There should be a class for this

All new mothers should be required to take a class called "How to overcome the minded-numbing crushing guilt you feel every day for the rest of your life."

It could cover (but not be limited to) the following topics:

• How to go back to work full time and not feel like an awful mother
  
• How to decide to stay home and not feel like you are missing your career
  
• How to not feel bad about wanting your screaming child to just shut up and go to sleep
  
• How to resist the urge to wake your peacefully sleeping baby because you miss her
• How to balance your time between filling bottles, repacking the diaper bag, making lunches for the next day, making dinner for tonight, doing the laundry that you didn't get to over the weekend, spending time with your child since you were at work all day, spending time with your husband, spending time with yourself and still getting to bed at a reasonable hour
• How to talk about all the guilt with other mothers so no one feels alone

I thought I moved past the guilt phase since I stopped crying all the way to work or crying at work when someone asked me about Peanut. But I'm finding it never goes away - it just gets worse. I'm realizing how fast everything goes and feel like I'm unable to take it all in.

On Monday, everyone asked me how Peanut's first Christmas was. We had a lovely time with family but I think I expected to feel something different. I don't know if I was expected elves and fairies to dance around us or what.

I realized at the Christmas Eve church services that I hadn't really taken the time to wish anyone Merry Christmas because I was too busy preparing for Christmas (and being sick). I never really let myself get into the spirit and truly enjoy her first Christmas because I was too worried about getting everything done.

And then I started getting teary because there were three little girls singing and I kept thinking that Peanut wasn't going to be my little Peanut forever. And then I started to worry that I would miss all of the major events in her life because I was too worried about everything.

It is an ugly, vicious cycle that for which I was not prepared.

When I talked to Hillary about it, she said she spends every day of her life feeling the same way. It took the edge off slightly to know that I'm not the only one.

If there is anything good to come out of the guilt it is this: It makes me appreciate everything more. I appreciate Peanut's smiles and her inquisitive looks more. I appreciate my husband who has no problem unloading the dishwasher, cooking dinner and folding clothes without complaint and wants to spend time with me and our daughter.

While none of that makes me feel less guilty, it does balance it out and makes it all worth it.

I'm sure this will not be the last time we talk about this. Sigh ...

Year in review

This year-end questionnaire came from Linda at All & Sundry, one of my favorite reads. In filling it out, I realized 2008 truly was the Year of the Baby for me. Three years ago, I had the Year of the Wedding, when I was a bridesmaid three times and planning my own wedding, which was in 2006. This year, babies were everywhere for me and, while it was a happy year, adjusting to motherhood was sometimes rough. I found Linda through Swistle, whom I found looking up homemade babyfood recipes, and reading them and many other wonderful women (see blogroll, please) really helped me feel not-so-crazy. They also inspired Michelle and I to start this little venture.

Here's to a productive and happy 2009.

1. What did you do in 2008 that you’d never done before?

I gave birth. The Boy arrived Jan. 11, and after that my year was filled with firsts -- the first time I was pooped on, the first time I was thrown up on, the first time I was smiled at, the first time I was hugged, the first time I was called Momma, etc

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I never really make resolutions.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

I am in the middle of a baby boom. Michelle gave birth to Peanut, and two very good friends here had their first children -- one couple in October and the other in December. Another couple is expecting baby No. 2 in April.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

No, thank goodness.

5. What countries did you visit?

My husband and I took our last international vacation for awhile in March to Barcelona, Spain. It was lovely, nothing but eating and sleeping and looking at pretty things.

Edit: The Spain trip was in 2007. Sigh. Damn kid. Not only did I not visit any foreign countries in 2008, I was too sleep-deprived to remember anything clearly.

6. What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?

A definite goal at work. I struggled this year to find a happy balance between being a mother and being good at my profession. I wasn't bad at work, but I wasn't as focused as I have been in the past.

7. What dates from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

Jan. 11. Welcome to the world Boy!

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Giving birth. I loved being pregnant and can say honestly I also loved giving birth. I didn't have drugs, and I was lucky to have a fast, simple and easy labor. It still hurt like hell, but I felt so good after The Boy's arrival. I have never been more proud of myself and in awe of my body.

9. What was your biggest failure?

Breastfeeding. Huge fail. I lasted not quite a week before The Boy was on formula. My excuses: He wasn't gaining enough weight and the worry was making me crazy.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

No.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

The MacBook the husband and I got ourselves for Christmas.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

Barack Obama. His campaign was inspiring. My husband, who is an amazing father and who inspires me at work.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

Sarah Palin. She makes my feminist heart hurt.

14. Where did most of your money go?

House payments, childcare, medical bills -- isn't that where everyone's goes?

