Two Months

Dearest little A.J.,

Today you are 2 months old.  I bet you thought I forgot.  Especially since I didn't write anything about it when you were one month old.  Don't worry darling, I noted the date in my head at the time, but we were still in Ohio and blogging just wasn't really an option for me there.

If it helps, I did actually take some "one month old" pictures but, well, the ones in the morning came out sort of terrible and you spent the evening as you tend to do, screaming a lot.  There are actually some pictures of that- of you, screaming with your Gramma- but as you can probably guess, they aren't really any good either.  Aside from the screaming though, I think you had a good one month birthday... we went to the mall and had lunch at Roosters.  :)

It's interesting, really, how fast things go.  I can't believe we're at the end of your second month and how much things with you have changed already. I promised myself that I would do better "grabbing on" to these early moments with you because with your brother they literally flew by.  I promised myself I would hold you as much as you wanted and nurse you and cuddle you and just, generally LOVE you. 

But child, you have other ideas. 

You certainly seem to like being held a lot, but you are also just SO unhappy SO much of the time.  You don't really seem to like nursing and well, you cry.  Oh how much you cry!  If there was a competition for crying babies, well, I bet you'd place near the top.  You poor thing.  I wish I could make it better for you.  I still think there is stuff going on with your digestion.  I've been pumping a lot more and Daddy's been giving you bottles, which seems to help.  Plus my milk supply seems to have relaxed a lot although it still tends to release too quickly and upset you.  But you are so so so so gassy.  And you spit up a lot.  And you tend to sort of "gurgle" sometimes after you eat.  I'm really worried you might have reflux.  Because you just cry and cry and cry.  I'm probably going to call the pediatrician about it this week. I hope she can help.

At any rate colic sucks.

More for you than it does for me, I'm sure... although from my point of view, with ringing ears, it's no picnic either.

I also promised myself that I'd take a lot more pictures of you in the beginning... even if you're just laying around doing nothing.  Because the thing is, sure, compared to your brother, you don't do much yet.  (Then again, who does?  That kid gets into everything!!) But also, if I pay close attention, you're keeping very busy.

You LOVE to swing.  Well, most of the time, like when your tummy isn't troubling you so bad. Sometimes you want to swing much more than you want to be held.  That breaks my heart a little, but I forgive you when I pass you in your swing and you look up at me with adorable happy little grins like this. 

The other day Daddy was eating crackers.  For some reason this seemed to upset you.  Naturally he hypothesized that you wanted him to share so he gave you your own cracker to hold.  (Don't worry little one, he did weird stuff like this with your brother too.)

You seem to love sitting up, so you spend a lot of time on our laps like this.  I think it helps your tummy.  It also gives Daddy and I the chance to play with you.  (He gets annoyed at Mama for taking pictures, but I remind him that his time with you these days is limited and I want to capture as many of these moments while I can
before he has to leave us for awhile.

Another one of your favorite activities is the baby gym.  (Just like your brother!)  You're so smart and strong that you've already figured out the kick mat and how to make the music play all by yourself!!

Your Daddy is so silly!  The other day he had you while I was making myself lunch.  When I came back into the living room I expected to find you in his arms but instead found that he'd propped you up for a moment on the couch to surprise me!  (He claims you wanted to watch TV.) 

You also love to make silly faces at everybody!

Here's one of you I took today...  2 months old!! 

Sweet little girl, I love you so much.  And while I'm still trying to find my balance walking the tightrope that is parenting to multiple children, I hope that if nothing else, you feel my love for you.

You're so much like your brother was, and yet so completely different.  He literally rocked my world and redefined me as a person.  But you... you are just a gift that I still can't believe I was fortunate enough to receive!  I worry so so much about you and your health and whether I'm going to do right by you.  You just cry so much and I want so badly to make you feel better.  I pray that God will lead me to figure it out for you soon.  Hopefully, the answer really is that you're just a "high maintenance" lady... because actually, some of the best ones are.  ;)

Happy 2 month birthday!  I love you Baby Girl,
Mama

Not It

Years ago, back when I used to work at Sea World, I would occasionally take shifts as a counselor for "Group Camps."  These were 3 day, 2 night shifts, working educational sleepover camps put on for school groups.  Basically, we lived, ate and slept at the camp facility behind the park and spent most of the day out exploring the park with the students, teaching them marine science and sometimes getting them (and ourselves) soaked on rides and in the splash zones.

Fun Times.

However, whenever you invite school children anywhere overnight inevitably some poor child will get sick or hurt and at least one lucky counselor will get pulled to take care of the situation.  The first Group Camp I ever staffed a camper cut herself on a locker bad enough to need several stitches approximately 45 seconds after walking in the door of the dorms.  So you know, that was fun.  Another time I remember a kid was just, um, very ill.  From.  Both.  Ends.  A LOT.   (Yuck!)

When those types of situations arose we counselors had to decide amongst ourselves who would take care of them. 

And our very fair way of deciding? 

We played the "not it" game.

In order to be "not it" you just had to put your pointer finger on the end of your nose.  So long as you were not the last person to get your finger onto your nose you were safe.  I have no idea why this was our signal.  Do other people do it that way?  Is this a camp thing?  I don't know because I never went to camp unless you count band camp, and I've been informed many times that that does not count. 

