Adjusting

I applied to three jobs in the year between moving to Illinois, having little Will, and starting at my new firm. I wasn't exactly banging down doors for work. A cushy little work-from-home gig fell into my lap when Will was a couple months old and it was going well enough. But then I randomly applied to a job opening and later found out that the founding partner of the firm graduated from my alma mater (whoops - had no idea when I applied!). I totally chalked it up to God's will and the rest is history. 

But now I'm retired. Again. Does this make me the Michael Jordan of the legal/blogging world? No?And my family has had to make a whole new set of adjustments to my transition back home. A kid no longer at daycare all day. Will he like me? Will I be able to keep him entertained? Will we both go stir crazy? There are significant changes to the budget, significant changes to what we're eating. At some point we will actually begin to prepare for this second child whose due date is approaching with ever-increasing speed. I actually have to clean my own house again. I get to blog. That sorta stuff. 

It's been over a week with me full-time at home again. Here are some tidbits about how our days are going.

After 19 months of not caring about television, aside from occasionally exclaiming "BALL!" when baseball, football, or golf is on, this child has finally started to see the benefits of sitting still for a few minutes to indulge in Dinotrux or Curious George. Some mornings, I will fire up the Kindle for a few minutes so I can get ready without having to repeatedly prevent Will from trying to climb into the toilet. 

I got a sliiiick new treadmill setup, at least for the time being while we only need the garage for one car.  

Oh except that there's this. ^^^ He lasted for but five minutes before trying to climb aboard. Not to mention the TERRIBLE FRIGHTENING HORRIBLE spider problem in the garage right now.

We get our smoothie fix every day, i.e., Will IGNORES HIS OWN DAMN SMOOTHIE (see background) to mooch all of mine. 

We visit the same playground at least once per day. Every day.

Then it's everyone's favorite time of the day: pantsless independent playtime! He builds "choo-choos" with his matchbox cars. 

These cars were actually my little brother's from 1998. Matchbox cars are virtually indestructible, I tell you.

We run countless errands, e.g., commissary, post office, commissary, OB, commissary, Target, OB, commissary. Then probably back to the commissary. Yeah, we be mixin' it up. 

You can't even tell me I let him watch too much television because LOOK IT'S THE POPE.

And this is why I can't look at my phone while he's in the highchair. All hell breaks loose with the yogurt. 

So we both get bathed.

And I put him to bed at 6:30 and it will be his bedtime for as long as I can get away with it. 

That's what we're up to. Lots of variety as you can see! And yet I know deep down that I will look back on these slow days with utter fondness and nostalgia. Our sweet, slow days alone are numbered. (Approximately 12 weeks and 2 days, according to my iPhone app.) Better get 'em while I can.

Myths vs. Realities

There are so many myths/old wives' tales associated with pregnancy and parenting, I'm still wading through it all in this little adventure called parenthood. At least, I'm praying this novena that is, like, supposed to help you figure out your life and such. So anyway, things like "the two week wait" symptoms, Chinese gender prediction charts, and natural induction methods, I'm convinced are myths. Epidural ruining your chance of breastfeeding. Myth. Special baby detergent is a total scam, I say. 

The whole wonder weeks thing - jury's still out. Will seems to do things at his own pace in his own time, whether or not his little baby head is in the stormy lightning part of the charts or the happy sunshine area.

Marches to the beat of his own drum, this one.

I was hoping the old "four month sleep regression," or what I like to call "bay bay go cray cray" (I don't really call it that), was also a myth, but in my experience, the struggle is real. So so real. 

It's great because his super baby brain is developing and he's becoming so much more interactive, showing off his little personality. He finally FINALLY rolled over. And it's becoming less like clumsily toppling over and more like actually intending to roll. (It was a long awaited milestone because my niece and my cousin's baby of the same age are practically baby gymnasts. Rolling around like a couple of circus performers. Show offs.) He can use his hands to grab toys and tries to claw my nose off. He gets excited when he sees his dogs and giggles and is even chattier than usual. 

But with his newfound skill set comes with it a new 'tude:

Stink eye to the max.

Oh, did you not get me in my crib within a 5 second window? SNAP!

Oh, did I grab my own pacifier out of my mouth when I really wanted to remain sucking on it? SNAP!

Oh, you didn't just walk away from me when I was trying to have a goooogooogoogoogoo conversation with you? SNAPPITY SNAP SNAP!

I mean, he's still a happy baby most of the time, but he has this new ability that I like to call raging.  When he threw his first tantrum like a week and a half ago, it caught me totally by surprise. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? I thought. Clearly he was in agonizing pain. Was he teething? Was he sick? Was he choking on something? Something in his eye? I even had Will stop for baby Tylenol AND baby Advil on his way home from work. (Fans of modern medicine right here. You can take away one of my crunchy cards.) 

Nope, none of the above. Just needed a nap apparently. . . . 

Got this mom thang down, ya'll!

Onward. 

Part I is the rage. Part II is the inability to stay asleep. You see the vicious cycle. The professionals call this wakefulness. This mom calls it an excuse to ingest twice her usual amount of coffee and refuse all physical activity. (And speak in the third person, naturally.)

Will was sleeping really well for like a month and a half. He woke once or twice a night. Any time he woke more than that was a rare "bad night." Well, shoot. Ever since we got back from Maryland, he's waking every couple of hours like a newborn again. Homey. Don't. Play. That. And naps? Naps are like whenever he darn well pleases, take your Baby Whispering self and go run and whisper that.

I mean, I hope no one sees this as me complaining - just keeping it real and seeking humor in the every day toil - because let's be clear, becoming a mom is one of the best things to ever happen to me in my entire life. Forever worth the sleepless nights. And years from now I will apparently have perspective and grow used to it and get better at it, but hey, coming to terms with sleeping in one to two hour increments for the indefinite future is hard. Sanctifying. Death to self and all. 

I know that "in the blink of an eye"/"before I know it"/"next thing I know" Will will be sleeping through the night and I will be sentimental about our cuddle time in the middle of the night and how I used to wake up to wipe his butt and gosh, he just grew up too fast! Because momnesia is a reality. 

That I can't find the humor and joy and good in even the funkiest, frustrating sleep regression? Myth.