The Dawning of Mobility: Part III

Last weekend, Nee Nee and Pa Pa were nice enough to let Asher take home Ella's old walker. We thought this might be a fun thing for him to have since he has a big case of the jimmy legs - his legs and feet are constantly in motion, even sometimes kicking while he's asleep. Right now he seems to only like it for about 10-15 minutes at a time, and that's primarily just because he likes to chew on the attached toys. It's pretty obvious he hasn't quite mastered it, yet. Although he can make it across the room by the time he starts throwing a tantrum, each step is sort of an accidental step and with each one he looks confused and surprised, as illustrated in the below picture. He's like, "What?! My feet can move my entire body?! WHO KNEW?!"

In other major news, HE ROLLED OVER for the first time last night from his back onto his tummy. And he hasn't stopped since then. It's making diaper changes very interesting.

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You Can Thank Stephen for this Uplifting Post

I'm the first to admit, I'm a little oversensitive. I always have been. I was the little girl who dreamed of having a shelter in which to house all the stray kitties in the world. I cried when Mom replaced our old brown refrigerator with a newer one when I was seven or eight, and I cried when Stephen traded in his green Protege for our Sonata when I was 23. I still to this day cannot bear to see dead animals in the road - and if it's a dead cat, I'll be a mess for the rest of the day. I feel badly when I squish a bug in the house. I cut myself off from watching the news a couple of years ago because I get really depressed from all the shit going on in the world; I don't care what people say, ignorance is bliss.

My mom gave me hope, though. She told me several times that once I have a child, I won't be so sensitive. My priorities will change, and I'll toughen up. I've found this has been a little true. Well, I wouldn't say I've toughened up any; I'm just too tired and distracted to think about things as much as I used to. For instance, I don't agonize much anymore over the baby ants that are going to starve and die because I killed their mother. Asher's got me on such a tight schedule that I no longer have room in my being for such consideration. Unfortunately, though, I've also become much more sensitive to other things - deeper, more important and serious things. Things that will really fuck with your mind if you think about them too much.

What has sparked this post isn't the desire to depress myself all over again, or to depress you. It's the fact that my dear, sweet husband depressed the hell out of me yesterday morning and it's the only thing I've been able to think about since then. Sometimes when something bad is in my mind, writing it down or talking about it helps me cope. So, here I am, ready to let it out. I hope it works and doesn't just anchor my heart even further in the depths of sadness.

I get to work yesterday and find an e-mail from Stephen waiting for me in my inbox. It's entitled "A Sad Story." You know what, Stephen? MY ASS BEING IN THAT GRAY CUBICLE AT 8:00 A.M. IS SAD ENOUGH. Was the sad story just supposed to be icing on my happy cake? Anyway, it was a link to local radio station WIBC's traffic lady's MySpace blog. WIBC is talk radio, and I am not known to listen to much talk radio. Stephen, on the other hand, listens to nothing else during the afternoons. He remembered Mel talking about her pregnancy and then, eventually, her baby. He quit listening, though, for that 1-2 months while he was staying at home with Asher. I guess he was shocked when he came across an ad for a memorial fundraiser* for her baby and did some further research, finding the blog.

She lost her 10 week old baby girl to SIDS in late April.

The minute I started reading her May 1st entry, I began crying there at my desk. So I stopped reading. But I had to return to it and finish it, to see how she handled this tragedy. And I've gone back three or four times since then. I only just now was able to bring myself to watch the little memorial video she has posted and look at the pictures. I'm still crying as I write this. This is all I've been able to think about since I read that stupid e-mail from Stephen. I can't begin to describe how much I want to hug this girl, how my heart absolutely aches for her loss. I think about Asher and I can't imagine anything ever happening to him. I can't even possibly begin to grasp a concept of the world continuing to turn if he were gone. I can imagine myself dying; I simply cannot fathom my baby dying.

