The Cow Speaks

Yesterday the baby began putting weight on his feet when we dangle him, which makes him some sort of highly advanced genius according to an insert in the cow toy we received recently.

Half a cow smooshed into half a ball cannot be wrong people.  Although please note the one customer review this toy has received: according to an anonymous Amazon patron, the cow is not roly poly enough.  Perhaps it cannot be trusted in its judgments of genius either.

In other news, Fuzzy has also begun burping like a regular human baby.  Up until a week or so ago, he had hoarded his precious precious burps like gold, bestowing them only on the most lucky or ingenious of parents.  Practically speaking, this meant he would burp for The Pit maybe 30% of the time, and never for me.

This lack of maternal burping ability caused some issues between The Pit and I, as he insisted the lack of burping was responsible for Fuzzy's gas pains.  I mocked The Pit for his "more burps equals less farts" ideas, until we visited the pediatrician and she confirmed his hypothesis.  Oh, how bitter it is when The Pit is right about something, yet again.  Regardless, I'm hoping that Fuzzy's new-found burping skills mean fewer gas-related crying jags in our future.

While I may have been wrong about burping, my predictions regarding hair loss were spot on: our baby does indeed now resemble a medieval monk from behind:

I'm hoping this stage passes quickly.  From the front, he is also bald, but still cute as ever.  His eyelashes  have either lengthened or darkened in recent days, or possibly both, and his grandmother and I stare at him constantly while telling each other how beautiful he is.  It's sickening, really - yesterday I burned a perfectly good quesadilla to a crisp while watching a video of him I had just filmed, live and in person, not 30 minutes before.

1 Month

My little guy turned a month old on Saturday, and once again, I'd like to record some facts for posterity.

1)  The Pit is undoubtedly Fuzzy's favorite person.  The kid calms down instantly whenever his dad picks him up, looks up at him in adoration when set on his lap, and consistently smiles and laughs in his presence.  In comparison, mom is just some waitress bringing the milk.

2)  Fuzzy has also looked like The Pit from day one, but that resemblance has been strengthened even more recently as he began to go bald in exactly the same pattern as his father.  Unfortunately, Fuzzy's hair loss is accelerating quickly, as my mom and I discovered when we wet his head during a bath.

I fear that soon, my adorable baby will begin to resemble a tiny tonsured monk - a fashion statement I'm not anticipating eagerly.

3)  Although his looks come straight from Daddy, it's clear that Fuzzy inherited at least some things from me. Specifically, the baby is already a picky eater, absolutely refusing to suck on anything that isn't warm human flesh.  My mom and I have been trying to get him to drink from a bottle or suck on a pacifier, and from the reaction, you would think we were trying to poison him.  He jerks his head away, makes a face, and flails his arms about wildly.

If we persist in our folly, there is screaming.

4)  In the last week or so, Fuzz has started to not only smile and laugh (albeit infrequently - we have one serious kid on our hands), but also to babble a bit during those happy intervals.  In between his near constant hiccups, he makes little birdlike cooing noises, irresistibly cute as he looks up at us.

5)  Fuzzy was born with a very interesting set of ears, and a little tiny cowlick in the hair on his upper arms, which can both be see here in his first week:

Sadly, the cowlick has disappeared along with the hair, and his ears are starting to assume a more normal and human folding pattern, perhaps from his habit of grabbing at them when he's trying to pass gas:

6)  However, to compensate for the loss of those two features, Fuzzy is growing by leaps and bounds.  He stopped fitting into his newborn onsesies after 3 weeks, and now wears clothes meant for three, and occasionally even six, month olds.  Additionally, he has developed a killer set of arm and leg muscles, with more definition than his mother ever enjoyed.  His chunky little thighs make him look even more froglike than before.  His crowning achievement to date though is definitely the development of freakishly giant head - lifting it is a real drag:

7)  The kid sleeps best tightly swaddled, so I suppose it's not surprising that upon waking, he likes to stretch his arms and legs a bit.  What is surprising is the volume of farts that accompanies the stretching, and the faces he makes in the process.  I'd like to title the following composition "Stretchies is Serious Bizness"

Good and Evil

Recently, The Pit and I took Fuzzy and went to introduce ourselves to our newest neighbors.  We chatted for a bit, and then their 3ish year old daughter came over and looked at Fuzzy.

