Since when were boogers this cute?

Julian has started to enjoy his baths more. It wasn't that he didn't like them; we just didn't bathe him that much, so he wasn't as accustomed to bathtubs as say, the bottom drawer of the fridge or the mailboxes outside by the laundry room.

But now, he's taken to actually getting into and out of the bath at his own willing. I'll suggest a bath, where he can wash with soap (italicized words are one he's calling out play-by-play through the evening) and water. Then he'll get the comb and brush his hair. Today, he's figured out what mommy is picking out of his nose.

Catching up

So much has been happening lately, there's hasn't been much time or mental capacity to blog much about what's going on.

Suffice it to say that living in uncertainty, both personal and environmental (hello, crazy news cycle and quickly changing world), creates endless opportunities for profound growth and discovery. As long as we remember that, we can conquer the intimidating unknown with grace and courage.

Here are some things that I do know:

ACL is a whole lot more fun when you randomly run into people you know. Marques Harper, the Statesman's style writer, and I had some fun playing around the shopping area at the festival yesterday, including taking some photos at the WaMu (read FDIC/JP Morgan) photo booth and shopping for sunglasses. We were both working the festival. My job was to take photos of people eating from the fabulous food court, which I wrote about earlier this week. His was to take photos of the fabulously dressed concert-goers. (His was the blog I contributed to when I was going through What Not to Wear in New York earlier this year.)


Tigers are cool. We saw this one at the Austin Zoo today.

Julian is awesome. His favorite thing to do now is drink "nilk," go "fast" and put "contats" in his eyes. Oh, and he's still obsessed with stars, trucks and "copters."


Community-supported agriculture helps make even a tiny, poorly lit kitchen like ours look lush and inviting.

(Insert picture of a happy Julian with LaLa,
the wonderful South Austin abuelita who takes care of him during the days now.)

Having Julian in day care is a huge step forward for everyone in the house. Julian has needed the stimulation (in fact, it's possible his two naps a day were linked to boredom. I'd nap that much if I stayed home all day, too!), Ian has needed the space and I have needed to see how this next chapter of my life is going to look, which includes Julian being in "school." What's awesome is that LaLa wants the kids to be kids for as long as they can, so "school" is just her way of describing the playtime/learning time balance she gives them. I think Julian just really likes a sweet woman who lets him cook, a little fellow named DJ and a little thing called Nilla Wafers that mommy never buys.

Joyous days

I started my new job as food writer today! It feels so good to finally be starting, and I'm so enthusiastic about what's on the go already. The food blog will be launching soon; I'll let you know when it does.

Yesterday marked Mother's Day and the two week notice until the wedding. Holy cow. Everything seems to happen at once, eh? We celebrated the dia de la madre at Freddie's over some drinks and the most delicious onion rings on the planet. Julian got to play on the playset they have there, and as you can see by the video, listen to some cool music and meet some new people. I took some spiffy video with my new camera and I tried out a new video editing program to put it together.




Julian has been so sweet lately. Giving hugs and kisses and wanting to snuggle in the most adorable ways. We went on a glorious hike the other day on the Greenbelt and were surprised with water flowing at Twin Falls. We found a shady tide-pool-esque spot to sit and explore the rocks and fresh water while Shiva romped in the creek. Proof enough to me that a super special Mother's Day isn't limited to one day a year.

I read an especially wonderful Mother's Day blog post today. It's from Noble Pig, a food blog I read. She's a mom to two boys and watching them grow through those pictures and her words is really touching.

No biting, Julian

Julian's been growing and changing a lot these past few weeks. When I got back from New York, he was giving high-fives. Then, Ian got him to start saying "yes," which really sounds more like "jes." Only now is he getting the hang of what it actually means. He still calls most four-legged creatures "do" and both mom and dad "da." Ian and I have a theory that he does know "mama," but that he'll only use it around Ian. It's a case of "mama" being The Name That We Do Not Speak in my presence. He points to himself when you ask where the baby is and claps whenever he hears applause. He's backing himself off the bed and furniture, but isn't quite crawling on top. No back teeth just yet, but I know they are on their way.

His teeth have been a little bit of an issue this week. We've been watching Ruby while Sarah's at school and Aaron's at work, and Julian has taken to biting Ruby on
occasion. I've only caught him once, but I know it's happened a few times, either at their house or ours. My first real instance of feeling guilty for my child's behavior.

