Stats

Head Circumference: 15 inches

Length: 24 inches

Weight: 13.5 pounds

Cuteness: off the charts

 

Str-eeetch!

Resurfacing

I’ve sorta felt like throwing myself a pity party for a couple of days now, but seem to talk myself out of it with my mother’s no-nonsense statement-of-the-obvious: I chose this.

 

I chose to have a baby, and it’s a choice I would make again if I had the last year to do over, regardless of the repercussions.

 

You see, this time last year, I felt like I had two friends that were on their way to becoming my best friends.  And they are, probably, still my best friends.  They threw me a birthday party.  They tell me I look great (I don’t, from the greasy hair to the flabby butt).  They encouraged me to dance all night at 7 months pregnant (I made it to midnight, but hey, that’s pretty awesome in it’s own right.  I mean, SEVEN MONTH PREGNANT.  It wasn’t pretty, but it was fun).  They are some of the greatest people I know, and their husbands are my friends and Tony’s friends, too, and it is so, so good.  Except.

 

Except that they are, due to my long absence while dealing with being very, very sick and then tax season as a pregnant sole caretaker of a crazy child while also working lots, and then having a baby, now better friends with each other than with me.  And I am happy, because they are my friends and I want them to be happy, but I feel so left out.

 

Sure, I have a baby, a new one, at home.  Sure, I can’t go running with them yet, and by the time I can, they’ll be training for a marathon and I just don’t have the time or stamina.  Sure, I would probably turn down invitations to girls’ nights right now.  But that doesn’t mean that I don’t wish I was asked, that I don’t pine for my girlfriends.  What if, after having been gone for so long, they never ask me again?  And I’m jealous.  Jealous of the bond they have with each other and fearful that even when Jamie doesn’t demand 24-hour care that I will ever be on the outside of that bond.

 

I’m a social person and I think I need close friends.  But maybe I don’t, and I will learn to live without that in my life for awhile.

 

So I have to remind myself that I chose this, and try to forget how long it takes to find and build friendships.  A person has to choose her family, of course.  I guess I’m just always hoping that I can have it all.

 

Those kids, though.  They make up for a lot:

 

 

There’s Still Sand in My Hair

After leaving my aunt and uncle’s house in Sumner, we pretty much drove straight to the beach, with one extended stop in Montesano for gas, nursing, diaper changing, and a potty break.  I was thoroughly impressed that James slept the whole way – during short trips around town, he sleeps in the carseat about 50% of the time.  The other 50% is spent screaming.

 

Charles also did very well, and, true to form, he had to go potty about ten minutes from my parents’ house.  The kid’s getting to be an expert in side-of-the-road peeing.  This is significant because he did not pee his pants, not even a little bit, during the whole trip.  He CAN be potty trained when he wants to be.

 

Monday was filled with fun at the beach as dad and I tried to fly the kite we brought for Charles… we were unsuccessful, so he made a kite at the kite-making tent that flew beautifully and held his attention for all of five minutes.  Much more interesting?  The elephant ears.

 

Why don’t elephant ear vendors at fairs and other locations sell them with a variety of toppings?  Everywhere else besides Long Beach seems to sell elephant ears with either cinnamon and sugar or jam.  You know what the best topping is?  Maple.  Sweet, delicious maple.  A maple elephant ear is like a maple bar without all that useless donut taking up space.  Actually, it’s probably good that you can’t find maple elephant ears everywhere – the only time I ever buy one is at Kite Festival.

 

On Tuesday, between the hours of 7 am and 11 am, Charles peed through every pair of shorts and underwear we brought with us.  Why?  I have no idea.  He knows when to go potty, he just ignores it.  He also had lots of juice boxes, something we don’t have at home. 

 

To say I was frustrated was putting it lightly.  I had a complete meltdown.  I was dealing with children all alone (my dad was there, but he doesn’t so much parent as grandparent, which is totally different, is done mostly from the couch, and does not include diaper changing or preemptive potty visits), I hadn’t had much sleep, and I just couldn’t handle it.  I was thisclose to packing up and going home, but we had laundry in the wash, and mom came home to convince me to stay until the next day.  She, of course, knew that I would calm down by the morning.  So we took Charles to the beach for the afternoon, and things got much better.  But he didn’t get any more juice boxes the whole trip.

 

 

There was a guy with big beach ball flowforms set up and he was letting the kids play with and in them.  Charles was really frightened.