So SIDS is nothing new, and people lose their children all the time. Of course it's sad, but why the heck am I so worked up about this one case, especially when I don't even know the girl? I don't know. Maybe it's because her daughter shares the same name as my niece, Ella, and it reminded me of how worried I was about Ella when she was a baby. Maybe it's because this is the first SIDS story I've heard since I had Asher. Maybe it's because I'm extremely paranoid (like most parents) that he'll mysteriously die in his sleep, but then I tell myself, no no no that could never happen, it only happens theoretically in those parenting books, and then finding out that YEAH HELLO it does happen, dumbass, it happens to regular people, even to a cute young girl on the radio, and it could even happen to you. What a complete slap in the face from reality. Maybe what really scares the shit out of me is the fact that I'm going to be sensitive like this for THE REST OF MY LIFE, realizing the fact that, as much as we try to keep our babies safe, as much as we follow all of those safety guidelines and rules, in the whole scheme of things we have VERY LITTLE control over what happens to our children. Right now, stories about SIDS hit too close to home, since it's obviously a current fear of mine. In sixteen years, I'll hear about teens dying in car accidents and I'll have to be sent numerous times to the looney bin for heavy medication. All the stories of toddlers being disemboweled by swimming pool filters, run over by their parents accidentally in the driveway, being shot by heartless criminals....How the hell do you do it? How do you tune all the bad stuff out? If you can't lay the fear to rest, how do you learn to live with the fear without it completely taking control of your sanity? How am I going to restrain myself from turning Asher's room into a giant plastic bubble? He can forget about learning to crawl, walk, or swim, let alone DRIVE. I shudder just thinking about that one.

I knew parenthood was going to be exhausting, frustrating, exciting, joyous, nervewrecking, and difficult. But I had no idea how FRIGHTENING it was going to be. I had no idea I'd FREAK OUT every time I heard about something bad happening to someone else's kid. And it just keeps getting scarier and scarier every day as I fall in love with my child even more.

*If you click to view Mel's profile on MySpace and scroll down a little, you'll see the obituary listed. She apparently did not have life insurance for her baby - another very sad factor to this situation - so memorial funds are set up for her to cover the final expenses and the remainder that they receive will go toward SIDS research. Details are listed if you're interested in contributing.

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Asher Shucks Corn (and I Don't Care)

Asher is becoming quite the little helper lately. He loves to grab and pinch and pull - skills not only useful for abusing your parents, but turns out they're also good for helping out in the kitchen. Case in point, Sunday evening he assisted me with dinner preparations by pulling the husks off the corn. His favorite part seemed to be the corn silk - probably because it reminded him of my hair when it was long and raggedy.

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Operation Formula: Attempts 1 & 2

Below, you'll see a picture of me shaking my head, saying, "Nope, Mr. Smartypants isn't fooled one bit." The baby in the picture is very disinterested in his bottle.

Now that he's getting up a couple of hours earlier each morning than he was when Stephen was staying home with him, Asher is requesting an extra bottle each day. And where does this child think this extra bottle should come from? My boobs, of course. My boobs, on the other hand, are striking this proposal. "We are already producing at maximum capacity," they complain. I can't blame them. They are, after all, only boobs, not miracle workers. (Though that would be pretty cool.)

So, I begin freaking out as I always do. How the HELL am I supposed to feed this boy?! I'm down to three bottles of frozen milk. THAT'S IT. For those of you who don't know, and I am kicking myself so hard for not having a picture, before I went back to work I had three shelves in the freezer full of frozen milk. How am I supposed to feel secure with only three frozen bottles on hand as backup? I've read that the main way to increase the milk supply is to increase the demand - hence, for me, pump more frequently. However, working full-time away from home really prohibits me from doing this - after all, I'm already taking an extra half hour in addition to my regular lunch hour so I can come home and pump mid-day.

Finally, it dawns on me - it's not going to KILL him to have a bottle of formula a day. He'll still be getting the same amount of milk as before, I'd just be adding to that with formula. And formula has all those vitamins and minerals in it. It'll be good for him and will widen his palate. So, I breathe a sigh of relief and allow myself this tiny break from my usual perfectionist ways by making the decision that it's time to incorporate a little formula into his diet.

I'd heard of instances in which breastfed babies don't like the taste of formula (yeah, I'm talking about you, Mr. Rowan), but I've also heard of instances in which they take to it effortlessly (Miss Emerson, your mommy is so lucky to have such a laid back baby!). Knowing that Asher is a relatively easygoing baby, I was hoping he'd take the formula without a second thought.

WRONG.

Attempt #1: Last night we tried our first formula bottle. For the first couple of sucks, he was fine. Then he kind of slowed a bit, and started glancing up at me like, this just isn't right. By maybe an ounce into it, he would suck, scrunch his face up, look at me, and start yammering unhappily in what I can only assume were baby curse words. After a few minutes, he would cry if I so much as put the nipple in his mouth. HOW DARE I. So we caved and made him a milk bottle and he wolfed it down in no time.

