Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Summer Smiles - 41 Weeks


40 Weeks

This picture was taken on the 4th of July BEFORE, not after, we had to have the car pulled out of a sinkhole in a friend's side yard. If looks can kill they should also be able to see the future...

Last Call

39 Weeks

"He hates going to bed. Just like his mommy."

"And he's a light sleeper, just like his daddy."

Good combo. For a politician. Or a security system. Sorry kid.

Ren likes the party to last all night. When he gets sleepy he does a sweet, cartoonish eye rub and reminds me of the E.H. Shepard sketches of Christopher Robin dragging Pooh at his heels. Then he uses his thumb to pull the side of his cheek towards his ear and he yells a kind of joyful nonsense. Sometimes his head and eyes roll a little bit. He grins. He likes to shake his little noggin back and forth, back and forth. Quickly and with intensity, especially when we first lay him on his back in the crib. We used to think he was trying to stay awake but it is becoming more clear that he is enjoying the sensation. Every so often he's like a body that needs the batteries taken out. He can't keep his eyes open but his limbs want to go, go, go—move, move, move. Sometimes he will be sound asleep and as soon as we turn our back to head out his bedroom door, we hear a goofy "goo". He's standing up. Mocking us. He giggles. When he finally goes down, it's sudden. Mid-baby-sentence. It's disconcerting and hilarious at the same time, like someone found the remote to turn him off.

Every night our son is the shameless, crazy, fun guy who they wake up to close the bar. And every morning he's bright eyed, smiling, and ready to face the day. I think he's made of energy drink... and whiskey.

Monday, July 6, 2015

No More Monkeys Jumping on the Bed

38 Weeks

It is amazing the ripple effect caused by the gums of one tiny baby.
For two weeks, each night, each time, he woke crying, bleary eyed, I would go to his room and nurse him.
He was in pain—I thought I was doing a good thing.
Then our doctor told us we were starting a lifelong habit of bad.
He told us to make a change and make it quick.
He suggested cold turkey.
A sandwich.
He suggested we give Ren turkey sandwiches instead.     
He told us to cut out the night feedings immediately.
We did.
We're tired.
And deranged.
This is week three of late nights for us all.
Ren's finally getting used to new teeth making appearances but he's not used to Daddy doing the nighttime soothing.
Daddy doesn't have any milk.
Or turkey sandwiches. 

Saturday, July 4, 2015

Dirty, Rotten, Scoundrels

37 Weeks

When you're a sleepy mom, you make sleepy decisions—if you can remember that you need to make them. It was a little late in the day to be doing so but Ren needed a bath. "We'll do a quick one," I told him. He said, "Goo" and we forged on. Simple. Ren goes in the playpen. I go to our room to turn on the water then go to get Ren and get him undressed in his. It's always a gamble—those seconds from the changing table in Ren's room to the bath in ours. It's a gamble IN the bath too, but for the most part the water usually stay purely water. I put Ren back in the play pen, sans diaper, and leave on the onesie (for some reason). I check on the bath and turn off the water. It's just right. Not too hot but in that spot where you don't want it to sit too long or it will be too cold. Tub time is now. 

I grab Ren and see a runny, brown mess where he was just laying. I feel wet warmth on my hip. 


It's a lot. I take him back to his changing table. I lay him down knowing I'll need to wash everything near him. He's pretty squirmy. I pull off the onesie and he reaches down to explore. I'm unable to block him in time. 


A handful. And he's still covered waist to feet. I lay my arm across his body to keep him from flipping over and use my other arm to hold his dirty hand away from his mouth. I'll need to wash everything near me after this. I await for a pause in his fight to release and grab more wipes. Somehow I get him relatively clean. I brush a tickle away from my face. I feel something damp. And slimy. 


It's in my hair. I hold him down with one hand while I pull my dress up and off, over my head. I figure it will wipe some of it away. I won't be showering until Ren goes to sleep in a few hours. What's a little 'mousse' gonna hurt? Moving on. We're both relatively clean. I'll need to warm up the bath by now so I'll grab some wipes to clean out the playpen and start all over again. I turn to do just that and...


There are footprints of it behind me. From the new carpet in our bedroom to the new carpet in his. I have to get that up before it sets. Right? Yeah, you do...

We go downstairs to get the carpet cleaner and paper towels and I catch a glimpse of the two of us in a mirror. That's a lot of pale skin and a dirty smudges here and there. Ren's still teething. Sleep deprivation is wearing on us both. We look like Lucy and Little Ricky of A Clockwork Orange. 

I climb the stairs in my underwear with a naked baby under one arm and stain fighters under the other. At the top, I see a silhouette of the dog. He is bent over and convulsing—vomiting the medication I'd given him earlier that evening. I forgot to feed him first. "Shit."