From functional to perky once more: a month to go...

So today is the last day I'll pump thrice at work. Next week I'll take it down to two pumpings, and I'll drop to one pump per workday the last week of July, after a week of vacation and a second week of two pumps per workday.

But you know what I'm looking forward to even more than dropping pumping out of my life for a year or few?

Wearing regular, supportive, attractive, flattering and wonderfully deceptive REGULAR BRAS again!

In the past year I can count on one hand the number of times I've worn a regular bra. No joke; stories of mastitis attributed to underwires scared the bejeezus out of me. I think I wore a regular bra once for my birthday dinner, once for a graduation party and once about a month or so ago just 'cause I felt like it. Other than that, it's been nothing but nursing bras and nursing tanks, because the little clippies and drop-down front panels are just so, so convenient, what when you're exposing your boobs five to 12 times a day.

Funny, because I was so, so anti-nursing attire before I gave birth. "What a silly waste of money" I remember thinking to myself, back when I knew it all, confident that it was just as easy to pull a regular or sports bra up or down to nurse.

Then I had a real baby, promptly ate my "I will never" words and made my first trip to Target for nursing bras and tanks.

Thank you Gilligan and O'Malley: My four bras and three tanks have served me well for 11 months, but I'm ready to be done with them and re-enter the world of perky, underwire supported boobs.

Granted, that's largely because a near-year of nursing has left my girls a bit, well, deflated. Not quite National Geographic material, but certainly not the confidence-inspiring rack I took pride in pre-baby.

But now I can really, fully appreciate the scientific wonders of wires and padding (smoke and mirrors, if you will), and I'm excited to artificially prop up the boobs and deceivingly present (or misrepresent) that with which nature has left me.

I'm vain like that. :)

I know the boobs aren't what they used to be. The hubs knows the same. But no one else needs to know, because underwire bras are AWESOME. Well, no one other than those who read this little entry.

So I splurged last week on two new bras from Vickie's, which were fantastically knocked down to $16 each at the end of the summer semi-annual sale. So that's like $80 worth of bras for $32.

So what if a handful of early-twenty-something shoppers shot me disdainful glances as I clumsily finegaled my way-too-big-for-the-over-cramped-retail-aisles stroller through the towers of bras and panties? So what if a sales associate watched desperately as Cayden unloaded all over the floor the drawer-full of bras she had just finished carefully folding and sorting. So what if the fitting room attendant reluctantly let me into the handicapped stall so that I could prop Chicken in front of the mirror and still have room to move around?

The bottom line is this: I got me some new, fantastic regular bras, and I got them on the cheap.

And if Vickie's doesn't vacuum their floors regularly like any good retail business should, then they deserve the ants I'm sure our trail of raisins and oaty-oh's will attract. :)

New tricks

Suddenly, Cayden is all about mimicking and performing. In fact, I call him my performing monkey at least once a day.

His newest tricks? High fives on command (accompanied by big grins and giggles); sticking his tongue out in response to seeing a tongue stuck out; arms thrown way, way up in the air for "so big!", answering the question "How big is Cayden?" (and if the question is posed at lunch or dinner-time, smearing handfuls of food into his hair while doing "so big!"; real, actual tooth brushing, as compared to gnawing on his toothbrush; unsnapping his own pants to remove his diaper post-naptime; and trying his darndest to mimick words.

He's been doing a high-pitched "Caaa Caaaa" for a few weeks now, when asked "what does a rooster say?", and he always laughs when his simple response is followed by a hearty "cock-a-doodle-doo!" by the asker.

And recently he's tried to mimic more words: Mama, Daddy, clock, Cole-Cole (Aunt Colie worked on that one with him on Monday) and a whole lotta "b" words that all come out "baa baaa": bottle, bubbles, boo boo, boom.

And while I'm sure he was trying to communicate something entirely different than the concept he verbalized, this past weekend Cayden very clearly uttered the syllables al - co - hol, in that order, in my parents' presence. Funny or worrisome: you take your pick.

Oh, and while he's still stingy with kisses for people -- he has to be in just the right mood to offer them up when asked -- he's totally into kissing toy animals and animal pictures in his books when prompted. I love ending each bath with "night night kisses for baby froggie, please; night-night kisses for mama duckie, please," watching him love on his rubber bath pals.

This is a really, really fun stage at 11 months old. It's like his brain just turned on and there's this avalanche of stuff he wants to show us he's learning.

Bouncing Baby Boy ... Literally

So this afternoon we had the pleasure of going to Miss Avery's second birthday party. It was the second year in a row Cayden and I made the trip sans Daddy, because this same weekend each of the past two years has been a Daddy get-away to visit college friends.