 

 

You see that big flowform in the background?  Kids were playing in it.  If that’s not a kid’s dream come true, I don’t know what is.  But Charles was scared, and he refused to even look at the cute frog on the ground.

 

But then!  Then, we walked about a hundred feet farther and Charles suddenly realized, “Hey!  That could have been awesome!  I want to go to there!”  So he ran back to play in the flowform.  We had to physically pull him out to leave awhile later.

 

The moment of realization

Running back

So rad.

 

The next day, Charles got to go to the beach early with grandma and have breakfast (where everyone was impressed with how much he can pack in), ride in the golf cart, and play in the bouncy house:

 

 

We hung out with Ruary and Milo (“My friends!” says Charles) and my parents and Tony’s parents got some time with Jamie:

 

 

On the way back, after stopping to see a friend in Hoquiam, we hit the worst traffic ever on I5.  I’m used to backups at Fort Lewis, but this traffic jam lasted from Olympia to north of Everett.  My boys, though?  They were ANGELS.  The one slept, the other sang, and ate snacks, and talked a blue streak, and watched “WoodyBuzz” on the iTouch. 

 

We will not be visiting the Kite Festival without Tony ever again, though I’ve been spectacularly calm this week because, really, it can’t get much worse than last week.

Week 8 Asides

I will write about our vacation, I will post photos, but first, a few 8-weeks-old updates.

 

This is where Jamie is right now:

 

 

That’s right.  In his crib.  Napping.  For more than 5 minutes.  Hell, at this point, it’s more than 20 minutes.  I did the dishes, started a load of laundry, and cleaned out the entry closet. 

 

For those of you familiar with our sleep issues with Charles, this is a revelation.  A baby who sleeps.  Without fuss, without fight.  As late as last night, Charles put up a screaming fit to get to sleep.  Mom, Dad, I am so sorry for those years of sleep problems.  I now know what you went through, the agony of “just go to sleep, child, OMFG.”  And I know Tony and I are not alone in this issue, not the least because both of our parents dealt with it (I was a bad sleeper, sometimes screaming for hours, and I’m told that Sarah was as well), but also because of the existence of this book.  I want to read it, but I’m not sure if it will make me laugh or cry…

 

Jamie is smiling now, and often, too.  He’s just so chill and happy.  He wants nothing more in life (so far) than to have his diaper changed, be fed (all the time), and be held by mom.  I’ll take it.

 

My days are just awesome right now.

Schmaycation Part 1

We’re baa-ack!  A full week of vacation for the kids, parenting away from home for me.  Was it relaxing?  In a way.  Was it stressful?  Yes.  But I’m glad I went, and I’m glad I didn’t take the dog.  I’ve a new appreciation for my involved-dad husband, and I learned that I can do this alone if and when I have to.  And though they weren’t really home all that much, I was glad to see my parents.  Since Jamie was born, I haven’t been able to see much of my mom, and even though she was working, we got to have some time together, and she got time with her grandsons.  All good things.

 

On the Saturday before last, Tony and I loaded the kids into two cars (because I was heading to the beach and Tony was heading back home) and drove down to visit my aunt and uncle, my cousins, and my cousin’s new wife in Sumner.  We only had to stop twice during the (normally) two hour drive to change diapers, feed, and have potty breaks, so I call that a win.  Once we were there, Charles demonstrated his vast ability to get hurt even when there are no obstacles nearby and everyone loved on Jamie.

 

And then we pushed Charles waaaay out of his comfort zone and my cousins took him tubing:

 

Charles called them “the boys” and probably would have tried to get them to take him with them to college if he knew what college was. 

That is a look of sheer terror on his face, but if you ask him, he wants to go again.  Now.  Anytime.  C’mon, boys!

 

Tony also got a chance.  I understand he also attempted wakeboarding with less successful results.

You can totally tell which one works inside all day every day.

It was a beautiful weekend filled with great family and hot sunshine.  Charles only got a few owies (he smacked into Tony’s knee and his tooth, the latter resulting in a bruise on his forehead that has yet to fade), only choked on his peanut butter English muffin once, and didn’t have any major meltdowns.  I call it a win.

 

Charles took this out-of-focus photo.

