The Dawning of Mobility

Apparently, all of Asher's wiggleworm maneuvers he's been practicing are beginning to pay off.

He's starting to move. On his own. Just today, in fact.

The above photo shows what I walked in on when I went to check on him after I'd put him down for a nap. Two little tootsies, dangling off his bed in between the crib rails. Being the cruel mother you know me to be, you probably think I put him to bed this way. Ha ha, little baby! Try to get out of this one and don't even think about breaking your legs in the process! I promise, I didn't. Not this time, at least. And the second photo was taken upon my entering the room after being gone for maybe five minutes to tend to some laundry while Asher was playing in his activity gym. When I left the room? He was lying on the center of the mat. The little turd managed to wiggle and squirm his way almost completely off the mat.

But that's only proof of two instances today. There were more! He almost wiggled out of his buzzy seat several times and almost squirmed right out of his stroller. Of course, if I were a good mother I would have strapped him into these things, but you know I like to give my baby a little sense of adventure in his life. So now, I guess I ought to start strapping him into his buzzy seat, stroller, and swing, and probably shouldn't leave him unattended on his changing table, either. That is, unless I really want the CPS called on me.

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Four Months Old

Our little man turned four months old today. It's hard to believe how much personality he's developing already - I'd grown so used to him just being...well, just being. He's really starting to become fun in the sense that he's interacting with us more and more each day. He's now able to reach and grab toys (and skin and ears and earrings and noses and glasses...) and put them in his mouth and I NEVER THOUGHT THIS WOULD BE SO EXCITING. I mean, duh - a baby putting stuff in his mouth, how original, right? But - WOW - I swear no baby has put things in his mouth so brilliantly and adorably before in the history of the world! It's amazing how ginormous the "little" things are once you have a baby.

We took Asher to CVS tonight and, as is customary for our child who hates to be in his car seat stroller, I carried him through the store. He was so excited, it was hilarious. He was kicking his legs so quickly and powerfully that I nearly dropped him several times and his squealing had to have been heard across the store. In fact, he only made himself projectile spit up three or four times in the twenty minutes we were in there because he'd gotten himself so excited. It's fun to watch him discover this world that's so new to him. I mean, who knew looking at maxi pads and baby wipes could ever be so exciting you'd blow chunks all down the front of yourself?

It's interesting how he's becoming less controlled by his physical urges - appetite and sleep - and more controlled by his emotions. Like, it used to be when he'd get hungry, he'd instantly become pissed off and you could forget about consoling him unless you had his beloved milk. Now, he gets a little cranky when he's hungry, but you can distract him and console him in other ways for awhile. Or, when he was tired, he'd just fall asleep. Now, we usually have to put him to sleep. The poor little guy is so afraid he'll miss something and wants to stay awake so badly! What's really interesting is watching him handle it when his physical urges collide - like, when he's trying to eat but is so tired he becomes frustrated and refuses his bottle and just SCREAMS BLOODY MURDER. Then you put his pacifier in his mouth and usually he's out like a light. And you're left with almost a full bottle of breast milk going, what the hell was that all about? I mean, dude, if you aren't going to eat your milk, don't order any!

All in all, he's had a big month with mommy going back to work, staying home with daddy all day, starting to eat cereal, and experiencing the great outdoors as the weather is warming up. I'm really looking forward to the upcoming month, as I'm sure it will unveil many more exciting "little" milestones.

Here are Asher's April pictures.

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Mommy's First Day Alone. Sort of.

It's 5:30 p.m. and I haven't seen Little Asher Bug since 8:00 this morning when I left for work. Call Dr. Drew, because I think I'm starting to go through detox.

I went back to work a month ago, but have been coming home during my lunch breaks every day to give the breast pump a workout. Because Stephen has been staying home with the baby, I'm lucky and get to visit with them during these breaks. Today, however, was another story.

My men left me.

For my mother-in-law.

Okay, so they went down to Stephen's parents' house to assist with their neighborhood's annual garage sale. I hear we made a killing so far (it lasts two more days), and I'm sure a lot of that was due to Asher's sweet baby luring skills. I also heard that Asher was a perfect gentleman and didn't cause too much of a commotion for the customers. Perhaps there will be a career in business or sales in his future? I hear being the Wal-Mart greeter is a pretty sweet gig.

Anyway, I haven't seen Asher in almost 10 whole hours. This is the longest I've been away from my baby in...well, a year, I guess, if you want to count my pregnancy. As I'm sitting here, it's totally silent (except for the sounds of the damn cats getting into the potted tree) and peaceful, just like it was during my lunch break. I don't know what to do with myself! I could do some cleaning or take a nap or even just change my clothes, but I'm not sure if I remember how to do any of that without interruption.

