The Only Constant in Life is Change

"We can no longer accomodate your current schedule. The company is making some exciting changes as a result of our growth. Unfortunately, telecommuting will no longer be an option. We would prefer if you could work full-time in the office 5 days per week but will accomodate at least 3 days per week in the office. If you choose to go part-time however, your health insurance, vacation/sick time, 401K and other benefits will be withdrawn."

I nodded in compliance, taking in each word and letting its meaning swirl around in my head. By the end of the meeting, the blabber began to resemble the incoherent voice of the teachers of the Pea.nuts comics. Wa Wah Wa Wah Wah Wah.

Although I was caught off-guard, I was not angry. I was not emotional. I was surprisingly at peace.

I have been struggling with balancing work and motherhood for months. Notably ever since the New Year with our company restructuring. My workload tripled from what it had been in 2008. Of course, my pay remained the same. While my job performance has not been lacking - I honestly work harder now than I ever have before - I spend most of my days feeling like a complete and utter failure. I sit Nate down on his playmat surrounded by a lovely array of toys, hoping that would make up for our lack of personal interaction while I worked on media plans and made phone calls. As he becomes more and more mobile, I am simply unable to give him the attention he craves. Case in point: one day, I put Nate down so I could free up both hands to work on a project with a tight deadline. I peeked out of my peripheral vision as he rolled across the floor over to my pump bag. I saw he was sucking on the strap. I didn't think much of it and continued hammering out my proposal. Another minute passed and I looked up to find him chewing the cardboard box of zwieback toast that had fallen out of the bag. I rushed over to find pieces of cardboard scattered on the carpet. I checked his mouth and did not see any remnants but that incident forever haunts me as one of my many "bad momma" moments. Several times, I found myself working at 11pm just to feel like I could get ahead for the next day. I am barely keeping my head above water in the sea of work.

I knew executive management wanted me to come into the office more but I didn't have a solution better than my current arrangement. So, I procrastinated. This meeting was the ultimatum I needed to make a move. My kick in the pants.

After discussing the idea ad nauseum with DH, we decided it was not in our family's best interest to stick Nate in full-time daycare. We vowed from the beginning that we didn't want to bend our family around our jobs so we were staying true to our beliefs. We also discussed the possibility of me working part-time (3 days/week) and decided that the bulk of my salary would basically be paying for childcare. Plus, DH would have to pick up the benefits anyway. Would it really be worth it? After much consideration, we decided no.

I found some side work for DH shortly after our move doing networking and tech support in the evenings and on weekends. He is also working on expanding his own consulting business, which has been in a bit of a lull lately. All of this is sporadic right now, mind you - certainly not matching my monthly contribution - but is looking promising as he has several partnerships in the pipeline. He wants me to use my marketing and advertising talent skills to help get it off the ground.

SAHM-land, here I come. On Monday, I will be putting in my two-weeks notice. My last day of being a working mom will be March 27, 2009.

I am excited yet scared. I've always been a go-getter. Determined. Motivated. I haven't NOT worked since I was 16 years old. I worked full-time and went to school full-time (12+ credits) simulatenously while maintaining a 3.91 GPA so that should speak to my willfulness. It will be a welcome change to have more solo time dedicated to Nate and the housework I've neglected for years. To focus on things in which I am personally vested.

But on the heels of my enthusiasm, I am scared about longevity. I worry about how this employment gap will affect my career opportunities in the future. I worry about making sure I get the adult interaction I need to be fulfilled. I worry about DH burning out from working two jobs and how it could affect our marriage. Would he resent me? But most of all, I'm concerned about our finances. We have enough savings to last us for months but what if DH's side business doesn't live up to our expectations? What in God's name will we do? Maybe I could go back to school or get a home daycare license. Perhaps learn a new trade like crochet or crafts (I did all of my wedding invitations, programs and favors myself!) and start my own little business. Worst case, I guess I could waitress or work retail. Not the greatest option considering my credentials and gargantuan student loans, but it would pay the bills. I would do it for the greater good of my family. They will always come above all else.