But something I'm not feeling guilty about is shutting down the milk factory. It wasn't as much a decision as I thought it would be. I pumped when I was in New York, but when I got back, Julian just wasn't as interested. He and Ian had been getting along fine with just cow's milk. I fed him once or twice when I got home from the trip, but then just stopped. Breastfeeding has been easier to let go of than I thought it would be. The bond that it helped form between Julian and me is still there. He got all that goodness from the milk. I feel really good about the whole experience, almost enough to forget the milk letdown (ouch!) or the leaking or the biting or the unique feeling of being a milk factory. Almost.

That's all I can think of right now that's new with Julian. He's waking up around 7:30 these days and still taking two naps, but I've heard they may start to drop one of those right about now. But then how will mommy take two naps a day?

_______________________________________________


Totally unrelated note: I have a query for you, Southwest Missouri readers. Do you remember a compliation/sampler album that Z 95.5 came out with in the mid-1990s. from KTOZ 95.5 FM? It was Z 95.5 then (now it's Alice 95.5), and was a killer radio station, wasn't it? (Cue Rachel rolling her eyes.) In my memory it really showcased the alternative scene way back then. And in junior high, one of the DJs came by a career fair and gave out these sampler CDs with everything from Desperately Wanting by Better than Ezra to Counting Blues Cars by Dishwalla to If God was One of Us by Joan Osbourne and artists such as Geggy Tah and Everclear. Now, I could be mixing us some of the artists on the playlist, but you get the idea. And I'm thinking/hoping you got one of these albums, too. I lost mine some years ago and would do anything to at least figure out what songs were on it so I make my own playlist. One of the songs I know for sure was on it is Love Songs by Fleming and John, which I present to you for this St. Valentine's Day. (Oh, and if you know anything about that album, give me a shout, or at least verify that I'm not crazy and it did exist.)




Tell me that story again, the one that has no ending.

Exiting the recovery zone

I haven't posted much on what Julian's turning one has meant for me. It's been a few weeks since the big day, which really wasn't that big of deal. I didn't expect any revelations to come immediately, but a few have come in the time since.

I feel like the first year of Julian was a recovery zone. Maybe it was the C-section that really knocked me off guard physically for the first couple of months. Or maybe all mothers feel this. Everything was off because everything was new. The first few (dozen?) times you go to the grocery store with the baby, it's a strange adventure. Same with going to visit your parents or friends. It's easily six months before the things you did before feel remotely "normal" but even then, it seems a vaguely familiar version of your pre-baby life. I think it took even more months for life with Julian to feel as natural as life without him did. I mean, we're still working on that, but it's leaps and bounds better than even just a few months ago.

The interrupted sleep I think really starts to get to you, too. And Julian is truly an all-star sleeper! I can't imagine what some of my mommy friends are going through with babies still waking up all night. It can really screw with your head. Just like the whiny, pick-me-up cry that Ian still cringes at. And I had my own aches and pains post delivery; I can only imagine the aches and pains that lingered for some of my fellow mommies.

It doesn't take a scientist to tell you that babies are so adorable, especially to their parents, because it makes them harder to resent for making life so difficult at times. But cuteness aside, there's something so intrinsically gratifying about raising Julian that makes all of the hardships easier. I tried to describe it to some of the What Not to Wear crew members who are contemplating babies, all of whom were over 30 and looking at my 24-year-old self like I was a nut for having a kid "so early." But they just didn't get it. Moving to Brooklyn, giving up their Manhattan lifestyle were foremost on their minds. I tried to delicately tell them that post-baby, those concerns that seem like such monumental hurdles to parenthood become insignificant.

It sounds like I had an awful first year of motherhood, doesn't it? Being on the other side of baby's first year is just allowing me to be really honest with myself about how difficult it was. It's still challenging, don't get me wrong, but that year, that recovery zone, is just now starting to fade. I'm starting to be able to do more things for myself that I didn't feel I could last year. I'm taking some online classes, planning a family vacation and a wedding, renewing my passion for running, thinking about joining a fall softball league. Ian is, too. He's getting down and dirty with this recording unit to finish the album he started. He's able to juggle Julian and his own wants and desires a little better. We're both in consistently better moods despite the wrenches Julian may throw in our plans.

But no one could have told me about that year, just like no one can really tell me about the years to come. You have to live it for yourself to really understand it. Religious folks all my life have talked and talked and talked until they are blue in the face about faith. And if I go on and on about the topic of faith here, I will join them. Suffice it to say that having Julian has solidified my belief that faith is an action that others do not have right to doubt. We all have brains and ambition and instinct. So when Ricci volunteers in Senegal, my best friend from high school remarries a year after she divorces, the Shelton family prepares to welcome a wee brother or sister for Julian's baby friend Adeline and BAT picks up her life in Austin and moves to the sure-to-be-fabulous Steamboat Springs, Colo., wish them well. Acknowledge that they are living the life they intend.