Anyway, the "not it" game always worked really well because inevitably in a group of twenty-something camp counselors working in an amusement park, everybody is always rather sun burned, sleep deprived and generally exhausted.  Some one would ALWAYS be zoning out at the wrong moment, lose the game and get screwed into having to take care of the latest disaster.

Oh, and for the record, it wasn't *always* a disaster.  Sometimes it was just an extra cleaning duty.  Or an errand that needed run... clear on the other side of the park.  Generally speaking though, you just didn't want to be "it" if you could help it. 

So this morning... (because I bet you wonder why I am bringing all this up now,) we're all eating a lovely breakfast of french toast.  Matt was finishing up his portion.  I was complaining about the coffee not being strong enough.  Peter was feeding most of his to the dog.  A.J. was sitting in one of the bouncy chairs, um, squirming.  Seriously... she hadn't stopped kicking her little legs and waving her arms around like crazy since I'd gotten out of bed to feed her earlier this morning. 

Then there was an explosion sound.

It came from the direction of the baby.

A.J. f-i-n-a-l-l-y seemed to relax. 

A little smile of relief appeared on her face.

"Uh Oooooh..."  said Peter.  (Although he says that about everything so it might not have been related.)

Quietly, I put my finger on my nose. 

Matt rolled his eyes at me.

I turned to Peter and told him to put his finger on his nose so he wouldn't be "it" either.  (Not that he really could change his sister's diaper, but I wouldn't put it past my husband to try to make him do it.)

"Hurry Dude, put your finger on your nose!!!"  I repeated.

Then Peter smiled and then proudly put his finger IN his nose.

Obviously.

Off to work with Daddy...

Having heard the story of Peter and his Bristle Blocks trying to go to work yesterday,
Matt's boss offered to bring his son into work today as well and made it Daddy-Son Day at the office. 

Daddy's Boy

It's pretty rare that Peter gets changed out of his pajamas until after lunch and his afternoon nap unless we actually have morning plans or are going somewhere .  Except this morning he smashed his breakfast banana all over himself, so right before Matt was going to leave for work he changed him into jeans and a tshirt.

Naturally to Peter this meant he was leaving the house and he was very excited!

Before Matt had even gathered up his things and made it to the back door Peter was there, waiting for his father, clutching his little bag of bristle blocks by the handle just as if it were his briefcase and he was going to go to work too. 

I swear I saw my husband's heart break a little bit.

I'm not sure if it's the upcoming deployment or the new baby, but lately Peter has had a difficult time saying goodbye to his Daddy each morning.  And as good as Matt might be at masking his emotions, I can tell it's no picnic for him either.

Eventually, Matt convinced Peter that he could go outside and play in the backyard with his tricycle (the weather here this week is AWESOME, SUNNY and in the 70s) so that he could make try to make his escape.

Peter made his way out back, and was happily running around chasing the dog and the dog's ball when Matt waved goodbye and left through the garage.  However, moments later our son was at the garage door banging on it and calling for his "DaDa."

I've long theorized that our child believes each day when Matt leaves... going out the back door, across our back yard and disappearing behind the door to the garage... that he is just on the other side of that door all day.  Many times I've seen Peter knock on it during the work day and call out for his father.  It seems he thinks Matt just goes to the garage for 8 hours each day and has not put it together that there is a car in there that takes hisDaddy some place else.. 

After a few moments the dog came along and distracted Peter from his Daddy pursuits and soon he was happily playing again for a good 45 minutes.  (There are muddy little boy and dog footprints all over my back porch to prove it.) Then A.J. (who'd been asleep in her swing in the dining room) woke up and started screaming to eat.  This meant Peter needed to come inside at least while I fed her. 

I gathered her up out of her swing and then carrying her in my arms went and retrieved Peter's tricycle from where he'd abandoned it on the patio and wheeled it to the garage to put away before bringing him in.  Naturally he followed me and when I opened the door he charged in after me all excited as if expecting to find his Daddy there.

And I kid you not...

He ran in then suddenly stopped dead, put his hands up by his shoulders as if asking "where is he?" and turned slowly in a full circle.

He looked up at me with big, questioning eyes and I struggled with how to answer him.

Thankfully,  then he spotted the air pump for the bicycle tires, forgot all about his Dad and became very interested in playing with that instead. 

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

Sleep

Last night Matt and I headed up to bed at about 9:30.  Since there is UNBELIEVABLY no one out there who sells dual-transmitting baby monitors (for children in separate rooms) A.J. is still sleeping in her pack and play in our room and she "goes to bed" when we do.  (Someday Peter is going to find out that A.J. didn't get a steady bedtime and moved into her own crib until much later than he did and he's probably going to be very mad at me.) 

She had already been asleep for quite sometime but awoke when we all went upstairs so I fed and changed her then (again, at about 9:30) and then swaddled her tightly and put her down for the night, fully expecting to hear from her again in a few hours.  I was then up myself way too late, until almost one, working on my computer and basically waiting for her to wak up hungry again.

But she never did.

At 7:30 this morning I woke up myself when Matt came upstairs to get Peter. 

He told me he'd gotten up around 4 and taken A.J. downstairs with him, like he usually does.  Except usually he takes her right AFTER I feed her.  Last night I never had.

:)

He gave her a bottle around 5, mind you, but still, she slept from about 10 pm until 5 am.  That's SEVEN hours!!