Asher, hurry home, sweetie pie. It's just too quiet and calm here without you.

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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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More Sleepy, Less Bloggy

Sleep, sleep, sleep! Stephen is going to absolutely kill me for writing this entry, because it seems like every time I brag about how well Asher is doing with something he turns around and proves me wrong. But I'm going to brag anyway. Because really, how often do I get a chance to brag?

For almost a week now, Asher has been regularly sleeping anywhere from seven to nine hours at a time through the night. He'll then wake up and want fed, and then will go back to sleep for another two to three hours. It's heavenly! And let me tell you, I've been absolutely basking in the glory of this newfound sleep. (Hence the reason why I haven't posted to my blog in over a week.) Maybe Asher is going through a growth spurt and all of a sudden is needing the extra sleep (I wonder this because he's also more frequently becoming unsatisfied with his usual five ounces of milk every three hours during the day...although, that could also be because he's sleeping more and, therefore, has less awake hours to eat and is trying to compensate). Or, perhaps he knows I'm returning to work a week from today and, as the kind and considerate son that he surely is, wants to give me ample time to catch up on my sleep before I head back into the cruel world of reality. Whatever the reason, THANK YOU LORD for it. It's crazy - I'm almost feeling like my old, pre-mother self again. You know, the one who would sleep in until almost noon whenever given the opportunity. I've dearly missed that part of me and am so enthused to meet her again.

("Shut up!" to those of you who are going to tell me the sleep isn't going to last. Must you always rain on my parade?)

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Don't Eat the Pictures!

Look what my dear husband found for me! It's a clip from one of my favorite childhood movies, Sesame Street's "Don't Eat the Pictures." We've been singing the chorus of this song for years to our cats, changing the words as appropriate. Most commonly inserted words in place of "pictures" include: rubber band, plastic bag, puke (Sam likes to "clean up" cat vomit; doesn't matter if it's his or another cat's), wrapper, and baby toy. I'm sure that in a few months when Asher begins "mouthing" everything we'll be singing it a lot more.

Yes, I'm a big dork. But, if nothing else, I thought my mom and sister would enjoy this...

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The Final Weeks at Home

First I was bummed out from the chaos that consumed me after having Asher. I felt lonely, isolated, lost, confused, exhausted and overwhelmed. I missed my freedom and, in a way, my "old" life. Now that I only have two and a half weeks left of being home with my sweet Asher Bug before I have to return to work, I'm feeling more and more depressed about that. I've recovered from the baby blues, adjusted (mostly) to the insanely huge changes in my life, have started to get a routine - albeit shaky, but a routine nonetheless - in place, and have even really started to enjoy my time with Asher. And now? It's all going to be thrown up in the air again.

I realize a ton of mothers out there work full-time - some by choice, some out of necessity - and they, and their families, survive just fine. And, I know I will, too. But, it doesn't change the fact that I'm absolutely dreading returning to work. Back when we decided to start a family, both Stephen and I had decided that, if possible, I would quit working and take care of the baby. I hate the idea of having to pay someone else to raise my child. I hate even more the idea that, chances are, I'm going to miss out on some of Asher's firsts: his first crawl, his first word, his first steps - will the babysitter be the one to witness these? Perhaps, unless I can bribe Asher into abstaining from making any big developments until after 5:00 and on the weekends. And, I'm sure it helps to have a job you love or one that makes you feel rewarded. I'm a freakin' legal secretary. For an insurance company. The job could be worse, but it's definitely not like I'm out searching for a cure for cancer.

Unfortunately, with Stephen's job situation having been really, really f***ed up since last fall, I'm going to have to return to the office. Mama's gotta bring home the bacon (and the insurance). Taking care of Asher is my number one priority and, I suppose, his having a roof over his head is pretty high on his list of needs. Which means - argh - someone's going to have to make sure the mortgage gets paid. But, of course, with my going back to work, there's the dilemma of how in the world we're going to afford the added cost of day care. If only I could work from home doing...something...where oh where are my special talents that will make me independently wealthy?

So, right now I'm pretty preoccupied with concocting a nice ulcer. I like to make mine with a little bit of guilt over leaving my baby, a lot of depression over leaving my baby, and a ton of concern regarding finances. Turns out, parenting isn't so bad - it's all the strings attached to it that are a pain in the ass. If anyone has any suggestions on coping with returning to work when you don't want to do so, please share them with me. Lord knows I could use some advice!

Oh, and the picture? That's just to show the sweet little face I'll be trading in each day for the privilege of a paycheck. Responsibility sucks so badly.

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Sophie & Asher: Kindred Spirits

* Both try to sleep in Asher's crib. (Asher does so against his will, while Sophie does so against my will.)