Attempt #2: This morning we had 4 ounces of milk and added 1-2 ounces of formula to it. "We'll sneak it in - he'll never know!" we thought. Again, we thought incorrectly. Stephen said Asher attempted to drink it, very slowly, but finally gave up because, dammit, there was FORMULA in the bottle!

UGH.

We're going to keep trying, though, and I'm going to do some further research on this hopefully common roadblock. Perhaps we'll try the method that Angela used on Rowan, mixing juice with the formula. Of course, Asher hasn't tried juice yet, so he probably won't like that one bit, either. If anyone has any advice, we can use it!

UPDATE: Stephen informed me when they got home that Auntie Laurie not only got Asher to eat an entire container of pears today, but also successfully managed to give him a bottle of formula. I'm going to need confirmation of this shocking news.

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Finally, My Laziness Has Paid Off

For those of you who know me well, my grooming routine is simple and comparative to that of a dog's: Springtime rolls around and I get my hair cut, while for Winter I let it grow out to keep my neck warm, then I pepper in a few trims in between for maintenance. However, my routine was MIA for quite some time - I hadn't had my hair cut in almost a year and a half. I'll admit - it's always been difficult to get myself motivated to get a haircut. Most people find a trip to the salon a soothing experience; I'm weird, I feel like it's an invasion of personal space. Pregnancy and a newborn baby were just easy added excuses for me to let it keep growing.

But as of tonight, Mrs. Scraggles is gone.

I came home from work this evening and decided my hair and I needed to do something to boost our relationship. I couldn't take it anymore. We'd both grown to hate each other. I was angry at how it was always in the way, always all over the place, looking awful and crazy. It was angry that I'd let the baby pull it all the time, that I'd become so ashamed of it that it had gotten to the point where I was wearing it in a ponytail almost every day. My hair became so upset with me, in fact, that a couple of months ago it started falling out. I know women's hair usually falls out after having a baby, but I had no idea my hair would be HALF as thick as it was pre-baby. It was disgusting, scraggly and an absolute mess. It had to go.

So, I drove my sorry hair over to the ever-so-fancy-schmancy Great Clips and told the girl I wanted it cut just barely below my shoulders. She was like, "Here?" I was like, "No, shorter." "Here?" "Um, shorter." Why are they always so scared to cut long hair? They must get a lot of crybabies under their scissors. She measured and determined if I went that "short" that she'd be cutting a good ten inches off, and would I be interested in donating it to Locks of Love? Of course I would! The thought had crossed my mind - I'd looked at their website - but I didn't think I had enough length to donate. Guess I was even frumpier than I'd thought!

Four good things came out of it. (1) My hair looks better. (2) I got to donate to a good cause. (3) I got a free haircut because of my donation. (4) I got an awesome excuse for my laziness, because now I can say I donated my hair and people will assume that's why I grew it long in the first place. And Asher was so cute when I got home. He kept looking at me, grinning while studying my face. You could just see the little wheels turning in his head, trying to figure out what was different about me. Like, I recognize you, Mommy, but you look like a much nicer and less crazy Mommy than before.

Yes, Asher. Less crazy is right. And maybe less grumpy, too. Slowly but surely, I'm finally beginning to feel like my old, pre-baby self again. Of course there are parts of me that are forever changed - and in GOOD ways. But there are some parts of me that have become very dark, very tense, very on-edge, very serious, and almost bitter since I've had the baby. I think a big part of the problem is that I've let too much of myself go. I'm a big believer that when you have kids, you are supposed to put them and their needs way ahead of yours. If you have to go without in order to provide for your children, well, suck it up because that's just a given in parenthood. But there are some things I've given up that I shouldn't have to, things that no one asked or wanted me to give up. Hell, remember in the beginning I'd all but given up on showering there for awhile - I just didn't think it was allowed. How dare I leave my baby for 10 minutes for a shower! How selfish of me! Luckily for everyone, I wised up on that one. I'm still shaky on some things, though. Finding time for haircuts, shaving, ironing my clothes, changing the sheets on my bed, painting my nails, tweezing my eyebrows...these, too, are small things I'm gradually learning to take back. The more I take back, the happier I feel. It's like I'm not just Momzilla anymore - I'm becoming a woman again! And that's why it's important not to completely lose yourself in the chaos of motherhood - everyone will suffer, because you'll be miserable and boy-oh-boy will it show.

