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All-Knowing Mini People, Big Alients, Pinterest, and Salvation (Week 4)

All-Knowing Mini People, Big Alients, Pinterest, and Salvation (Week 4)


Today you had less to say fuss-wise today than did our three-legged Chihuahua who was unhappy that none of his canine companions or Thor Cat would let him dominate them, which might not properly convey the compliment I’m paying you and the hair you’re saving me, as Chihuahua lets old lady shrills that could bust bullet-proof glass out of his seven-pound, three-legged frame. He likes to look at you, too, probably because I set you on “his” blanket here, which he does not dominate, in case you’re wondering.

baby and dog

You spent more time on Mommy’s boobage than any other day yet. (Will that be odd to read in x amount of years?) Two big feats today would be your outstanding weight gain, Little Pudgey Man, as clearly we’re getting the feeding down, and you’re getting a little more control over your hands. You even plugged your nose once today! I’m sure it was an accident (I mean, it was an accident, right? Right?), but I was still all, I know I haven’t washed my hair since the Friends series finale, but man: You don’t even plug your nose when the dogs have cow dung and raccoon hanging from their manes, so, like, ouch. But that’s k.


My contact was bothering me. Oh, crap, I don’t wear contacts. I simply had something in my eye–eyes–that’s why they’re watering. That’s all. Moving on.

You stare at me regularly, like, Who is this big alien in my face that keeps making childish sounds at me? So sometimes I explain confounding variables and standard deviations to you in Italian. Then we crack open Bible-sized books on dream theories and genetic memory before we talk calculus applications and theory. Afterwards, I scratch my head and try to remember how to produce a vowel sound without drooling. You, on the other hand? You roll your eyes and look all, Woman, please. Tell me something I don’t know.

You smile, too, although you don’t know what it means or how happy it makes everybody around you. Or maybe you do. Maybe you innately know what a toilet is, too, yet you defecate the moment Mommy takes your diaper off. Maybe you know it all—like, babies are the keys to the world’s mysteries, we just don’t give you enough credit. So why not take advantage of the Big Aliens and have them swaddle you, change you, wipe your butt?

Well played, babies, well played.

Just remember: Someday I will be old, very old . . .

happy baby


Last night we woke up every two hours, per your request, as my phone alarm was set to every three hours at night, to feed. You were bright-eyed most of the day, something that is occurring more and more.

You took a nap around 5.30, but I just lay beside you in bed, your little chub pressed against me as Mozart filled the air. (I don’t regularly listen to classical music, but when I was a teacher, I’d read studies on how classical music positively affects learning. I like to cling to the obsolete  though [No, that is not why the song "Wannabe" is blaring; that's a song that will stand the test of time, Little Man, it will], so I figure I’m not losing anything by applying that debunked musical finding to your no-longer-blank slate. Plus the music helps drown out our Chihuahua Darth Vader snores.)

Truly, I could stare at you the rest of my life and live a fulfilled life. I end up taking about fifty photos of you a day, though, because I assume the rest of the world—at least my friends on Facebook—would like to see you, too, or else something is seriously wrong with them.

baby sleeps


Midwife came today for our last visit. Definitely bittersweet. Bitter because it was no fun having a midwife bill atop a hospital bill. Sweet because that bill means nothing when Daddy and I have a healthy baby we’d pay any amount for or do anything for. Sweet also because we’d enjoyed getting to know Midwife. She knows her stuff and she’s great with you.

Today, with her old-fashioned cloth scale, she took your weight with a groan and, “Wow, he’s getting heavy!” Like last week, you put on a pound in a week! I must have rich milk. I said it was probably because of the tablespoons of organic oils I hide in my fruit smoothies; flaxseed oil contains omega 3, 6, and 9, and of course I buy it organic and consume it, along with unrefined coconut oil, at a rate that makes my family ask how I’m not Honey Boo Boo’s mom’s twin. Gah, I hope you don’t know who I’m talking about. To my family I adjust my glasses, clear my throat, and go on all pretentiously about the innumerable benefits of organic oils. Midwife said when gals have difficulty producing ample amounts of milk, she tells them how good oils can benefit breast milk production. You’ll be a smart one, what with all the goodness percolating your body and all the love I hope you can already feel.

baby sleeps well cute baby


Today I was really impressed with your not thwacking yourself in the face or poking out your eyeballs. You’re seriously getting great control over your hands, Little Man, which, like, deserves an award. Here–here’s a boob. I’m told one of these days you’ll go Little Raccoon and grab, pull, hit to the point that our house might actually get cleaned as to preserve your safety. And I might need a hair trim. But, then again, I probably need to shower more regularly, but let’s not get all crazy.

