Saturday, November 29, 2008

In Due Time

Westley was due one year ago today. And one year ago today, my water broke.

I was getting out of the car at the supermarket and thought, "That's weird. I wonder if that's..." But I decided that it probably wasn't. Except of course it was.

Whether or not I was ready for him, my tiny son was ready to see the world. Almost...

Too pregnant for pants: 11/28/07


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This is my 100th post, which is sort of lame, since I've had this blog for almost two and a half years. Still, I know there are at least a few of you out there reading, so in honor of the occasion, I'd love to have you de-lurk for a second and say "hi." (This goes for you too, friends and family!) Where are you from? Are you also a broad with a baby? Do you blog? Can I get you something to drink?

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Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Headbanger

Westley hit his head three times today. After falling and scratching his forehead on my end table on the way down, he tripped over a cat toy and tumbled into the edge of my parents' coffee table an hour later. (The third time was a standard-issue bump against the ottoman this afternoon, just to scare me.) He has a cut on his brow bone, just above the outside corner of his right eye, and a bright blue-purple bruise to go with it. Grandad said, "You should see the other guy."

Poor West. He wailed and wailed, and when I scooped him up and held him against my chest, blood ran into his eye. For a minute, I was convinced he'd actually cut his eye, and it took everything I had to keep from panicking. Remarkably, he was pretty much back to normal before I even got off the phone with the nurse at the pediatrician's office. And now, judging from his general demeanor, you'd never know anything happened to him. Except that he looks a little like Rocky Balboa.

It's funny: I'm still feeling a little shaken by the whole Headbanging-fest, but the guy who actually crashed into the furniture is ready to get back out there and try it again. I'm going to be feeling a little gunshy with respect to coffee tables for a while. My son is still fearless, bruises and all.

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Friday, November 21, 2008

Away from Westley

Last night Rob and I slept in a cushy bed in a somewhat swanky hotel. Alone. Westley stayed with my parents. It was the second time Rob and I were away from him overnight, but somehow, it was much harder this time.

Maybe it's because we've turned yet another corner and embarked on a phase that can best be described as a near-constant Mommy/Westley love-fest. I'm not sure what I did, but Westley loooooooooovvvves me all of a sudden. He can't get enough hugs and kisses, and he's constantly pounding on me as a sign of his never-ending adoration. (I think it's a sign of affection. I think he's trying to pat me.) He cuddles up to me on my big bed at nap time, and it makes my heart just melt. I just want to snuggle him all the time! Still, it hadn't escaped my noticing that being crazy in love with my son leads to its own kind of exhaustion, and I was looking forward to the break.

Naturally, I couldn't stop thinking about him the entire time we were away. As Rob and I climbed under the very neat, very white covers in our spotless room, I wished our grubby little dude were snuggled in between us. It was sad to think I wouldn't see Westley first thing in the morning. I wasn't worried about him, even though evenings and mornings have been a little tough lately. My parents know a thing or two about babies, Westley is almost as passionate about Grandad as he is about me (Grandad has tools!), and I was pretty sure things were fine at home. I just missed him.

It's hard getting punched in the face by one's emotions. But it seems to happen all the time now, as my intellectual self wrestles with my emotional self. I now suspect that mothers drive their children crazy because they themselves are being driven crazy on a daily basis--just by being mothers. Living with "motherhood" as part of their internal lives.

I feel a little cheated out of a mini-vacation with my husband, but at the same time, I love how much I love my son.

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Thursday, November 6, 2008

11 Months

Dear Westley,

We've turned a corner, and it's dumped us out onto a rocky, bumpy street. I think you'll agree that things have been hard lately, dude. I'm having a hard time, and you've certainly been better. You're so busy now--growing taller by the minute, getting teeth, trying to walk, wishing I'd figure out your "words"--and it's driving you a little insane. You grunt at me and furrow your brow, and reach and fuss and thrash. I shake my head wonder what the hell to do next, wonder how I can possibly keep up when you're suddenly so needy and clingy and not-distractable. The baby who was still in my belly a year ago is becoming an opinionated, independent person. Every day, your "baby-ness" seems to fade a little as you test your world. And me.

You flop down on my lap and smother me with "kisses," which are really bites because you don't know better. You want one apple slice for each hand. You squirm and kick when I try to get you to nap, and you decide when bath time is over by climbing out of the tub yourself. You fight like hell when I have to put you in your car seat, and scream bloody murder when I try to change your diaper. When you gesture to something in the world and grunt, I guess a million things while you stare at me like "Really, woman? How can you be so stupid?"

I feel stupid a lot of the time. Because you change the rules on me! When I think I get it--I finally feel like I understand what you need--the old tricks stop working, the old soothing routine stops helping, and I sometimes cry right along with you, wondering if I'm ever going to understand you again.

Because I want nothing more than to understand you. I want to hear your thoughts, and know what you believe, and share stories. I want to know how you see the world. Sometimes I feel like I don't know much about you because you don't have words to describe your life, but you really tell me more about yourself every day. You love birds, and would very much like to hold one. You don't mind getting rained on, as long as it's only for a short time. Your favorite food is avocado. You're almost certainly left-handed. You can drink water from a cup but you'd rather shake the cup and throw your head back and laugh. You're incredibly challenging and incredibly wonderful.

It's hard, and even on the days when I don't like you, I still love you like crazy. I'm lucky to know you, West.

Love,
Mommy

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Saturday, November 1, 2008

Skunk'd

Happy (Sleepy) Halloween!

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