Three

Three years ago at this time, we had said our vows and were dancing at our reception. As the sun set below the horizon in favor of a starry night sky, I remember we made a wish. For a real live baby to fill our arms and our hearts.

Today, three years later, our soon to be 11-month old son is waddling about, babbling "dada" while experimenting with volume control.

In three short years, we became a family of three. So much has changed yet our love remains the same.

Our lives have become quite hectic lately - with me staying at home and you working two jobs - and we don't have as much time alone as we would like. Things aren't perfect. But we are ultimately happy. Our ups and downs over the years have made us stronger. I have no doubt we can make it through just about anything. As long as we are together.

Happy Anniversary, my love. And Happy First Father's Day.

Lost & Found

My beloved mommy necklace has gone missing. I first noticed its displacement on Mother's Day. I checked all the usual suspects - jewelry box, dresser, bedside table drawers - and it was nowhere to be found. I thought about the last time I wore it. Moving day. I recalled seeing it as we were in the throes of last minute packing and I stuck it in my pocket for safe keeping. But I can't for the life of me remember taking it out of my pocket. Or ever seeing it again for that matter.

I was immediately overwashed with guilt. How could I allow such a sentimental piece such as this to slip away from me like this? How could I show such little attention to something that was supposed to mean so much to me? I admit the discovery - or lack thereof - made me feel despondent on a day I should have been completely and utterly joyful. But I was hopeful it would turn up. Surely, we would find it in our array of unopened boxes. Somehow, someway.

Both DH and I have searched high and low, leaving no stone unturned, but to no avail. I'm trying to convince myself that it's gone. Reasoning that it fell out of my pocket in transit. Or that it is in some secret, hidden place where I am unlikely to find it for years. But that is unacceptable to me. I need something tangible. Something to wear proudly, close to my heart. A token to signify my triumph. A gentle reminder of the journey that brought me full circle.

I feel absolutely empty without it.
__________________________________________________

As I was frantically rummaging through my closet trying to find the necklace, I uncovered a plastic tub of old clothes and accessories that I hadn't seen in years. I pulled out the articles one by one, holding them up to admire them in their entirety. They conjured up so many memories of high school and college. Those were chaotic times and in many ways, my life is simpler now. Even if there are aspects I miss sometimes - being a size 2/4 or my sole responsibility being to myself - I certainly don't want to trade places with my 19-year old self permanently. I traded the superficiality and angst for a much more enriching life. I feel much more wholesome and proud of myself now. I've lived a little bit. And while I still have a long way to go, I have more of an appreciation for life in general, and the little twists and turns you encounter along the way.

I came across a pair of low-rise pale blue corduroys courtesy of Abercrombie & Fitch. Size 0. They were cut a little big. More like a size 2. But I remember they made my ass look marvelous. Ah, the days of bare midriffs. I looked down at my tummy flab and love handles - my postpartum badges of honor. My body has written its own autobiography.

I recalled how healthy and alive I felt back then. When these pants adorned my hips. I had the energy to work out six days a week. I had the best figure I had ever had in my life. I had no problem working a full-time job during the day and attending school full-time in the evenings. Now I struggle to wake up in the morning. If I don't have a dose of caffeine, I can barely function. I have so much more to enjoy in my life right now but I have less vigor. So unfair.

I came to the bottom of the tub. The trip back in time was pleasant while it lasted.

I decided then and there to consign them. I can declutter our eaves and get some extra cash to afford a refreshing, new, mature yet stylish wardrobe. After all, I'll never be able to wear these again. That ship has long ago sailed. So what's the point in keeping them around? They're just taking up valuable space.

Although I admit it crossed my mind to keep the blue cords. For memory's sake.

Force To Be Reckoned With

The apple must not fall far from the tree. I think DH's passion for engineering may have been instilled on Nate. I predict a major in the field of physics, with a minor in mathematical theory.

It appears he has grasped the concept of gravity. Thank you so much, Sir Isaac Newton. I can attest your contributions are laudable. (Grab your umbrella. It's dripping sarcasm in here.)

Feeding time has become quite the frenzy, as every last bit of food pretty much lands on the floor. Even once favorite treats like biter biscuits and cheese puffs are lobbed like grenades over the side of his highchair tray. Spoons, bowls, sippy cups - they all go over the wayside just for the thrill of the plop. All I can say is thank goodness for splat mats. But I have a hard enough time getting food into him as it is without this new "discovery".