You cry very little and eat a very lot. I mean a lot. When you’re food is digesting, you make faces to the point that I called our doc to ask if my milk was turning into shards of glass, am I harboring invisible Freddy Krueger hands, does Little Man hate me? She laughed and said it was probably just something we all wish we could do when we need to poo: make faces, bear down, and make some noise about it. Simply put, babies lack social decorum. Your system will get more and more used to the act of needing to turn nutritious food into yellow smelly stuff that no longer leaks out of your diaper since we switched to these amazing cloth diapers, which are, contrary to the furrowed brows and grunts I get, not gross to wash (breast milk poo is harmless, people, not like that which Grandpa puts into the pot. For breast milk poo think tapioca pudding or slightly expired mustard. Oh, sorry–how’s that specialty sandwich with the yellow stuff  treating you?). When done right, cloth diapers save money in the long-run and you can even buy organic diapers, so, you guessed it: my world is way past complete.

In fact, currently, you on my lap as I type, your face is all, Eat this, cloth diapers and, Screw social decorum!

That’s okay. Sometimes mommies wear that expression, too. It’s called going to Wal Mart.

adorable baby


Mommy was a fool and stayed up till 1 AM. Her logic was that she needed to figure out some coding with this website so she could focus more on the content and promotional side. I guess dang the content and promotional side because Mommy figured nothing out about those hellacious CSS and HTML acronyms other than they make me want to wash a few loads of poo-saturated cloth diapers.

Your wide baby blues spoke need of stimulation at 2 AM, so Mommy bounced around with Little Man and made weird sounds. I tried out some faces for you and patterned noises that sounded like an opossum dying. Hopefully that helped you build, like, 1000 brilliant synaptic connections. If not, at least Daddy’s still married to me.

Often I hold you close to my face or near my neck so you can hear my voice’s reverberations; sometimes I intertube the Boppy nursing pillow around my waist, rest you on it, hug my arms around the cushiony pillow + baby goodness, and continue with the inhuman sounds and bad dance moves.

new mom


The Moro reflex is a reflex people are born with—our first fear, and a completely unlearned one where we feel as if we’re falling. Sometimes, when you’re on your back because I’m cleaning what you worked very hard to expel from your rear, your arms get all, I’m casting a spell, and I call you my little magician and laugh a bit, which I didn’t know how not nice it is for me to laugh when you’re experiencing the sensation that you’re falling off twenty stories. I want you to experience fear at about the rate I want to cohabitate with the giant spiders from Lord of the Rings (you’ll learn that I make Daddy fast-forward that part of the epic movies). You never cry because of the falling sensation you’re experiencing, though; most often babies cry. Not Little Man.

Daddy and I watched one of his favorite movies, and you slept in Daddy’s arms the entire time. “He’s going to be wide-eyed tonight,” I said, and, sure enough, Mommy caught about 30 minutes of zz’s. The entire night. But that’s okay. We browsed Pinterest, so it was time well spent swaying, shushing, diaper changing, and pinning.

Sleep-deprivation is okay when it’s got these two (rated G) things: Baby and Pinterest.

baby infant


Because of our night pooping and pinning Mommy’s fashion likes and things she’ll never cook, Daddy, who is off work on Sundays because the world has an inkling of justice left in it, let Mommy nap until 2 PM. Okay, so there’s a whole lot of justice left in the world, apparently.

We have neighbors out here that make me not worry too much if the world ever goes back to loin cloths and bartering. They’re not the type that will start a fire and slow roast us over it: Aren’t we fortunate? They’re super nice, trustworthy people, who, like Daddy, speak slowly, quietly, and in Bible verses. I feel really second-rate when people like that sit in the living room. Daddy can easily get going in conversation with them, but I’m all, I wonder if they think I’m broken? In need of more saving? I mean, does saving operate on a continuum, and I’m just toward the started-pre-school-at-20-something dot? Daddy would yell as kindly as one can yell at me here with a, “Do you think we came from a rock? An amoeba? No? You believe in a higher power we can’t see but have all witnessed, all felt? You believe He died for us? You’re saved.”

I look at you, hands worked out of your swaddle straight-jacket, eyes searching about, and know that must be true.

So, anyway. Lighter note coming before I combust with too much deep thinking:

Quotation of the day comes from Daddy, his plate of chips and two burgers front and center as he peaked excitedly around the kitchen: “Guess what? I’ve already lost all my pregnancy weight!

mom and babybaby and dad

mom parenting

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