I'd like to think that's what we're all trying to do here.

Blog for Choice Day

I don't usually participate in these blog-wide activities, be them memes or national blog anythings, but I feel particularly strong about preserving a woman's right to choose to have an abortion or not. I join millions of others who are speaking out in support of Roe v. Wade, the Supreme Court decision that legalized abortion 35 years ago.

I'll be short about it. Thousands of abortions a year are going to happen regardless of if they are legal or not, which puts the health of thousands of women, from all backgrounds, of all races and economic classes, in much danger. Coat hangers and a back-alley abortion make for a horrific image; what a social tragedy would it be if they started becoming a widespread reality (again). We can't even provide free or low cost birth control and condoms, and we're making it more expensive for women to buy birth control. We can't even support the unwanted children that already exist in the world.

I support the right to choose. And don't forget that it is a choice. I happened to be in a place in my life (emotionally, physically, mentally, financially) where I was ready to choose to have Julian. You can't make that choice for someone else.

The easy way out?

I promise this blog won't entirely be about kids and child-rearing, but I have to post about a Babble.com article I just read that put another light on how women these days go about childbirth.

Most of you know that I had a C-section in January (10 months ago exactly!) after
two days of labor. The first day, it was nothing worse than an achy flu. Second day, I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy. Throbbing, gut-wrenching, nauseating, incessant pain. It's the closest thing to death I have experienced, which is a fucking terrifying realization when you still have the baby inside you. They don't really tell you that part in the classes.

If I stayed still, it was awful. If I moved, it got worse. I couldn't talk. I could hardly keep my head up. If Ian and my mom and the birth assistants were rubbing me and encouraging me with kinds words to ease the pain, I don't remember it. I was too overwhelmed being stuck in the middle of what they were trying to help me get through. And stuck I was. Well, stuck Julian was. He was head down, facing the front. (They are supposed to be facing your back.) Stubborn as all hell to descend any further.

After 14+ hours of the worst of it, the pain suddenly stopped. Not when good old Dr. Monk, my OB who has 14 kids (I found this out on the Cesarean table) pulled Julian out, but about 30 minutes before, when I rolled on my side and they stuck the epidural needle in my back. It seeped over me. A physical numbness that allowed me to mentally focus on the child I was birthing. That was the "transformative personal experience" author Kathryn J. Alexander writes about. I think Alexander too quickly dismisses personal transformative powers the act of birthing on mothers has. But on the other hand, the natural childbirth movement goes too far the other way. Its teachers and advocates often deny, if implicitly, that mothers can give birth in a medicalized environment and experience anything as powerful as doing it drug-free.

Childbirth professionals with a nature-worshipping bias against medical pain relief seem to suggest that only self- indulgent, entitled control freaks — void of spirituality, feminist enlightenment and the ability to bond with their young — would want a pain-free birth. ... Since when did childbirth become about having a transformative personal experience rather than about getting a healthy baby and not dying (or wishing you were dead) in the process?

...

Moreover, telling pregnant women they should attempt to deal with their pain as an exercise in "plumbing the depths of their inner resources," rather than honoring their choice to give birth on their own terms, without pain, is in itself disempowering.

...

For me, giving birth was the fulfillment of a lifelong wish to have a baby, not a means of self-actualization.

Whoa, right in the face of all things Mothering, a magazine I subscribe to. But I really feel connected with a lot of what she's saying. I respect all mothers' choices, and I'm not against natural childbirth, nor the amazing moms I know who were lucky enough to experience it. But degrading medical birth experiences as less than natural ones is really ridiculous. This article made me realize how backward I had it before I had Julian. I loathed Cesarean sections and the doctors who performed them. I judged women who planned pain management, i.e. epidurals. I thought natural childbirth was the only authentic way to have a kid. ("It's what my body was created to do," I told so many of you.)

It's just not true. Attempting a natural birth is awesome and I would do it again, but you're no pity case if you don't even try. A healthy baby is a healthy baby. A frazzled new mom is a frazzled new mom. Don't make one feel worse because modern medicine gave her a little help.

Being a parent is what's really empowering.


p.s. The New Yorker tackled this in an article from 2006, which I read when I was pregnant. 'The Score; How childbirth went industrial'.

