Excusing my Guilt

I'm kind of at a loss what to blog about today. It was a quiet weekend. Even Patrick didn't do anything spectacularly cute or annoying. He was just Patrick.

I guess the biggest event was really a non-event. Yet again, after making plans to get up for church, we didn't. I saw "we," but it's really because of me that we didn't go. Church has always been so important to me, and going on Sunday mornings at least was a priority. So why now can't I get myself up and go?

I'd love to say it's because of Patrick. I've always heard that it's just so much harder to get ready to go places with a baby around. And while that's true, that's way down there on my list of reasons to not go.

The biggest problem is that we don't have a home church. I think I may have mentioned before that with getting pregnant and being so sick combined with moving across town about the same time made our church search dwindle before it ever got started. I got used to sleeping in on Sunday mornings and now struggle to make myself get up early for any reason anymore. It's so much more difficult getting up to go do something social, especially with people I don't know. Those of you who know me know that I can be painfully shy. While I got better about that during college and my teaching years, staying at home with Patrick and rarely going out has sent me back to my old timid ways. I now get very nervous about any outing, no matter how ordinary. Going to an unfamiliar church full of unfamiliar people is too much for me to handle most days.

I'm scared about a lot of things. I'm scared that the church will follow an unfamiliar routine, and that I'll draw attention to myself by not knowing what to do when. I'm scared that Patrick will talk or cry at an inappropriate time. I'm scared that we'll have to take him to a nursery--again where I won't know the routine. I'm scared that I'll draw attention to myself by having to leave with him during the service. I'm scared that we'll stand out as visitors.

I'm also scared that nobody will notice us, that we will spend an hour or two among strangers who never give us a second glance. It's funny how much I don't want to have any attention drawn to me, yet I fear that very same thing, that it will be like we're invisible there.

I'm also afraid that Patrick will decide it's time to eat while we're there, which is almost a certainty given his usual schedule. He will only nurse anymore, which means I have to ask around to find a place to go feed him, and then I have the discomfort of new surroundings with the possibility of someone walking in on us. I would definitely have attention drawn to me as I left and came back as well.

All my fears combined overwhelm me on Sunday mornings. I'm usually already tired, so the draw of the bed beats out my waning desire to get myself ready for church. I know the only way to beat out all these fears is just to face them and get it over with. There is no way church, even a new one, can be nearly as bad as my fears make it out to be. But instead, I just let my fears take over. It seems so much easier that way on a sleepy Sunday morning.

Patrick's First Meme

Apparently there are plenty of these going around, because now Patrick's been tagged! I would let Patrick just do it himself, but his typing skills aren't quite up to par yet.

3 Nicknames:
Snugglebug
The Boy
Cutie Pie

3 People That Make Me Laugh:
Daddy, Daddy, Daddy
Mommy
Anyone else who smiles at me

3 Things I Love:
Bathtime
Dogs
My blankie

3 Things I Hate:
Wearing clothes
Getting my face cleaned after eating
When Mommy and Daddy aren't giving me their full attention


3 Things I Don't Understand:
Why I can't eat the same food as Mommy and Daddy
Why Mommy always makes me lie on my belly when I'm playing
Why Daddy always makes me laugh

3 Things On My Floor:
My gym
Nothing else; Mommy and Daddy help me keep things clean

3 Things I'm Doing Right Now:
Sleeping
Dreaming
Hugging my blankie

3 Things I Can Do:
Sit up well
Stand up by myself (with the help of the coffee table)
Put toys in and out of my shape sorter


3 Things I Cannot Do (yet):
Crawl
Walk
Get the Cheerios into my mouth every time

3 Ways to Describe My Personality:
Goofy
Snuggly
Happy

A Happy Buddha Baby

3 Absolute Favorite Foods:
Bananas
Banana yogurt
Banana-anything

3 Foods I do NOT like:
Gerber's turkey rice
And that's it right now

3 Beverages I Drink Regularly:
Milk
Water
Watered-down juice once in a blue moon

3 Shows I Watch:
Whatever Mommy's watching when she feeds me

3 Boys I tag:

3 Girls I tag:
I don't have enough other baby friends yet to tag. If your mommy or daddy is reading this and wants to do it, then you're tagged!