It's not solely at mealtime. We've had to eliminate stoller toys after several teethers have mysteriously gone missing. Anything that can be clutched is now subject to a science experiment in gravitational pull.

This is an important lesson, I presume, albeit a frustrating one. 52 Pickup is going to get really old. Really fast.

Walkers Are For Sissies

My not-so-little baby is taking more and more steps each day. All by himself.

As you may recall, he took his first steps about a month ago, but needed to gain the confidence to persevere. In the past week, he has gone from taking 6-8 unassisted steps at a time to walking across the room (20 or more steps) without falling. He's dared to walk longer distances and on varied terrain (carpet, hardwood, gravel, grass, etc.). He has proven yet another facet to his independence and hence, is now a part-time walker. Crawling is still necessary to travel at lightening speed but walking provides another perspective, fostering his curious nature. I suppose the fable of the Tortoise and the Hare would be a useful tale to introduce at our next storytime.

He's still a little bow-legged but it is endearing to watch him wobble from one end of the room to another. So eager. So proud. But all the while careful to concentrate and steady himself. And when he completes his mission, he falls on his bottom and delivers the most magnificent, boastful smile. I pick him up in my arms and twirl him around in praise. Its moments like those where I feel as if nothing in the world could bring me down from my high. I feel so incredibly lucky to be in a position so as not to miss any of the milestones. I get to be right in the thick of it - every moment of every day. There is nowhere else I'd rather be, honestly.

The walking phase is exciting, yet terrifying. We've already endured some painful bumps and bruises as a result of this quantum leap. I feel as if I hold my breath with fear each time he gains the courage to stand up and go for it. Waiting with bated breath for him to fall so I can race to his rescue. But to witness him succeed is indescribable. I'm watching his rebirth into a toddler with his every traipse.

Now, for your viewing pleasure:

Crime and Punishment

As you can tell from this week's lovely Wordless Wednesday pictorial, we have an ankle biter on our hands. Well, not the ankle exclusively. Shoulders, chest, arms, thighs - even my big toe has fallen victim to Nate's overzealous chompers. The origin of this loathsome new habit of biting - insanely hard - is quite the enigma. My best guess is that he is the latest devotee of the Twilight/True Blood "fanpire" series'. Damn television. Already warping my kid.

In all seriousness, I'm unsure of the exact time this mannerism started. I remember his rooting reflex as a newborn, as he bobbed his head, pecking for a nipple like a hen for grain. This instinct disappeared just in time for the drool and discomfort of teething. I recall a smidge of toothless "gumming" originating around the 6-month mark, just prior to when teeth first made their grand entrance. Mostly on his own fingers. But now that said teeth have fully emerged, he seems to have discovered a novel way to put them to use. At 10.5 months, the biting is getting worse by the day. And with eight teeth, it certainly doesn't tickle. As a matter of fact, he has bitten me hard enough to leave welts and bruises on my skin.

It has to end. STOP. NOW. I absolutely, positively do NOT want to be the mom who gets a phone call that her child bit a classmate in preschool. The mom who avoids playdates because her son can't control his animalistic tendencies. The mere thought is mortifying. Not to mention it FREAKIN' HURTS. I do not like wearing long sleeves in summer to hide the evidence of abuse.

Let me say, I don't *think* this is in any way related to teething. I've been scrutinizing his behavior and searching for triggers so I can preempt the munching. Instead, it seems to occur as the result of (a) overstimulation or excitement and (b) frustration.

As far back as I can remember, Nate has been easily overstimulated. I personally believe that his colic, in large part, was due to his inability to process his environmental cues. He can better manage his senses these days but he can still become excitable. For example, if we've been playfully crawling around together and I collapse on the floor, he will crawl over to me and nuzzle affectionately. Charming, right? WRONG. That sweet, innocent hug quickly turns into a piercing "love bite".

Furthermore, if I'm on the computer or phone and he wants my undivided attention, he will accost me, crawl or walk over to me and bite me on the closest appendage. Since he is incapable of verbalizing his irritation, he bites as a way of communicating his disgruntlement. Sometimes, I think the bugger does it because he knows he'll get a reaction out of me.

Both situations - while understandable for a baby his age - are simply unacceptable. He HAS to learn. But how?

They say the punishment should fit the crime. But at this age, he doesn't have the capacity to understand right from wrong. He's not 2 or 3 years old. He has no idea that what he is doing hurts others. Nor can he tell me exactly what is bothering him.