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Obviously, The Boy. But also going back to work because I'm really not meant to be a stay-at-home mother.

And I was so pleased that Obama was elected. The fact that he is going to be the first president my son and so many other children remember could change a whole generation's attitudes about race and prejudice.

16. What song will always remind you of 2008?

Old 97s, Here's to the Halcyon.

Also, Bernard Fanning's album, Tea & Sympathy, will always remind me of the last weeks of my pregnancy. Oh, and singing our version of "You Are My Sunshine" to The Boy.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder?
b) thinner or fatter?
c) richer or poorer?

I am happier, thinner and richer. Yay!

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?

I wish I'd done more cooking, more gardening and more writing, not necessarily in that order.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?

Worrying. I am a champion worrier and I spent a lot of this year fretting over, well, over a lot of things, but I wasted a ridiculous amount of time worrying over my shortcomings as a mother.

20. How did you spend Christmas?

We went early in December, over my birthday, to Ohio to have holidays with my family, then celebrated Christmas at home with the husband's family.

21. Did you fall in love in 2008?

Yes, with my son, but also in love again with my husband as we started our little family. Every time he let me sleep in or did the dishes, I loved him a little more.

22. What was your favorite TV program?

The Office. This is the only show on TV I get upset if I miss.

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

No. Not to be preachy, but I try not to hate anyone ... too much.

24. What was the best book you read?

Hmmm, this is difficult. I read a LOT. Away by Amy Bloom was excellent; Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle made a big impact on me.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?

I do not have high-falutin' musical tastes. I really enjoyed Rachael Yamagata's new album, though.

26. What did you want and get?

I wanted and got a new couch and a new computer.

27. What did you want and not get?

I wanted to get my favorite reading chair recovered, but it hasn't happened, partly because I'm not sure I could give it up long enough for someone to recover it.

28. What was your favorite film of this year?

Films? What are those? The only thing I saw in the theater this year, I think, was The Dark Knight with Christian Bale (swoon) and Heath Ledger.

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I was in Ohio at my parents' house, visiting with relatives and Michelle and meeting Peanut for the first time. My husband baked me a cake and then got annoyed when not everyone in the family came out to sing happy birthday to me. (ahh, differences in families -- birthdays just aren't a big deal for us) I was, am, 28.

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

A standing date every weekend to do something on my own with a friend. As it was, my husband would encourage me to take alone time on the weekends, but I wouldn't have an appointment, so there was no reason to go and deal with the guilt of leaving The Boy, but then I would get resentful that I'd had no alone time ... vicious circle.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008?

This was my checklist for leaving the house: I am clothed. I do not have (much) spit up on me. I do not look like (a) a hoochie, (b) white-trash or (c) a mom-jeans-wearing mother.

32. What kept you sane?

My husband, even when he was driving me crazy.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

Nicole Richie and I gave birth on the same day. I have a soft spot for her. I love Christina Aguilera. I appreciate that Angelina Jolie feeds her kids cheetos.

34. What political issue stirred you the most?

Giving birth made me rediscover the militant feminist in me. Women have made great strides in this world, but we still face daily choices between work and family that men simply do not have. We are judged in ways men are not for those choices. And politicians continue to play around with our reproductive freedom. The Bush administration pushed through some pretty nasty legislation at the end of 2008, and I hope Obama can reverse it.

35. Who did you miss?

I missed my mom a lot this year, more than usual. Sometimes The Boy would give me this look, this don't-screw-with-me look, and it was so much like Mom I would feel like I was holding her, not him. I am sad she's not here close enough to watch him grow daily or weekly.

36. Who was the best new person you met?

The Boy, of course, and all the other babies who arrived this year.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008.

No mother is perfect. But if you do your best, your kid thinks you're perfect.

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

I don't think I have one that completely sums it up ...

Why can't she just carry a sign?

I think Peanut is staging a nursing strike. I'm not positive because it's not like she's picketing around me with a sign proclaiming "No more boobie." I don't know that it would help if she did do this but at least I would be definitive in what I am dealing with.

We've never really had any nursing problems before. We've been blessed when I came to nursing - latching on, milk production, everything was relatively easy. I admit I've been spoiled.

But now, something is amiss.

It started last weekend. She'd start nursing and get fussy after five minutes. I'd get her calmed down with the hushing and singing. Then we'd try again. A few sucks and then ... Total. Nuclear. Meltdown. If I could just get it in her mouth, she'd be OK for all of five seconds and then the bomb would go off again.

We've been traveling a lot with the holidays and then we all got the virus from hell so I just chalked it up to Peanut being off a routine. She likes to be home and is happiest there. But now I'm seeing problems from the comfort of our own living room.