Way to go girlie!!!

Peter mind you would go 6-8 hour stretches at this age too.  But things with him sleeping through the night got WAY worse before they finally got better and he started sleeping through consistantly at around 10 months. 

And since for the several weeks A.J. has just been DONE sleeping and wide awake starting at 3 am, after having already woken up to eat a few times earlier in the night, her sleeping seven hours, and lasting until 5 am, is like, literally, an answered prayer. 

Now if we can just work on the screaming fits during the day....

Perspective

The other day while we were driving somewhere Matt noticed me flinching as we passed a car driven by an older lady.  She certainly wasn't geriatric yet, but she was much older than me for sure and she seemed petrified to be driving on the freeways of California, even in the slow lane  This was despite the fact that her mid-sized SUV had California plates.  As we passed her, she was hugging the lane divider closely and weaving just enough to make me nervous for our two precious young passengers in the back of the van.

"Is it wrong," I asked my husband, "if I don't trust old lady drivers?  I mean, someday I'm going to be an old lady driver myself!"

Matt thought about this for a moment.

Then he pointed to another car who had just passed us in the fast lane, driven by (what appeared to be) a teenager or young college aged boy.

"No, because if you think about it, according to that kid, we're old already.  We've probably been driving longer that that dude's even been alive."

Oh.  Right.



Well...



Crap.

A Big Brother Gift

Recently one of Matt's far away cousins, Katy, sent a little outfit as a gift for our sweet A.J.  Smartly, there was also a little something included for the big brother!  Peter has never seen Thomas the Tank Engine (I don't think it's on here) but that made no matter, his new Engine "James" was smiling and zooming his was all over the tracks in no time flat! A.J. hasn't worn the outfit yet, but when she does, I'll be sure to post a picture of that too.  Thank you Katy!

Roaring Camp Railroad

This weekend we took a little drive up into the Santa Cruz mountains for a little train riding adventure and to see the Redwoods.

(Trains, of course, are a very big deal around here these days.)



A quick family photo before catching our train.

Peter meeting the Engineer

The train took us up the side of the mountain and into the beautiful Redwood forest.  The trees are very straight and they go so high your eyes are fooled into thinking they are also very skinny. 

But they're not... this one makes the Engine seem tiny!

Peter, stuck sitting on his Daddy's lap, took awhile to figure out what was going on and get into it, but eventually he found the whole thing very exciting.

A.J. slept away the afternoon happily in the Baby Bjorn, snuggled warmly under a blanket. 

Another family photo, this time during our ride. 

As the mountain was quite steep, we had to stop and do several switch back to zig-zag our way up the mountain. 
At the first stop the conductor came along to collect our tickets.

Here's Peter waiting to give him ours.

The rail line was originally built for Timbering.  Most of this old bridge burned down years ago.

The higher we climbed towards the summit, the more thrilled Peter became.

Once at the top, everybody got out for awhile to stretch our legs and see some of the gorgeous Redwoods up close.


Peter found a pile of stumps to sit on from a tree that had fallen and been cut up.



He even investigated the gnarly bottom part up close.



Here's Mommy and A.J. at the base of one of the ginormous trees.




They really are SO, SO tall.  Pictures can't really even do them justice. 



Several trees had hollowed out areas at their bases... perfect for a little boy to explore.

Here I am (with A.J.) next to another fallen tree.  It's diameter was almost as big as I am tall!

Oh, and as I told Matt, I found our Christmas tree for next year. 
No idea how we're going to get it it home though....

There was a beautiful view out across the valley as our train headed back down.

Just before we returned to the station, the Engine vented it's excess steam.

Peter and Daddy explored the little 1800s style town they have set up. 

And of course he got his very own Engineer's hat to wear!

Before we left, I stopped on a bench to feed A.J. while Peter ran around and burned off the last of his excess energy before getting strapped into his carseat.

I took Peter with me to the restrooms, leaving Matt with A.J.  When we came back, I found him giving her a very careful first ride in the umbrella stroller. 

Just moments ago...

So, no kidding, you're never going to believe what just happened!


There I was, in full blown Mommy multi-tasking mode: 


-Peter was in his high chair not eating his lunch.


-Brutus was laying at his feet hoping that his share would fall to him soon.


-A.J., having just been changed out of a massively nasty diaper, was on a blanket on the floor having some tummy time.  She seemed, for once, to be momentarily happy.


And I really had to pee.


Meanwhile, I was uploading some pictures to blogger.  As I headed for a quick trip to the bathroom, I turned my back on my children for a moment to check on my computer.  Then A.J. suddenly started to cry... again.


I'll be honest, I didn't react right away.  (If you've ever had a baby who cries a lot, I'm sure you understand.)


Then Peter said "Uh oh!" which was not surprising because he says that about everything...


But I turn around anyway, expecting Peter's lunch to be on the floor and instead find that my little girl has suddenly rolled herself over!  She was now on her back!


I missed it!


Oh, and she was really, really not happy about it.


Naturally, I picked her up, calmed her down somehow, grabbed the camera and then put her back on her tummy to do see if she could do it again. 


She didn't.


As a matter of fact, she seemed to be angry at the blanket she'd been laying on, perhaps blaming it for her whole rolling experience, accidental or otherwise and being back on that blanket was the last possible thing on Earth she seemed to want to do.  OH. MY. GOODNESS.  The lungs on that girl!