Last year Cayden wasn't yet known as such at Avery's birthday party, and he was still an inside baby. This year I loaded him into the Ergo (love, love, LOVE our new baby carrier, by the way -- goes up to 40 pounds and puts most of Chicken's weight on my hips, so my back isn't killing me anymore!), completely expecting him to be too young to take advantage of all the little-kid fun Paramount has to offer.

I have never been so excited to be wrong.

Cayden LOVED Paramount! As soon as I put him down he started off, speed-crawling across the endless expanse of soft bouncy floors.

Surely, I thought, he's too young for the trampoline floors. But he was dying to get on them to see what they were.

And he got a kick out of the smooth surface.

And so I jumped ever-so-gently, to see what his reaction was to a little bouncing.

He absolutely loved it. Smiles, giggles, drool and all. And in no time, other Mamas of littler littles took their babies out for a little bum-bouncing on the trampolines.

And before you knew it, our bum bouncing turned into all-out tummy bouncing, and Max had a ball bouncing Cayden into the air. (That's Miss Avery in the background, dressed all too adorably in a pink gymnastics bodysuit.) And while Cayden couldn't have been happier being bounced all around, I did step in before the bouncing giggle-fest continued for too, too long, because I was a little concerned about the repeated whip-lash effect on Cayden's little neck.

So then we moved...

to the ball-pit!

Where Cayden stared deliberately at all the other kids and further wore himself out kicking his legs deeper and deeper into the endless pit of balls.

And we ended the wonderful afternoon party with a dinner of macaroni salad, cantalope, cheese, blueberries and a hot dog. As in an entire freakin hot dog, sucked down in minutes. And then my baby glutton tried to steal the hot dog of the little girl sitting next to him. But all he got was a swipe of ketchup, as the little girl and I both stepped in right-quick to rescue her dinner from over-stuffed porky pig.

To top it all off, just before we left, Cayden and Miss Avery loved on each other, pointing out ears (Avery, delicately), grabbing noses (Cayden, a little rougher than I would have liked) and hugging like true pals. Don't tell Brett and Lynn, but I see a future romance in the cards.

To be honest, I was kind of dreading keeping my little guy entertained at this party, but it ended up being a lot of fun for both of us. So I was really, really happy this afternoon to be proven wrong.

Oh, and I have a feeling we'll be taking the Daddy to Paramount before too much longer, so he can see first-hand all the fun that can be had there.

I think the pumping Gods are trying to tell me something

*Knock on wood*, I've been lucky so far to have never had a major pumping catastrophe: I've never spilled a bottle of milk, I have yet to have to throw away a frozen baggie and I've never forgotten any of my pump parts on my way to or home from work.

Until this past week.

First, I forgot my bottles one morning. Of course it was the one morning I succeeded in getting out of the house 15 minutes early, so I ate those 15 minutes back-tracking home after I realized the bottles were still in the dish drainer.

Then I left my freshly pumped milk at work one evening this week, so we had to use frozen milk for an entire day's supply. (I like to mix up the frozen and the fresh, so he's always getting at least half of the fresh stuff that I read has transformed to the make-up he needs at this age.)

And finally, Wednesday. Wednesday I didn't forget any pump parts or leave the milk at work. No, something else completely unexpected happened Wednesday. After my morning pumping session, I uncapped my horns and gathered my bottles to take to the office fridge. And upon opening my office door, the friggin door knob FELL. OFF. THE. DOOR.

I skipped my middle pump session out of fear of being locked in my office. But admin services had yet to fix the door by 4:15 p.m., so I decided to give it a try, pleading with my boss to come rescue me if I didn't emerge by 4:45.

Turns out I can jimmy-rig the apparatus to close securely, then let myself out all without the broken-off knob. But if this week isn't a sign from the pumping gods that it's about time to slow down, I don't know what is.

One more week of three pumps a day, then I'm dropping to two.

Oh, and I found this satire from The Onion hilarious, so here you go.

Father's Day and other catch-up rambling

Turns out having a sick baby is way more time consuming than having a baby who is not sick.

Yep, Cayden has the second cold of his short little life, and this one is much tougher on all of us than his first sniffles were.

Father's Day had its ups and downs, largely because of the sick baby in our house. Cayden was so uncomfortable Saturday night he just. couldn't. sleep. alone. Daddy seemed to be the only one who could calm the bugger and lull him into dreamland, so he spent much of the night like this.

Suffices to say no one got a good night's rest, and we all kind of dragged through our first Father's Day as a family.

