Baby, It's Cold Outside

The weather outside may be frightful but inside, I'm soaking in the sun. Yes, we're in the midst of an unmistakable sunny week.

I find myself wondering who swapped my willful prince with this even-tempered angel who only complains when weary or famished. "Nate Lite" has even adopted a pacifier - the object that he would, until recently, barely tolerate. No hesitation. A trip to the mall just weeks ago would have resulted in an embarassing tantrum and a swift exit. But thanks to our new silicone comrade, we were able to finish 98% of our Christmas shopping without so much as a peep from the stroller. Just observant eyes taking in the surrounding scenery.

He has been delivering more cheesy, toothless grins than ever. Even some giggles here and there that make me feel wealthier than Oprah. He's also discovered his voice and now babbles and squeals incessantly, despite the moon's plea for peace and quiet at 1am. We're talking notes only a Bee Gees brother could hit. But since the ruckus comes from such a rosy-cheeked cherub, there's no way I could shush him in my fit of laughter and glee.

I just hope this pleasantness prevails through the holidays.

Looking back on the past month, there has been evident advancement in his fine motor skills. At 3 months, Nate was merely batting at toys and still pretty much living in his own little world, oblivious to our fervent attempts to entertain him. Either that or he just plain ignored our idiocracy. But at 4 (almost 5!) months, he can now deliberately grab objects with an iron grip and bring them to his mouth where they will inevitably drown in the drool pool. With this greater coordination comes great responsibility. I seem to have grown an invisible antenna to identify anything remotely dangerous within his grasp. I have to contain wandering arms and legs so fingers don't reach onto my dinner plate and feet won't knock over fragile goods.

It's only a matter of time until more skills emerge. With its corresponding wonder week. So, I'm enjoying this congeniality while it lasts.
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In unrelated news, a coworker announced her pregnancy today. She is 38 and while I'm not sure how long she and her husband had been TTC, I do know she miscarried last summer. Due July 9, 2009.

I am truly delighted for her, despite the repugnant date.

But I'm also a wee bit jealous. And I have no clue as to why.

I'm nowhere close to feeling ready for another baby. I can't even fathom it right now. And though I've dodged those bullets that put the pressure on ("you want them close in age so they get along better", "you should do it soon since you're already accustomed to the baby phase" or my personal favorite, "you've got to try for a girl!"). I'm in absolutely NO hurry.

I mean, physically, with all of my lovely scar tissue courtesy of a second-degree tear, my vagina can barely perform the necessary function to make childbearing possible. Mentally, I'm plum tuckered out. Most days, I can hardly keep my eyes open much less stay organized at work and at home. We live in a 3-bedroom apartment, which is already bursting at the seams. I can barely meet the needs of one infant. How the hell would I manage two under two? So, you see, there are many factors as to why I'm not even considering TTC a sibling for Nate until he turns 1. Not even uttering a word about it until that point. And possibly even later if I still can't muster the courage to initiate that conversation.

But yet I reminisce about my pregnancy. And I miss it. Even the miscarriage worries, listeria concerns, crotch pain and tremendous weight gain aren't enough to wake me up to reality. The announcement tugged at my heartstrings and made me wish it were me going through that anticipation and excitement again.

I need to be committed.