And to add to our joys she started biting. The first few times I yelled out, surprised that those little pink gums could hurt so much. I felt for any budding teeth but nothing. I swear one time she actually smiled at me as she was biting.

I've done some research and I'm going to try a few things:

• Nursing only in her room in the rocking chair so that there are few distractions and we are moving.
  
• Continue to try to feed her when she is falling asleep or already napping. I already figured out this worked best.
  
• Cut out more caffeine from my diet. I think the caffeine has increased thanks to all the chocolatey goodness around.
  
• Stop yelling out when she bites me. This might require me to bite down on a strip of leather but I'm afraid I'm scaring her.
  

My original goal was to nurse Peanut until she was six months old. We aren't far away from it but this has worked so well, I want to keep going. I'm just afraid her little form of protest will mess that up.

Any other suggestions?

Baby's got back

I might have bought The Boy a pair of girls' pants. I bought these little navy blue pants from Wal-Mart a few months ago. They don't have pockets on the butt, but that didn't and doesn't seem weird. What do babies need pockets for anyway? I'm fairly certain they came from the boys' side of the Garanimals display. Yet, after repeated wearings, I'm pretty sure I've been dressing my boyo in girls' clothes, and here's why:

They're tight through the butt and thighs.

Since Michelle found out Peanut was a little girl, I've drooled over the cute little girly clothes as I've picked through the utilitarian options available for The Boy. Lavender overalls! Old-lady print dresses! TIGHTS! I love The Boy and wouldn't want him to be anything but what he is, but the umpteenth sports-themed, primary-colored T-shirt pales in comparison to a retro-inspired jumper. I covet some of Peanut's wardrobe. ButI've also been appalled at some of the clothing marketed to girls -- message undies for preteens that say "Hot!" Spaghetti-strapped, v-neck tank-tops for toddlers -- andI've also noticed girls' clothing, even for the littlest babies, is cut differently than boys' clothing. It's all smaller, less roomy and comfortable.

No baby needs to be showing off their butt. What's next? No diaper-line diapers? I felt a little silly, at first, that I'd been teaching The Boy to cross-dress, but then I got annoyed. Baby clothes should be unisex, if not in print and color (because can anyone really resist every single frilly dress or overall set?), then at least in cut. The kiddos need room to move and stretch their little bendy limbs. I might be a sucker for pink frills, but damn it! they should be on a pair of comfy overalls.

Merry Christmas to all ...

When I get home this afternoon, I'm making cabbage rolls.

Christmas Eve dinner growing up always was a potluck, smorgasbord at my grandparents house. Grandma's barbecue beef was the center of the meal, which we all ate where ever we could because their house -- now my parents' house -- is tiny and there were so many of us, 10 or more cousins and all the aunts and uncles and the older cousins' boyfriends or girlfriends. When I left home, I made sure to take Grandma's barbecue beef recipe with me. I've made that beef a few times, but only once for Christmas Eve: last year, when Mom and Dad came down for the holiday and to await The Boy's birth.

The husband and I make cabbage rolls on Christmas Eve instead of barbecue beef. It's a Hungarian tradition, apparently. My husband's grandparents, who died before I came into the family, were Hungarian immigrants. This recipe is hearty, comforting food and, though I sometimes miss the beef, it's a tradition I like. It takes two people to put the rolls together, so you can't help but have family time and isn't that what Christmas is all about?

And we've kept up with some of my family traditions, too. Christmas morning, I'll make monkey bread, a horrible-for-you-but-SO-GOOD concoction of biscuit dough, sugar and cinnamon. The Boy has Christmas jammies for tonight, just like I always did as a kid.

But, the best part is we're starting to create traditions of our own. Every year, we paint an ornament together, and this year, we painted an extra one for The Boy's first Christmas. I can't wait to see what other silly things stick and become must-do things.

I love the holidays and I'm, as my sister often says, a big baby, a sucker for sap. I miss my family -- my mom, dad, sister and grandparents -- a lot in December and I miss the Christmases we used to have. Blending families at the holidays has not always been easy for me. Maybe it's having The Boy, seeing how happy he is to just see the tree light up and to tear up wrapping paper, but I'm starting to look forward to all the Christmases we're going to have.

Sorry about the sugary post, folks. But it is Christmas. Happy holidays!

The gift that keeps on giving

It's Peanut's first Christmas. Being the thoughtful child that she is, she made sure to get everyone a little something early this year - a stomach virus.

My child has become the outbreak monkey of our family.