If everything works out, as I am hoping and praying, we can even work on TTC #2 this winter without wondering how to afford childcare x 2. Of course, we'll need to ensure our stability before diving in headfirst. But being a SAHM could make family planning more simplistic. See, there is simplicity hidden in the complexity if I dig deep enough.

I'm not entirely sure if this is the right decision. Things could end up being really really good or really really bad. We could end up looking back on this chapter of our lives as being one of the happiest times or being a pennypinching, stressful time we beg to forget. There's really no way to foresee how this will turn out.

I'm putting my faith in the man upstairs. Life as we know it is about to change forever.

The Sweetest 4-Letter Word

Mama.

Nate said it for the first time today.

DH and I have been coaxing him relentlessly for ages to indulge us with a "mama" or "dada" but he declined. Heck, if I had known that K.mart would serve as his vocabulary muse , I would have driven him there months ago.

My mom and I decided to take a trip to the discount store to pick up some Easter goodies and get out of the house on such an unusually warm March day. After enduring aisles upon aisles of baskets, candy, gift wrap and other seasonal merchandise, Nate grew tired and fussy. Seated in the shopping cart, he reached up to me with both arms, tears in his eyes and pleaded, "mama". I was immediately taken aback. It must have been a fluke, I thought. Even though my mother heard it twenty feet away. It couldn't possibly be real, could it?

I picked him up and whispered in his ear, "mama". He repeated it back to me, "mama". We bantered back and forth several times and each time, he repeated my words verbatim. He was grinning ear to ear, as if he knew how proud I was of him.

It just lit me up inside like nothing else. It touched my heart and made me feel immense joy I hadn't felt since his first smile and laugh. I always assumed "dada" would be the first word since it was easier to roll off the tongue. Touche, little man, touche.

I'm not 100% positive that he identified me as "mama" or if he was babbling and spouted off the long-awaited word simply by accident but regardless, it was spectacular. I wish I could clone that moment in the middle of K.mart. And, boy, I never thought I'd say that.

Just when I think I couldn't possibly love this little guy more, I find one more thing to stretch those heartstrings.

As if there were any doubt. I love you, my Sunshine.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Tonight, one of my fears came to fruition. My nipples came under attack of Nate's newfound chompers.

Although I had predicted this day would come since the first tooth appeared, it was still a shock to me when I felt the pain searing through the tip of my breast. In my stupor, before I could even react appropriately, Nate unclenched his jaws, apologetically. I stared down at him and pondered what to do next.

I had always been told to push his face deeper into my breast if he should clamp down. This may seem counterproductive (isn't it instinctual to pull him off?) but the idea is to briefly inhibit breathing through his nose. As appalling as this approach seems, it causes him to gasp for air, hence opening his mouth up wide enough for the nipple to be released. But since, in this case, Nate had already unlatched after the great bite, I was dumbfounded. It's not like I could punish him, as he is an infant and unaware of the consequences of his actions. He is teething and doesn't know that biting is wrong. All he knows is that the pressure against his gums is soothing. Regardless if it comes from a frozen washcloth, a teething ring or mommy's nipple. I can't - and won't - practice negative reinforcement out of anger or frustration.

So, I removed him from the cradle position - no more cuddles - and placed him down on the floor near a toy or two while I accessed the damage. There was a small gash on the underside of my boob, but surprisingly, it did not break the skin enough to bleed. I was able to escape trauma. This time.

Granted, this is the first occurrence. And I realize it is likely to happen more than once. I'm bound to suffer more significant injuries along the way.

I worry about how this compromises our nursing relationship. I am already anxious about our next nursing session, fearful that the next time he decides to bite, I won't be so lucky to walk away relatively unscathed. I am concerned that the biting will become commonplace and nursing will no longer be the peaceful, bonding experience that I've come to know and love.

