Friday, February 24, 2012

Three Months

In the last month, Baby Grady and I have actually started to settle into something that is approaching a schedule of sorts. This makes me pretty happy, as I really like routines, because I am an enormous dork. Would you like to hear about our schedule? Of course you would. That’s why you come here, right? For inane tales of my adventures? Or is it just for the pictures?

Well, here it is anyway. Because it’s all I’ve got:

Typically between 7 and 8, Grady has his last in-bed nursing session, then sometimes we grin and talk to the ceiling and kick our feet a bit. But usually we get actually out of bed between 8 and 8:30. Then I pump my boobs and Grady kicks his feet and talks to the ceiling fan. Then we go into the kitchen. Grady gets in his swing, where he continues to chatter and kick his feet. I scald my milk, make some decaf coffee, and pour myself some dry cereal. It is dry, because if I add milk then I inevitably won’t get to eat it until three hours later. It’s a law of nature, that there cereal phenomenon.

By the time all this is done, Grady is ready to eat again, obviously. For the next few hours, he nurses repeatedly, plays a little, and at some point takes at least a short post-snack nap. Around noon or so we strategize and plan for our big adventure. Meaning, the part of the day when we actually leave the house. Which we do pretty much every day, as though we are akin to productive and impressive people. Leaving the house means everyone has to be awake, full, and wearing pants simultaneously. It takes some work, really! Within 10-20 minutes of leaving the house, Grady will usually be asleep, but if I try to get him out of the house when he’s already asleep, he will wake up and then he is crankypants.

Our big adventures are usually some hiking/walking thing that take about an hour-and-a-half. Sometimes we hike to Lake Chabot; sometimes we walk to the good coffee shop; sometimes we simply walk the streets and run some errands. Once we went to Target and I’ll have you know that Baby Grady was quite fond of the Target. I don’t blame him, but when he’s older I’ll teach him to at least have a little shame about it. Because, come on. Target!

If I’m being honest, I’m usually hungry when we leave the house, because what with all the things that need to happen for us to get out the door (see: pants, and also, pants), feeding myself is low-priority. So if I’m lucky, I packed myself a snack. If not, I usually start craving a Coke. Really, a Coke, can you believe that nonsense? Well, actually a Diet Coke, but I am trying to cut back on creepy neurotoxins while breastfeeding, so Coke it is. Except that I never have one. These are the exercises in self-control that keep me feeling spry.

When we get home, Grady wakes up and acts as though I have been starving him for days. And days! So I nurse him for awhile. Sometimes it’s a really epic thing that pretty much takes the rest of the day. Sometimes not. On days when we have free time, he works out in his baby gyms while I have a late lunch. We check the grounds. We dance and sing.

In the evening, Jasper gets home and Grady gets cranky (though evenings have gotten much better lately) (though Jasper would tell you they have not) (in fact when I said they had, he called me an incorrigible half-fullist) (he might have a point). We baby-juggle through dinner and get in bed around 9. Grady is happy when we get in bed, because then he can resume talking to the ceiling without my constant interruptions. At some point after getting in bed, Grady nurses to sleep and then, well, it’s night. Which probably sounds really luxurious... like, usually going to bed by 10, and sleeping until 7 or 8? But then there’s the fact that I am up every two hours all night long to feed the munchkin. And sometimes, I lie awake while my baby sleeps, because I don’t fall back asleep until the next time he wants to nurse. So, I mean, I’m not that well-rested is what I’m saying.

Also lately, Grady has been practicing his grabbing skills. Here he is grabbing the leg of an elephant in his baby gym. (He works out!) (That link makes noise.) (As you likely could have guessed.):

How much Baby Grady weighs: 16 lbs 7 oz (Still pretty gigantic.)
Size of Baby Grady’s clothes: 3 month pants; 6 month onesies and pajamas... it seems he is a rather long baby, especially in his torso, which he gets from me.
Number of bottles (of breastmilk) Baby Grady has consumed: two (Yes still. He won’t drink from a bottle anymore. Which means... this needs to be fixed before I return to work. Or I can’t go back to work? Has that ever happened?)
Bottle and nipple types Grady now rejects: Avent, Born Free, Adiri, NUK, Tommee Tippie, latex, silicone, slow-flow, medium-flow, and fast-flow (Yes that is ALL THE KINDS.) (Not actually. I currently have the Medela Calma and the Comotomo still to try.) (If these don’t work, the First Years Breastflow is my only hope. Which would of course make it the Obi Wan Kenobi of bottles. I will have to order that one from Amazon, since I can’t find it locally.)

Baby Grady’s eye color: we’re perplexed, so I’m going with “hazel” since I’ve never really known what that means, but I think it’s rather muddled
Baby Grady’s hair color: brown, looking blond in some light, with large, boob-seeking bald patch in the back

Baby Grady’s favorite: Josh Ritter, boobs, ceiling fans, being outside, his star chart, his polyhedron mobile, Pardners, Blueberries for Sal, The House on East 88th St., Bob Marley? maybe?
Baby Grady’s least favorite: nursing in public, Frog and Toad

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Happy baby to you too!

This has been on our fridge for a couple months now... and I can't stop loving it so hard. From my cousin's daughter (Little Suz). Best new baby wishes ever, I'd say.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

In which I repent with baby photo spam

I know I have been horrible with the blogging lately. You may be asking yourself if it's because Baby Grady got really not-cute or something. And that's not it at all. I assure you. Here, with photo-spam for evidence.

This is Baby Grady practicing talking. He makes lots of vocalizations these days... we're talking about things of the "ah-goo" variety, though he's often fairly shrieky and enthusiastic about it. Less cooing and more I'm-talking-to-you-milk-lady.

And this next one is Grady looking for a boob. His primary understanding of boobs is that they materialize over his shoulder when he is hungry. Accordingly, he will whip his head back and forth, searching for the boob-of-mystery to appear. As a result, he has worn a bald spot on the back of his head, from all the seeking-of-boobs. (And no, I don't hold out on him at all. Remember, he is a ridiculously giant baby.)

Another favorite hobby of late is chewing on his hands. As you can see, I was trying to interest him in Sophie La Girafe. You know, an actual chew toy. He's not quite there with the holding onto things, but we're really proud that he's figured out how to connect his hand with his mouth on purpose. Like he actually understands that he has hands, and a mouth, and the power to connect the two. It's pretty fascinating.

This next one documents the extremely rare occasion of Baby Grady sleeping without touching me. This seriously almost never happens you have no idea.

Puppet likes to check on his baby.

Future rocket scientist, awed by his mobile. I mean, really, how do they get those things up there? And then they move? Blows. his. mind.

Check out that focus!

Big grin on a nakey baby.

Looking hip in the outfit he got from Uncle Gregg and Aunt Carey. And yes, this is my 2.5-month-old completely filling out an ensemble labeled for a six-month-old. I mean, really? How does that happen?

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Grumpy Gus

I really never intended to mislead. It's just natural, I guess, to take pictures of your baby when they are happy and cute looking. But in the interest of journalistic integrity, I give you Grumpy Gus. This is the sort of scowly expression Baby Grady is making the vast majority of the time. I choose to believe he is just pondering hard, and not a total grump-bucket. His screaming proves me wrong on the daily.