But Brian recognized the sweet irony of the situation: he was the only one who could comfort his sick son on the eve of the day set aside for celebrating fathers. And it was wonderful to watch him hold, coddle, stroke and whisper to his needy little boy. This boy is certainly lucky to have this daddy. And this Mama is unbelievably grateful for her partner in live, love and family.

As I wrote in Brian's Father's Day card from me, I knew when I fell in love with him nearly 15 years ago that he would be a great dad. And I love that he has proven me right every day for the past eleven months, continuing to exceed all my hopes and dreams for who he would be as a daddy.

Our Daddy was thrilled to receive two cards on Father's Day, plus a WonderPets storybook to read with Chicken (Daddy is a real fan of the show) and a 20" x 30" print of the picture he's wanted ever since he saw it in on my camera in Canada, framed in his office. This photo balances the office perfectly, as it faces the fall foliage pictures we took at the cottage a few years ago, which are mounted on the opposite wall.

And then we hosted a wonderful dinner with both our dads and siblings. So it was a good day, despite the exhaustion and tuned-up nerves.

After two nights spent downstairs on the floor, we've all returned to the upstairs bedrooms, and night-time sleep and naps have improved markedly over the last day or two. But the sniffles have not.

And I'm talking gross sniffles. Sniffles that started out innocuously as clear, watery dribbles above Cayden's top lip have now turned into an impressively persistent supply of gelatinous snot and coagulated greenish-yellow boogers. And he hates both the saline solution that disolves all that crap and the booger-sucker that would relieve some of his discomfort, if only he would allow me to use them in tandem.

Thankfully, Daddy was still tonight when I literally wrestled Cayden to the ground, pinning his arms at his sides with my knees and restraining his head from thrashing about with one arm while I saline sprayed, then booger sucked his nostrils with the other hand at bedtime. It wasn't a pretty sight.

Oh, but his baby coughs are pitifully cute.

So what else?

Cayden has perfected his "lemme outta jail" look. I know I'm biased, but really: can you get much cuter than this?

And he finally figured out how to open a cabinet or two. Although he's still working on opening cabinets and doors without conking himself in the head or face.

And we're preparing for a Daddy-less weekend, as Brian packs for a much-deserved long-weekend with college friends. Last Sunday he was exhausted after staying up all night with the baby, and this Sunday he'll be exhausted after staying up all night with the boys. But both kinds of exhaustion are worth it, in completely different ways.

Re: #4, below

I have one less pregnant friend.

Welcome to the world Nora Erin, and congratulations and much love to Erin, Mike and all the new grandparents and aunts and uncles.

Waxing sentimental

20 things I love about being a Mama, right now:

1. Wet, sloppy, open-mouth dog kisses from my baby that make my heart glow like nothing else.
2. The little bit of granola in the pre-baby me that has become a whole-lotta big granola pride in Mama me.
3. 5:30 a.m. nursing sessions, when it’s just him and me, and the house is quiet.
4. Excited can’t-wait-til-they-get-it anticipation for pregnant friends who have no idea the great journey they’re in for.
5. My boy’s excitement over pushing the button to make the garage door go up and down
6. Becoming OK with the fact that priorities change. Scratch that. Becoming completely satisfied with the fact that priorities change, and learning that a different perspective on life is thrilling and fulfilling in a new (and better) way.
7. Seeing the joy my son brings our families.
8. Watching my first love fall deeper and deeper under the spell of our second love as he moves further and further from fragile baby to rough-and-tumble little boy.
9. Being this close all-caught-up on first-year videos and scrapbook pages.
10. Having a few more extra-long weekends to pack as chock-full of excitement, activities and family time as possible before our year of extra-long weekends is over.
11. Practicing different character voices during story time, because stories are that much better with funny voices that distinguish the roles.
12. Giggling each night because I can’t remember what impression I used for what animal, and smiling, knowing someday not-too-far-off my boy will know and call me out when Peter Rabbit’s voice is saying Benjamin Bunny’s lines.
13. Realizing that despite all the panicking and worrying, we’re going to sail through our nursing goal; and being so confident in that realization that drafting a thank you letter to Mary the LC 1.5 months out seems not a jinx but a confirmation of fortune.
14. Counting down the few remaining weeks the f#$@ing pump has left on my desk.
15. Spic-and-span floors that are so much more rewarding because they’re now clean for a purpose beyond just looking nice.
16. Still finding poop exciting proof that the living creature I created is growing and thriving just fine. Scratch fine. Impressively.
17. Easily and quickly forgetting a tough day at work when little arms outstretch for an “I’m so glad to see you!” hug.
18. Recognizing Daddy was right, and a small, simple first-birthday party makes much more sense than an over-thought, over-planned theme party.
19. Delighting in the fact that an over-thought, over-planned theme party will be just perfect in another year or two.
20. Bedtime prayers -- with a mop of hair tickling my lips and the musk of baby tickling my nose -- as I whisper my love into little ears that listen long after little eyelashes have intertwined in peace and trust and comfort.