So anyway, Peter rolled himself over for the first time the day before he was 2 month.  A.J. has now just done it a full week earlier than her big brother.  Lots of people promised me that my second baby would be less motivated and as much as I am proud of her, I really wish she would just be content to be my baby and let me just cuddle her for a bit longer before she really starts with the milestones and the growing up stuff.


Then again, others said she would be more driven because she'd want to be like her brother and that she'd learn from him.  (I know that's how I was.)  But I'm sure it's too early for that sort of thing, isn't it? 


ISN'T IT ?!?!


Anyway.  A.J. has finally calmed down again, thanks to the soothing vibrations of her bouncy chair that is gentle being bounced with my foot as I type.  Meanwhile, Peter really is now trying to feed his lunch to the dog and it's time for his nap...


(and I still need to pee)


...so let me get back to it.

This and That

My goodness I'm just the busy little blogger these days!

That probably has to do with the fact that Matt is home a lot right now since he's graduated and is currently just assigned as Staff until we move.

Also, blogging gives me something to do when I'm laying in bed at night trying to relax enough to fall asleep instead of worrying about that upcoming move.  The one that is happening in about 6 weeks.  Then one for which NOTHING is set up yet.  Matt's working on it, of course, but apparently because he isn't so much PCSing (PCS= Permanent Change [of duty] Station) as deploying, the military didn't arrange funding for our move.  They assumed we (his family) would be staying right here, while he goes off to do his thing.

Well, wouldn't that be nice?  Except, well, who on Earth can afford to live here much longer?  And, even though we are all nice and established here, without him, why exactly would I want to live here?  Most of my friends have moved or are getting ready to move already!

So anyway, Matt is playing email and phone tag about it, and not knowing the details has me stressed.

I LIKE knowing details.  I LOVE TO PLAN!!

Anyhow, blogging in the evenings gives me something to do besides worry about that.

In other news, I went to the gym today.

Well, first I thought about it and procrastinated about it for, like, a really, really, really long time.  (Yes, I know my baby is only 7 weeks old, but my doc said it was okay for me to work out everything but my abdominals over a month ago.) 

So after I got tired of procrastinating I went and looked at some workout clothes the other day.  The old ones I had definitely were no longer going to work.  (YIKES!)

Then I asked Matt if he'd mind terribly if I got some.

Then I went to see my Doc again, for my 6 week post-partum checkup.  When I asked him if I could start working on my abdominals he seemed to think I was crazy.  Not that my working out would be crazy, but that my thinking I needed to.  He went on and one about my excellent weight over the past 2 pregnancies and how it is FINE now and something about how he doesn't know where on Earth I could even stand to loose any weight.  I told him I need to loose at least 10 pounds to be where I was between pregnancies and then I pointed to my wobbly midsection and indicated that as an area which could definitely stand to be 10 pounds lighter. 

He rolled his eyes and told me to ease back into it.

That afternoon, with Matt's blessing, I went back to the store and purchased some of those gym clothes. 

I figure there isn't much in this life that's really worth doing if you can't look at least moderately cute doing it.

This morning I actually went.

But see, I've never been much of a gym rat.  I LOVE to work out, but I lack the motivation most of the time.  When I lived in Japan there was about 6 months in there where I ran or did a yoga or step class practically 4 or 5 days a week.  (That ended abruptly when I got a full time job.)  Then in San Diego I spent nearly the entire deployment thinking about how I ought to join a gym but never found the motivation until about one month before Matt came home.  If you remember, Matt came home tand about 5 minutes later I got pregnant the first time, and therefore promptly quit any rigorous fitness regime.

(Not because my doctor told me too, I just became lazy.)

After Peter was born I wanted to get back into it.  I even went and ran 2 or 3 times.  But without available childcare, I failed, horribly, and never got commited to it again.

This time, I really, really hope to do better.

I really really will NEED to do better because I can promise you I'm going to need something to do with myself to help get me through a 13 month deployment.  Besides raise my kids of course.

There had better be a good gym available with childcare!!

For my sake, and my kids'. 

So anyways... this morning.  I got off to a slow start getting up this morning.  And before I knew it, 9:30 am had arrived and I needed to get a move on because Matt had some place to be at 11:00 am.

First, I ended up cycling for 20 minutes.  I wanted to loosen my legs up.  I only really wanted to do 15, but the bike's computer was already set to 20 and I couldn't figure out how to change it.  Not that it really mattered... I set it to light intervals but had to turn it off because that stupid thing kept giving me Level 7s after like no warning and, even in my hay day, I'm not sure I couldn't cut it at a level 7 for very long.  After the second or third level 7 in less than 10 minutes I just switched it to manual, and set it to a level 4 for the duration.  When my time was up the computer said I travelled something like 2 or 3 miles and burned 75 calories.

So then I got on the treadmill.  Thankfully, aside from an incredibly well hidden START button (you'd really think that one would be obvious wouldn't you?) I knew how to program that machine.  I set the thing for 15 minutes at a whopping 3.0 to start and went for it.  Soon I was happily trucking along at a 5.0 and I didn't even really feel like dying.  Trouble was, my gym time was limited by Matt's appointment.  In the end, I managed to run a whole 1.03 mile(s) and burn like 100 calories.

I went home, really wishing I could have run longer.