I really am not ready to wean - or to pump exclusively. The thought brings incredible sadness to me. I know all good things must come to an end eventually. But I hope the end is not in sight just yet.

Laugh or Cry

In need of a constipation remedy? I have one word for you. Pears. They're the new prunes. They will get the job done in under an hour. Though I must warn you of the fountain of poo that is likely to occur.

I'm not sure at what point this happened - somewhere around the 6 month mark I believe - but Nate's poo has transitioned from a mildly noticeable stench to a full-on, heaveworthy funkfest. Diapers so heinous that my nose hairs burn atrociously with one innocent whiff. So vile that I question whether they are actually the result of a natural bodily function. I cringe with every fart. And since he is his father's son, that's a lot of cringing. Seriously, my kid is the human equivalent of the whoopie cushion.

Gone are the days of the thin, runny 2-wipe poos. We now have thick, sticky, lava-like 4-wipe poos. Could it be that the every 3-4 day frequency of BM's is causing a backdraft of epic proportions? Or is the simple introduction of solids, no matter how meager the quantity, to blame for the foulest odor known to man?

I'm obviously not liking this change so much. Especially when my dear son decides to let loose just as I've removed the diaper from under his bottom. I tried desperately to clean up the mess, scrambling to pull wipes out of the plastic container. But just as the wipe broke free, more poo oozed out. I stared in amazement and disbelief, wipe in hand, but frozen and unable to move.

Never to leave a job unfinished, the little sprinkler decided to take this opportunity to urinate on said hand before the wipe could shield me from the spray. Thankfully, I have a strong stomach and my gag reflex is not overly sensitive or else I would have been cleaning up more than just the indescribable slop of waste on the changing table pad. My initial reaction of disgust quickly turned into an eruption of laughter.

Sometimes, you just have to laugh or you'll cry.

P.S. I bet you were really in the mood for TMI, weren't you?

Resurfacing

Well, we did it. It's been about two weeks already (gasp!) but I am happy to report we survived the change of address. Despite several days without Internet access or cable television I lived to tell the tale. Forgive me if I have implied otherwise by deserting my beloved blog.

Although weather forecasts predicted rain, the only earthly element we battled was wind. The sky was merciful and remained clear over the entire weekend. The only casualties claimed by the move were my hamper - some unruly screws decided to escape while in transit - and Nate's bookcase, a hand-me-down which was on its last leg to begin with. Overall, it was a success. I compare it to a festering wound that finally scabbed over. Yes, my view on moving hasn't changed. It still aspirates hardcore.

We're not exactly settled in. In fact, the only rooms that are complete are Nate's nursery and the bathrooms. I just haven't been able to muster the energy to unpack in addition to performing our everyday routine tasks. But regardless of the numerous boxes I must detour, it is slowly beginning to feel like home. It feels right.

No more third story travels, arms laden with groceries or a portly baby. No more lugging trash to a dumpster on the opposite side of the community. No more fighting over vacant parking spaces or worrying about sound travelling through paper thin walls to annoy the adjacent neighbors. We've traded a view of asphalt for a view of trees and nature galore. Best of all, it seems we've nearly doubled our living space. We will need additional furniture just to keep it from looking too bare.

Even though the positives far outweigh the negatives, I can't help but reminisce. Our apartment was where our son was conceived. I peed on the infamous test in the guest bathroom. DH took photos of my burgeoning belly in front of our bedroom door. I labored on the couch in the living room. And we brought our baby home to that apartment. As shiteous as it may have been at times, I will always have fond memories of how our lives evolved there. Call me crazy but there are times I actually miss it. All part of adjustment process.

But I also look forward to making new memories here in our new house. There's sure to be some amazing stuff in store for us.
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Nate turned 7 months old yesterday. I know I say this every month but it never ceases to amaze me as the months pass by so hastily. I hardly remember what life with a newborn was like. I often look back at photos just to recall how much he's changed since we've been properly introduced.