Having a Ball

It was early, early morning this morning (or 11:00). I was slowly being awakened to the sound of baby mutterings from the other room. As I grew more conscious, I reluctantly realized Patrick needed me, probably for more food. I groaned to myself and rolled over, dreading the burst of energy it would take to roll out of bed. Just then, Matt came into the room.

"Can you hear Patrick?"

Another groan. "Yes, he's awake already, isn't he?"

He hesitated. "Do you hear what he's saying?"

Huh?

"He's repeating, 'Mama.' Listen. He's saying, 'Ma. Mamamama. Mama.'"

And I did listen. I could barely tell the difference from his usual morning chatter, but it was there. My baby was calling for me. He wasn't just making noises to get attention. He was calling my name!

I wish I could say that urged me to hop out of bed and run to his side, but it didn't. I was way too groggy to get up quickly. Besides, I have a feeling that for a while, everything will be called a mama since that is the only word he knows. At least he's calling everything by my name!

In other news, last night Matt and I went out to eat in a real restaurant for a semi-date. It can't be a real date when you spend most of your time keeping the runt in the high chair entertained. He was entertaining, though! As we were getting settled at our table, several elderly people at the next table couldn't keep from complimenting him. "Look at those long eyelashes! She's so pretty--and in such a good mood. How old is she?" Yes, that's right, they mistook Patrick for a girl. I suppose between the long eyelashes he's so good at fluttering and the gender-nonspecific yellow onesie he was wearing, it was bound to happen. I was quite relieved I had thought ahead to bring the bib with a football on it. Nobody else made that mistake!

This was Patrick's first time in a public high chair, one of those generic ones they always have at restaurants. We've always been reluctant to try him in one because of his previous inability to sit up well. He did great in the high chair last night, though. I think he loved sitting up at the table where he could see everything with Mommy and Daddy. He also loved trying little pieces of food off Daddy's plate. Broccoli may become a new favorite. He started getting bored and fussy by the time we ordered dessert (yes, we even ordered dessert!), which made sense since I expected him to want to sleep about ten minutes into the meal. He was a trooper to make it that long, though. I sat him on my lap and found him a toy out of the diaper bag to play with and fought him as he squirmed and tried to drop the toy on the floor--all at the same time I tried to enjoy dessert with my other hand. I know mothers grow another set of eyes in the back of their head when the baby is born, but I think another set of arms would be welcome too.

Overall, the semi-date went well. I think all three of us had a great time, and the outing had the unexpected benefit of wearing Patrick out. He was asleep in his carseat by the time we got home. He slept from then straight through to 8:00 this morning.

Ok, now the reason for the title:

Look at the tongue. He gets that from Nana, who supposedly always needs that tongue out to concentrate on anything carefully (or so my dad says).
"Are you looking at my ball? My ball!"

or Matt's caption: "Yesssh, my precious..."
There's that tongue again!

"To be or not to be..."

Maybe he has more of a future in sports that I'd ever imagined. That's pretty good ball-handling, if I do say so myself.

Middle-of-the-Night Meme

So yesterday Tonya tagged me with this meme. Since I happen to be up anyway, I thought I might as well take a second to complete it now. (If you're curious, our house is unbearably hot to me tonight, and I can't get comfortable when the heat is this oppressive.)

*Alone or with people?
While I get to the point where I need socialization from time to time, I'm typically quite content being alone most of the time. In fact, when I'm around people very long, I find myself craving alone time, much sooner than I crave socialization after being alone.

*Summer or Winter?
I think the more appropriate question for Houstonians is summer or not-summer? I've always joked that those are Houston's only two seasons. And given the implication of the joke, summer in Houston is anything but fun. If it's summer in a comfortable place like Maine (I'm jealous of you right now, Mom and Dad!), then I'd prefer summer. In Houston, though, winter is better. You can always add layers to keep warm, or snuggle up in a cuddly blanket, but you can only take off so many clothes in the heat.

*Black or White?
I guess this depends on what the colors are in reference to. I usually like white better in general, but I think I look better in black.

*Observe, or get along from the very first moment?
I'm a self-proclaimed people-watcher. I'm not difficult to get along with, but I'd rather observe those around me than put myself out there and take the step to get to know them first.