Of course, it's easy to feel that way when you know you absolutely won't have to.

It wasn't an impressive first showing, but I felt proud of myself none the less for my effort.  It certainly was more than I did yesterday.

And I even smelled bad to prove it.

This evening, however, my QUADS are really unhappy with me.  I blame the bike and those stupid Level 7s.  The muscle soreness isn't torture by any means, and I've certainly felt a lot worse after a workout.  But still.... *ouch*

Guess it was a blessing that my time was limited or else I might have really hurt myself.

Drip... Drip.... Drip.....

PART 1
So, you know, its about 8:45 on an exciting Friday evening here in my little world.  Peter is in bed.  Matt is rocking A.J. and watching TV.  I just came downstairs after taking a shower to sit down at my computer and found that there was a small puddle of water soaking its way into the pile of papers on top of my scanner.

Looking up, I found that there is now a small hole in the ceiling directly above me and from it a drop of water is now dripping approximately every 11 seconds. 

Yes, I timed it.

Awesome!

I have since mopped up the mess, threw away the soggy (and thankfully unimportant) papers, placed a bucket under the leak and turned the water off to the bathroom located upstairs immediately above my head.

Matt has called the emergency maintenance number, tried to explain the situation and we are now waiting for somebody to call us, supposedly to come out here tonight and take a look at it.

Totally.  Freaking.  Awesome.

Stupid base housing.

Although, at least since this is base housing we won't have to pay for this.

Part 2 (Added at 11:30 pm)
So, the maintenance man has come and gone, twice actually.  I must say I'm honestly just surprised he came so quickly as we've had ignored calls in the past.  I guess water coming from the ceiling could be more alarming than some of the other issues we've had.

Basically, he had us run the water a bit to see if the drip increased.  It did not.  In fact we all noticed it seemed to be slowing down as drops were now coming about only 25 seconds.  Then he went up stairs to check the pipes.  Except before he checked the pipes he noticed our spout cover.  You know, the rubber animals or whatever that parent's can put over the faucet's spout so kids don't hurt themselves by bonking their heads into the thing.  Ours is a fish.

He said that in the past there was an issue with one of those spout covers not sitting on properly and the water backed up into the wall.  I sort of thought the guy was crazy, but Matt later confessed to me that during this evening's bath Peter kept playing with turning the water on so he'd rotated the fish upside down on the faucet.  That way when Peter turned the water on nothing came out, he got bored and finally left the faucet alone.

Apparently though, the water pooled inside the upside down fish and back up just as the man theorized. 

He took the thing a part a bit to check and the wet marks he saw seemed to support his theory.

And by the time he'd put that back together (and nicely cleaned our perpetually clogging tub drains for us) the dripping downstairs was practically over. 

He left us with a dehumidifier to absorb the water from the area for the rest of the weekend and said somebody would be in touch about repairing the small hole in the ceiling.

Sweet.

Thank goodness it was such a minor thing.

(Can you imagine how annoying this could have been?  I don't even want to know what a plumber would have charged me for this.)

Thrill Seeker

This really ought to end well...

And if your wondering YES he got in there himself.

Making Friends

The other day when we were at the mall killing some time before my eye appointment Peter was playing by the large circular fountain.  This particular mall is all outdoors and does not feature a children's play area so all the kids there tend to gravitate toward that fountain.  Just as soon as he sees it, Peter will take off running towards it, and then scamper up onto the foot and a half high ledge that encircles the water and then run around and around and around. 

THANK HEAVENS they put a double safety rail around it. 

(Not that I don't know of at least one chlild who still managed to get over the rail fall into the water.)

So this particular evening Peter was doing his laps and then periodically getting down and then running around elsewhere some and then going back to the fountain and climbing up again.  There was another little boy there too, although he was much older, probably at least 3 or 4 by the way he talked.  Before long, he came over to Peter and said "Hi."

(Seeing as Peter is so tall, I don't think it occured to him that my son wasn't really of a talking age yet.)

Not to worry, because Peter stopped midclimb, stuck his chubby little hand in the air and waved his hello-greeting to the little boy.

(My heart melted.)

Before long, Peter and the other little boy were chasing each other around and around the fountain.  I was shadowing Peter very closely, since at least once he got too close to the edge, his foot slipped and he would have tumbled off if I hadn't saved him. 

The little boy "Roared" at Peter whenever he got close enough to catch him.  Then they'd switch directions and Peter would chase him the other way "Roaring" back.

I was interested to see Peter interact with him and imitate him despite their age difference.

Eventually the little boy's Mom came out of the store she was in and his Dad came over from the bench where he was waiting and supervising from and the little boy had to go.

By that point Matt had taken over chasing Peter because A.J. needed me.  When the boy left, Peter looked at Matt and pointed after the boy and seemed to ask why his new friend was leaving. 

So sweet.

Argh!

As I begin typing this post it's 11:45 pm.  I've been in my bed since right around 9:30, which is of course, sort of a bit too early for me (a natural night owl) to go to sleep.  Even if I was pretty much up for the day at 3 am this morning.

When we decided to turn in for the night (because matt was falling asleep on the couch watching The Biggest Loser) A.J. was soundly asleep in her bouncy chair, where she had been for about an hour.  I really didn't want to move her and actually considered just leaving her there and staying on the couch myself.  Except I was pretty sure that in the end she wouldn't have stayed asleep there for very much longer anyway.