In the span of a month, he now has 4 - going on 5 - teeferoos. It didn't take long for his mouth to blossom with little white slivers once the first one erupted. Everyday I seem to find a sharp, new tenant in his orifice. At this rate, he'll have a complete set by his first year.

Nate is also starting to show signs of crawling. He can get up on all fours and rock back and forth. But as soon as he tries to go forward, he lands flat on his belly. It's only a matter of time until he gets the hang of it and I'll be chasing him, shooing him away from sockets and wires. I can picture the chaos now. He's getting so big on me.

I'm beginning to retire his 9 month clothes in favor of 12 month apparel. With the move, I packed up all of his 6 month clothes. I shed a few tears as I folded them and stuffed them in a big brown box. I also traded his 6-12 month socks for the 12-24 month TODDLER size. Yes, my son could now be mistaken for BigFoot. That is, if he had more than his tuft of blonde fluff upon his noggin.

Solids are still a work in progress. Nate is still not a fan of being spoon-fed and will cinch his lips closed so that no one - not even the most savvy or entertaining folk - can penetrate the fleshy barrier. We've moved beyond rice cereal and oatmeal to banana, peaches, melon, avocado and pears. Out of all the delicious aforementioned fruits, it seems pears are his favorite. But that's not saying much. Only that he shudders rather than gagging. I follow his pace and I refuse to force feed him, even if it means wasting ounces of fresh homemade food (courtesy of my trusty Beaba Babycook, to which I shall dedicate a separate post to its awesomeness). I've tried various textures ranging from thin and watery to thick, soft and chunky. But it doesn't seem to make a difference. Purees - he's just not that into you. I'm beginning to consider that he would best adopt baby-led weaning (BLW).

He seems to be breastfeeding more often than usual and I'm worried that my supply alone won't be able to keep up with his dietary needs much longer. I know Nate can sustain nutritionally on breastmilk exclusively for a year or even more. But pumping is becoming a nuisance. I can barely pump enough to satisfy his appetite for the two days per week that I am at work. I was hoping that we could rely on fruits and veggies to fill in the gaps where my pump fails. Alas, due to Nate's rejection, I fear that we'll have to resort to formula in that instance. Although I will do everything I can to avoid it and stick with mamma's milk.

I'm sure you got more than you bargained for with my incessant droning so I will wrap this up neatly by saying it's good to be back. If you'll have me.

What's Going On

I apologize for leaving a void where my posts should be. I owe you all an explanation for my absence. I'd like to admit I've abandoned my blog in exchange for the drudgery of packing up innumerable boxes of useless trinkets belongings and deep cleaning areas that haven't been tended to since my nesting tirade in my 9th month of pregnancy. But that would only be a half truth.

DH turned the big 3-0 on Thursday. Although he prefers the ersatz "twenty-ten". We celebrated with a relatively low-key dinner and dessert here. Simply delish. Oh, not to mention my generous gift to him. Or should I say to us. It was a bit of a selfish purchase since we both expressed interest in learning the fine art of photography and had both been eyeing an SLR for quite some time. His birthday was the perfect excuse to splurge.

I should note that my first idea was a ski trip to Western Maryland but since I couldn't bear to leave Nate with my parents for an entire weekend to partake in amusing winter-themed activities, it would have required DH to hit the slopes solo. He politely declined the woo of the Black Diamond in favor of the well-reviewed camera.

Despite his continuous bereavement of his youth (his words - not mine), I think he secretly enjoyed the occasion. He waxed nostalgic about his twenties and realized that he had accomplished much in the past decade. He earned two degrees. Joined the workforce with a job applicable to said degrees. Fostered his inner entrepreneur by forming his own side consulting business. (Sure, right now it costs more in taxes to maintain than the profit it provides - but it is a startup after all. And I'm proud of him for even having the cajones to bring his vision to life.) Not to mention he made the best decision of his life when he decided to make me his wife and procreate with me. *wink wink*

As he talked aloud ad nauseum about how far he's come, my mind wandered as I thought about how far we had come and how our relationship has morphed over the years. I've tried to articulate the thoughts that swirled around in my mind but I've yet to be pleased with the results. Maybe one day soon I can be eloquent enough to share my babblings in a post all its own.