* Neither one answer when I speak to them, giving me relatively the same blank look in response.

* Both expect me to feed them. Constantly.

* Both require us to clean up after them - from diapers to a dirty litter box to vomit to toys on the floor. Constantly.

* Both are really damn cute.

* And soft.

* And smell good. (Most of the time.)

* Both like toys with crinkly and jingly sounds.

* Both have sharp claws.

* Both demand my constant attention and the occupancy of my lap.

* Both enjoy watching Baby Einstein (see below).

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He Blew Out His Diaper

It's funny how good Asher is at proving his mother wrong...

Last week, despite the awful wintry weather, we traveled to Dayton for an overnight visit with Jeff, Angela, Rowan and Lily. (See adorable pictures and a super cute video on their blog here.) While there, Asher had a pretty massive poopie diaper that leaked out the leg hole a little bit. Angela asked, "Have you had any explosive diapers?" I replied hesitantly, "No. Not yet."

I knew it was coming. They had forewarned us months ago, before Asher was even born, of The Hot Mustard Explosions that parents need to be prepared for. And since Angela asked if it had occurred and I was able to give a negative answer, it was bound to happen.

So, this afternoon after feeding my sweet little pumpkin, I heard a familiar rumbling in his pants below. I took him to the changing table and began cleaning him up. But man, as I was wiping off his rumpus, I noticed that the poop was not stationed solely in its normal locale. No - I had to keep wiping further and further north, until I realized that we were way beyond the safety net of the diaper zone - in fact, the poop went over halfway up his back, soaking through his undershirt to his outer shirt. Luckily, despite the fact that I am usually impatient and easily stressed-out, I am incredibly appreciative of the humor in poop. So we had a good laugh (well, Asher was freaking out, but I got a good enough laugh at his expense for the both of us) and a bath.

Then, not more than a half an hour later, he pooped some more, prompting me to change his diaper again. The poop stayed where it was supposed to (thank GOD), but as I pulled off his pants I noticed his undershirt was wet and so was his upper thigh. Argh. Another mess - this time of the weeder variety.

I'm thinking there's a distinct possibility that he's outgrown his britches. Thankfully, we only have a few more stage one sized Pampers left and, thanks to Mom, a whole package of stage two sized Luvs to poop in.

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One Bad Mother

I've heard countless times that when your baby can't be consoled and you feel as if you're at the end of your rope, the smart thing to do is to just lie your baby in his crib and walk away for a few minutes. You know, to keep yourself from losing all sanity and throwing your baby (or yourself) out the window. Well, today (I think) was the first time I've had to do that with Asher. And I had to do it three times, with each time feeling like an even worse mother.

I know it's the best thing to do - it keeps mommy from doing bad things when her blood pressure is at explosive levels and it gives baby a break from hearing mommy retardedly shriek, "What's wrong with you? Tell me! I'm not a mind reader, for cryin' out loud!" (Duh. I guess parenting really doesn't always bring out my strongest or brightest side.) Maybe it's just me, but I get a horrible sense of failure when I can't comfort my baby. I know, I know - sometimes babies just cry to cry or they cry for some problem we can't fix - but it doesn't make me, Ms. Control Freak, feel any better. When Asher cries, I ought to be able to pick him up and magically make him feel like the happiest baby in all of the land. This should occur not only because of my superior baby wrangling skills, but also because he loves me so much and my mere presence makes everything all better. (HA.) And when I can't, when I pick him up and he flails his arms and legs and claws me with his fingernails that I just freakin' clipped a week ago and he screams in my ear and gives me the stink eye, I can't help but take it personally. And three times in one afternoon? Talk about a horrible slap in the face of my ego.

One thing I'm learning from Asher: It really isn't all about me. Not anymore. Now it's all about him. Who would have thought??

Babies. Hmph.

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Asher's First Crush?

My cousin, Beth, stopped by for a visit with Asher on Saturday and...oh my. I think Asher is in love. He happily rested in her arms for the majority of the three hours she was here and I've never seen him smile and coo so much. It made sense to me - not only because Beth is a cutie but also because she's a nurse. I've found from our doctor's visits that Asher loves all the pretty nurses. Typical boy.

I think I can handle the age difference but I'm not so sure about the whole dating-your-relatives scene. I just don't want to be those kind of people.

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Finally Captured on Camera!

I really had to hunt it down and work hard for it and, of course, by the time I managed to take the picture I only caught the tail end of it. Nevertheless, for you non-believers out there, here it is, proof that Asher's smile really does exist.

Bigger grins coming soon...

