Random Thoughts on a Tuesday

Is it really September right now? How in the world did that happen? And when does it start to cool off in St. Louis/Southwest Illinois (to be accurate)? This is THE reason for our initial excitement for leaving Florida. Don't hold out on us now, Midwest climate. 

Ahem.

First Housekeeping Matter: Puffs are back in our arsenal! The on-call nurse thinks baby Will's rash is the likely result of my mastitis antibiotics. His rash is a bit improved, so we're still going to see the doctor tomorrow, but I figure I'm going to err on the side of Puff-Freedom. For now. 

Baby Will is undergoing one helluva development boom, again proving to me that the Wonder Weeks app is worthless. (I'm sure you can't wait for his 7-month post coming up in a few days where I will talk your face off allllll about it.) He is really getting good at using his hands, which has its pros and cons. E.g.:

• Pro: He can feed himself PUFFS. YEESSSS. 
• Con: He likes to practice feeding himself Puffs IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. NOOOO. 

Sleep has been a disaster lately, which makes me kind of hilariously mean. (Come on. We all do it.) I won't go into detail because I have a little pride, but I think I need to re-read my own blog post and be nicer to my husband. I'll start right now with some PDA. Will B., you're my hero. I love you.

Recently, I asked Will to take more photos of me with the baby because there are approximately 5,384 photos on my computer of the Wills, but zero of me and Will that are not a grainy selfie. He stepped up and snapped this gem that I posted to Instagram that is a real treasure. But finally he snapped a few that I'm sharing with you guys because DUH this is my mom blog. 

Which brings me to my next point, When did this child start looking like a teenager?! I do declare. These pics were snapped at our favorite brewery/restaurant, Main Street Brewery, in the mecca known as Belleville, Illinois. If you ever happen to be in the area. You know. 

Okay, I need to go stretch out my shoulder. Will and I had an epic basketball game over the weekend. Basically, I showed him my skillz from my days as the Lebron of JV girls' basketball (circa 2001). And now I'm paying for it because I am OLD. 

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.