Photo by gabi_menashe on flickr

From the vast archival desert...

...I pull this photo of my mom and me from way back in May 2002. We were driving through the Arizona (or hell, it could have been New Mexico, to a Midwestern girl like me, they all looked captivatingly the same), en route to San Diego.

It was the first of two summers I interned at KPBS radio, worked myriad jobs (holla, Kinko's) and got my fill of sweet coastal California life. Uncle Chris invited me out there at the end of his Pioneers and Settlers speech, one of the pivotal invitations I've received in my life. He opened his home and his family to me. I helped grocery shop and cook (and ate plenty, I'm sure. Gez, lay off the Pokey sticks, would ya, Ads?). Mother's and Father's Day. Birthdays. I felt like an adopted daughter. They were so patient as a stumbled and triumphed in my new surrounding. It's still a time period of my life of which I am so proud. Making friends out there. Going to movies, parks, festivals and beaches entirely on my own. Discovering Addie outside Missouri was thrilling. It was the exciting taste of exploration that led to me studying in Spain my junior year of college and, eventually, to move to Austin.

And my mom, literally my life's connection to Missouri, came with me on my journey across the country to drop me off on this new chapter. Neither of us really comprehended the impact of my time out there, which, as a The New York Times article last week concluded, is better. No preachy parting words. No defiance of parental authority (I'd had my fill of that the previous two semesters as a freshman at MU). Just buzzing through the CDs and random truck stops along I-40, observing the now, recalling the past and hinting at the future along the way.

I fell in love a couple of times in San Diego, but fresh out of my chrysalis, I mainly fell in love with me. You're supposed to do that in college. You finally get to make all these concrete decisions based on whatever the hell you want. I'm just so thankful that they gave me the opportunity to do that. The Cooks for providing a home away from home. My parents for the good old '98 Corolla I still drive and for keeping me company along the way.

________________________________

Randomly from the archives: Dearest Scott Schnelle, always the animal lover, took in a pair of skunks right before I took off that summer. On one of those trips to Lockwood to visit Troy, he showed them off inside their little cardboard box homes. If I remember correctly, one of the little guys stuck around and, though he lived outside, hung around the house for awhile. Unless I'm getting my animal stories swapped. Scott has so many run-ins with critters, it's hard to keep the tales straight. Ask him about the bobcat sometime. Or maybe the two Jills.

Thought I might showcase a different baby every now and then.

Showing off the car seat

Erin in the Big D has an awesome pad. I had the pleasure of seeing it first hand at a couch-warming party last Friday. Couch-warming is to put it mildly. Jagermeister was involved. Political sparring was had on the deck. As it was mainly a group of folks associated with a big wig adverting agency in Dallas, media analysis dominated much of the conversation. Just my style.

It was so cool to enter a party a totally anonymous figure. I love seeing people's reactions when I let on that I have a 10-month-old. I become The One With The Kid. Never has that been more clear than at this party Friday. It was awesome. They'd ask all kinds of questions. And I've learned what to tell them and what not to. Keep it down to the basic aspects of parenthood a youngish non-parent can grasp. After you exchange the essentials, (yes, I still wake up at 5 a.m. for a feeding; no, I'm not worried if I sleep a night away from him) having a kid doesn't extinguish the zero-to-sixty friendships (or maybe alliances is a better word) you build at really killer parties like this one. You know, those sudden connections you make with people because of some interest you share. Because motherhood is just one part of my identity, I can still get on with people with all sorts of backgrounds. As much as the Mother label lingers in the backs of people's minds, I felt like I got to step outside mommydom for a little while and just enjoy being a 24-year-old.

One fun, interesting adventure of the night was a b-double-e-double-r-u-n for Enlightenment with this tall, Republican-y boy with a "Got Goat?" T-shirt. When we got into my car — cause I'm always the driver for these sort of things — I used the car seat as proof that this kid I'd been telling crazy stories about was, indeed, a real person. I'd told him about Julian but it didn't register until he peered into the back seat of the Corolla and saw his toys strewn about and the good old Graco. Here's this person who is years, years away from being a parent hanging out with this other person who's pretty outspoken about still breast-feeding. As we were frolicking about the very hip lower Greenville area of Dallas, I thought to myself how great it was that the dude, a silver-spoon slacker, and I, the working mommy at recess, and could explore the world without the pretense or goal of (shhhhh) hooking up. It made it so much easier to just enjoy myself. Alas, it was only my enjoying. As the night went on, it became more clear that Mr. Got Goat didn't seem to hear that I was engaged. He was very well-mannered, but you could just tell he was hoping I'd be more interested in him than I was.