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Going to the Doctor Sure Does Suck

Asher survived his set of vaccinations today. Actually, I don't think they bothered him nearly as much as they bothered me. He was first given an oral vaccination, which I was concerned about because of the amount of screaming he made when we tried to give him vitamins a few weeks ago. He surprised me, though, and swallowed it without the slightest fuss. The nurse was really fast at administering the four shots (two in each thigh) - it took her less than a minute to do them all. He turned beet red and screamed while they occurred, but once she was finished and I let him pull my hair a little bit (his stress reliever, I've found - lucky me), he seemed to be pretty much over it. (It's too bad I'm still crying about them.) He's been looking quite defeated and tired since then, though (see pathetic sad face below). We were told that over the next couple of days he might get a slight fever, his legs might be a little sore, and he might be cranky and sleepy, but other than that he should be fine. Per the doctor's suggestion, we went out and purchased our first bottle of infant's Tylenol just in case he seems to not be feeling well or develops a fever.

Other than that, the visit was pretty uneventful. Asher now weighs 12 pounds 5 ounces, which is less than I figured he'd weigh. Since he gained three pounds in his first month, I was expecting to have a 14 pounder on my hands at this checkup. He's about 23 1/4 inches long, too. As usual, we didn't have many questions for the doctor. It's pretty nice to have a drama-free baby (knock on wood - remember, Asher is the king at proving me wrong) and not really have any worries to share with the doctor.

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Two Months Old

It's really hard to believe our little Asher Bug is a whole two months old. As my mom has recently pointed out, he's quickly changing from a little newborn infant into a sweet roly poly baby. He's beginning to "talk" to us through cooing - which is, in our opinion, a very welcome addition to his crying-only vocabulary. He's already outgrowing many of his 0-3 month-sized clothes, especially his shirts and onesies. The other night I bought a storage container for his outgrown clothes and it kind of made me sad. On the one hand, I'm so excited that we're moving into the baby stage of his life, that he's growing so well, that I get to introduce new clothes into his wardrobe (because, you know, the most fun part of having a baby is dressing them up). On the other hand, and I know it's a terribly obvious and overstated fact of having kids, this time is passing so quickly! People have said that time seems to pass more quickly once you have kids. I don't necessarily think that's true - time has always seemed to fly to me - but kids definitely put a date stamp on your life. Asher's growth will be a constant reminder of exactly how much time has flown.

Things have gotten so much better, parently speaking, this month. Sure, I'm still exhausted, frumpy and grumpy, but I'm learning to deal with being that way better. I've also found better ways of releasing my aggression when Asher irritates me, too. Like, crying is too sloppy and I don't like showing my baby my weak side. So, I put the "handle" part of his Soothie pacifier in my mouth and bite down on it. Hard. I discovered this technique one day while he was screaming too much to keep it in his own mouth and, having only two hands, I stuck it in my own mouth. It's silly, but hey - it keeps me from biting the baby. And we all know that would be a very bad thing. Seriously, now that Asher is smiling and cooing and pouting (where he sticks his lower lip out - TOO FREAKIN' CUTE - maybe even cuter than his smiles, if the pout weren't followed with crying), I can better detect what kind of mood he's in and can better interact with him. And, because of this, I enjoy my time with him even more because I feel less stressed about what to do with him. I only have four more weeks left before I have to return to work and I'm absolutely dreading leaving him. I know he's just going to get even more sweet and precious over the next month and it's going to become even harder to go back to work.

The one thing I have learned about babies in my long two months experience at being a mother is that babies are consistently inconsistent. Never ever have I ever jinxed myself so many times as I have since Asher's been born. We can be in the car for a half an hour with Asher sleeping soundly in the back, and one of us will comment about how good he's being, how nice it is that he isn't crying the whole way like the last time we went out. And wouldn't you know it? Two seconds later (literally) he starts screaming. Asher is taking a nap and I put a tv dinner in the microwave for lunch. The microwave shuts off, I gleefully take out the dinner, and Asher begins crying. I post to my blog that Asher has been sleeping for six or seven hours straight at night. Two days later? He begins waking up every three hours during the night. Babies are so much more intelligent - and sly - than we give them credit for.

Tomorrow Asher has his two month checkup with the doctor. He's supposed to receive four shots and an oral vaccination and I am absolutely dreading it. I've read that his leg will probably be sore, and he might get a fever. Not to mention the fact that I have to watch them stick needles in my poor little guy's body and make him scream. Stephen may have to nurse us both back to health tomorrow evening. I've got a feeling I'm going to be an even bigger baby about the shots than Asher will be. I'll post an update regarding the checkup tomorrow and, in the meantime, here are some baby pics from the past month. Sorry I didn't post any for the first month, but we sadly lost our memory card that held all the photos from much of January.

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