I'm sure Stephen will be happy when I take sex back. Baby steps, Stephen; I've got to take baby steps. Let me re-master shaving first.

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The Dawning of Mobility: Part II

Which makes us worse parents: the fact that we didn't strap Asher into his buzzy seat, or the fact that when we found him dangling from the seat we rushed to grab the camera rather than rescue him?

It should be noted that when I say "we" I mean "Stephen". Remember to mention that when you call CPS. Because, you know, I'm never known to not strap him into his seat. Never.

(Grandmothers, please be assured that whenever he is placed in anything more than a couple of inches off the ground, such as his swing or high chair, we always strap him in. Well, usually. When we're sober enough to think to do so, that is.)

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Starting the Real Yummers

Asher had his four month checkup on Monday, during which we were given the OK to go ahead and start him on food. And so far, he sure does love his Cool Ranch Doritos and Red Pop.

We were given a feeding guide from our doctor which suggested we begin with cereal, then try orange colored veggies, fruit, and then eventually meat. We've already started him on cereal, so we tried carrots on Tuesday. He didn't seem to care for them much, but tolerated them without a fit. Today, I gave him some pears. He actually seemed to like these; that is, after the initial shock of tartness in each bite passed. In the below picture, Stephen was able to capture the tail end of his puckered-up face.

We also found out that Asher is up to 15 pounds 8 ounces and is 25 inches long, which both are still in the 50th percentile. My boy is taking after his mama already - AVERAGE! Of course, though, he's ranked in the 90th percentile for cuteness. DUH. He had to have another round of shots, unfortunately, but he only screamed momentarily and the only side effects were grumpiness the next day.

Asher was very happy to learn he gets to skip a month from the doctor; he won't be going back until his six month checkup. That is, of course, unless he gets sick, and I'm pretty sure he is on his way. Stephen has been ill and grumpy with a cold/flu thing for the past several days, and now Asher is beginning to sneeze and cough and he felt a little warm when I put him to bed tonight. Ugh. Am I able to care for a sick baby?

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Asher Votes Grandfather Day Care as Being "The Best"

This is why I have to quit my job. I am absolutely, positively going through Asher withdrawal. It's true: I have sweaty palms, dry mouth, knots in my stomach, and my heart is racing. Here I keep thinking it'll be great when he's a little bit older and can spend a weekend away at one of the grandparents' houses so Stephen and I can remind ourselves that we're a loving, married couple, not a couple of siblings trying to kill each other with coat hangers. Yeah, it's sad when you start to have brotherly feelings toward your husband. I guess that's what no sleep and no sex and no alone time together and stress will do to your relationship if you let it.

Anyway, Brother Steve was finally offered a job last week and joyously took it. It's so funny; I know he desperately wants to be happy being Mr. Mom for us, but he just isn't. The poor guy, I come home from work and he always has this look of defeat on his face - as he'd say, he looks like someone just kicked his dog. When he received the job offer, he tried his best to seem ho-hum about it (because he knew I'd be sad that we'd have to find alternative care for Asher during the day), but I could just tell this giant weight was lifted from his shoulders. Really and truly, I swear his posture has improved in the past week - I think he's grown an inch and a half taller.

Since Daddy is now employed with a "real" job (with his own office, might I add, the lucky bastard not getting pinned into an awful gray cubicle like some people), little Baby Asher Bug is going to have quite an exciting next few weeks being tossed between friends and family. But only for a few weeks! Call me crazy, call me irresponsible, I don't care, but it's my goal - and I've promised myself I'm sticking to it - to be done with my job by the beginning of summer. Before I do it, though, I want to give Stephen a few weeks to settle into his job and make sure it's going to work out and to give us time to make out a gameplan. In the meantime, Asher is in need of daytime caregivers. Maybe I'm being overprotective, but I don't want some stranger watching my little baby. Since it's only for a few weeks, I'm being brave and asking for assistance from family and friends. Yes, I'm actually asking for help. I can't believe it, either. Remember, this is the year in which I'm "letting go". And it's hard. Especially when it's my pride.