Somewhere between organizing boxes and celebrating my loved one's milestone, my immune system managed to infect itself with another cold, complete with head congestion and leaky nose (and to think I paid my dues in December...how foolish). Thankfully, it seems to have halted its progress. I am hopeful I can avoid a full-blown infection this go round. I am willing to suffer if it means Nate can be spared from its wrath. Much gratitude, booby milk.

Speaking of Nate and boobs - er, food - we're still riding the solids train. I often muse over why we call cereal a solid when the consistency is undoubtedly liquid. But let's not lose sight of the topic at hand. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. And if that's true with my son, well...I'm in trouble.

We started two weeks ago with the rice cereal, which went better than I had expected for the initial attempt. However, in the days that followed, Nate became increasingly obstinate (I know, my son? Obstinate? I must be mistaken). He refused to open his mouth in anticipation of the spoon, shaking his head and combating the utensil in objection. His jaws were impervious even to the fail safe "airplane" game. It got to the point where he would bust into tears just to be seated in his highchair. The last thing I wanted was poor associations with mealtime. And in all fairness, the rice did smell rather putrid even mixed with breastmilk.

So, in the face of a conundrum, I searched the kitchen and pantry high and low for any safe alternative to cereal and discovered bananas. I cut off a small chunk and mashed it into a puree. Same result. Gagging. Refusal. Mr. Fussypants in all his splendidness.

After forcing bananas for two days, I decided to give oatmeal a try. No gagging. Just a little residual spit. And I even got him to open up for a few bites. Sneaky bitch that I am found a loophole to his resistance. Ever pretending to be larger than life, he prefers to hold the spoon himself and put it in his mouth on his own. So, I dip the spoon in the oatmeal just enough for him to get a taste when he transfers it to his mouth. Also, as he goes in to lick the inside edges of the bowl like a desperate canine, I sneak a spoonful of oatmeal into his vacant oral cavity. Works like a charm. Last night, I actually got him to finish a whole tablespoon this way.

Just like our journey with bottle acceptance: practice will make perfect. I guess I just bred a boy who knows what he likes. As long as it starts with a B and ends in OOBIES.

Wordless Wednesday: First Supper

Mashed Post-ato Friday

I apologize for the trite headline but this post is going to be a mash-up of several topics that aren't worthy of their own posts. Yes, I guess I'm exhibiting the Judging part of my ENFJ personality.

So, after a supremely fussy/clingy/generally pissy day on Tuesday, I was convinced we were in the throes of a 6-month growth spurt. I was bracing myself for a week of misery. But to my pleasant surprise, Nate woke up completely refreshed and was all smiles Wednesday morning. He began using my fingers as teethers and as he glided the tip across his bottom gumline, I felt a sharp, pointy stranger where a knot used to reside.

His first tooth had erupted (as I illustrated for Wordless Wednesday).

I shrieked with surprise and excitement and he smiled pompously, as if he knew what he had just sprouted and knowlingly affirmed "there's more where that came from, Mommy".
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Nate's 6-month appointment was on Tuesday afternoon. My boy is 18 lbs, 2 oz and 27.5 inches long. His growth has slowed down a bit but he is still in the 70th percentile for weight and 80th percentile for height. Perfect physically and developmentally. Because his 4-month shots were delayed due to illness that lasted the entire month of December, he was spared from further vaccinations until mid-March.

We were given the green light to start solids so we introduced rice cereal - mixed with pumped breastmilk - that night. He tolerated it commendably and adeptly swallowed more than he spit out. But he quickly grew tired and began gagging on the soupy texture. After several spoonfuls, he was clearly full and disinterested in continuing the process.