It started Saturday with her throwing up three times. We've endured projectile vomiting from her. For about the first three months of her life, we played Russian Roulette after feedings, wondering when her meals would come back at us Exorcist-style.

This was a little different and caused some concern since it was our first bout with an illness.

She acted normal and didn't have a temperature but I called the doctor anyway. He said to give her Pedialytle through the night and resume nursing her in the morning. All was fine. We continued with our Christmas plans with the in-laws on Sunday.

I started getting sick at 3:30 a.m. Monday and didn't stop until 7:30 p.m. I drank nothing but Gatorade and choked down toast and crackers for 36 hours. My husband got sick Monday night along with my father-in-law who was followed by my mother-in-law.

All the while my little germ factory happily played and wanted mommy and daddy, who could barely get out of bed.

We've quarantined ourselves for now hoping that we can make it to my parents' for Christmas without infecting anyone else.

As miserable as we were, we were just happy she didn't end up as bad off as we were.

So here's to hoping you and yours are happy and healthy this Christmas!

Eating solids: the next frontier

Peanut has never had any problem feeding. From the moment the nurse brought her to me, she latched on like she was born to do it. The dairy fairy also decided to be more than generous with us so nursing was never a problem. Even when I went back to work, we didn't have to work too hard for her to take a bottle and she never had the dreaded nipple confusion so we could move between the bottle and nursing fairly easily.

I was more than grateful for our blessings. We moved through the first 4 months of her life blissfully, never worrying too much at mealtime.

Then came time to introduce solids. I was so excited. My Peanut was moving into the next phase of her life. I felt confident that she would handle it with ease.



Oh how I was wrong. She took her first bite of rice cereal with a look of "Mommy, why are you doing this to me? This does not seem like a good idea. I'm going to lock my lips together so that we can stop trying this."

We went through the same routine every night for two weeks. We didn't make any progress. In fact, it just got worse. She spit anything out that I put in there - ironic considering she puts everything else in her mouth that shouldn't be there.

I decided to stop forcing it. We took a week off and tried again. And lo and behold, Peanut did it. She still had a look on her face like I was feeding her a lemon but she took it much better this time. And the second night wasn't so bad either. In fact, it keeps getting better and better.

Now I'm even more excited because my mother-in-law got me the Magic Bullet for Christmas. I've wanted this for years but never really had any reason to use it. I told my husband this year I needed it to make baby food - think of all the money we will save. I signed up for e-mails from wellfedbaby and have been checking out wholesomebabyfood.com once we move from just cereal, I will be a baby-food-making fool.

Birthday party dilemma

The Boy is about to turn 1. His birthday is Jan. 11, so I am starting to think about -- OK, I've been thinking about for the last month -- how we should celebrate. I would like to have a party, but my dilemma is this: presents. Specifically, how to have a party without making our guests feel, in this economy, they need to buy presents for a little boy who a) doesn't need them and b) is perfectly content with a box full of packing peanuts. Also, we have a little house and Christmas already is going to leave it cluttered.

We live far away from family, otherwise I would just have a small dinner with The Boy's grandparents and aunts, uncles and cousins. He's going to get gifts from his relatives, party or not, as evidenced by the boxes that already have arrived for him. That's their choice, so I could bake a cake, feed them and everyone would feel happy and loved.

Unfortunately, we live in Florida and only my mom is able to come from Ohio for The Boy's birthday.

I could just forgo a party altogether -- but he's 1-year-old! He's changed so much, and we've changed so much, and I feel like we all deserve a celebration for making it out alive. You know? I want to bake him a cake and watch him smoosh frosting all over himself.

I've thought about throwing a small party and asking people not to bring gifts. But that seems almost as rude as asking for gifts. I mean, if someone really wants to buy my kiddo something, what kind of mean, cranky momma am I to tell them no? That's just ungrateful.

So, my latest thought is that I throw a small party and say on the invitation that I'm asking them to celebrate The Boy's first year because they have all been such help over the last 12 months. Which is totally true. We have a lot of really great friends down here who have cooked for us and babysat and listened to our stories and not batted an eyelash when we showed up at a party with the kiddo in-tow. Some of those friends are having babies now, so we'll be able to return the favor, but others aren't. They all are really important to us. If I go this route, I'll probably still add on the invite, "Gifts not necessary," but plan on writing thank-you notes if anyone feels the need to bring a gift. (I'm pretty sure one couple with kids is going to want to pay US back for the very noisy toy we got their boy for his first birthday.)

What do you think? Am I overthinking this? (Ask a stupid question ....) Does my compromise party work?

Help for not raising a Maury Povich baby

I hadn't planned on writing another food post, but I found this article about feeding your baby today on Babble. It addresses a question I think many parents struggle with: What the heck do I feed this kid?