*Clown, or Drama (Queen/King)?
I have an unusual sense of humor. Even when I attempt to play the clown, my efforts often go unnoticed. I try to avoid being a drama queen either, but I think I lean in that direction. I can turn any situation into a big deal if I really want to.

*A Hummer, or a BMW convertible car?
Umm...neither. Maybe another convertible if I had the choice, but any SUV even nearing the size of a Hummer is too much for me. (Although, SUVs are looking more and more attractive each time we pack up our family sedan with baby stuff for a trip...)

*Loyal or………
I'm loyal to a fault. Once you're a friend, you're always a friend.

*Three people I'm tagging
I hate this part. Even if I tag you, don't feel obligated: Mandy, Lauren, and Harmony

Now to try sleeping again...good night, blogworld.

Foot Fetish

Patrick said, "Mama," one more time since yesterday. I think he's just chattering his baby talk and runs across the word occasionally. Or maybe he's imitating me since I keep repeating it endlessly. Either way, I like hearing it, even if he has no idea what he's saying.

By the way, I think if you looked up the word "laidback" in the dictionary, I think this is what you would see:
He was being particularly funny while I was taking pictures yesterday, squirming and squirming until he found comfortable positions. He started out sitting up like usual and ended up more like this. He looks cozy, though, doesn't he?
He also took some time to indulge his obsession with feet. I think I've mentioned Patrick laughing at both Nana's and Matt's feet at different times. The other night he also played with and laughed at mine. I would have gotten pictures, but the camera wasn't within arm's reach (and I'm in desperate need of a pedicure). He's getting better at playing with his own feet too, even getting the toes in his mouth this morning, something he's only been able to do naked before now.
I think this pose reminds me of a turtle on its back. He seemed perfectly content like this, though.
I love his face in this picture. He seems totally distracted by something else, even while he's playing with that foot (and how cute is that tiny foot?).
Maybe he has a future as a gymnast. I wish I could stretch my leg that well! It's perfectly straight, and straight up in the air. The fact that he can stretch it so far that nonchalantly is what strikes me the most. I think I'd have an expression of extreme pain on my face if I even tried that move.

Mama

He did it! Patrick just said mama! I put him down in his ExerSaucer so I could chat with Matt online for a second, and Patrick started right into chatting with his toy friends. All of a sudden, I could swear I hear a mumbled, "Ma...maa." I typed to Matt, "I think he just said mama." I was a bit shocked and uncertain that I had heard right, so I didn't want to get either of our hopes up. Then as I was repeating, "Mama," to Patrick to encourage him to say it again, he looked right at me and clearly said it again: "Mama!"

Of course I told Matt about it right away; in a way he got to hear it too since he was getting the play-by-play of it over msn messenger. What great timing! Unfortunately I haven't gotten Patrick to repeat it since, but at least we know he can say it. Now I just need to work on teaching him what that means...and probably "dada" too sometime soon.

The English Teacher in Me Takes Over

There's still not a lot going on around here, so to spare you another recitation of my previous night's sleep, I'll use today to review that other book I've been meaning to review.

This book is It Hit Me Like a Ton of Bricks by Catherine Lloyd Burns. Burns is an actress who has a few lesser-known movies to her name and a few recurring roles on popular TV shows, the only ones of which I've watched being Law and Order and Malcolm in the Middle (that's probably the only time you'll ever see those two shows listed together). The book is her memoir of her relationship with her mother, especially as it changed as she, too, experienced motherhood.

Frankly, the book sounded boring to me. I'm always hesitant to read celebrities who think they can write; I'll roll my eyes at even the mention. And how cliche is it for a celebrity to write a book about their own lives? The story sounded boring and so overdone that this book would never be set apart from any other book about motherhood.

Possibly because I had such low expectations to begin with, this book blew me away. Yes, some celebrities can write! And Burns's story is unique, and the way she tells it is captivating. The book is a series of anecdotes from her life, starting from early childhood. The anecdotes she uses tell the story of her relationship with her mother better than any deep, analytical essay ever could.