Don't worry - I took more photos of the event than I would like to admit. They'll make for a perfect Wordless Wednesday next week. *wink*

After a few more days, I may introduce oatmeal and see if he favors it over the rice. But I probably won't pull out my trusty Beaba BabyCook for homemade fruits and veggies until after we make our move. *sigh*
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Nate hasn't pooped in 4+ days. I understand it is normal for a breastfed baby to go for days without a bowel movement but we're talking about the kid who had monster blowouts 3-4x a day for more than 5 months. It doesn't seem normal to have a sudden, drastic change in bowel patterns. Even the rectal thermometer isn't stimulating things.

Please tell me my son hasn't inherited my awful IBS/chronic constipation.

Tomorrow, I think I'll send DH out to pick up some 100% prune or pear juice. From what I understand, it's like an enema in a bottle. I can't wait to see what fun this shall bring.
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It's about time for another CIO report.

Bedtime has been fairly consistent since my last post. Nate has pushed up his bedtime to 8-830pm instead of his typical 9pm. Sometimes, he seems ready around 7 or 730pm, which saddens me if I've been at the office all day and don't return home until 6pm. On those days, I have to squeeze cuddle time and playtime into one hour. Just not enough. But once I see the signs of fatigue (rubbing eyes, yawning, attention deficit, general malaise, desire to nurse from both sides, etc. ), I retire to his room for a quick nurse and glide in the dark. I sometimes softly sing or hum a lullaby while I stroke his head. I should note that I rarely nurse him to sleep anymore. Instead, I unlatch him (or he unlatches himself), lay him in his crib awake with his beloved blankie and kiss his forehead, while reciting "nighty night". I leave the room and shut the door behind me.

Sheer silence. I don't hear one peep out of him as he first puts himself to sleep. *knock on wood* What an amazing transformation from just a week ago, when putting him down meant enduring hours of aural assault. It's a welcome improvement.

But he's still waking every 2-3 hours, almost to the minute. It's more out of habit than out of hunger, so I allow him to fuss for several minutes before going in to comfort him. Most times, he can fall back asleep on his own within 10 minutes. If he doesn't, a quick pat by Daddy or another quick "top-off" from Mommy will do the trick. But if he does in fact go back down, he is only down for another 2 hours or so before waking again and crying. It gets progressively more difficult for him to self-soothe as time goes on and usually by 4-5am, he is back in bed with us so we can all get some uniform rest for the last hour or two before waking for the day. We've had one or two 4-5 hour stretches, but those seem to be the exception rather than the rule.

I thought he may have been waking due to the winter weather, as his hands are often chilled when I go in for checks, but even on warmer nights or in fleece sleepers with a cotton onesie underneath, he wakes often. I also suspected the snow and hail falling on his bedroom window could have disturbed him, but he wakes even when the atmosphere is still. I've considered shopping for a sound machine but I'm not convinced that will solve the problem.

I'm beginning to accept that, like adults, every baby's habits will be different. Some are going to be naturally "good" sleepers - STTN at a mere "x" weeks old - and others will need more assistance to get to that final destination. My son happens to subscribe to the latter.

That being said, naptime - which used to be dreamy - has gone to H.E. Double Hockeysticks. He never used to put up much of a fight when I would place him in his swing at the 90-120 minute mark. But now he retrieves his gloves and starts boxing the moment my hands are removed from his back. It takes several attempts to get him down, despite displaying explicit signs that he is weary from being awake for 4+ hours. And even if we're lucky enough for him to give in, the shuteye only lasts long enough to be a catnap. Today, he napped a cumulative 30-40 minutes, as opposed to the usual 3-4 hours. I'm assuming this is due to teething and am hoping it will pass.

All I know is Mommy needs sleep if she's ever going to fill these empty boxes. Have I mentioned I hate moving?

Until next time...

Wordless Wednesday: Where's The Teef?

Six Months

Nate is 6 months old today.