Surprisingly she did stay asleep as Matt gently lifted her and carried her upstairs and laid her down in her pack and play.  Then she slept for about another hour and a half soundly while I messed around online looking at Facebook and checking my favorite blogs for new postings.  I was feeling tired enough to go to sleep actually, but just couldn't bring myself to close my laptop and try to sleep when I knew a certain little lady was very likely to wake up again at any moment.

Just before 11 pm she did.  And she nursed very well for a long time... more than her normal few minutes at least.  She succeeded in filling a diaper and burping and then I nursed her again until she seemed to be falling asleep.

Of course the moment I laid her in her pack and play she was awake again. 

10 minutes later it had become obvious that she wasn't going to fall back asleep on her own.  She'd lost her pacifier at least 47 times already and with a great deal of grunting and squirming had succeeded only in chasing it halfway across her bed.  As a reult she was now laying perpendicular to the way she'd started out and she was rapidly becoming very, very annoyed by this fact.

I picked her up and let her nurse some more until she fell asleep.

When she fell away from me I held onto her for several minutes more trying to assure she was down soundly.

But of course she woke up the instant I started to move her toward her bed.

It went like that two more times. 

I've switched her blankets.  I've swaddled and unswaddled her.  I've given her a pacifier and I've let her try to sleep without it.

Still she wakes up.

Surprisingly, she's not screaming.  Then again I'm jumping to get her each time she starts to fuss so that she never really has the chance so that she doesn't wake Matt. 

Yes you read that right, she screams so loud sometimes it ACTUALLY can wake my husband-- a feat I assure you was believed to be impossible.

So after 45 minutes of trying to get her to sleep OUT of my arms when I laid her down I finally just gave up and put her in the swing.  That was when I started typing this. 

15 minutes have passed.

Her eyes are shut.  She seems to be good and asleep at last.

But do I even dare trying to sleep myself?

Is it okay for her to swing all night?

How long can those batteries last anyway?

Screaming

Let me make just one thing clear...

You know all the times I've mentioned how Peter was, like, such a good baby (most of the time) and how even when he was really screaming and carrying on at me it would have only measured about a 7 or an 8 on a scale from 1 to 10?

Yeah.  Well,  A.J. is not like her brother.

She came out screaming.

From what I hear, she spent the entire first hour of her life screaming. 

It must be a hard habit to break.

Because for "fun," these days, it seems like all she does is scream.

And when she screams, she registers at least a 10 out of 10 most of the time.

If it wasn't so ear splitting I might take some video of it just to show you all how truly awesome it is.

Except that would be cruel.  (To my readers.)  Letting her continue to carry on while I took video wouldn't really be mean since most of the time NOTHING I do calms her down anyway.

Seriously. 

She will yell and yell and yell and all the while turn herself ever increasingly darker shades of purple.  She'll scream until her lungs are empty of air and then keep right on screaming for a few seconds more, making this awful wheezing sound each time before she stops and gets herself another gulp of air and then continues to carry on. 

Honestly, if it didn't sound like she was dying it might be a bit hysterical.

Sometimes, if she goes on long enough she will pause for a moment, really fill those little lungs of hers and then REALLY let one out.  And the result is absolutely mind numbing.

I think the problem is with my milk.  Sometimes there's too much of it, and sometimes there isn't enough but always it comes out way to fast for her initially and she ends up swallowing a lot of air.  I'm also concerned that something in my diet is upsetting her tummy as she seems to spit up often.  It doesn't seem entirely outside the realm of possibility either that she might be suffering from some reflux  And, it seems like maybe she's perpetually a bit constipated. 

I guess only time will tell what's going on with her.

All I do know is that a lot of the time she is very, very unhappy.

I think the only reason she ever really sleeps is because she's exhausted herself by yelling at me.

My poor baby.

I just wish I knew how to make it better for her. 

Thankfully, our wonderful neighbors lent us their awesome baby swing.  (She seems to hate ours.)

*Sometimes* it even seems to make her happy... for awhile.

Ranch Dressing

My son has developed an odd little obsession with condiments.  It started with Bar-B-Que Sauce.

(Is that actually how that is supposed to be spelled, because really, how ridiculous is that word?!?)

One night at dinner we were having a roast or something and Matt had added a bit of BBQ Sauce on his plate to dip his meat in and before long Peter started pointing and grunting and whining and carrying on a great deal.  Eventually, after having tried everything else, we offered him the sauce and for whatever reason that was exactly what he wanted. 

I have no idea why, he almost NEVER eats his meat, except maybe if it's hot dogs, and I'm pretty sure that night the only thing he dipped into the sauce were his fingers... which he then licked clean happily for a good long while.

Then there was the night before A.J. was born and we were at Islands getting burgers.  Matt and I were chowing down on our burgers and fries with a side of ranch dressing (to dip them in) and Peter was working his way through a kid's cheese quesadilla and some applesauce when suddenly he started up with the whole pointing and grunting and whining thing again only this time it was directed at one of the little condiment cups of ranch dressing.

We gave it to him, of course, since we were in public and the poor unsuspecting and innocent other diners in the restaurant just really didn't deserve to witness the full force of the temper tantrum that might very well have erupted had we denied the boy the dressing.  He dipped his finger in, licked them clean and seemed pleased with the flavor.  He then proceeded to dip his quesadilla and his fries and and his carrot sticks and his applesauce and anything else he could find into that little cup before he devoured them.