Sounds stupid, I know, but seriously, sometimes I don't know what to feed myself. Butter is bad, except when chemically-created margarine is worse. Whole foods are great, only make sure you get organic to avoid the pesticides and hormones -- but oh wait! that stuff costs too much. For babies, it's worse because we want to make sure they get the best thing possible. But there are food allergies to consider. And POISON in formula. And potential toxins in the linings of canned vegetables. And choking hazards. And, in my case, an irrational fear of your cutely chubby baby turning into a Maury Povich episode. (I'm getting over it, I swear.)

Anyway, what worked for me and The Boy was making MOST -- not all, because, hello, I work and need sleep -- of his baby food. I love my food processor. Several blogs and wholesomebabyfood.com convinced me I could do it. Then, at about seven months, The Boy flat-out boycotted his baby food. Seriously. He banged on his highchair and refused his food until I gave him bites off our plates. Since then, he's lived mostly off pureed versions of our meals, or the baby-appropriate parts of them. Last night, we had homemade chicken soup and he had the noodles and vegetables. He's a good eater.

This isn't going to work for every baby, but it works for us. Still, sometimes I worry I'm getting too adventurous, giving him black beans or spinach and ricotta. That's why I liked the site Babble linked to in the aforementioned post: wellfedbaby. I'm a sucker for affirmation.

Eat your peas. Drink your milk.

One night, The Boy ate an entire serving of peas one a time. Pea. By. Pea. He delicately picked each out of the bowl, considered it for a moment and then popped it into his mouth. Cutest and cleanest meal ever.

Sadly, this is not his normal eating technique, which might best be described as the grab-and-cram. He grabs as much as his fat little hands can hold and then crams his fist to his mouth, eating whatever makes it inside. Lovely. The method is messy but effective and, as I've told Michelle, The Boy's feeding himself is one of the best things that's happened to us this year. Seriously, I can eat a meal now without bobbling a boy on my lap and spilling food on his head. I don't have to alternate feeding me with feeding him. I don't accidentally shovel mashed peas into my mouth. Ignoring the mess around his highchair is easy when I can have a conversation with my husband again over dinner. Feeding independence scared my mother-in-law, who saw a choking hazard with every fistful -- The Boy went into full-on meltdown mode last week when she limited him to one goldfish at a time -- but it works for us.

And last night, we got the scoop-and-shove, a new and promising twist on the grab-and-cram. Yes, that's right. The Boy managed to scoop black beans into his little toddler spoon and shove said spoon into his mouth. Needless to say, he got applause and a YAY BOY! for his efforts, which were then repeated. Repeated, people.

This is not the first time he's managed this feat, however, it is the first time it's been intentional. Also, The Boy insisted last night that I fix myself a plate before he got to the business of scooping and shoving. I swear. He's learned to point -- quite imperiously, I might add -- and repeatedly pointed to me and the table when I tried to let him eat alone so I could have dinner later with the husband.

My momma's heart swooned a little.

I have brought The Boy to the table for almost every meal over the last 11 months. I have given my in-laws dirty looks when they suggested I leave MY table with my colicky baby. I have walked him in restaurant parking lots and juggled him on my knees at friends' houses. I wanted him to learn eating was a social activity for which there were rules. And he seems to get that. Hooray! In just a few months, The Boy has gone from gnawing on his silverware to poking his food with the wrong end or scooting it with the right end to scooping and spearing it -- AND navigating it to his mouth. He still needs to be hosed off most nights after dinner and we do get the occasional dinnertime squawk, but at least he gets it.

So, how are you teaching table manners? How did you learn your manners?

Sleepers: PJs or more?

Hillary and I had a debate recently. Can baby sleepers (the kind with feet) be worn outside of the house appropriately?

I said it was a debate - not a deep philosophical discussion.

I personally think that sleepers are the best thing in the world, especially the zip-up kind. The button up can be quite cumbersome, especially at 3 a.m. but nonetheless, they are nice. Peanut wears them mostly to bed but sometimes, she leaves the house in a sleeper.

(Insert Hillary's stern look of disapproval here)

Hillary thinks that any parent who takes their child out in footed-PJs should be reported to children's protective services because they are obviously neglectful. OK, maybe I'm overstating it but when Hillary has an opinion, she has an opinion. (It's part of her charm). She does allow some exceptions to the rule. Here's what she has to say about it "The Boy, for example, traveled in jammies -- feetless ones, at that, but with socks. Practicality sometimes requires public jammie-use, however, a fully-dressed baby is preferable and, I think, cuter. Also, would you want to be in public in your jammies? Poor babies."

