Too Much Cuteness, May Cause Injury...

There is no need for words here. N-O-N-E. The boy speaks for himself.


8 Weeks!!

My sweet, sweet little man! I fall more and more in love with you each and every day. In fact, mama loves you so much that instead of having her usual 2 ginormous cups of regular coffee each morning, she now has 1 ginormous cup of regular coffee and 1 ginormous cup of decaf. No need to thank me, but just know that it's practically the equivalent of taking a bullet for you. A mama's gotta do what a mama's gotta do, all for the good of her little bird.

I can hardly believe that you're 8 weeks old. In some ways it seems like you've been here for years, like we're old friends from highschool that recently started hanging out again. In other ways I can't even fathom that you've been here for nearly 2 whole months. You're growing and changing every freaking day. These first couple of months have been truly amazing.

You're coo-ing and ahh-ing more than ever now, and you even respond to me when I talk or coo or ahh right back at you. You don't necessarily like my singing, but you'll stop crying for a moment or two just to see what song I'm trying to belt out, like 'heh, nice try mom... don't quit your day job'.

It's super easy to get a smile out of you, and often you'll do it on your own when you're flirting with your baby einstein play gym or staring at the fan. You're fascinated with lights, vents and fans. You look at them as though they speak to you, like they're saying 'come to me, my child. I promise you all the boobies in the world...'. It cracks me up every time. You bat and grab at toys now, too, and you are on the verge of laughing out loud any day now.

Your eyelashes are loooooong, and you're sprouting eyebrows too. You're losing your hair, which I am not happy about, but they say this is normal and that it will grow back, perhaps in a different color and texture. I think you look like an old man with mange, but we keep you in style by combing the remaining tuft of hair on the top of your head up into a mohawk. Cuz you're cool like that.

You have so much personality. You tell me when you like something and don't hesitate to tell me when to piss off. You still cry for no reason in the evening sometimes, but I hear that's just your way of blowing off steam, the same as an adult that comes home from a long day at work downs a 6-pack. Sometimes you drink an entire keg, but not very often.

Your poop still smells like a thousand rotting fish heads (changing one of those diapers should be the final stunt on Fear Factor), but you are pooping a little less often now so thank you for that. You're growing like a weed! You're eating a little less frequently, but when you do eat it's for a good 30 minutes straight. You guzzle that stuff down like it's liquid crack-cocaine, none of this snack bar crap, gimme the good stuff! We're breastfeeding pros, you and I. If breastfeeding were an Olympic sport we'd totally win the gold.

Our sleeping schedule at night is much, much better now. You only wake to eat, and as long as I feed you for at least 20 minutes you'll fall right back asleep and only wake up again when you're hungry about 3 hours later. You're still sharing a bed with me, and for now it works well for us. In the mornings you do this thing where you pout your lips and streeeeeetch your arms up over your head and squeak like a little mouse. I love that. It's almost too cute. Almost.

We drove to Louisiana to visit daddy on Tuesday and then back home again on Thursday, and I'm so sorry you had to be in the car for 16 hours in a 72-hour time frame. On the way there you were amazing. On the way home, not so much, but I totally understand.

We're doing really well. I can't imagine life without you.

Love, mama


Baby Weight...

Toot, toot! (That was me tooting my own horn.) Let me take a moment, JUST ONE MOMENT, to pat myself on the back, because at my 6-week post partum OB/GYN visit on Monday I learned that I have returned to my pre-pregnancy weight. Those 30 pregnancy pounds? Gone. Bu-bye! So while I love that the number on the scale is back to where it should be, let me now burst my own bubble (and shove a sock in that horn I so smugly tooted earlier) because my body? Is not the same. There is squishy squish where there was no squishy squish before, and while I appear normal, touch me and you might very well mistake my stomach/thighs/upper arms for unbaked pizza dough.



Good thing the boy is so cute! I'd be really bummed if I went all squishy for an ugly baby.




The boy, he is not too cool for his Baby Einstein play gym after all!

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