And WHOA for the mess he made of himself in the process.

But he was eating and he was happy and who on Earth was I to argue with that?

Except well, I had to try really hard not to think about the fat and the cholesterol and the generally unhealthy calories he was consuming with each taste of the dressing but that was pretty much beside the point.

Because if a little sauce or dressing would persuade him to eat something he otherwise wouldn't touch, well, that was good enough for me.

So then tonight:

I mentioned to Matt this afternoon that I needed to go to the mall to stop by Lens Crafters and make an eye appointment because I neeeeeeeeeeeded to get a new contact lens prescription or else Peter, who has taken to tearing the glasses off my face practically every chance he gets, was going to break my glasses sooner rather than later.  I guess expected that I'd just run over there quickly to make an appointment for another time while he took care of the kids for a bit.  Instead he suggested we all go and then we could go get dinner at, you guessed it, Islands.

I didn't argue with his plan.  Except that unexpectedly they had an appointment this very evening at 6 pm so we ended up sticking around and waiting for that and then Matt chased Peter around the mall while A.J. sat in her car seat with me and I had my eyes checked. 

It took forever. 

That might have actually had something to do with this little girl I know FREAKING out half way through and needing to nurse.  (Thankfully the eye doctor had a kid of his own and was very understanding.)

Matt, wisely decided to order our burgers to go while I was in there so that we wouldn't be attempting a dinner out with Peter after his bedtime.

So eventually, we all get home and we're eating.  Of course, before long, Peter starts insisting that he get a cup of Ranch himself to dip his quesadilla and carrot sticks in.  I went ahead and gave him mine, since I was mostly done anyway.

He dove in.  Literally. 

It was charming and amusing, actually, how he managed to, like, splatter the stuff all over himself as he ate.

But then I noticed his face seemed to be getting all red so I washed it off.

Once the ranch was gone his skin was really red and irritated where the dressing had been moments before.

It looked awful.  Where each splatter had been there was now a red irritated blob in exactly the same place and shape.

(Although Peter certainly couldn't have cared less.)

But what I want to know is WHAT ON EARTH is in Ranch dressing that can irritate his poor skin like that?

also

If it irritates him that much on the outside, what is it doing to his insides? 

and finally

My obvious first thought is to just not let him have it anymore but Matt reminds me that this probably won't go over very well...

My Babies stole my Booty

I remember a long time ago, when I was only 22 or 23 and unmarried and I lived in Texas I had this one good friend who was just about my age, but she already had two children.  There are a lot of things I could say about this friend.  About how I was so jealous of her children at the time, and how she was so important to me and how she taught me a lot about the world just by the way she lived in it.  I could also write a lot about the funny things her kids did, and how I still remember so many of them to this very day.  Except, that isn't what I'm thinking about right now as I begin to type this post. 

No, nothing profound like that.

Instead I'm thinking about this cute pink tshirt she wore this one time and how I was shocked when I found out it was a size large.  This particular friend of mine was (and I'm assuming probably still is) several inches shorter than me and was quite tiny (although I'm sure at the time she probably would have argued that fact) despite the fact that she'd already had two children.  I have no idea, exactly, how I came to find out that she was wearing a size large tshirt, but I remember being quite surprised that something so big seemed to fit on her tiny little frame.  Surely she didn't need such a big size?!

She swore to me it was because she'd had kids.

And, back then, I had no idea what she was talking about.  It would, in fact, take me nearly 10 years and 2 babies of my own to know EXACTLY what she meant by that. 

Because pregnancy, and growing babies, does some weird things to a woman's body.  Forget stretch marks, and weight gain, and bra cup sizes.  I'm talking about how everything seems to end up some place different than it started, regardless of whether or not you get back to your pre-baby weight.

I definitely began noticing this phenomenon after Peter was born.  Normal, every day size medium tshirts that fit FINE before Peter were strangely no longer covering my mid-drift after he was born.

Despite that extra ten pounds I lost post-partum....

Weird.

It's like sometime during the pregnancy my midsection got about 2 inches longer.

And my butt shrunk to half its size.

I used to be a bit booty-licious you see.

Not so much any more.

My jeans look awful.

So anyway, these days I finally understand how that size Large tshirt could have fit my friend.  Her babies must have moved stuff around on her too.

Today this post-baby shift really hit home for me.  Desperate to find something to wear to church that wouldn't require me to shave my legs or bust out the ironing board, I decided, bravely, to attempt to shove myself into this pair of brown plaid-ish dress pants I own but never ever wear.

These particular pants have never fit well.  I purchased them in Japan, at the Gap, where the largest size they normally carry is an 8. This fact is important bcause in America, I normally wear a size 10.  And  their Japanese 8 is cut a lot more like an American size 6.  I must have bought those pants on a rare and extraordinary skinny day.  The few times I ever did wear them they were, well, tight.  Especially across my booty.  And around my waist.  Thank goodness for a double button closure is all I'm saying... you hear me girls?

I can't honestly remember the last time I wore them.

And I have no idea really how they made it through my closet-purging last year (post pregnancy number 1) except that maybe they are cute and they've barely ever been worn...