Peanut has a freakish amount of sleepers in all different sizes. We generally know it is time to change to the next size when she can't straighten her legs anymore and her sleeves are half-way between her wrists and her elbows, which shows off the lovely roll on her wrist that looks like I put rubber bands around them.

I love how she looks in them. I couldn't wait for it to get cool enough so that I could start dressing her in them. She just looks like the quintessential baby in her little sleepers. They are perfect in the winter. I don't have to worry about socks. The are especially helpful in our household since my husband is the one to get Peanut ready and out the door in the morning. It's one piece with a plain onsie underneath - no need to coordinate.

So what do you think? Are footed sleepers appropriate outfits or does it look like I'm too lazy to actually dress my child?

'Twas the nightmare before Christmas

My sister and I thought it would be a great idea to take our kids to get their pictures taken in their holiday outfits for our parents' anniversary. Let me say up front that this was better in theory than in practice.

Peanut's cousin just turned 2 and is "all boy" as his daddy taught him to say. Munchkin is not your typical 2-year-old. He talks in full sentences and has a memory on him like you wouldn't believe. You can say something to him once in passing and two weeks later he will repeat it. I once made the mistake of telling him to not grab his Aunt Sheldi's boobies. Munchkin didn't stop saying boobies for months and every time he said it, my sister gave me The Look. I can't help it if her son has a mind like a sponge.

We tried to time the appointment just right for the pictures. You know, everyone has had a nap, fed, changed, etc. It was like a secret ops mission - any deviation from the plan and someone might not make it out.

Both children were in pleasant moods when we arrived but then the photo place was running 20 minutes late. The place was packed with children dressed in their holiday finest. This proved to be a little too long of a wait and a little too much stimulation for my Peanut.

By the time they called us back, she was in tears every time I put her down by her cousin. I got Lucy the Ladybug out to distract her. But Munchkin thought he was supposed to crawl over and take Lucy back to his distraught cousin.

We tried every position and each time Peanut cried more. We decided to let her cousin get his picture taken solo while I calmed the little one down. He, however, just wanted to sit next to Peanut to make sure she was OK.

When we got her calm enough to do a picture on her own, Munchkin decided to hop in the frame, down on one knee, hands on the other and tell his 4-month-old cousin "Like this" showing her how she should pose.

It was my worst case scenario come true. I told my sister the week leading up to this that I feared my daughter would cry the entire time and we would never get a decent picture.

In the end, we didn't get bad pictures, but it wasn't what we were hoping for. In one of them together, Munchkin is kissing Peanut on the head but you can't see any of his face. In the other, he's smiling at the camera while she slumps down in front of him looking at the floor. I got two pictures of her - one where she is on her belly, looking at the camera like a deer in headlights and single tear running down her cheek and the other, I'm holding her up by her little hands and her face is smeared with snot and is blotchy. Awesome. Nothing says happy anniversary and Merry Christmas like a crying, snotty baby.

To top it off, a week after we had the photos, Munchkin and Peanut were with my dad and my husband while my mom, sister and I went shopping. Munchkin, out of the blue, looked up at my dad and proclaimed that he and his cousin had their pictures taken together. Already having guessed this, my father began asking questions with Munchkin answering each one, ratting us out each time.

Mind like a sponge. And apparently a big mouth to go with it.

Still my parents loved the pictures, even if they weren't much of a surprise. And the single tear photo is in the middle of our mantle and the snotty picture is in our bedroom. She might be crying and snotty but she's still my baby. Although I might wait awhile before I take her back to have her photos taken professionally.

He thinks he can. Or not.

The Boy is capable of walking, but too timid and impatient to do it. His impatient Momma wants him to just get on with it.

Instead of walking, he cruises along our furniture and walls, our legs if necessary, and crawls to his push toys and the footstool he shoves around the rooms. He's faster and safer this way. I know once he starts walking -- and then, I suppose, running -- he'll be bruised and battered again from falls on our tile floors. When he started crawling and standing, I lived in daily fear that someone would call CPS on us.

The Boy crawls because it is the most efficient way to his toys. But I want to watch him chase after his daddy. He likes rolling his toys across our tile. I want him to walk so he can move quickly to the daycare's 1-year-old room, for which walking is a prerequisite, after his January birthday. The baby room is getting crowded.

The Boy often stands, teetering on his tiptoes, and ALMOST walks, then, at the last second, changes his mind and drops to his hands and knees. That was me as a kid, choosing not to play sports because I looked stupid when I ran, and then again, as a teenager, fearful of driving and only getting my license when my parents forced me. The Boy is impatient like me, and I see my timidity in him, too. I want him to learn early to be daring, to push past his hesitation and have faith in himself.

