8 Months Old

Happy 8-month birthday, buddy.

Eight months old brings with it a handful of milestones:

- downward-facing dog. "Wait a minute," Daddy says. "So my son still can't crawl, but now he can do yoga? Great." Still trying to get a picture of it, but over the past few days Cayden picked up a new move, and the best way to describe it is downward-facing dog. Really, he looks just like this when he does it. OK, maybe his form isn't quite what I'd try for in a class, but he plants his feet and sticks his butt up in the air, nonetheless.

- even more grabby-hands and new foods. So Dad starts making dinner (by the way, I realize I forgot to post a Facebook status here, from a few days ago. Check it out, since Daddy deserves all the credit in the world for being a wonderful partner and awesome Papa), and I offer to slice the radishes for our amazing Asian slaw, while I watch Chicken in the living room. So I get through a few and realize I need to carry my little cutting board and my razor-thin radish slices into the kitchen to make more room for more slicing. And I return to the living room to find this.















So chicken had some radishes tonight, and he liked them. A lot.

- grunting and thrusting. I think he's starting to get frustrated with communication. Because over the past few weeks this kid's grunting has increased ten-fold. He grunt-yells, and thrusts both arms forward as hard as he can, obviously trying to get some point across. Usually that point is "I'm still HUNGRY." But occasionally it's "Gimme a DIFFERENT toy," "No, I WANT to kick the bulletin board you worked so hard to create off the wall and onto the changing table,"GIMME the kitty-cat's tail" or "GIMME A BOOB," (which, I guess, is kind of like "I'm still HUNGRY).

- toys in the crib. I don't remember how I realized it, but somewhere over the last week or so it struck me that maybe if Chicken had some toys to entertain himself with in the early morning he would be content to play quietly for a little while before waking us (read: me) for his morning nosh. And I'll be darned if a teddy bear or Taggies elephant (thanks, Erica) in each corner of the crib doesn't give him enough options to keep him quiet for an extra 15 minutes in the morning. Which is the equivalent of hours in pre-baby, repeated-snooze-hitting, mid-morning sleeping days.

- spinning. As in spinning in circles, on his belly, on the floor. Remember the sit-n-spins we used to have as kids? Yeah, he doesn't need to sit, and he doesn't need a steering wheel to power himself. He's content to just keep spinning around, stopping every now and then to dryhump or throw a leg in the air.

- 18-month clothes. Yeah, we had to retire the 12-month stuff and make another trip to Once-Upon-A-Child (and Costco, and the Carters outlet, and the Gymboree outlet, and the Children's Place store, and the Children's place outlet and Babies'R'Us; but all that running around is a different story -- just stay tuned for the Easter photos next week -- they'll be so totally worth the extra 50 miles I put on the car) for a Spring/Summer wardrobe. And swim suits. Little boy swim suits are the BOMB.

Sigh, if only the next four months could drag on like the first four months did. But seeing as how the last four months whipped right by us with all their smiles, giggles, wonder and real, actual personality -- I'm afraid I'll be looking back longingly at my baby boy's first year before too much longer.

Here's to enjoying the moment we're in and savoring it as. long. as. humanly. possible.

(Sorry if the stream-of-consiousness is hard to follow. It's been a long weekend -- for no particular reason, I realize -- and this Mama is enjoying her last glass of wine before bed. Bed at 9:30 p.m., that is.)

Juxtaposition

Here's my happy baby this morning.


And here he is, just a little while later.


Finally got a good shot of the toofers AND an unhappy face. Both in the same morning.

A good, old-fashioned eating update

At around 7.5 months we expanded the daily food consumption to include breakfast, bigger lunches and a little meat. Or should I say grandparents had already started introducing breakfasts (you can't keep this kid happy while you're eating, unless he's eating, too), and my daily recaps from Daddy include repeated requests from babysitters for MORE FOOD.

So now Cayden has a breakfast of regular-'ol-instant-oatmeal microwaved with water. Probably about two ounces, but I don't measure.

And lunch has gone from three ounces to four. Always two foods, some combo of veggie and veggie or fruit and veggie.

And dinner remains three to four ounces of baby cereal mixed with pureed prunes or apricots. You know, to keep things moving.

Chicken still has yet to ever refuse any food or additional quantities. I'm beginning to think he's missing that self-regulating-appetite thing all the books say babies have. He'd rather eat until he's exploding and vom up all the milk I work so hard to make, pump, measure and prepare, than turn away when he's had enough.