So somehow I crammed myself into them today.  And then I nearly fainted when the buttons, um, buttoned.  It was still a very good thing that there were two of them to support each other in their whole, keeping my pants closed endeavor because let's just say they had their work cut out for them.  They're cut to a fairly low rise, so there was definitely some unfortunate blobby muffin top action happening up top, but I think the sweater I paired them with covered that well enough.  The odd part though, was how they were all kinds of loose in the butt and yet still tugging tightly across my thighs. 

Almost exactly the opposite of how they'd fit before.

(You know, the last time I wore those stupid pants, before I ever grew babies in my uterus, and when I weighed exactly the same as I do today.)

The mere fact that there is now room in the seat of those formally painted-on pants of mine, is well, mind boggling to me. 

Having babies somehow shrunk my butt even though I weigh today at least what I weighed before I ever conceived.  (and that "extra" 10 pounds is definitely still with me today...)

And the sweater I wore with them today?  Absolutely a size Large... purchased to replace an earlier version of the EXACT same sweater I used to own, which, unfortunately, was a size Medium and was given away last year as it no longer fit right.

Peter coloring and A.J.'s six week checkup

Yesterday right before lunch Peter and I shared some coloring time.  I thought the one on one attention might be nice for him since he's still getting jealous of his sister sometimes.    Out came the crayons and his giant coloring book.  I find it fascinating watching him try to figure out which hand to use. 

He started out with his right:

Then he tried both:

Then he switched to his left:

And then his right (bonus points for holding the crayon correctly:)

And then his left again:

It would be just like Peter to be left handed. 

His Gramma tells me his Great-Grandpa was left handed, and also maybe one or two of her brothers.  I don't think we have any lefties in my family, but then again my brother used to switch hit when we played backyard baseball.  As if that wasn't annoying!  You know, there you are, winding up to pitch to him on the right side and he'd be all "Wait a minute!" and then he'd cross the plate and go to his left completely resetting my strike zone.  Not that it mattered since we didn't have umpires, but you know, still...

So like I said, Peter tends to opt for his left hand more often at this point, especially when eating or throwing, but of course it is way to early to tell for sure. 

ANYWAY.

After a short time, Peter became disinterested in coloring and only wanted to practice putting the crayons in the box. 

LOVE that look of concentration.

I have no idea what his fascination was, but he kept at it for a long time... here's a short video:

What's that?  Just noticed that somewhere in there we switched from the Toddler "Easy to grab" crayons to the real deal?  Wondering why? 

Well, obviously, A.J. got to fussing a bit and I went to tend to her and while I was doing that my son ate the tips off of his Toddler crayons. 

Yummy!

And, not to be gross, but I just changed that very thrilling multi-colored and strangely waxy diaper.  (What do you know, it does take almost exactly 24 hours for the digestive process to go full cycle!) Let me just tell you that I stopped and stared at the thing for a good long minute before I realized the cause of the very unnatural looking turd my child had just laid.  Also, I'm just guessing here, but green must of been his preferred flavor.  Well, that and we had broccoli with dinner last night.

Ew.

Moving on...

Later on, a box arrived from a college friend who'd sent some Ohio State stuff for A.J.  Inside, there was also a new hat for Peter.  Naturally it had to go on backwards for the frat boy look.

I LOVE the look on his face here too.

Not to be left out, here's one of A.J. fresh from her afternoon nap.

Happily, the front part of hair has already started to slowly grow back.  :)

She had her 6 week check up.  She weighed in at 11 pounds 4 ounces.  She was 23 inches long and her head measured 39 1/2 cm.  She's 65th percentile for weight, 75th for height and 90th for head.  (I told you her head is huge!)  I'm glad to see that she is growing nicely, but not as fast as Peter did.  (I'm not sure I can handle another giant baby!!)

Peter was 12 pounds even at 6 weeks, having gained almost exactly 4 pounds from his birth weight of 8 lbs 1 oz. ...  IN JUST 6 WEEKS!  A.J. on the other had started out bigger at 8 lbs 7 oz and therefore has only gained a little less than 3 lbs in the same amount of time. 

I know, I know, big, chubby babies are a good thing... but Peter was a humongous 19 pounds at 6 months which was when I weened him and he all but stopped growing for several more months.  (Just try and tell me that wasn't because I could control his feeds better with bottles.)  This time around, I'm really hoping to have a bit more of a handle on those first 6 months.

The Train Table

For Christmas, Peter's big gift was a train table.  He received the set of extra peices on Christmas day in Ohio, but for the table, he had to wait until we got home.  Then he also had to wait for the tremendous pile of luggage and laundry and junk to be cleared out of our house.  Matt could barely handle this and no sooner did I get the last suitcase unpacked and the laundry into baskets in the kitchen than he had dragged the box in from the garage and started pulling out the peices for assembly.

I took a lot of pictures, because Peter insisted on helping and it was very cute.  Especially since Peter was wearing his Shamu jammies and also because he kept grabbing the tools.  Matt,, with seemingly endless patiencegave him instructions on which screws to grab and where to put them and let him "help" hold the screwdriver and drills.  Honestly, I think they had almost as much fun putting the thing together as they will playing with it.

The completed project

Also, after they finished with the table part and Matt started pulling the cars and tracks and final things out of the box, I caught this video of Peter excitedly driving the cars around.  Turn your volume up to hear his little "vroom" noises.  :)