Yay Boy! my husband and I cheer every time he strings together a few shaking steps. He grins and falls down from the shock and joy of it. He claps his fat little hands together and I hope he always is so proud of himself.

Momma, don't go-o-oooo

The Boy cried today when I dropped him off at daycare. School, as we call it, is just a few minutes from my office, and he's been going there since he was three months old. He loves the ladies in the baby room, especially Miss Anabel, but after a week with Momma and Daddy, he just isn't happy about being left. He clung to me as Miss Linda took him and then pointed after me, his little body straining away from her and his face crumpled in sadness.

I just left. I did what all the experts tell you to do: I said, "Have a good day, sweetie. Momma will see you later," and left, forcing a smile to let him know he was in a good place. Out in the hallway, I grimaced and then kicked myself. On top of everything else, I forgot a bib today. What kind of mommy am I?

Most days, I'm thankful for our daycare. The ladies hug on The Boy, and when he plays with other babies, babies who aren't in daycare, you can see how much the socialization has helped. He shares toys and chatters away, he tries to hold the babies' hands or pats their faces. We are lucky to have affordable, loving childcare that allows both my husband and me to do work we love.

I know The Boy probably was playing happily minutes, maybe even seconds, after I left today. I know staying home was not, and is not, a good thing for me or my marriage or our finances. But, oh! that little desperate point from The Boy as I left feels like an accusation.

When Michelle was getting ready to go back to work after maternity leave, I told her to be prepared for crushing guilt. CRUSHING GUILT. It was the only description that fit my feelings the first few weeks after The Boy started daycare. Every single morning I felt like someone was squeezing my heart when I left my little boy, who was then little more than a very darling little lump. I don't feel like that now, though. I have moments, like this morning, when I feel bad for a bit, guilty for awhile. But then I remember a better moment -- the way he patted my knee yesterday when two of his tiny classmates were touching me, as if to say, "This is MY momma." -- and I know I'll be forgiven my small transgression.

And when I go in to pick him up this evening, I know The Boy will be smiling. That image, not his crying face and pointing finger, is the one I'll keep in my head today at work.

Be careful, she bites

My husband works nights two days a week so that Peanut goes to the babysitter only three days. A few days ago, he took her to the doctor for a quick check-up after her four-month visit while I was at work.
He was in the waiting room when a woman came in with what appeared to be her 4-year-old daughter. As the mother checked in, the daughter made a beeline for Peanut's diaper bag, opened it and began ripping things out. My husband, who has a good sense of humor, just started laughing. He didn't try to stop this child from putting her grimy-who-knows-what-kind-of-illness-she's-in-for hands all over our healthy daughter's things. When he did begin to try to pick up what the rugrat had strewn about, the mother actually turned around and said, "Be careful, she bites."

WHAT?!
Not "I apologize for not teaching my daughter better manners so that she doesn't impulsively put her grubby little hands all over your precious daughter's belongings."
Just a warning fit for a zoo animal.

I'm not judging because my daughter isn't 4 yet. Plus I was apparently a biter back in the day as my sister likes to remind me. According to family legend, I bit her booty while we were in the bathtub. I don't remember any of this so I feel like I'm not really responsible.

However, I never bit strangers. My mother never had to consider putting a muzzle on me when we went out in public. I don't know that I could ever say to someone "Be careful, she's a biter." If I'm ever in the position to worry about Peanut biting random strangers like a rabid dog, I hope I have enough sense to not let go of her hand when we are in public.
But I'm not judging.

Long day's journey into night

We returned home to balmy Florida a little after 11 last night, 10 hours after leaving my in-laws' house in chilly Ohio. The Boy is a champion traveler. He tends to fall asleep on planes, doesn't seem to be bothered by popping ears and charms everyone who looks in his direction while he's awake. He made it through the 13-hour trip to Ohio a week earlier in better shape than my husband or me. (We will never, never fly through Chicago again. Stupid.) But still, after eight days of not being in our own home, yesterday was a long, long, long day.

An uncharacteristic turn from The Boy on the first leg of our trip did not help matters. For the first time since I had him -- OK, maybe the second (see: colicky baby) -- I wanted to give him away to the gypsies, as my dear grandmother-in-law says. He wouldn't sit, wouldn't eat, wouldn't look at his books. He just wanted to squirm and kick and scream. For 45 minutes of an hour flight, I alternated between wrestling with The Boy to keep him from being the obnoxious, nasty baby everyone dreads and tossing him in exasperation at my husband. I questioned the fiscal responsibility -- some would say, tightwaddery -- that kept us from buying The Boy his own seat.

