A Very Pleasant Baby

I'm sure my posting this will jinx everything, but I'm going to shout it from the rooftops anyway.

My baby's happy!!!

I don't know if it's because we're now putting cereal in all his bottles and his appetite is more satisfied, his age, or maybe it's because he's just realized we're such wonderful people to be around. Whatever the reason, Asher has been, for the most part, a joy to be around lately. And, even better, he's been a doll around other people, too. His Marmie and Grandfather came over on Friday afternoon to babysit and from what I hear he was as good as can be. On Saturday, his Nee Nee and Pa Pa came over to visit and, again, he was all smiles. Both grandmothers, in fact, had difficulty getting him to drink his bottle because he was too busy smiling at them to drink it. WTF?!

What's best about his sudden constant pleasant disposition? It seems to be contagious: our disposition has become more pleasant, too. I haven't felt like flushing him - or Stephen - down the toilet once all week. This makes me feel like a good person. I can't remember the last time I felt this sane...I think it was just over a year ago before I became pregnant. And, of course, a happy baby makes me forget about all the stressful times there have been. I even found myself telling Stephen the other night that I want "a bunch more" babies. Yikes.

Now that I've said all that, be sure to stay tuned for my next blog posting about how Asher has suddenly turned into a little monster...

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Someone's Beginning to Smell a Little Unfresh

Last week, we began putting a few teaspoons of rice cereal into Asher's bottles. The reason we are doing this is to keep Baby Badger Barr at bay. You see, he became so greedy with his milk that he would thrash about and scream and cry during burptime and at the end of his bottle. His tummy is only so big, and we've found that feeding him any more than 5 1/2 to 6 ounces at a time results in spitup galore. So when I took him to the doctor last week and she stated if he seems unsatisfied with his bottle it'd be alright to start giving him a little cereal to help him feel a little more full, we thought it couldn't hurt to give it a shot. So far, it seems to be working - he's been screaming like a Howler Monkey much less when his bottle is empty now and overall seems to be in a more pleasant mood.

Feeding him cereal has its drawbacks, though, and they're located in his diaper. Yes, I do believe Mr. Stinky Britches has come to town and taken the place of the (mostly) non-offensive breastmilk-only scented diapers. We've noticed, too, that the consistency has changed slightly, kind of resembling mustard yellow moon sand. I think Asher enjoys the new poop, though; he's always happy when he finds a way to further disgust his mommy and daddy.

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Putting Things Into Perspective

So, it's really late and I really should be in bed, but of course I'm not. I'm doing really important things, like browsing people's blogs and MySpace profiles. Usually my slacking has no worth, but for once I think it has brought me to an important realization.

While floating through my MySpace friends, I remembered that I had read a couple of months ago that one of my high school peers' wife would be expecting a baby in April. Recently having had a baby myself, I'm a little obsessed with hearing about other people's pregnancies and babies. I don't know why; it's sort of like the moment I became pregnant I joined some cult in which I've been brainwashed to eat, sleep and breathe babies. Anyway, I went to his page and, of course, there was nothing new on it, so I clicked over to his wife's page. Much to my nosey delight, she had a link to their pregnancy blog. I scrolled through it, checking out the belly pictures and nursery pictures. Then I read the latest post. Their baby had been born! How exciting! I read further and got the statistics. Mind you, other than a couple of brief messages with the father, I haven't spoken or seen him since I graduated from high school eleven years ago. But I was excited for him and his wife, nevertheless. The parenthood cult! It even gets you excited about perfect strangers' babies.

And then I read the next sentence. The baby - the one inside all her belly pics I'd just scrolled through, the one whose adorable nursery was completed, the one who had been named, the one who was obviously very highly anticipated by his parents - had died only an hour after birth.

I got an instant stomachache and I'm still tearing up about it.

As a member of the parenthood cult, I'm finally able to understand my mother's huge fear that I'd been hearing about my whole life - the fear of her children dying. This very fear became implanted in me, as it does in all loving parents, the moment we learned I was pregnant. And this fear? I think it grows stronger every single day. As a new parent, I receive such information differently than I did pre-baby. Before? Yes, I would find such news very sad. But now? I can put myself in their shoes. And you can't help but do so. As hard as I tried not to, my mind started racing back to when I was hugely pregnant and how excited I was, and then to the delivery room where I was soooooo damn scared and soooooo damn thrilled when the baby came...and then I started imagining all of the horrendous things that could have happened and the horrendous feelings I'd have felt had those horrendous things happened. And my heart aches so badly for them.

