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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