What a day.
By the time Jason arrived home I was so tired of hearing the sound of Storey crying, I think I filed my teeth down a cm or two from all the gritting and grinding. She had better be just about to do something developmentally amazing, because her sleep, day and night, is crap, CRAP I say!
It's sooooooo defeating when your kid is on your lap (for the third time since nap time should have started) screaming, kicking, wailing, arching. Ug. Again, thoughts of failure readily entered my mind. I even had to put a screaming her in her crib and leave the room at one point. I was so angry. At a baby. Angry. I am such a rotten person...
Regardless, when Jason got home, I fixed dinner, then declared that depreciating savings account be dammed, we (I) needed a glass of wine and some ginger snaps. So off I went to the store. Jason gave Storey a bath and when I arrived home, I fed her and then he graciously whisked her away to put her to bed. I married a good man. (God, that's such an understatement...)
Anyways, inspired by the wine, I drew my own bath. A bath that was mine, all mine.
As I soaked, I looked down at my floating self. I weigh less now than I did when Jason and I met. Breastfeeding, lots of walking around town pre and post baby, and eating like 11 little meals per day whenever I can grab something rather than three big ones, has led to me loosing around twenty pounds of pre-baby weight, around thirty-five pounds if you count the bulk the kid added on during pregnancy. That's a lot of me, all gone. But that's actually not what I noticed.
What I noticed was the absence of her. The kid, in utero. The last time I had a bath and had time to brush warm water over my belly, I was pregnant, with Storey. I remember how huge I thought I was, but now that I think of it, there was a KID in there, so I was actually pretty small, considering the kid and all. A KID people. SHE was in there. That's frikkin' CRAZINESS.
Now there's nothin' there. Instead we have a little person. She laughs. She sits up. And yes, she cries. This is the first time I've had a moment to consider the fact that all her little parts, her fingers, hair, eyes, ears, all those parts were there, just waiting, as I floated in the bath, belly cold, protruding out of the water like a hardboiled hen's egg.
That's amazing.
Really amazing.
She's really amazing.
This right here is a man who really likes being a grandfather. Who can blame him? When else are you socially permitted to make silly faces and goofy noises at someone and get nothing back but big gummy smiles?
You CAN'T visit Stowe, VT and not go to the Ben & Jerry's Factory.
In my family, appearance-wise, my mother's genes prevail. Brown hair, brown eyes. Us three kids, all brown. My poor father has a gaggle of turdly children, none of which allowed his recessive blue/grey eyes to mark them as his own. He just had to take my mother's word for it.
So much of early kiddom is about milestones. Our pediatrician tells us to watch for them, note them as signs of health and proper development. Like slow rolling stones, the months between sitting and moving can seem void of anything notable.
The two most common questions of Jason and I these past few months after "How old is she?" are "Oh, she's standing/crawling right?" and "So, how many teeth do we have?" The answer to both, at eight months and three weeks is still, "Nope." and "None." In fact, I've noticed myself lately heading these questions off at the pass with the admittedly odd introduction of, "She's almost nine months, noteethyetandnotcrawlingeitherjustbusydoingotherthings."
So this morning, she worked her first canvas (and ate her first paint.) (no worries! non-toxic.)
Storey has mad skills involving those fingers now! She's moved on from nostrils to Os. A much more socially acceptable favorite.
Bob (in red) likes to look on in admiration. Bob is thumb-less, so, alas, Os are not part of his morning routine.
Storey's developed the unfortunate habit lately of waking up between 4 and 5 o'clock in the morning. Up for good. Ready to start the day. We are not. Usually, I placate her with a boob or two until Jason gets up to get ready for work and blessedly whisks her away to sit in her swing while he showers.
My mind and hands are bored, so turning to stuffed toys for the answer seems to be working. We'll see how it turns out.
As soon as Storey went down for her nap today, I threw on gloves, coat, hat and boots and ventured out to the garage to fetch the shovel. We've been bound in at least a foot of snow. It's bad enough not wanting to go anywhere because of the weather. It's worse feeling like you can't go anywhere, which is how I've felt for the past few days. I hate winter in Ohio. And winter in Ohio, at home, with a baby can equal double or triple the blahs.
Ahhhhh... there. That's the best way to warm up a boring winter Wednesday.
Before Storey was born, our friend Emily gave her a bucket (yes). It had a tag attached that said, simply, "Buckets are amazing."
These are a little old (from last month just before she got the flu) but they're funny enough that this post is better late than never. She has moments when she thinks she likes eating cereal. She has moments when she knows she doesn't too.
Now there's nothin' there. Instead we have a little person. She laughs. She sits up. And yes, she cries. This is the first time I've had a moment to consider the fact that all her little parts, her fingers, hair, eyes, ears, all those parts were there, just waiting, as I floated in the bath, belly cold, protruding out of the water like a hardboiled hen's egg.