Has it really been half a year already? It seems like just yesterday we were driving home from the hospital with our brand new little guy, going 10 miles below the speed limit in the slow lane because we were afraid to jostle or damage our fragile newborn.

When I think of how far we've come, I am astonished. I admire Nate each day and query how he was once the size of a poppyseed inside me. Proof of his existence was just a pale pink line on a stick. And now, here he is. My baby boy - my hopes and dreams - in the flesh.

At 6 months, my little man:

• Wears 9 month clothes and size 3 diapers comfortably. Whoa. I'm expecting him to top the scales at a whopping 19+ lbs at his checkup tomorrow. He's quite the hefty load these days, which makes walking in heels risky.
  
  
• Can roll both ways, although he is much more consistent rolling back to tummy. When on his tummy, he "swims" and gets frustrated, as he can only move in circles and not forward. It's quite amusing to watch actually but I have a feeling it won't be long until crawling commences.
  
  
• Can sit without toppling over for 15 minutes. He can counterbalance himself if he starts to lean to one side. But if he looks up too high, his body follows his eyes and he inevitably falls backward.
  
  
• Can jabber like a monkey, stringing consonants and vowels together like pearls on a necklace. Mostly "aah" type sounds ("da", "ba", "ga") with an occasional "ooh" thrown in for good measure. He is currently acing the "mmm" sound, to which we are coaxing "mama". He tries to mimic our lip motions but is still a tad too immature for words. He is very observant but he is also quite social. He loves to interact with people and talk to himself in the mirror. He is very intrigued by faces and always tries to grab eyes, ears, noses and mouths. Not to mention hair. Ouch. Or jewelry. Yikes.
  
  
• Can laugh and giggle. His most ticklish spot is his chunky thigh. Trust me when I say there is nothing more endearing than a baby's chuckle. After his spell of colic for the first 3 months of life, I never thought I'd see him smile so much. It's more gratifying than I can describe.
  
  
• Can pass a toy from one hand to the other, although he's only done this on several occasions. He can grab an object, such as daddy's remote, and pull it to him in an instant. Once he gets his paws on said object, it goes directly into the mouth. Oral fixation much?
  
  
• Is cutting his first tooth. I can feel a knot under his front left bottom gumline. And he is slobbering so much that I am frightened to lay him face down out of fear he shall drown in the volume of his saliva . I can't quite see it breaking through but I assume it is a matter of time. My breasts are quivering at their fate.
  
  
• Can reach out to be held or shy away when he wants to stay put. He's developing slight separation anxiety when I am not in his line of sight. Even when daddy is attempting to entertain him, he wants to know where mommy is. Luckily, he does not have an aversion to strangers. Yet.
  
  
• Can recognize his name. He will turn toward you if you call him. But only if you are not interjecting while he is captivated by coexisting lights and/or sounds.

While I could go on and on, I should make note that this milestone isn't entirely about age and growth. I'm also proud to say that I've been able to exclusively breastfeed for 6 months. I accomplished the goal I set out to meet way back when I first decided to embark on my journey to parenthood.

I have been able to resist the temptation of formula, even when my nipples were raw from cluster feeding and I cried through clenched teeth, questioning my supply. I have been able to withstand the monotony of pumping in bathroom stalls and storage closets. I have been able to defy societal expectations - or asinine opinions - as to when to wean and begin solid foods. I have been able to fulfill my son's nutritional needs with my body alone. It feels sublime.

I took photos of him this weekend in all of his naked glory (which DH made me promise not to share). Just to remember the body that my milk duds were responsible for. Each roll, each ounce of chub, all from the milk which I produced. I wanted to document this milestone so I can look back fondly in a few years at the result of my success. Our success. I couldn't do without my little partner in crime, who has fine-tuned his latch and suction into an art. That is, when he's not too distracted by his surroundings to demonstrate his abilities.

Happy half birthday, little man. You'll never know how incredibly loved you are.