Truthfully, there’s something just nice about not being in your own home for a bit.  For the most part, the new environment helps Charles to behave himself – largely because he is unsure of everything.  And my aunt and uncle are fantastic hosts who made us feel so welcome.  By the time we finally left on Sunday, Charles was fed and ready to zonk out in the car, Jamie had been held by someone the entire time, and Tony had been good and beat up by the water. 

 

When I get another chance, I’ll tell you all about the trip to the beach, during which I almost gave up and drove home three days earlier than planned.  Who had a meltdown?  I did.

A Fair-ly Good Time

Oh, the puns one can make with “fair.”  A Fair Assessment, Fair Weather, etc.  Tony would probably have some better ones, as puns are his métier.  After nearly 6 years of marriage, I have heard them all a bunch of times.

 

The Skagit County Fair is exactly what you might expect: a whole bunch of 4-H, some rides, and some overpriced vendors.  Great for an hour or two of entertainment.  In the future, I imagine that Charles will spend lots more time on the rides, but for now, the animals hold his interest.

 

Oh. Em. Gee.  three-day-old piglets.  Thank God children don’t mature that quickly – those things were already running around like crazy, and poor mama pig looked pooped.

 

Have I mentioned that Charles, for all his Tasmanian-devil activity level, is pretty introverted?  He’s scared to try new things unless he has a member of his peer group along with him.  He’ll try anything with the preschool kids, who are mostly older than he is, or if he is the older kid and leading a younger friend by the hand.  But with us?  Or all alone?  He tucks his chin to his chest and backs away if he can.

 

Here he is not touching the calf and leaning heavily on dad:

 

 

And here he is not enjoying his pony ride:

 

Well, maybe he enjoyed it.  He spent the whole time with his head turned to the side and his hands in a death grip on the saddle horn, but if you ask him, he wants to do it again and again.

 

The part of the fair that needs no bravery?  Ice cream made with local milk.

 

Yeah, that’s the good stuff.

 

And here is Bubba, who is patiently awaiting confirmation from Guinness that he is the world’s largest bull at some 3000 lbs:

 

 

Charles might have thought we wanted him to share his ice cream with the big guy when we sent him over to pose.

 

****

And the small one?  How does he fare (fair!) these days?   Well, Jamie sleeps.  And eats.  And sleeps more. 

 

He is in mortal danger of being over-loved by his big brother, who wants nothing more than to keep Jamie with him at all times.

 

 

 

Several times a day, heck, several times an hour, Charles says, “I love mine baby brother.”  It would melt my heart if he could control his strength such that his affection wasn’t so dangerous.  I have to be ever-watchful, and I can never leave James alone in a room when Charles is in the house because Charles will try to pick him up and cuddle him or feed him something.

 

I suppose it’s a damn sight better than those children who hate their newborn siblings and try to hurt them on purpose.  Can you imagine?

Does anyone else have a gap between their abdominals? No? Just me?

It wasn’t so bad, really.  Tonight, it will probably be worse.

 

I felt the first step in my abs.  The abs that have been stretched out beyond belief.  The abs that still have a half-inch gap between them running up my midline.  The abs that are clearly not ready for anything so vigorous as running.  And then I did situps afterward, just to punish myself (I only did, like, five).

 

I felt ALL of the next steps, over the course of 1.52 miles (thank you, MapMyRun) in my legs and hips.  It seems that those muscles have downright atrophied during a long and brutal pregnancy. 

 

The mile-and-a-half went by pretty quickly, actually, as it is a route I walk frequently and, oh yeah, it was only a mile-and-a-half.  At about a 10 minute per mile pace.  I’m planning to continue this exact route for the next couple of weeks until my legs don’t hurt quite so much anymore, then I’ll start adding miles.

 

I think the last time I ran at all was when I was about 10 weeks pregnant.  I was so sick from the afternoon until I passed out at night that I had to do my exercising in the morning.  There comes a point when you feel like you’re going to pee your pants on your run, and that point was at 10 weeks, so I stopped.  It seems like forever ago.

 

I might try running in the morning again, but it will take some willpower.  I like to be up before Charles so I can have his breakfast ready for him as soon as he wakes up to counteract the low blood sugar freak out that often happens in the morning before he gets a first bite of eggs or peanut butter or whatever.  So I’d have to get up even earlier, and let’s be honest, we’re not sleeping through the night or even close at this point.

 

But, I imagine I would frequently come back from a run to scenes like this, and that would be nice.