Anyway, eventually, the kiddo went to sleep and then he was great the rest of the trip, eating spaghetti and coloring on the tablepaper at Macaroni Grill and sleeping most of the flight home, when he wasn't flirting with the toddler across the aisle or the old woman three rows back. He already has more game than his daddy.

Aside from the aforementioned 45-minute good-baby strike, here's how I kept The Boy from being a brat while traveling:

• Mystery bag of tricks -- I packed an extra bookbag full of toys and snacks and whenever he got fussy AT ALL I pulled something new out of it and took away the old thing, thus keeping a never-ending supply of new things. Because we all know babies are suckers for new things. I packed this bag a week in advance so The Boy hadn't seen the stuff in it -- some of his favorite toys -- in days.
  
• Snacks, snacks, snacks -- I have a fear of raising a Maury Povich baby. You know, the kid that's 100 pounds at age 2. I don't restrict The Boy, because that's just crazy, but I do try to make sure he's eating healthy food on a schedule. For the trip though, I fudged a little. The Boy had an unlimited supply of graham crackers, bananas, Os and goldfish. Os and milk got us through the worst of his 45-minute crankiness.
  
• Run while you can -- The Boy crawled and walked his way all around the airports while we were waiting for our flights. My husband was a little grossed out because eww! airport floors, but he got his energy out and then napped on the flights.
  
• Smile -- Almost everyone is a sucker for a cute baby, especially one in jammies. I found that most people will smile and excuse all but the worst offenses if you smile a sort of rueful, why-did-I-have-kids-but-aren't-they-cute smile at them. Even better if you can get the kiddo to smile.
  

Who needs sleep?

My child is sleeping through the night – technically. The person who deemed “sleeping through the night” was midnight to 5 a.m. should be forced to endure that while working full time for months on end.
Peanut has become what Hillary calls a professional sleep fighter. I thought we would eventually get used to it, but somehow 5 hours of sleep never seem enough.
Some nights, she goes to bed at 8 p.m. no problem after bath and snuggle time. I’m then up until 10 or 11, getting ready for the next day or having some me time or spending time with the husband. And then I’m up three and four times to give her the paci and swaddle her before my alarm goes off at 4:45 a.m.
Yes, she still needs to be swaddled at five months. Her arms and legs move about as if independent of her body (thank you, Chandler Bing). I zombie-stumble to her room, sshhh her while I wrap her back up, stick the paci back in and zombie-stumble back to bed.
Most of the time, her eyes close and her head lulls to the side as she snuggles back down into the straight-jacket I create from the only blanket that can contain her.
She then wakes up promptly at 5 a.m., just as I’m getting out of the shower, ready for me to nurse her. These are what I call the good nights – sleeping in one hour to two hour clips.
The bad nights happen in one of two forms. The first is when she refuses to go to sleep until 11 p.m. or midnight. This usually happens when we have been traveling or if we let her nap past 6 p.m. We still start the process around 8 p.m., struggling with a child who looks at us with wide eyes, innocently saying “You’ve got to be kidding me. Does it really look like I’m going to sleep?” and then progressing to the arching back, mouth open wide in screams like we are torturing her because we are trying to get her to sleep.
The other form is what happened to me last night. She woke up at 2 a.m. and started babbling. I love to hear her babbles even in the middle of the night. But the babbles still kept me up and quickly turned into grunts that meant my little Houdini was about to escape from her straight jacket (blanket) and I would need to wrap her back up. After a few minutes, the grunts turned into whimpering. When I went in, she gasped and gave me her biggest wide-open mouth, gummy grin. My heart melted but I wanted to cry knowing that she was not going back to sleep anytime soon. I tried to wrap her up a few times to no avail. She entered the arching-back, screaming phase of the night so I took her downstairs to avoid waking my husband. (I should insert here that it is my own fault my husband doesn’t get up with Peanut. He could sleep through a tornado but if I wake him, he would take care of her without complaint. The problem is I’m already awake so I might as well do it myself.)
I kept the lights off and turned the television on low volume and decided to try to nurse her. This process took twice as long as it should while she played with my hand, pinched me, pulled away to look around and to smile at me. So about 40 minutes later, she was done, we snuggled down again and she was safely back asleep.
This whole process took a little less than 2 hours and I headed back to bed for another hour.
Five (broken) hours of sleep later, I was up, nursing Peanut again and getting ready to be at work at 6:30 a.m. I drank my coffee on the way to work hoping it would take the edge off. It didn't.
So that’s how my nights go. Anyone else experience this? Any tips besides picking up a drug habit?