I will NOT go medieval as some have suggested and bite him back. While it may, in fact, relieve the biting, what exactly does this teach? It's okay for Mommy to bite but not you? I don't want to reinforce that violence is an appropriate method of handling his emotions. Besides, I can't in good conscience bite my baby, even if it is to teach a lesson. There has to be a less aggressive means to get my point across.

I tried substituting a teething toy after the incident but it did nothing to hinder the situation. He'd just toss it aside listlessly. I even tried to put on an act, pretending to wail. But all he did was look at me and laugh in my face. Real sympathetic.

The only action that has shown any relative success is a stern "NO BITING" along with a time-out. Saying "NO" seems like common sense but when your first instinct is to scream, "F^%&*#$@! OUCH!", maintaining your composure can be problematic. After a firm rejection, I remove him from my body and ignore him for 60 seconds. Most times, this results in tears and a tantrum. But I walk away or put him down and leave him to his devices for one whole minute. When I return and pick him up, I sometimes get a second bite and other times, I am in the clear. My odds are about 50/50 right now.

I want him to learn that biting isn't going to get my attention - it's going to lose it. I'm hoping that with consistency in the punishment, my stubborn offspring will get the hint and quit cold turkey.

Do you think I'm on the right track? How would you handle this?

Wordless Wednesday: Biter

The Indoor Gal's Guide to Camping

It would probably come as no surprise to you that I am an indoor girl. Meaning I'd choose a luxury spa over the harsh jungle any day of the week. DH, on the other hand, is the handsome rugged type. Not afraid to get his hands dirty or sweat puddles. Opposites attract, I suppose.

However, considering our lean vacation budget this year, I temporarily lost my sanity and accepted an invitation for a spontaneous family camping trip with the in-laws. Primitive camping. None of this prissy cabin business with electricity that I had enjoyed once upon a time. We're talking dome tent with languid air mattress to mark your territory. Showering that requires shoes - and clemency for hard water. Resisting urination as you walk a mile uphill to the closest restroom facility. A persistent film of sunscreen, bug spray, smoke and dirt sealed on your skin.

While I knew up front it wasn't really my cup of tea, I reasoned that we so rarely get to act on impulse these days. We should take advantage of an opportunity to escape the normalcy. Variety is the spice of life, they say. And being the minority in my household with the lone vagina, I had better pull up my big girl panties and get accustomed to grime and filth. No better time than the present. So, we packed up the Jeep and drove for two hours to get here, preparing for our new adventure.

Things were off to a rough start as we hit stop-and-go traffic for the entire span of I-95. As we inched along, I had a moment of clairty and began to stress about the logistics of outdoor living with a 10-month old. I was tempted to turn the car around and call it off but I pushed on, motivated by DH's eagerness and excitement. The weather was turbulent and the rain cascaded over the hoods of our ponchos as we checked into the site and set up our gear. Well, I should say DH set up. I was on baby duty since Nate declined to sit in the comfort of his new warm, dry convertible carseat. It was cold and muddy. But I fought the will to complain. Instead, I quipped about what a hardcore camper I was. How my dedication should earn me some sort of merit badge. This led to a humorous discussion and chuckling over pieces of "flair".

That's pretty much how the trip went. We made lemonade from the lemons that were dealt.

I got zero sleep between a panic-stricken Nate waking repeatedly during the night and the sound of snoring coming from FIL's tent. But I still woke up with a smile on my face. Although I admit I was first in line for the instant coffee. Reeking of sweat and desperation.

When we discovered a tiny tick on Nate's neck and had to borrow tweezers from a neighbor to swiftly remove it, I laughed that despite dressing him in long sleeves and pants, the sucker - literally - was able to find the one bare spot on its defenseless victim. After the shock wore off, of course.

When DH spent the entire Saturday fishing and seemlingly deserted us, my frustration mounted but I remained composed. A little dripping sarcasm - and the ever useful silent treatment - earned me a deserved apology.

When a hike to Fossil Beach left us empty-handed of the remains for which we sought, we joked that at least we got our exercise for the day. And when I arrived at the beach to find I had forgotten my nursing cover - and had no blanket on hand - I nursed in public. Modestly and in a shaded area. But to hell with the consequences. It felt incredibly powerful to shed my timidity.

When Nate attempted to eat a fistful of dirt and rocks from the campground playground, I chided him and told him that he need not resort to sordid grub as a protein source.