Stephen technically begins work this Monday, but he had an event to attend all day today for his company. So, we had a test run of Grandfather Day Care. Asher swore this place would be so freakin' awesome and made Stephen drive a whopping 45 minutes (probably longer this morning in rush hour traffic) just so he could give it a whirl. I'll be honest, I was really nervous about today, and don't get me wrong, it had nothing to do with me not trusting Stephen's dad with Asher. I knew Joe would be great; I just worried about Asher behaving like a little howler monkey all day for poor good-intentioned Joe. I was good, though; I only called once to check in on things and Joe never had to call me with questions or complaints or to tell me if I DON'T COME PICK UP THIS BABY RIGHT NOW HE'S GOING DOWN THE TOILET. Apparently, Asher was a good little boy, and then I realized, well duh, of course he was. He not only got a break from annoying Mommy and Daddy, but also got to spend the WHOLE day with his beloved Grandfather. Of course, icing on the cake was the fact that Marmie was around in the afternoon with him, too.

So maybe Asher can be trusted around other people. Maybe he can play nice. Maybe I need to take a pill and give my kid some credit, geez. If I'm this uptight about his behavior now, what kind of a monster mother am I going to be when he's three? Or six? Or SIXTEEN! I'm having an anxiety attack just thinking about it.

Back to my Asher withdrawal, it's now 8:00 and my Asher Bug still isn't home and my heart is beginning to cramp up a little. It could be all the red meat I've been gorging myself on lately, but I think it might possibly be the fact that I haven't seen him ALL DAMN DAY and I miss the hell out of him. It's hard not getting my usual hourly Asher fix during my lunch. So like I said, this is why I have to quit my job. In the meantime, we are ever so grateful to Grandfather and Laurie and Auntie Jamie for offering to help us out and watch Asher during my (hopefully) final weeks at work. If anyone out there wants baby time, just let me know...Of course, you might have to fight Grandfather to get your time - Marmie tells me he isn't so willing to share. (Asher says that's why Grandfather is so awesome.)

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Townhome in Need of New Owners

As of late last week, our house is officially on the market.

I'm sad, I'll be honest, but in some ways I'm excited. I'm hoping that with getting rid of this house, we'll be able to free up money to allow for other things, things like me quitting my job so I can stay at home with Asher Bug. Things like our sanity. I love our house, and it has sentimental value to me because it was our first house. But, it never really felt like home and I was never 100% happy with the layout of the downstairs. Plus, there's the ridiculous association fees, no yard, and the fact that being attached to three other units never fully let us shake that apartment feeling.

So even though we've upgraded our family, this is going to be the year of downsizing. I plan on selling or getting rid of a lot of the clutter. I want to find a smaller place, something cozy and homey. I want to simplify. This is the year of my letting go.

It could also be the year I have my first nervous breakdown?

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First Mother's Day from the Other Side of the Fence

Sunday was my first official Mother's Day as a mom. Granted, last year on Mother's Day was when I found out I was pregnant with Asher, so I suppose you could say that was my first, but I'm not counting it since no sacrifices to my lifestyle had been made, yet. Because, you know, you have to pay for your "MOM" title, and I'm learning that it doesn't come cheap. This time last year, I hadn't even begun to experience the throes of constant morning sickness, yet. Those little pink lines sure were the greatest gift I could have gotten, though, and make all of those "sacrifices" completely worthwhile.

Several people excitedly asked me today how my FIRST MOTHER'S DAY!!!!! went. I think I disappointed many when I shrugged my shoulders and said, yeah, it was good, I got to spend the weekend with my mom and step-dad and Asher so that was a lot of fun. I got looks in return like I'd crushed their spirits, how dare I not tell them that rainbows and butterflies and magical unicorns filled the sky for me the entire day. Sorry. If that had happened, I'd probably still be in the hospital from my overdose on hallucinogens.

I keep finding myself looking at pictures of Asher, or just thinking about Asher, and I'm continually amazed and dumbfounded. I just don't feel like a mom. Whatever "a mom" is supposed to feel like, I don't know, but it doesn't feel the way I'd expected it to. I recently said that to an attorney I work with, and added the fact that I just feel cranky all the time. And he said, well there you go. That's what being a mom feels like.