I think what impresses me most about the book, though, is the shift in perspective throughout the book. Of course, each anecdote is told from her viewpoint, because it is her memoir after all. But the earliest anecdotes show a self-centered girl and young woman who has nothing but criticism, and sometimes even hatred, for her equally self-centered mother. After the turning point of becoming a mother herself and watching her own mother start to change as she ages, Burns is able to step back and offer us an unbiased look at both her and her mother. She is willing to showcase her own flaws along with her mother's. I think this perspective shift portrays her developing maturity more than what happens in the anecdotes. She is able to relate to her mother better when she realizes that they are both humans full of imperfections, many of the same ones, in fact.

I guess I liked the book not only for its writing style and story, but because it is real. I did not read the selfish story of a celebrity griping about how her mom ruined her, but instead saw real people coping with real problems and coming to terms with their own flaws and those of others through the bond of motherhood. This book was a pleasant surprise, and I hope Burns continues her writing career, no matter what her acting career brings her way.

Small Favors

I ended up having problems falling asleep again last night. At least I fell asleep by about 2, but that's still way too late, especially when I was exhausted all evening and was in bed trying to sleep by midnight.

I was prepared to spend the day exhausted and crabby again when Patrick woke me up before 7:30 this morning. He's been pushing that morning feeding a few minutes earlier every day for the past week or so. Maybe I should push his bedtime back instead to encourage him to sleep later (did those words really come from a mom?). Actually, I think it's because he hears his daddy leave in the morning, and Matt's been leaving for work a little earlier than normal lately. Either way, I was expecting Patrick to want to be up from his morning nap close to 10:30 today so he could eat again. I tried the same ideas I did yesterday to trick him into sleeping longer--I was hoping maybe 11:00--and again they worked! He let me sleep until noon. Yes, noon!

I haven't slept that late since Patrick got home from the hospital, at least not when I've been unable to rely on Matt to entertain him. That sleep was very welcome, and I feel better again today. I just hope the extra sleep won't keep me from falling asleep at a normal time tonight.

Other than that, not much is going on around here. Patrick's been cute as always. I love seeing his adorable personality show itself more and more each day. He's been playing hard lately.
I had a lot of problems catching pictures of him playing in his ExerSaucer because as soon as I would get a good shot of his face, he would swivel yet again to play with a different toy. Even using the flash, I still ended up with way too many blurry pictures. I'm still partly dreading his discovery that he can move on his own because I'm sure he's going to be a terror once he gets moving. He's already tough to keep up with sometimes, and he can't even move out of the same spot!

He probably should have outgrown his gym by now too, but it's a good way for him to play without putting stress on his belly right after he eats, which keeps him from spitting up too much. As long as he still enjoys it, we'll keep using it. He really likes the little mirror that came with the gym, now that I've unstrapped it from the gym itself and he can hold it. He will pass it from hand to hand just staring at his reflection. I love when he smiles at himself and coos. I wonder if he thinks the baby in the mirror will talk back to him.

test picture

It's All Relative

It seems that I have discovered the silver lining to bad days: they make boring, average days feel spectacular in comparison. I'm so relieved that today is better than yesterday that it seems like it's a really, really good day, when in reality it's probably remarkably average. I don't mind! I'd rather have a boring day seem exciting to me than the opposite.

I only napped for about twenty minutes yesterday. I was hoping for more, but it did keep me in a somewhat better mood for the evening. It also wasn't enough to keep me from being tired when bedtime rolled around. I fell asleep quite easily and slept well. I woke up this morning refreshed, with a much better attitude towards everything. Patrick also took a more normal morning nap (I tried a few things differently to encourage him to sleep longer), and I got a little more sleep then too. I'm sure the rain didn't hurt anything, as it likely helped both of us sleep better by keeping both rooms darker and cooler. Other than a slight headache that I've had consistently for days, I feel normal--maybe even better than normal. It's such a relief after yesterday.

It seems that Patrick's unexplained fussiness from yesterday is better today too. I wonder if it was in response to my bad attitude. Whatever it is, I'm much happier with my happy, cuddly baby today. There's nothing like a big baby hug and open-mouthed kiss (even if it also involves teeth) to bring a smile back to my face.