"He wooks like baby Jesus!" she exclaimed.

We were all a bit lost for words there - I mean, I'd like to think that my son is a genius - just look at him reading already.  Granted, it's a book with a tail, but nevertheless:

  

However, judging from another recent photo, my baby has rather more...sinister...plans for the world:

Shopping

This Wednesday marked Fuzzy's third week of life, and I decided that I was finally ready to do more than walk between the couch and the bed, serving as a human buffet.  So yesterday, my mother and I took a much-needed trip to the mall to purchase some clothes befitting my new... generous...dimensions in the bosom region.  Since Fuzzy still eats every twoish hours, it was clear he needed to accompany us, as no mall trip could possibly conclude in less time than that.

Like most gentlemen, the baby behaved relatively well at the beginning of the shopping trip, sleeping quietly in his stroller.  My mother and I foolishly wasted this time taking pictures:

Shortly after this picture was taken, Fuzzy started fussing, requiring me to feed him in the middle of the Macy's lingerie department.  We found a quiet corner by the nursing bras, figuring it was as safe a place as any to breastfeed in public.  Wouldn't you know it, as soon as the baby latched, two separate men appeared out of nowhere, intently picking through the women's nightgowns nearby.  However, neither one of them paid me much attention, and after some debate, my mom and I concluded that their focus could only come from transsexuals shopping for themselves.  

After the feeding Fuzzy quieted down again, and even took some interest in our endeavor: 

Sadly, his patience with shopping wore thin quickly after the novelty of the bras, and by the end of our trip, he assumed the universal (straight) male expression seen after a few hours at the mall:

Remarkably like his father, in fact.  

PS: Does anybody understand Fuzzy's shirt?  It was a gift from my boss, and The Pit and I are both puzzled by it.  "Dude" we get, but why is the male symbol pointing horizontally instead of at the usual angle?  Enlighten us, oh well-slept masses.

Two Weeks

Fuzzy is two weeks old, and before I forget these details in a haze of sleep-deprived nursing, I'd like to note some of his idiosyncrasies for posterity.

1) Since he was born, Fuzz has had the most exaggerated startle reflex I've ever seen.  Whenever a loud noise disturbs him, his eyes open wide in alarm, his hands bunch into fists, and he throws both arms in the air like some sort of Jewish grandmother stereotype.  I haven't quite managed to capture this on camera, but the following is a good approximation:

2) When he's done eating, the kid is done.  No amount of wheedling, distraction, or nipple-shoving-in-face will convince him to suck one drop more.  Should said nipple be placed anywhere near him, his mouth closes firmly, and he assumes a look of such utter disgust, you would think he'd just been offered ground dog meat, and not the milk he had energetically been drinking two minutes ago.

3) Often, as he's feeding, Fuzzy will experience...sensations...at the other business end of things.  When this happens, he will stop sucking, assume a look of concentration, and repeatedly kick one leg in the air over and over.  The overall effect is very puppy-like.  Fuzz also channels the animal kingdom in the sound department: he will make kitten-like mewls and piggy snorts while nursing, and grunt and snuffle quite loudly as he grasps at me in displeasure during gassy intervals.

4) When he's mildly upset by something, before it graduates to the wailing stage, Fuzz has a sad face.  A face so sad, to look upon it is to go "Awww."  Sometimes, something clearly upsets him in his dreams, and he briefly makes this face when sleeping.

5) Now that he's two weeks old, Fuzz has been experimenting with two new facial expressions.  One is the pursing of lips you see in the disgusted picture above, and the other is a what we've decided is a smile.  I know, I know, babies aren't really smiling at this age.  But it still makes me smile back.