We also introduced ground turkey and beef earlier this week, and some chicken tonight. All wolfed down, although it is sad and entertaining at the same time to see the little guy excitedly rake at the food on his high chair tray, whip his fist up to his mouth, then open the fist and drop all the food down into his lap, rather than get any in his yapper. He's definitely practicing feeding himself, but he's got a-ways to go, until this pincer grasp develops to get the food where he wants it.

This week also saw the introduction of Cheerios (who am I kidding; they're the Walmart-brand toasted oatie-ohs or something, which are about half the price for the same ingredients), and grapes. However, the grapes are a choking hazard (apparently for quite a while to come, as I learned when I made the mistake of offering 15-month old Rylie grapes on Friday, only to have her mom intercept, biting each one in half for the little girl who was conVINCED the fruit would taste better if it was whole, the way I offered it originally; uugghh, I have so much to learn about how not to kill or maim or piss off a child). So Chicken's grapes get cut in half, then put into a mesh teether. The first time he tried them, he reduced five grapes to nothing but skins in less than 10 minutes.

And for what it's worth, I was worried Cayden would start filling up on food and not want to nurse or drink as much during the day. I've never read about or heard of the 7.75 month growth spurt, but I swear he had it the past few days. He was nursing like crazy -- on top of the increased food -- and he didn't yam nearly as much as he was a few weeks ago (I recycled outfits TWO DAYS this weekend; that's, like, some kind of anti-laundry victory).

We're still nursing five to seven times a day, so I guess he's getting all the milk he needs.

A few more Leprechaun photos

Cayden got to have a little ground turkey and ground beef from the Shephard's pies.


Sporting Auntie Cole's headband, which reminds me of Dr. Seuss Characters.


The (sleepy) drunken Irishman.

Happy St. Pat's

Thanks to Mimi for the bib (in our posession for one year, today), and to Auntie Cole for the shirt.

Too little for corned beef and Guinness, but the perfect size for dressing up.

The big reveal

Enjoying the journey of discovery and preserving it for my son

I’m not the gal I was a year ago, seven-and-a-half months ago, even two weeks ago.

I’m suddenly and strangely reflective, retrospective, collective and affective.

Every day I’m overwhelmed by the miracle of motherhood, and my son’s innocence, grace and trust bring me unbelievable joy and soul-haunting, “what if?” fears.

Motherhood has this remarkable ability to make a woman feel at times more alone and despondent than ever before, while quietly revealing to her the common human experience of maternity that binds women together in no-one-else-quite-gets-it understanding and appreciation. Pretty insightful for someone less than eight months into this motherhood thing, eh?

And while the bulk of my lessons are in front of me, yet to be struggled through and rewarded, I have taken a few realizations to heart. My passion is to embrace the ever-evolving me, enjoy the journey and chronicle our life.

Celebrating the simple, every-day routines; the memories-in-the-making we recognize as we live them will inspire laughter for years to come; the sad lessons that humble us; the milestones we reach easily; and the goals we abandon or reshape.

I strive to lead a life radiating love, one that comforts and assures my son daily he is secure and cherished, and a life of which he will grow to be proud and thankful. I also strive to leave a legacy of love in written word that entertains, inspires, bemuses and honors the honesty in our experiences, good and bad.

I want to leave for him this stream-of-consciousness manuscript of our life that details how we grow and transform together, learning from each other.

I want him to know love in his heart and have a tangible record, after I’m gone, of our ordinary, extraordinary life of love and how he shaped me into a better person.

Dada

Cayden and I came home from a short shopping trip Friday afternoon (7 mo, 2 wk), and Daddy greeted us at the garage, to help carry pizzas upstairs.

That's when Daddy heard his first "Dada". The look on Brian's face was priceless when he screeched to a halt and spun around, eyes popping out of his head, to ask me "did he just say "dada"? To which I smiled, answering "Yup, he did."

But then the truth came out: Chicken had actually been saying dadadadadada for about 20 minutes, all through the store and in the car.

So now he does both mamamama (when crying, mostly) and dadadada, however he doesn't associate the words or sounds with either of us, yet.

Mama OUCH!

So it happened. For the first time. I'm hoping it was a fluke and it won't happen again.

As I do nearly every morning, I brought Chicken into bed with me today, shortly after 6 a.m., so he could snack, we could snuggle and I could drift in and out of consciousness for a few more minutes.