Oh, speaking of smiles, take a look at yesterday's pictures:

He's getting so talented at sitting up. I now feel more comfortable leaving him for a couple of minutes at a time while he's sitting because he rarely falls over anymore. He's using his sit-up time to figure out his toys. He is able to get toys in the shape-sorter now (even if it's by dropping them in the top, and even though they're not all the shaped toys), and can get the rings off the ring-stacker. Sometimes he can even get the rings back on! His hand-eye coordination is definitely improving, and he's able to much more easily control his hands and arms.

So that's why they say to cover all the electrical outlets!

He was having quite a hair day yesterday. It started out crazy to begin with, but then was doing this when I got him up from his afternoon nap. And yes, this is all it would do. It's not sticking to the chair, but is standing straight up. I'm guessing it probably would have laid flat, at least for a few minutes, if I'd soaked it with water, but this is much more cute, isn't it?

By the way, thanks to all of you who were worried about me after I spent the whole post complaining about my day. It really does help to know that there are people out there concerned about me and ready to support me when I have days like that.

The Lost Picture

As promised in the last post, here's the unlucky picture that was a casualty of my bad day.

"It's a bird! It's a plane! It's...the lamp!"

Kathy and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Keep in mind I'm PMS-ing and badly. I'm sure my reactions to the events of the day are entirely disporportionate to the events themselves.

That said, my day started much too early today, as I spent the first three hours of the day trying desperately to fall asleep. A combination of many factors, most of which can be blamed almost directly on these cursed hormones, kept me awake much, much later than I'd expected, until after 3 am. When I finally fell asleep, I didn't sleep very comfortably.

I didn't get to sleep nearly as late as I was hoping either. Patrick woke up before 8 this morning. That in itself isn't too unusual, but he'll usually go down for a long morning nap not too much later. He all but refused to sleep during that morning nap. I was trying to catch another hour or two of sleep while he napped, so it frustrated me to no end that he insisted on crying at the top of his lungs instead of sleeping. I may have snuck in about half an hour of restless sleep, but it wasn't nearly enough.

When I finally gave up on Patrick's morning nap, I got him out of his bed to change his diaper. He fought me; I guess he was mad that I'd let him cry very long. Remember that I was extremely tired and hormonal at this time. I'd already listened to him cry for way too long, and I just about lost it when he fought me so hard during a simple diaper change. As soon as I'd struggled a diaper on enough to cover the important parts, I dumped him right back in his crib and left him to cry until it was time for him to need to eat again. He was not happy. (I feel like such a bad mother, which is certainly not helping my attitude toward the day.)

He fought me through lunch a little later, but finally fell into a good nap shortly after, as though all the crying and fighting had worn him out. He didn't sleep nearly long enough, though. I've noticed a sad pattern over the last few days of shorter and shorter afternoon naps. That's when I shower and blog, and I'm not looking forward to rescheduling either just because Patrick has decided he doesn't want to sleep as long in the afternoon.

Even though his afternoon nap was shortened, I still had enough time to both shower and blog today. So why wasn't this post up hours ago? Well, remember nothing is going right today. I had just about finished writing it when apparently I accidentally stumbled across the wrong combination of keys, and it deleted my whole post. I couldn't get it back. So I gave up for the moment and sulked instead.

Patrick woke up from his nap about that time, and I sat by him while he screamed through playing on the floor, both sitting up and on his tummy. I don't know what it is, but he has not been a happy boy today. That does not combine well with an already frustrated, hormonal mommy. I will be so relieved when Matt gets home. He can help console the fussy boy, and probably me too. Maybe I'll get lucky enough that he'll send me back into the bedroom to get a nap while he deals with Patrick.

Oh, yeah, he does know how to smile!

As requested, here is another picture of me with Patrick, as unflattering as it is (for me anyway; Patrick is always cute).

Now that Patrick is over nine months old, we decided it's high time for him to start helping out around the house. He looks thrilled to be helping with laundry, doesn't he? He definitely takes his mom's attitude toward housework!

And of course, I had another picture to post. In accordance with the series of events of the rest of my day, it got accidentally deleted and won't upload again. I'll try it in a new post in a minute, I guess; it is pretty cute.

Ummmmm....

I don't know what to blog about today. I guess the day was bound to come when this happened, but usually Patrick does something cute last minute or something annoys me just before I blog so that I have actual content to write about. But since yesterday, very little has happened. Patrick slept and ate and spit up a few times, but that's about it. There has been nothing monumental or even remotely interesting to talk about.

