Of all the wonderful pictures of Charlie I have, I chose this one to post today:
I had a little mishap getting all the shredded cheese back into its bag after dinner. Rossby is always ready to help out around the house. Counter's really clean now though. I mean because I sprayed it down with 409 after he was finished picking up the cheese. Our friends have asked us if we feel like real adults now that we have a baby. I don't know, do real adults almost wake the baby up with riotous laughter as their dog licks fancy shredded cheddar of the kitchen counter (and maybe even chanting "Go Rossby! Go Rossby!" and dancing around in the kitchen as if Ross was some frosted hair frat boy doing a beer bong?)?
Poor Charlie had a pretty crummy day today. By normal-baby standards, it might have been a normal day. But by Charlie standards it was an unrelenting shriekfest. It started this morning when we were unable to get him to go down for a nap despite how obviously exhausted he was. After about an hour one of us finally thought to check his diaper (which was soaked) and by then he was so out of sorts sleeping in his crib wasn't an option. SLEEPING wasn't an option. So I fed him early. A lot early. The poor kid also seemed to be starving. He was a sad baby. Another growth spurt? Bring it on. Interesting fact: growth spurts are triggered by houseguests and they are particularly intense if you've been telling those guests for weeks what a great sweet perfect baby he is.
He was a good boy at lunch, sleeping in my arms for about twenty minutes and smiling and cooing the rest of the time (adorable enough to score two Oreos from the waiter. which I ate). Incidentally the really cool thing about taking a baby to a rib joint is that when you snuggle up with him later and nuzzle your face down into his soft, sweet baby hair it smells like smoked meat. Anyway he had some great playtime with Nana after I fed him when we got home. Then he got tired again and would. not. go. down. for. a. nap. No Mama, no way, no how. Unless you hold me, bounce me, and sway, all while holding the pacifier in my mouth. And no you CANNOT sit down and don't you DARE put me in my crib. I got him to sleep again for a few minutes after another (early) feeding. I handed him off to Poppa so I could start making dinner, where he promptly woke up and refused to go to sleep again. By this point he looked absolutely miserable... face squished up and turning red (the "I am the saddest baby in the whole world" face), rubbing his eyes with his hands, flailing his arms and legs, whimpering. I stuck him in the sling where he quickly settled down. Another quick handoff to Poppa (this time the entire sling and baby) and he was fast asleep and I was cooking dinner.
He is in bed now fast asleep after a bath and a longish nursing session. And once again I can marvel at how perfect he is and how lucky I am. I mean I am so lucky. I don't think about that often enough. I sure did when he came home from the hospital. I couldn't stop myself from singing and smiling and crying with joy and continuously thanking God for him. I still feel grateful and love him more than I can put into words but maybe I'm used to it somehow or something? Like feedings (which I love. I will never get over how amazing it is that I can feed him with my body) and diaper changes and spit-up and baths are just part of my life now and I just don't stop to think about what he really means to me. Anyway I read this heartbreaking blog tonight that has put everything into perspective. The author's wife was diagnosed with cancer during her fifth month of pregnancy and from what I could tell they had to make a decision between terminating the pregnancy or risk losing both mother and baby. It's just too awful to think about. After I read it I went into Charlie's room and watched him sleep, felt him breathe, touched his hair. My heart told him that no matter how many cranky days he has or how much he cries, no matter the career I may not get to have or the perfect body I will never have, no matter how many hateful things he says in anger as a teenager, no matter what, I will always count myself lucky to have him in my life.