear. (Instant weight removed from my shoulders)

Developmentally, exactly where he should be.

Oh, and he still has both of his testicles. Really, is it normal for the doctor to check EVERY SINGLE time we go? Do boys typically lose one or both of them? And if they did, would it really be that big of a deal? If I wasn't so tired, I'd google it. But it was either that or you getting this lovely post. Bravo for you.

Running Diary: Days 1 and 2

In case you don't happen to be in the know, and basically you're probably not, I've started "training" for a marathon.... *ahem* a half marathon. No, you're not at the wrong site. Yes, I'll give you time to wrap your brain around what I just said.

I've started and stopped several work-out programs in the past year to attempt to lose the baby fat and regain my formal self. All have failed miserably. Boredom, lack of energy, sleepless nights (read: Tyler), crazy nap schedules... the list of excuses is a mile long. Then one day several weeks ago I dusted a thick layer off of the treadmill and decided I'd start running/walking. Whoopee. I can't tell you how many times in the past I've done that. I was aimlessly running with no particular agenda. Probably why I get bored and quit. Then I found some article in a random magazine that had a walking "program" in which you walk fast for x number of seconds and then walk moderately for x number of seconds for a total of 20 minutes. It was fun, caught my attention. I quickly started tailoring it for walking and then for running. Before I knew it, I was running for about 20 minutes straight, and my total workout was 40 minutes long. I felt good about myself.

Then, I noticed that I was getting bored again. Yeesh... do I have a short attention span or what? In the back of my mind was a girl from my high school (translation: a now facebook friend. What? We've all got them.) who is training for a marathon. I thought to myself, "Self, if "Lacey" can do it, why can't I?". This is where I got Joe involved. I asked him to research a training schedule for me. He came through with flying colors, and in true Joe style, made me an awesome print out to follow. Sweet. What else did I need? Nothing. Just keep on training as I was, and my official training was scheduled to start on Monday, July 20th. I was a good as gold...

And then vacation came. I had every intention of running on vacation. I packed outfits, shoes, socks, sports bras.... and they all sat in my suitcase, untouched. Damn.

Anyway, my official start date was yesterday. Here's what I had to do:

Day 1: REST.

SWEET, this is my kind of exercise program. Although I didn't. I totally took the dogs for 2 walks. So I'm doing good, right?

Day 2: 1) Warm-up ~5 minutes
2) 30 minutes: Run 3, walk 2; repeat 6 times. PRE (perceived rate of exertion) 7-8 (read: kick your own ass)
3) Cool-down ~5-10 minutes

Oh, how I paid for not running on vacation. It was hard. I wanted to quit. Plus I took the dogs for a walk this morning and I have a blister on my right littlest toe. Sob. But I did it. I had to. Joe made me that nice little work sheet. AND I just knew that he'd ask me about my run when he got home from work, because I asked him to keep me accountable, so I had to do it.

What it boils down to is this: I don't want to fail again. I'm hoping by putting this out into the internet, I have to stay accountable to myself and actually finish this training program.

Pain in My...Gums

Tyler's been teething like crazy. That's right, I said teething, not drooling, although he's been doing a lot of that too. My beautiful baby boy has gotten 3 teeth in the last 15 days, two of which are upper molars!!! So as of yesterday Tyler has a total of 10 teeth, for any of you who have been keeping track. Needless to say, we've boarded the train to grumpy town, and it's full speed ahead.

Last night, I put Tyler to bed. Less than 5 minutes later he was crying. This is very unusual for him, normally he falls right to sleep. Joe and I each took a turn trying to comfort him, after allowing him to cry intermittently. On my second trip up the stairs, I decided to administer Tyler my (patent pending) "Pain In My Gums" Cocktail. It's a special blend consisting of a dose of Motrin, a dollop of Orajel on the offending area(s), and a kiss on the lips. Oh, the cocktail isn't complete without the follow-up of reinserting the pacifier. Works like a charm I'm telling you. Tyler took the Motrin like a champ, must be a good flavor. After I put Orajel on his gums by the upper molars he looked at me, smacked his lips, and said "ahhhhhhh". Are you freaking kidding me??? I couldn't help it, I smiled and laughed out loud. How was I blessed with such a cute kid?

2nd Place Is The 1st Loser

Friday night Tyler did the thing that makes all the poopy diapers, all the late nights, all the screams and tears from teething, and any other hair-pulling mother-son moments I may have forgotten seem worthwhile; he said MaMa!!!! I swear my heart swelled at least 3 sizes. Actually I shrieked so loudly that Joe heard me at the neighbors... from our kitchen.

Now, I realize that the above statement sounds like Tyler is a bad kid. In fact, he's not. It's just that I've had the green eyes of envy equipped with the horns and fangs for the last several weeks. 62 days, to be exact. See, Tyler, like most kids, decided that "dada" was going to be his first word. He's been "dadadadadada"ing everything in sight since that fateful day in March. Da has now warped into "dat" when he points at something, wanting it's name, it's function, it's color, or any other bit of knowledge you want to impart. All this, before he graced me with my (well-deserving) "mama" recognition. Can you blame me for my jealousy?