It was a popular weekend at the campsite and there was never a dull moment. Peace and quiet were elusive. But there was one moment the first night - with the baby asleep in his playpen - where I laid awake in bed and stared at the apex of the tent, listening to the raindrops pelt us and slide down the nylon. At that moment, I felt detente. My stress melted off of me and I was ready to face the next day. Until Nate woke up, that is.

I ate so many hot dogs that I will likely have an aversion to them for months. I indulged in enough Little Hugs to warrant a cavity. But somehow I fell asleep and missed out on the classic campfire smores. If I have one regret, that would be it.

After roughing it for three days and two nights, it felt strange to come back home to plush carpeting and warm water. I - epitome of the indoor girl- almost missed the natural habitat. Unbelievable, right?!

I have to say this experience has given me a sense of pride. I have proven to myself that I can survive without television or a hairdryer. I extended my boundaries and surpassed my expectations. As did Nate, who I greatly underestimated. An unexpected side effect was to be able to truly distinguish necessities from luxuries. Toilet paper: necessity. Pillow: luxury.

This trip compelled me to put down the laptop and resist the usual distractions in order to focus on what's really important: making memories with family. So often, I'm caught up in documenting the happenings in my life that I fail to fully relish in it. It's in my nature to be introspective and that is unlikely to change. But when I can let go of the camera and the keyboard, I find that I am able to savor so much more. It's like being partially blind and resuming full vision. I can open my eyes and see the big picture instead of noticing things peripherally.

That explains why this is the one and only photo I took of our weekend getaway:



This has encouraged me. It's been a wakeup call. Maybe I need to put the blinders on more often.

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: From Baby to Toddler

I took this picture of Nate the night before his 10-month birthday but just recently uploaded it to my computer. As I opened the file and looked at this picture, I could no longer recognize a baby. It's as if he metamorphosed into a toddler overnight.

His growth - his maturation - manifested in a photograph. And I love it.

Aw, Nuts

It was only a matter of time before my little pioneer dredged the depths below to find the buried treasure otherwise known as the twig and berries. Bait and tackle. Package. Junk. Family jewels. Whatever term you fancy, the bottom line is that Nate has discovered "himself".

It all happened last week during bathtime. He was playing with a squirt toy between his legs and I assume either his hand or his toy brushed against the [insert figurative language here]. The sensation must have been enticing because from that point forward, he refused to let "it" escape his grasp. He engaged in pinching, twisting and pulling his anatomy as I winced in sympathy. I was an innocent bystander, beholding my 10-month old son treating his goods like a Stretch Armstrong doll.

I didn't stop him from his exploration. I realize it is a perfectly normal, healthy - and inevitable - part of development. Especially male development. I don't want him to grow to be ashamed of his body or embarrassed. I don't want him to think of masturbation as dirty or disgusting - only that it should be something done in private.

I had a flash-forward moment, envisioning Nate as a hedonistic teenager and walking in on him in an American Pie-esque scenario. I must have turned seven shades of red as I pondered what I would do in such a situation. I promised myself I will always knock before entering.

I guess I was just caught a little off guard. He had never shown any interest in the past, despite countless diaper changes and naked time. I thought it would be awhile before the time I had to explain the technicalities of our body parts.

Every bathtime since has involved some sort of penile reconnaissance. Some of the expeditions last longer than others. But it is now a part of our routine, like shampooing.

I now have the dilemma of what to officially call "it" down there. Should I call "it" by the proper biological names? Or should I assign "it" a cutesy nickname, like "pee-pee", "wee-wee" or "willy"? I am strongly leaning toward proper terms. My reason being because, well, the parts are what they are. Why add to the confusion with various nicknames that will only be replaced eventually with their respective anatomical definitions?

The joys of raising a boy. It's only just beginning. That I'm sure of.

Double Digits

That's right. Nate turned 10 months old on Tuesday.

As I think about how close we are to his very first birthday - 59 days and counting - I am a bit wistful. I wax nostalgic about the teeny tiny newborn days and part of me misses that period. Not the colic so much. Dear God no. But the little things that are noticeably gone forever. The uncontrollable, jerky movements. The limpness and fragility of his body. How he used to fit lengthwise in one arm. It's hard to imagine he was ever really 7 pounds and a mere 19 inches.

But it's also exciting to see my baby grow. Everyday, it seems he changes. As if he awakens as a different boy each morning. Not just physically but developmentally. He is so interactive and playful. How could I not look forward to the coming days when I know they will eventually include infectious smiles, hugs and giggles?