6) The two week birthday has also marked the beginning of a few other developmental milestones: Fuzzy is much better at focusing on objects, and will, should something catch his interest, follow said object when it is moved across his field of vision.  My mother is also convinced he's well on his way to rolling over unaided, because in a few instances he's flailed about and almost moved from his back to his side.  I'm less convinced, because the times I've witnessed this, it's been mid-tantrum, and I don't think rolling over is at all what he was intending.  My mom argues intention has nothing to do with it, and that the eye tracking and (almost) independent movement indicate Fuzzy's advanced intelligence.  I would agree, if his independent movement did not also involve repeatedly poking himself in the eye as he attempted to move his hands to his mouth.

Mental Faculties

People keep asking me how I'm dealing with the lack of sleep necessitated by a newborn.  Truthfully, except when I am actually prying myself out of deep sleep at 3 in the morning, I feel okay.  However, there are clearly subtle effects, detectable upon close observation.  Let me tell you a little story to illustrate.

One of The Pit's coworkers stopped by for a visit the other day, and brought a lovely bouquet of flowers.  I carefully trimmed the stems, added the plant food, and put the flowers in the vase.  The next day however, the flowers looked a little...droopy.

"Weird," I said to myself, and continued about my day, moving from bed to couch and back again, baby draped all over me.  The next day, there was definite wilting in the vase - and yet it still didn't hit me that I might have forgotten a critical element in the equation.

The following day my mom came to stay with us, and delicately asked me who had placed the flowers in the vase.  I told her it was me, and she carefully didn't make any follow-up observations.  Later in the day, I noticed that she had combined the flowers with another, older bouquet, and that things were looking alive and cheery once again.

"Those look much better," I pointed out.

"Well, water does tend to help," she replied.

So err, yes, apparently the lack of sleep is affecting me, although thankfully I am merely starving well-intentioned gifts, and not Fuzzy.  His chins are in no danger, although he remains ever vigilant.

I should note that after three days with us, my mom is also starting to feel the effects of Fuzzy's round the clock care.  This afternoon, The Pit went to drop some scraps in the compost pile.  When he returned, he asked me why my mother felt the need to compost a wooden spoon.  I was at a loss, and when the question was posed to her, she couldn't answer either, having no memory of this horticultural experimentation.

To Be or Not to Be...Peed On

Because Fuzzy's arrival came via c-section, I have a hard time with some positions, including bending over and sitting up.  Consequently, The Pit has taken on the majority of diaper changing duties since Peach Fuzz was born.  Considering that prior to the blessed event, The Pit had never changed a diaper, I think he's doing splendidly.   However, there is one aspect to having a boy that he clearly did not anticipate.  I refer, of course, to the...err...golden showers.

It first happened in the hospital room, when The Pit was changing an exceptionally dirty diaper.  Fuzzy was being rather uncooperative, and in all his thrashing around, poop was getting everywhere - the Pit, Fuzzy's feet, Fuzzy's shirt, the bassinet, the extra blankets, etc.  I actually pulled myself out of bed to help out, because the situation looked to be deteriorating rapidly.  Just as I got there, Fuzz decided his parents needed an additional challenge, and launched a stream of urine in a high arch toward the two of us.  Well, c-section stitches or no, we both managed to dodge out of the way, laughing hysterically. 

The Pit, as it turned out, would not be laughing for very much longer.  Over the next few days, Fuzzy managed to hit him once during a diaper change, and several times while sitting innocently on The Pit's lap, as the pee overwhelmed his diaper and soaked through The Pit's shorts.  The Pit got to be quite bitter about this state of affairs, once going so far as to remark that life did not seem fair, as I had remained both urine and feces free for almost a week.

Of course, shortly after telling me this, The Pit found an urgent reason to make a trip to Home Depot, leaving me to manage both feeding and changing on my own.  This situation very quickly changed from this idealic scene:

Fuzzy heard the call of nature, and I put him down on the changing table.  Naturally, I forgot to cover a certain critical anatomy fast enough, and once again witnessed a high yellow stream heading my way.  This time I was not so quick, and both myself and the floor got a good soaking.  However, as we were about to learn, changing your shorts and cleaning the floor is not really the worst thing that can happen in this situation. 

The next time Fuzzy attempted this trick, he was...err, how to put this delicately...pointing in a different direction, and managed to nail himself right in the face.  There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by hysterical wailing from the baby, and rather uncharitable laughter from The Pit and I.  I'm sure he'll get us back eventually, but in the meantime, diaper changes have been pretty quiet around here.             