I had realization No. 2: Addie-with-child was getting considerably more attention than the Addie-without-child ever did. Said boy (who's name I didn't even catch till the end of the night), and a handful of other males at the gathering, were swarming like flies. (And I'm not boasting, I promise. This is more about my astonishment at the irony of dating life.) It's the result of a potent two-part combo that acts like a pheromone, as BAT noted.

First, bearing an offspring is undeniable proof of a supple, fertile female, who is emboldened with a round figure and the beaming energy a young child provides. Biology and evolution tell us this is the foremost influence in how both men and women pick mates. Second, having a kid bolsters your confidence in a way few other things can. That I went through pregnancy, birth and infanthood and made it out alive has been enough to make me feel more confident and proud of my abilities than I have in a long time. This all leads to a certain boldness and authenticity, which both men and women would admit is hugely appealing.

It's just so interesting that these boys take note when I'm undoubtedly off limits. I'm thinking this is a thing all mothers encounter at some point or another. Am I wrong? Doesn't motherhood make you feel like a sorceress sometimes?


Coming soon: Project Runway reports...

I feel it all

We are headed to the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex today for some quality family T-day time. Getting a late start, as you can tell. That's what happens when you have a dog to drop off and a load of laundry to do. I'll try not too hard to focus on the fact that we're breaking rule Numero Uno of traveling Broyles style: Do not burn daylight. Clearly, we're already http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifa Knox-Broyles household. We won't leave before noon. Unheard of = yes. Something I'm just going to accept and make the most of = yes.

Did y'all like that Golden State song? I'm a big fan of sharing music and new artists, so I'm going to try to post more songs on here. I love this so-called Web 2.0, where the goal is to give Internet users access to the tools they want/need to make the Internet work for them. Imeem is a perfect example. I googled "John Doe Golden State" and found exactly what I wanted: an mp3 with an option to embed the file and player on whatever page I wanted. People do the same thing with Myspace; I just use the Web site instead. Today, I go back to Imeem (See what happens when you deliver a product that someone wants? An instant fan and invaluable word-of-mouth advertising. Erin would be proud.) and dig around. I quickly stumble upon Miss Feist herself, who's been enjoying quite the surge in much-deserved popularity after this recent album, "The Reminder." Girl snagged herself an Apple commercial for chrissake.

Here's one of my favorite tracks off the album and you tell me what you think.



Been feeling pretty good lately. After that spate of sickness/fussiness from the kid, our momentum is back. Ian's been recording a lot lately. He's got some killer tracks laid down for some of those songs. "Very Phil Spector" he's calling his recording style. Old Phil Spector, right? Too bad most people of my generation will only know him because of this murder he's accused of. The Wall of Sound was his idea. Everything from hip hop to modern country uses it these days. All those layers of music on top of one another. Just makes things more interesting, more engaging. Ian's doing a really good job of that with his album. I even caught him using a capo to turn an electric guitar into a mandolin. That crafty kid.

Music is really both a curse and a blessing for him. Tortured artist is so cliche, but damn is it true. Recording can either put him in the best of moods or the worst. He just wants it to be so perfect.

.....

damn, since I started writing this post I read a refusing-to-nap Julian two books, gave him a bath, fed him some peaches, put away the dishes, filled the dishwater, burned the crap out of my thumb and two fingers, stepped barefoot in peaches and realized exactly how much work it will be to take the family away from home for two and a half days.

My initial cheery disposition has been sucked from me (temporarily, I hope). Maybe I'll remember to pack some more in addition to the hundred other things a good mom is required to remember to ensure we make it through the end of the trip, everyone fed, clothed, well-rested and intact. Uff.

Wish me luck.

My almost birthday

July has always been my favorite month. Fourth of July is pretty much a guaranteed good time, even if it rains. Cicadas are in full force. Swimming holes are especially inviting. Lush greenery engulfs buildings, sidewalks and roads. But I like July mostly because my birthday falls in its middle. I’ve always loved my birthday and feel quite possessive of it. I imagine this is a shared emotion, except for you birthday-haters out there. I haven’t met too many of you that are down on your birthday just like I haven’t met too many people who have my birthday (or, whose birthday I have, depending on how you look at it).
I’m very aware that this is the first year I’ll see that Troy didn’t. I’m also aware that this is my first birthday as a mother, a fact that seemed to interest Ian more than me until just recently. My first birthday as a mother, who very recently experienced the birth day of her first child. But unlike birthdays from age 3 or so on, baby J won’t remember a second of it. I, on the other hand, can still feel most of the agonizing seconds of January 25.