So what are other Mamas loving about mothering right now, with your babies, littles or all-grown-up kids?

New tricks

There are just so, so many of them, and they're coming faster than I can keep track! The past month has been a whirlwind of developmental leaps, and when I thought Cayden's personality debuted at eight months, I had no idea what was in store in coming months!

My performing monkey now:

• gives kisses on command (although he's stingy with them, and the kisses now are not only open-mouth face plants, but also include him dragging his wet tongue across your face like a dog);
• lets you know what a rooster says when asked, thanks to Mimi's persistence as a teacher (ok, so he's only got the "ca - ca" part of cock-a-doodle-doo down, but he loves hearing the rest of it);
• throws both arms straight up in the air for "so big" when asked how big Cayden is (I think Grandma polished this trick);
• plays peek-a-boo, giggling like mad when he pulls the blankie or towel off his face in anticipation of the "peek-a-boo!";
• practices opening drawers and doors anywhere and everywhere he can;
• may or may not point out puppy-dogs and monkeys in picture books (he has done it, but I'm not quite convinced yet it wasn't luck);
• practices putting blocks and balls in containers, then taking them back out;
• eats foam (he's no longer allowed unsupervised access to his summer sandals or nerf ball);
  tries climbing anything and everything he can;
• tries to blow bubbles on command in the bathtub, although 9 times out of 10 he breathes in instead of out, resulting in a coughing fit;
• gets a kick out of sounding an Indian battle cry (thanks to Granddude);
• and throws food he's dissatisfied with on the floor (Hercules loves this new trick).

Ten-and-a-half months old is a fun, fun age, although a stage that requires much more supervision as all these new lessons are learned and as limits are tested.

Jailed

The wall we built this past winter suits its purpose well.

It even holds up well agaist the shaking Cayden puts on it when he's dancing. Because he does that a lot all of a sudden -- boogies down to music, bopping his little butt up and down and side-to-side.

A month and a half until he's one...

But Not the Hippopotamus: RIP

So what would cause us to throw out a perfectly good, albeit slightly chewed board book?

What would cause an improptu mid-afternoon bath of the lower half in the bathroom sink?

A baby who has discovered how to take off his own diaper -- after filling it with poop, then trouncing around in said poop -- that's what.

So after the poop was removed from between Cayden's toes, we threw the crib sheets in the laundry and pitched But Not the Hippopotamus. Not even my cheap ass would consider trying to clean the book; in this case it just wasn't worth the $6 sticker price.

Cayden is not quite ten-and-a-half months old, and he is never, ever, ever again sleeping in a diaper alone.

Help Sam

As many of you know, I spent a good number of years in high school and college helping to fundraise for the Four Diamonds Fund, with the ultimate goal someday of Counquering Childhood Cancer.

We still make our regular donations, and this past February was the first time in about a decade that we didn't make the annual trip to State College for our own little THON reunion among friends.

So naturally Jill's spur-of-the-moment fundraiser over at Baby Rabies for baby Sam -- who was diagnosed in April, at four months old, with Stage 4 High Risk Neuroblastoma -- tugged at my heartstrings.

So I donated.

And after tremendous initial response to her little fundraising effort -- through which she wanted to help baby Sam's parents pay for 2/3 of a month of COBRA health insurance by raising $1,000 -- Jill has now set her sights at raising $7,500 for the family.

No, the money won't go towards research that could benefit a multitude of littles down the road; rather it will all go to one family in need, a family I know nothing about and will never meet.

But now that I have my own little boy, I can't imagine turning down this request for a little bit of help. I see the innocent joy in that little boy's eyes as he plays in the hospital waiting room , and my heart aches for his Mama and Daddy, whose love and fears and hope and despair must be so tangled together in a mess of daily torture and confusion. Yet they must do their best to lay aside their heartsinking apprehension and financial anxiety to stay strong for their beloved boy.

It's Just. Not. Fair.

So I donated a little bit again. He's only one little boy with cancer, but so could be mine. And I know I'd appreciate and be uplifted by the kindness and generosity of empathetic strangers, should I ever have to face a simliar fate.