And suddenly a lightning bold of pain ripped me from my half-awake, half-dreaming haze, and I realize he did it.

He. Bit. My. Nipple.

Dug his two little bottom toofers in and squeezed my little nub really hard against his surprisingly firm top gums.

Hasn't happened a second time today, so like I said -- I'm keeping my fingers crossed that this was a one time deal.

Personality and Grabby Hands

The eighth month is one of personality growth and limit-testing for Cayden. He is suddenly squirmy and grabby and insistent to achieve his will.

Unfortunately, his will is often pulling Mama's hair (hard) and grabbing at scissors, ceramic dishes, new glasses, plastic bags, the cat's tail, paper, picture frames and anything else specifically NOT intended for baby manipulation. And then there's the face grabbing: he grabs onto a nose, cheek or set of lips and squeezes, with all his might, digging his claw-like little fingernails into sensitive flesh as hard as he can. All while grinning his open-mouthed, two-toothed grin.

And the squirming. Usually associated with the grabby-hands. Adorable, yet sometimes annoying at the same time. You try to secure a 22 pound kid into a sling on the hip while he's squirming all over the place, repeatedly bucking his butt out; one hand firmly wound into half-your-head of hair, yanking with strength you didn't know he possessed; and the other hand of little fingers outstretched and wiggling, reaching as hard as he can to grab for the shiny new glasses propped atop your head. All in the parking lot of the liquor store. Yes, we had an audience of smirking passersby to witness our power struggle.

But eventually Mama won and replenished her it's-been-too-long stash of chardonnay. And vodka and malbec and merlot.

Oh, and on the hair and tail pulling: we've decided to try to avoid frequent use of the word NO, so that Chicken doesn't become immune to overuse of the warning. We're trying to reserve NO for dangerous situations, not necessarily disciplinary ones. Think hot stove versus gimme what I want. So instead of NO, we're using OUCH a lot lately. As in, "Mama OUCH", in a stern and slightly amplified voice, when the hair pulling starts. Same thing for the cats: "Spike OUCH" when he grabs the tail or swats at him. And for Daddy: "Daddy OUCH" when Daddy finds his lips suddenly twisted and stretched away from his teeth.

So far our stern OUCHes are met more with giggles than the behavior-changing reaction we're looking for. But good lessons take time, so we're remaining patient through the sudden and jarring pains.

Spike, on the otherhand, has no interest in extending patience and understanding to the baby. A few more strong tail pulls or whisker swats and this kid may be introduced to a whole new, decidedly more painful lesson in cause and effect: you piss off the cat, the cat lets you have it.

Rockstar Kelle and her Beautiful Life

Because she continues to inspire me to look for beauty in everything, to put things in perspective -- real perspective, to focus on loving my loves, to recognize and celebrate the virtues of patience, hope, kindness and humility.

Her words, photos and playlist make my heart swell each time I visit her blog, as her love and hope and honesty and determination to maintain a positive outlook -- despite an unexpected and life-changing Downs Syndrome diagnosis for her littlest girl -- are simply infectious.

She makes me want to be a better mom, wife, person. And more than that she inspires me to try to be better.

For of all these reasons, I share her blog, Enjoying the Small Things, with you again. Turn the volume up on your computer, and start reading at least as far back as the beginning of January. Have a box of tissues with you, and let the catharsis take you over. I promise you'll be glad you did.

Big things are coming for Kelle and her family.

Daddy Love

Daddy had fun with the boys this weekend, but he missed his peanut.

New Toys

Yesterday Cayden got a new rubber duckie for the tub, a ball, a bucket of shapes and stackable containers and ... BUBBLES!!

Playhouse Cafe

What a cool concept! A coffeehouse/cafe that caters to moms with young kids. Cayden and I made our first trip to Playhouse Cafe this morning, and while it was a little crowded in the little kid area and the staff seemed a bit disorganized, it was a neat place. We'll probably go more often when Cayden is a little older, but today he got to meet Keaton, Ethan, Maddy and a few other tots, while Mama got to meet and chat with a handful of moms from a local moms' message board.

Enjoying our oatmeal (the real stuff now in the morning, not baby cereal) in a little, big-boy chair in the cafe, outside the play area. Yes, little, big-boy chair -- it was a small version of a normal chair that required big-boy muscles to stay in place.

Checking out Keaton.


And playing with new toys.

Next time we'll know the "rules" and will abide better: no shoes in the tot area and all food stays in the cafe, away from the playspace.