Birthdays are such a nice way to celebrate people, but maybe they should also be a day to celebrate their mothers. It’s almost as if mothers, when celebrating the day of their children’s birth, are also quietly celebrating themselves. For the nine months they watched what they ate not to lose weight but to gain it in order to sustain, carry and eventually bear the child. For the hours and hours of what is widely accepted to be one of the most painful physical human experiences. For the months they were dedicated to being a human milk machine. Then for the years of making all of life’s boo-boos better and guiding this once wee thing into a well-rounded, caring, responsible and loving adult.

I’m still in the milk machine part of that equation, but I can imagine that in the future, when January 25 rolls around, I will be celebrating Julian, but I’ll also be celebrating me, probably more so than on my own actual birthday. Being a mother is really one of the biggest lessons in selflessness. Your kid really becomes more important than everything else. Even, most days, the all-important you. Now, don’t start sending me emails about how important it is to take time for me and don’t take care of others are my expense and all those other things we have to remind mothers who become slaves to their families. It is almost needless to say that I’ll always have a self-centered streak in me (just ask Ian if I’ve lost the ability to put myself first when needed), but being a mom has severely toned that down, for the better if I may say so myself. I am no longer the center of the universe. I’ve had to make room for others, and I love the company. But thank you all for making me feel like a queen, right now. And if you really want brownie points, email my mom and remind her that it’s also a day to celebrate her.

The science of sleep, according to a new mother

I promised myself I would do this. And there’s nothing more that I hate than promising myself I’ll do something and then backing out. Part of my overachieving nature, guess. But the allure of going back to sleep is pretty tempting right about now. It’s 7:20 a.m. and I said I would write after I fed Julian for the first time today. It’s not really that early, I know, but I worked last night and didn’t make it to bed until 1 a.m. or so and I still have that need in me for as many hours of sleep as possible. It reveals my youth, I guess. It may be covert laziness.

What I wanted to do was shed some light on the night of a nursing mother. Everyone groans and groans myself included, when I tell them about waking up to feed Julian every night. Well, now, it’s waking up every morning. He stopped getting up when it was still dark maybe a few months ago. Now, we put him down around 7 or 8 and he’s up around 6 or so for a first feeding, then again around 8 or 9, when I still am very interested in being back asleep. With the exception of this morning (I can hear him cooing in the bedroom)), he usually falls right back asleep after the first feeding, as do I. And when he awakes just a few hours later, he’s pretty ready to be up for the day, but I’m still clinging to my last few precious minutes of sleep. The second feeding is by far the hardest, just ask Ian.

He’s the one who usually hears Julian up that time. I think we both stick our heads under the pillows and hope he goes back to sleep. Wishful thinking because I don’t think he’s ever done that. Frustrated at his interrupted sleep, Ian will get up, bring him to me and I’ll feed him again. But, for Ian, the seal’s busted this time around and unlike the first feeding, he can’t sleep through this one. It’s either head for the couch or the coffee maker.

But I stay in there with Julian, trying to sleep when he’s eating and feign sleep when grabbing his toes and looking around after he’s done. Yes, I even put a pillow on the other side of him and then turn by back to him to try to catch a few more minutes, even seconds, of shut-eye. But his charm avails. He’s usually the happiest in the mornings. Smiling at nothing, or everything, depending how you see it. He’s so happy when he sees you, too. I think he first started recognizing us around 2 months or so, nature’s crafty way of keeping parents in the game. It’s hard to grumble at a kid who’s poop has leaked through to the bottom sheet (in his bed or ours) when he looks at your with twinkling eyes and a wide, open grin when your gaze meets his. It’s the same with the waking-up-to feed-him thing. Yeah, it’s a pain and I would love a break from it, but it’s worth it. Even if we weren’t breastfeeding, we’d still have to get up to feed him. 

And besides, we chose to do this. We could have had it another way. I’m glad we don’t. He can wake me anytime.
postscript: I originally posted this blog with 'sunday' as the day. Until just a few minutes ago, I thought it was. Motherhood does make you loopy.

post postscript: I'm not sure many of you realize my love of the New York Times. Often scorned by those in the journalism world for being pretentious, I find it full of fascinating, supremely relevant and intruging things. Including, today, a wonderful tribute to Willie and, of course, another person's take on love.