I've been occupying my recent days with party planning. The hardest part for me is keeping it simple. I want to give him everything under the sun, although I know that doing so would be disastrous on more than one level. I'm probably overdoing a bit with the finer details but I am having trouble binding and gagging the Type A-ness. We've decided on a cowboy theme. Outdoor event, weather permitting. Menu will be BBQ - thinking pulled pork sliders, burgers and hot dogs on the grill. Chips and pretzels in cowboy hats. Horseshoes - the game and the cake. My mind is bursting at the seams with so many ideas that I have to write them down in a notebook. DH has even hinted I should consider a career in event planning and coordination. In jest. I think.

Okay, enough about me. Back to the guest of honor. At 10 months, my little man:

Walks! After courageously taking several unassisted steps a few weeks ago, he now insists that crawling is more convenient and thus his preferred method of travel. However, he adores his new push toy and longs for unlimited space to walk in perpetuum, hand in hand with his lion pal, to his heart's content. I admit his tenacity is quite amusing, if not admirable, when he encounters a wall and grows increasingly frustrated as he tries to turn it around in the opposite direction. I can't help but take pity on him and remove the impediment. But this leads to a day-long game of "chase me, now help me" that wears on the 'ole latissimus dorsi.

Can go from sitting to squatting to standing without help. Quickly. He is also much less wobbly in the standing position and can easily stand for a minute or two. Probably could go longer if only there weren't so many distractions. He has always had strong legs and continues to demonstrate his vertical aptitude.

Can climb the entire flight of stairs. With Mommy playing the role of safety net. Hence, the purchase of this baby gate to be installed ASAP.

Can clap and wave goodbye. He is more consistent with the former since he loves playing pattycake but we are making progress with the latter.

Has limited his naps to once a day, much to Mommy's chagrin. He used to take two hour-plus long naps but lately, he will take a longish nap (hour+) in the early afternoon and a 20 or 30-minute catnap a few hours later. However, the catnap is optional. He often stays up until the start of our dinner/bedtime routine.

Is generally sleeping at least one 5-hour stretch at night. If not longer. Of course, now that I've written this, I am sure to have jinxed myself. I'm just waiting for him to revert back to the 2-3 hour wakeups. *shudder* I still believe sleeping entirely through the night is an urban legend. But we are worlds away from where we were just months ago. And for that, I am ever thankful. I don't know how to act now that I'm not drained of every ounce of energy I possess. I can also get him down 99.9% of nights without a fight, which gives me the warm and fuzzies.

Is jabbering more and more. He finally slipped us a "dada" for the first time today, as a matter of fact. We'd been waiting for this welcome addition to the ever-present "mama". I question whether he says them discriminantly and while I am not yet 100% convinced, he is no longer addressing his Cheerios by the maternal mantra so I have to think he is somehow associating me with the proper term. Nonetheless, he is surely trying to imitate more of what we are saying these days, whether it be "bye-bye", "hi", "baby", "more", etc. Guess it's time to scrutinize our hip-hop song selections and limit our own sailor vernacular. I admit my tongue is guilty of assaulting my ears more than I'd like. I shall henceforth substitute the sweeter nouns of Fudge and Sugar in the event of verbal whiplash.

Is eating more table foods. In addition to the usual suspects (steamed veggies/fruit, puffs and cereal), we've explored deli meat, saltine crackers, pasta, cheese, chicken nuggets, waffles, pancakes, soft pretzels and more. The list goes on and on. We still use reliable purees, especially if I'm in a time crunch and can't find the time to fix a solid meal. But finger foods are being offered more readily.

Is learning to drink from a sippy cup. He hasn't quite gotten the hang of it yet but in all fairness, we haven't introduced it regularly so he isn't all too familiar with this foreign object. He still bites the tip of the sippy to draw out liquid, rather than sucking. And he loses interest quickly, tossing the cup aside for a more interesting toy. I bought a straw cup with the hopes he would catch on but so far, the results have been equally blase.

Has a newfound fascination with books. I've invested in several board books that he will ruminate over again and again. His favorite right now is his baby bible board book. He will flip the pages himself and run his hands along the pages, as if tracing the illustrations. Such a little intellectual.

Listing all of his accomplishments illuminates me with sheer pride. I almost feel undeserving that I get to witness miracles on a daily basis. I still don't know why or how I got so lucky. But boy am I glad I am.