And I'm sharing baby Sam's story so that all of you who understand the unbelievable love and bottomless what-if fears that a child brings to his or her parents have the opportunity to pay it forward, if you so wish.

If you pray, add baby Sam to your prayers. And if you are able, donate $5 to help Sam and his parents breathe a little easier during this unimaginably tough time.

Pay it forward because you understand that "only one little boy with cancer" could have been or be any of our babies. Do it out of the compassion and understanding for other parents and families that only comes when you have a child of your own.

Question for those who have done this before...

So we dropped the crib to the middle setting two weeks ago, when C started pulling to his knees.

When do we drop it to the lowest setting?

I don't think he's tall enough to go over the top, even though he's standing, so what is the trigger to drop the mattress down to the lowest setting?

Not that I'm looking forward to it -- it's hard enough putting down and picking up 25 pounds from the middle setting -- but we'll drop it again, if there's no point to the middle setting...

Aaaaaand, we're up!

As has become our afternoon naptime routine in recent weeks, this afternoon we put Cayden in his crib, turned on the camera, walked out, closed the door and turned on the monitor to watch his hi-jinks until he finally decided to fall asleep.

Such hi-jinks have included rolling around in the crib, playing with stuffed animals, singing to himself, sitting up, blowing raspberries and -- most recently -- pulling up to his knees.

So today I'm in the kitchen with the monitor turned on -- cleaning, whipping up a batch of brownies and eating my own lunch, all at the same time -- and I glance over to see how close this baby is to winding down and passing out, blue blankie in-hand and thumb securely lodged in the mouth. Instead, I find a nearly empty screen.

Empty, except for two little feet at the very edge of that black and white picture, where I know the front wall of the crib is. So I call Brian from downstairs, and we pop in the nursery.

To see a standing baby.

Granddude predicted it would happen in Canada, but instead it happend a few days after we got home.

Cayden is ten months, one week old, and he's spent all afternoon practicing his new-found skill: pulling up to stand.

(Don't mind the nasty red bumps all over his face; turns out our Chicken has picked up another ugly, yet not-too-worrisome viral infection.)

Cat food and Mascara: Breakfasts of Champions

The Daddy in our house is sick. And I mean S.I.C.K. So for the past two days he's quarantined himself downstairs, in an effort to avoid getting Chicken and Mama sick.

Baby-Cayd and I have survived so far without Daddy's extra pairs of eyes and hands, but I must confess to at least two "Holy shit, get that OUT OF YOUR MOUTH" moments over the past couple of mornings.

It is a tough, tough thing to keep a mobile baby entertained and safe, while at the same time getting myself showered, made-up, dressed and packed for work. I need 40 minutes, and I only like to contain him in the jumperoo for 10-15 minutes.

So that leaves a heck of a lot of time to simultaneously ready myself and distract the boy who is intent on exploring all the things he decidedly should NOT be exploring. And so I've resorted to any quick distraction I can afford, misdirecting my boy's attention to whatever seemingly safe and simple object I have at hand and with which I can tempt his fixation for a minute or two.

Enter cat food and mascara. Well, not intentionally.

Yesterday morning I set up a toy corner in the kitchen for Cayden as I got our lunches ready and cleaned up some dishes. But next thing I know, I hear the distinct sound of cat food rattling around in the plastic cat food dish. Knowing both cats are full from breakfast, I peer over the island just in time to see Cayden put a handful of kibble in his mouth.

I got all but one piece out. So he had kibble breath yesterday morning and probably had a nice sheen to his fur -- I mean hair -- the rest of the day. One piece of cat kibble can't hurt him, right? Not that we'll be making it part of our daily diet, but I'm not freaking out over it.

Damn cat food companies. Why does their food look so much like Cheerios?

Then this morning, I distracted him every few minutes with a new make-up tool or compact in the bathroom. One of which was an old mascara brush that I had cleaned and dried to use as a poor-man's lash brush. But the black smudges all over Cayden's hands, face and the bathroom floor first startled me, then led me to quickly realize how a few years of brushing and separating mascara-ed lashes built up some layers of eye goo on the brush I stupidly assumed was still as clean as the day I washed it. Of course the mascara brush had gone to that wonderful and mysterious source of infant enlightenment -- the smacker -- and made a mess of my baby and my bathroom floor. Which, ironically enough, I had just cleaned on my hands and knees last night, while Chicken splashed in the bath.

But again, I've never read about death-by-mascara, so we're just chalking it up to life experience.

Cayden is 10 months, 5 days old, and he's a wonderful, fantastic kid, yet a royal pain in the ass in the mornings.