The scary thing is, sure, Asher survived. He's survived three whole months. But you know what? As obvious as this may be, I'll say it anyway: you never know what tomorrow holds, and while you pray and hope it'll be another good, healthy day, tragedy is always going to be lurking behind the shadows. The "what ifs" are always going to be painfully hovering in your mind, especially awful to think about because you know they could happen. This parenthood cult, as great as it is, totally messes you up. Permanently.

So, having said all that, I'm brought to the realization I first mentioned. I've been whining and bitching a lot - A LOT, A LOT - lately about my life. Our financial situation is awful - Stephen is barely working, we will probably lose our house. I'm unhappy being back at work and away from Asher, but I can't quit because of the finances and the insurance. But you know what? (And I know many of you have said this to me already, but you know me - I'm slow to learn.) Our problems are so small in the whole scheme of things. Money and houses are just material things. They come and go (and hopefully will come back). But family, loved ones, your children? They are precious commodities. They are what matters. I feel so spoiled to focus so heavily on such problems that really are just inconveniences. Why is it so hard for me to remember the good things we have and to realize we are really, really blessed in so many ways?

What makes me so sad, though, is that it took reading about someone losing the most important thing in their life to bring about this realization. My heart really goes out to them; I'm trying really hard to quit imagining what they must be going through.

I'm going to go to bed now and, before I do, give Asher a big kiss on the head. I don't even care if it wakes him up.

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Riddle Me This

Last night I went to bed around 1:30 and, as is customary, Stephen stayed up a couple of hours later than that. At some point after he'd gone to bed, I briefly woke up and noticed the radio clock that resides on the vanity in my bathroom was sitting on my nightstand. Not plugged in, or anything; just sitting there on the edge of the table. That's weird, I thought, but figured Stephen must have had some reason for moving it before he went to bed but got sidetracked and just set it down there.

This morning after Asher woke us up, Stephen looked in the direction of my nightstand and scrunched up his face. "What the heck is that doing there?" he asked. "That was my question for you," I replied. "I noticed it in the middle of the night and wondered why you had moved it." Stephen thought about this for a minute and finally said, "That's freaky. If I did move it, I have absolutely no recollection of doing so." We then spent the next ten minutes trying to figure out how the clock was moved.

Our options are: (a) one of us is losing it and starting to sleepwalk from our baby delirium, (b) our house is haunted by a ghost who likes playing with radio alarm clocks, or (c) one of our cats or Asher is playing tricks on us...very talented tricks, I might add, for a cat or a three-month old baby.

We don't really like any of the options and we're a little creeped out, to say the least.

I called my mom to tell her our strange happening, and her guess was that Stephen probably did it right before he went to bed, when he was drunk with exhaustion (going to be regularly at 3 or 4:00 in the morning will do that to you). Then she further reassured me by saying I should be relieved because obviously Stephen doesn't hate me since he didn't bludgeon me with it in my sleep.

Thanks, Mom. You always know how to make me feel better.

And Stephen, I love you. I really, really love you. Remember that before you go to bed tonight and are toting around the small television from Asher's room.

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No Longer a Fatty

I took Asher to his three-month checkup today by myself. Yep, believe it or not, this was the first time I've ventured out of the house alone with Asher. Everything went fine, aside from the usual crying in the car, crying in the doctor's office, and crying in the car again. Both baby and mommy are very tired now.

This visit was pretty uneventful. Asher is up to 13 pounds and 11 ounces and measures in at 24 inches long, so he's in the 50th percentile for both weight and height. Remember a couple of months ago, he was in the 90th percentile for weight and the 50th for height. I'm happy to see that his weight has kind of tapered off to match better with his height. At least, for now...next month we'll get to start him on cereal and possibly some fruit, so he may start packing on the pounds again. Actually, the doctor said if he seems unsatisfied with the amount of milk he gets, we can attempt to give him a little cereal now, though he may not be developmentally ready for it yet. So, we may have some pictures of a sloppy baby pretty soon!