I was hesitant about posting this picture of me and Asher on here because, let's face it, I look like a pile of doggie doo that's been stepped in, but then thought it was the most appropriate picture depicting motherhood. Baby's in the front, looking all cute and sweet and getting all the attention, while mom is shadowed in the background, looking like she's been pulling all her hair out. But no, really she hasn't been pulling her hair out - the baby has been because it's so frickin' long because mommy hasn't had time to get it cut in FOREVER, not to mention it's been falling out on its own thanks to hormones and mommy is terrified she's going to have to construct a stylish comb-over here in the near future. And actually, this picture really isn't that bad, now that I think about it. I usually look much worse than this. Not to mention it's an EXCELLENT shot of my gigantic nostrils. If you enlarge the picture, be forewarned that they might just suck you in.

But you know, I wouldn't trade my crankiness and frumpiness for anything. Asher has taught me to let go of a lot of things I never thought I'd be able to let go - things like spending money on myself, taking long showers or bubble baths, painting my nails, SHAVING. The funny thing is, when I look at him, I don't miss any of those things. Much. (Okay, I really do miss shaving my legs regularly, I can't lie.) I guess maybe that's what being a mom feels like? The ability to put yourself last, willingly, and actually deriving happiness from putting someone else first. I always felt sorry for my mom growing up, seeing her struggle as a single parent and going without so that she could provide for her children. She's always told us that she likes to take care of us, that she didn't really mind going without. I never understood that until recently. I'm very thankful to have such a wonderful mom, and I hope I can be every bit as good of a mom to Asher, too. Even if I am a little cranky along the way.

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Food Is Apparently Good

Asher's appetite seems to be on the rise again. Lucky for him, he's now at the age where he can begin eating solids. We've been putting a few teaspoonfuls of rice cereal in his bottle for the past month, but hadn't tried feeding him thick cereal with a spoon, yet. This morning, Asher made it clear to his daddy that he's grasping this whole food concept when, sitting in his Bumbo seat, he managed to contort his body, reach way over, grab his bottle with both hands, drag it over to him, and start sucking on the nipple (see picture above). I'd read that one sign your baby is ready to begin eating solids is when he begins showing interest when his parents eat. Often, I end up eating while holding Asher and let me tell you: he's showing interest. He will sit there and stare as my spoon goes from my plate to my mouth, excitedly kick his legs and make noises while watching me eat, and will try to stick his hands in my food. If the little rascal is sneaky enough to get his hands in my food, he then likes to fling food off my plate. I guess if he's not allowed to eat it, I'm not allowed to eat it, either.

Knowing that his four month checkup is on Monday and that his doctor will probably give the OK to begin starting him on some soft foods, this evening I figured it would be a good idea to start introducing Asher to thick cereal with the help of Mr. Spoon. I was a little worried because I'd heard from several people that their babies didn't like eating at first and threw fits. Asher seemed a little puzzled during the first few bites, but after a couple of minutes he was opening his mouth the minute he saw the spoon heading toward him. By the end of the feeding, he was kicking his legs so excitedly I thought he was going to propel himself out of the buzzy seat and was squealing in such delight I worried he'd choke. He must have his mommy's appreciation of food.

Now we just have to prepare ourselves for even stinkier poop. Fun times. I know I'm excited.

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Asher's Photo Shoot

Last Saturday, my mother decided it was high time Asher Bug put his good looks on official record by having his picture taken. Much effort and time was spent on both our parts in search of the perfect outfit for him. We ended up dressing him in one outfit he already had, and one new one. We went out the night before to the Logansport Mall and scoured the two stores that are still occupants (only a slight exaggeration, unfortunately) for the outfit and, right at the last minute - literally, it was five minutes until closing at Sears - Mom found the perfect little romper for Asher - it has a gorilla on it and says "hunk". Very fitting for him, if you ask me. He was a very good model, on his best flirtatious behavior, of course, for the female photographer.

I've uploaded some of the shots here. If you want pictures, let me know which pose you like. Lord knows Mom purchased enough for everyone out there on the internet.

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Kitties Love Baby?

The cats were all over Asher today. During our first nap of the day (notice I said "our"), I awoke to find Sam curled up behind Asher, licking Asher's back while purring quite loudly. Then, I went in to check on Asher during his second nap and found Charlie sitting in the crib next to him. I don't think Charlie has ever climbed into the crib before because, let's face it, Charlie is adorable but dumber than a box of rocks and the most clumsy cat I've ever known. Today he managed to do it, though. Asher must have smelled like tuna or catnip today, otherwise I don't know what the sudden fascination with him was.

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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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