Yesterday, Tyler attempted crawling up my leg while saying "mum mum ma". Awh. He wanted me. He needed me. He wanted me to pick him up. How could I deny that? I couldn't. I HAD to stop fixing his lunch and pick him up, just so I could bathe in that one glorious moment.

I'm not stupid. At some point I know I will long for the silence before Tyler's first mama, ala Stewie and Lois, but for now, I'm loving every single "mama" I get.

It's Never To Early

Joe and I are big time football fans (read: American football, not international football/soccer). Weekends during the fall and winter are spent watching any number of games, while cheering, jeering (we all have teams we hate... Dallas Cowboys, I'm looking right at you!), and of course snacking. We both grew up in Michigan, so we are, despite our better judgment, fans of the Detroit Lions. Since we moved to Indiana, we've also become Colts fans (when in Rome). However, it is nice to watch a team that actually wins games instead of relying on field goals, defensive points, and dumb-luck (sorry Detroit but, you know it's true).

With that being said, Joe and I were ecstatic when we found out that Tyler was going to be a boy. We almost immediately started dreaming dreams of him becoming a professional football player, and us having season tickets to his NFL team of choice to cheer him on. Glorious, glorious dreams that were intensified with the strength that Tyler used to kick me whilst in utero. I used to put my hands on my ginormous belly and (using my best Adam Sandler impression voice) say, "He's gonna be a soccer player". But, really I meant that he was going to be a football player, duh.

After much deliberation, and taking into consideration his natural kicking talents, we decided that Tyler should be a kicker, a la Jason Hanson. Our reasoning being that the position offers a certain amount of implied safety (read: won't be getting tackled), while still allowing us to attend NFL games and cheer. Hoorah!

And then Tyler was born. In case you don't know, or don't remember, his stats at birth were 10# 2oz and 22" long. Yikes. He has since been appropriately nicknamed Tank, and we've been considering line backer positions for him.

Today, however, Tyler told me that he's been preparing for a much more dramatic and media attention grabbing football position. He said that he was thinking he wanted to be a wide receiver. I questioned his line of thinking, not really believing that someone so big and heavy could move quick enough to out run and out maneuver the defense. As usual, he proved me wrong and showed me that he has added speed and agility to his football resume.

This morning Tyler and I went to the laundry room to fold a load of laundry while Delilah was eating her morning scoops. I've found that it is important to remove Tyler from the kitchen while Delilah is eating, otherwise he will "assist" her in eating her scoops. He can sense that I don't want him to eat/play with Delilah's food, and therefore is drawn to it like a moth to a flame, like a defensive lineman to a quarterback. It's nature I suppose. At first he was content to help me sort the socks; then, when the moment was just right, he escaped. The moment consisted of me picking up a pair of jeans, shaking them out, folding them in half, and hanging them up on a hanger. Less than 20 seconds. In that time, Tyler made a mad dash for the kitchen and Delilah's dish, some 30-40 feet away. When I looked and he was gone, I knew right where he was. I walked into the kitchen to find him sitting next to Delilah and her bowl, with his right hand full of dog food and his left hand in her dish grasping for more.

Look out Larry Fitzgerald, Tyler is gunning for your spot.

Victory

I'm going to take this opportunity to totally brag. Today I totally reaped the benefit of weeks of Joe's hard work, and it was glorious!

I have to be completely honest with you all right now, when Joe is gone at work during the day, I use the bathroom with the door open. I don't do this because I have a fear of enclosed spaces, or because I am an exhibitionist. I do this because Tyler gets upset when he can't see me or find me. Hello, I'd love to use the bathroom by myself, but that just isn't in the cards right now.

Onward with my bragging... erm... story. This morning Tyler and I were playing in the living room, I stood up and said, "Mommy needs to go make her peeps come." (yes, I ACTUALLY said that).

Tyler: -ignores me and continues to play with his Sesame Street toy-

Me: -exit stage right, towards the bathroom-

Tyler: -realizes he's alone after 90 seconds- "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" (translation, "where are you Mommy?") and then starts crawling aimlessly in search of me.

Me: -peek my head through the door way of the bathroom- "Hi Tyler, here I am." -I wave and smile-

Tyler: -sits up, bursts into a cheek-splitting, melt-my-heart grin of recognition and relief, raises his right arm and WAVES AT ME!-

In order for you to realize how freaking cool this is, you must first know that 1) this was Tyler's very first wave ever, and 2) Joe has been working on waving with Tyler for weeks. In fact, Joe has even been correcting me ("wave to him when you say hi"). I realized that Joe was right (that's right, I said it), and have been incorporating the hand motion along with the words for the past couple days. I was super geeked when I got to witness Tyler's first wave. I felt so special... and just the teensiest little bit guilty. All of Joe's hard work, and I get the reward. Oh yeah, Mommy rules!

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.