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Three Months Old

Asher turned three months old on Wednesday. He's definitely made the transition from newborn to baby over the past month. His moods are becoming more complex; long gone are the days when we assumed he was happy only because he wasn't crying. He smiles and coos up a storm when he's happy; he flails his arms, kicks his legs, and squeals when he's excited; he sticks out his lower lip and starts making little squawks when he gets upset; he screams and thrashes about when he's pissed off. He's awake and alert much of the day now - so much so that sometimes it's hard for him to "turn off" and take a nap like he needs to. He loves bathtime and has finally learned how to splash with his legs (though he still hasn't figured out how to splash with his arms). He's really beginning to notice his toys now and will even occasionally try to reach for things. And - much to his delight - the fist hunt is finally over. He is now able to not only get his fist to his mouth but is also able to keep his fist at his mouth so he can noisily suck and slurp on it.

I celebrated his three-month birthday by returning to work. I'll be honest: going back to the office wasn't as awful as I thought it would be. At least, not the first day. On the first day, it felt as if I was just taking a break from my routine. The second day I realized this - going to work - would be my new-old routine. I somehow have managed not to cry over Asher, but I've come close a few times. It helps that Stephen is, for now, staying home with him so I don't have to worry about Asher being neglected. Plus, when I come home at lunch to extract baby food, I get to see him for a little bit. But, it's still really, really hard being away from him. I'm praying Stephen will find that wonderful job one of these days soon so I can stay home and take care of Asher, but until then I'm just going to have to suck it up. I'm not very good at sucking it up, but I'm trying.

I'm finding myself becoming more and more amazed at Asher's development. He's turning into this incredible little person right before my very eyes! As much as I loved him when he was a tiny newborn blob, I'm so excited now that he's out of that stage and becoming a cuddly, lovable baby with a personality with whom I can interact. I've got a feeling that this month is going to bring out a lot of new changes in him, and I can't wait.

Here are pictures from the past month.

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"God Loves Baby Asher"

Asher's baptism was on Sunday and, thankfully, everything went really well. He slept through the ceremony and didn't get all freaked out from everyone fawning all over him or from all the camera flash. In fact, he was such a good boy that he didn't even raise a fuss over the priest's confusion regarding his gender. I mean, really, come on. Yes, Asher wore a gown. But don't lots of male babies wear gowns for their baptisms? Furthermore, hello, blue ribbons on the baby's bonnet. And yes, Asher is a pretty uncommon name. But, as one of the guests pointed out, it's a male Biblical one. One might think the priest would figure all of that out. However, I do have to admit, Asher does look devastatingly gorgeous in a gown; perhaps he was just looking a little too pretty that day. So I let it go.

I've been asked a few times by different people if having him baptized in the Catholic Church bothered me or my family, since we aren't Catholic ourselves. To me, it doesn't matter if it's a Catholic church or a Protestant church; we're all Christians with the same core beliefs. All I cared about was having him baptized. Since I don't belong to a church and since Stephen's family are Catholics, I decided to have him baptized Catholic. I find it funny, though, the whole rivalry between Catholics and Protestants. I've heard from Protestants that Catholics are going to Hell and I've heard from Catholics that Protestants are going to Hell. Furthermore, if Protestants aren't busy condemning Catholics, they're busy condemning other Protestants who are members of different denominations. So, it sounds like we're all damned? It's all ridiculous, if you ask me. I say it's time to put all of our differences in worship aside and focus on the fact that we're all Christians because I'm tired of defending my Protestant self and I'm tired of defending my Catholic family. Yes, Asher will more than likely attend a Catholic church and go through all of the Catholic milestones that little Catholic children do. But, I plan on raising Asher to focus on the important aspects of his faith, not simply on which church he belongs to. And, if I ever am able to find a nice Protestant church to attend, he will attend that church, too. Besides, if Stephen, the self-proclaimed "closeted Jew," has his way, he and Asher will go to Temple, too. What a well-rounded little bug he'll be.

The only thing I'm sad about is that this will probably be the only time I will get to see Asher in a gown and all decked out in lace and ribbons. Probably. You just never know what the future holds.

Here are pictures of his big day, and there are more pictures on The Daily Squink!

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