Tricks and stuff

Holy crap, I can't believe I have to go back to work in eight short days. Last night I had a work anxiety dream that began with a boring departmental meeting and ended with me screaming "HELP" at the top of my lungs, waking myself and Mr. A right up (but luckily, not the baby).

We moved Soren out of our room and into his nursery last week, and he's in there now chatting with himself while I listen in using our auditory baby spying device.  He's got a whole new repertoire of sounds he's been trying out.  A current favorite is the creaking door sound favored by haunted houses everywhere:  "Ehhhhh . . ."  Also a pterodactyl screech that can indicate joy, rage, boredom, a fart--pretty much the entire range of baby emotions.

(While I was typing this, he really started to complain about his crib imprisonment, so I went in to free him.  When he saw me it was like I was Elvis.  Appearing live, right there in his very own nursery!  I know this won't last, but it's great for the ego.  Not many people react this way to the sight of me first thing in the morning, lovely though I look.)

Part of the bummer of working for a living again is that I feel like I am just starting to get the hang of this parenting thing.  Actually, "hang of it" is overstating, but I do feel like I occasionally have some dim clue as to what the hell is going on.  Plus he's so much more interesting these days.  Newborns are cute but it's pretty much just them, them, them, all the time.  Now he likes us and does tricks and stuff.

For instance, he rolled over for the first time a couple of weeks ago, on the day before his four month birthday.  But he hasn't done it again since.  His attitude seems to be, "Look, I did it once.  I have nothing further to prove to you people."

Contemporary cinema

Me:  You know the other problem with that Nanny McPhee sequel.

Mr. A.:  I don't even know the first problem with it.

Me:  The first problem is obviously that it exists.  But the second problem is, what can possibly be the plot?  I mean, you know how in the first movie, Emma Thompson gets progressively less ugly as the kids stop being jerks?  Well, now what?  Does she have to start all over again as ugly, but with a new family?  Or do the same kids backslide into jerkiness so that she gradually re-uglifies?  It just doesn't make sense.

Pause.

Mr. A. I'm so glad we could have this talk.

Fine, hippies, I admit it

I really didn't mean to abandon this blog.  The thing is, I'm way behind on everything that requires two hands, and I always feel like if I do get a minute when both hands are free, I should be doing things like writing thank you notes or sweeping up cat hair.  Posting to my blog seems very self-indulgent somehow.

But here I am, with thank you notes yet to be written, indulging myself.  I won't try to sum up the first six weeks of parenting in one blog post.  It's magical, it's terrifying, it's boring, it's exhilarating, it's every cliche you've ever heard.  We believe our baby to be the sweetest and the best.  At his check-up the other day his pediatrician called him a smart baby, and while this is a ridiculous thing to say about a child this age and probably just meant that the doctor couldn't bring herself to call him cute, we are secretly convinced that she's right--he's a total genius.  Unfortunately, he is a genius with acid reflux, just like his old lady in the last two months of her pregnancy. This makes him understandably unhappy from time to time. He has been prescribed Zantac, also just like his old lady.  Heartburn sucks, ya'll.

Today for the first time we tried putting Soren in the wrap thingie and strolled up the street for a delicious brunch.  He was out like a light, a completely contented light, the entire time.  It was delightful.  Why did we wait so long to try the wrap thingie?  I don't know.  I think Mr. A and I both secretly distrusted our own origami skills.  I don't think we're the most hyper-worried first time parents around, but the wrap thingie comes with a really long instruction manual that is intimidating somehow.  We pictured him falling through our slopping folding techniques and splattering on the pavement.

But you know what?  He effing LOVES the wrap thingie--it is like a miracle shut-off switch for fussiness.  So fine, hippies, I admit it--you're right about everything.  Well, except for elimination communication.  (You may be right about that too but you'll never get me to admit it.)

And now, a couple of baby photos that have nothing to do with the wrap thingie.

Soren James Awesome

7 lbs, 9 oz.

20.5 inches

No baby yet

I just thought you might want to see some photos of the nursery. It's hard to take good pictures in such a small room, but you sort of get the idea. The wolf cubs on the wall are vinyl stickers, drawn by Mr. A. and sent off to a vinyl sticker maker company. Aren't they the cutest?







The window seat is all piled up with our stuff for the hospital. Note the incredible handmade blankets, pillows, etc. all over the place, made by our wonderful friends.

By the way, we took the infant safety class, and we know what the safety hazards are in there right now--we're on it!

You look tired

Here's a conversation I won't mind not having every day:

Coworker or Library Patron* (as though I am in the final stages of galloping consumption): How are you feeling?

Me: Good, thanks! How are you?

CoLP: You look tired.

Me: Well, I guess I am a little bit tired. Not too bad, though.

CoLP: Yeah, well you'd better enjoy life now because soon you'll be a MISERABLE SLEEPLESS WRECK! Hahahaha!

Good one.

**
**

My due date is a week away. I wouldn't mind getting this show on the road a couple of days early, but I have a feeling it'll be more likely to run late. Any last minute advice?


*Really, all of my coworkers are great. These conversations only happen with people who work here, but aren't really my coworkers. You know?

Sheep safety

This means we're ready to be parents, right?