Hello Again

Well, its been almost two years, and I think it might be high time to resurrect ye olde blog, as The Pit and I are moving into a phase of our lives guaranteed to be rife with bloggable moments for the amusement of my audience of dozen. 

Introducing Peach Fuzz, currently 5 days old, and already justifiably concerned about our parenting skills:

And Back!

So, what have we been up to since my last post?

Being Touristy:

Shortly before my job started, The Pit and I took a little weekend trip to the Shenandoah Valley. Our bed and breakfast experience was only so so, but the natural wonders of the area made up for it. First of all, we saw a bear climbing a tree. I took some incredibly blurry pictures, which I won't even bother presenting here, since there is no way to actually determine from my photography what the brownish smudge in the middle of the greenish blur actually is. You'll just have to take my word for it, bear in tree = awesome.

We also toured the most amazing giant mile-long cave. I can't believe this place isn't more widely advertised as the the best landmark in Virgina, because it's definitely worth the drive and the price of admission. The pictures we took really don't do it justice, but Luray Caverns was absolutely spectacular.

Shortly after our underground adventure, Rob came out for a visit, and we drove up through Annapolis (eating at deli puzzlingly named a delly) and over to the Eastern Shore of Chesapeake Bay. There we stopped in a little town called St. Michael's, where we took a boat tour of the bay, complete with oyster dredging and exciting archeological finds. We also saw some bald eagles, which was pretty neat. I guess I'm a bad American, as I didn't realize they even lived on the East Coast. After our trip on the good ship Krenz, the boys had an enormous table full of crabs for dinner. I wish I could show you the picture, but somebody (ahem Rob) has failed to upload his pictures to the web.

To make up for my poor knowledge of our national symbol, the next weekend The Pit and I made our way to Mt. Vernon, the home of our illustrious first president. And to call this a home would be a rather large understatement. Apparently Mr. Washington was filthy rich for his time, and owned a giant plantation and mansion on the shore of the Potomac river. Today some historical ladies society operates a small portion of the old fields, and the best part of the trip was taking a picture with huge donkey named Moose. Behold:

I believe this concludes our touristy summer travels. Next post, I will update you on our new lives as hip urban professionals. We've been out! To the city! I didn't even die!

Employment!

A job a job a job I got a job! That's right, in a somewhat surprising turn of events, I've actually been employed since Thursday, when I was called in for something called an 'offer interview,' which turned into an offer, which turned into my first day.

Of course, this development meant that 'blogging' moved even further down my to-do list, behind things like 'buy food' and 'get more work clothes so people don't think you're a hobo.' But, you have now been officially updated. Also, I clearly will never write all the posts I promised you, so to tie up any loose threads:

1) I am an amazing wife because one Monday I came home from OL's and made The Pit Coq au Vin, despite the fact that it takes hours, and includes both bacon and mushrooms so I don't even eat the finished product. Also, I discovered in the initial stages of cooking that the trash needed to be taken out, and when I had accomplished this chore, I found about 6 inches of beer at the bottom of our now empty trashcan. How did this happen? Beats me, but I'm pretty sure I didn't do it. However, let me tell you that cleaning up that much of somebody else's beer from a difficult to reach location really doesn't put you in the mood to cook a crazy French dish that you won't even eat. Nevertheless, I persevered, and lo, my husband was pleased.

2) Money may not buy happiness, but it buys a certain amount of marital bliss. Due to various idiosyncrasies on both my and The Pit's parts and a grand total of 4 spoons in the household, we were forever grumbling at each other over silverware and the proper washing thereof. Then came the wedding and lots of lovely gifts, and now we have more silverware than we could possibly use in a week. Our supply of other kitchen staples (cutting boards, mixing bowls, etc) that previously caused friction has also increased, and a low-level but constant annoyance has been completely eliminated from my life.

Okay, now I've got to run or I'll be late for my very first Monday at my new job (!!!). I love you all and aim only to please, but if I were you, I wouldn't expect a ton of new material here for the next little bit.