I guess you might care to know that the spitting up is still doing better, even though more and more I'm going back to the "old" way of feeding him, with a greater priority on nursing. The milk seems to bother him some still, but it bothered him the other way too. It's purely a question of when he spits up--before or after eating solid food. The solid food doesn't do anything to help keep the food down; it just gets caught up in the milk spit-up after a while. I think my way makes more sense. This way he only spits up milk. It's a little less gross this way at the very least.

The extra nursing yesterday also helped the lump in my breast work its way out before ever turning into an infection. I'm relieved about that. I'm sure if I'd continued doing things the doctor's way yesterday, the lump would have still been there this morning and I probably would have woken up feverish too. I'm glad I was spared the worst with this infection.

Oh, and several recent comments have led me to believe I need to explain the worrying I've done about Patrick's spitting up. As bad as I thought it was at first, when we first brought him home, I've since realized that our situation could be much worse. He has a severe case of reflux, but he doesn't spit up nearly as much as several other babies I've heard of--even myself as a baby, I've been told. I stopped worrying about Patrick's spit-up long ago because apparently it's not really that awful. I started worrying again a couple of weeks ago when how much he was spitting up was starting to change. He was spitting up more than he ever had before. It worried me that it was worse, not that it was lots of spit-up. It was unusual for Patrick to spit up that much, which made me worry he was sick. The doctor had already said several times too that it should be getting better by now, which it most certainly was not. The worry went away briefly when at the doctor's appointment, he was certain Patrick wasn't sick. I started worrying again, though, when he made it clear that it was concerning him that the reflux wasn't getting better yet and was instead getting worse. Now that we've found ways to control it a little better, I'm less worried again. And every time I get soaked in another round of spit-up, I try to remind myself of how much worse things could be.

Good News

I abandoned the doctor's recommendations this morning. Patrick finished off the last of his cereal with his snack yesterday, and we forgot to go get him more last night. I didn't want to feed him a richer food for breakfast, so I shrugged and just nursed him. We were both much happier. I didn't have to hear any screaming while I prepared cereal for him, and he got to eat right away too. The best part? He didn't spit up even once. Even after a normal lunch a few hours later, he only spit up literally one drop. I'm beginning to wonder if part of the solution might be watching carefully to make sure he's never overfed. That combined with more medication could easily control it.

The problem is that even if I have found a solution, damage has already been done. I woke up this morning with a painful lump in my right breast. It has only gotten worse as the day has progressed. I'm positive it was at least partially caused by not being regularly emptied over the last few days. I'm worried the fever will hit any moment now, guaranteeing I have yet another breast infection. Naturally it would hit over the weekend, too. If I'm going to need antibiotics for it, I won't be able to get them until Monday. Something tells me this doesn't exactly qualify as an emergency for my doctor. Maybe if I encourage Patrick to nurse more, maybe by nursing before feeding him solids like we had been doing, it will help the lump to go away before progressing into something worse. It's nice having a better excuse to go back to the way things were other than just trying to avoid change.

Long Day

Yesterday was a really long day for all three of us. Matt is on a special committee at work that occasionally has after-work meetings that last long into the evenings. Last night was his first meeting with that committee. He didn't get home until about 9:00. Matt is typically the kind of guy who will get to work a little early, work diligently all day, and then leave right on time. He's never found a need to stay any later than about fifteen minutes late. That work ethic makes nights like last night difficult. Patrick even seemed a little down when he woke up from his afternoon nap to find that Daddy hadn't snuck home in the meantime. I had to work to get him to smile all night, and then he was in bed by the time Matt finally made it home. The only way I could get him to get comfortable was to promise him that Daddy would wake him up when he got home.

Of course, I was right to guess that Matt would want to hold Patrick after his long day. That was almost his first destination after coming in the door. Patrick, tired as he was, seemed more than happy to be held by Daddy, especially long after his bedtime. It may have thrown off his sleep schedule, but it was more than worth it to watch Patrick cuddle up to his daddy like that. By the way, he seems fine today, despite the unusual sleep schedule last night.

It was a tough day, though. It's hard being the sole parent, even for just one day. I have no clue how single parents do it. Days like that make me so much more thankful for Matt. I expected to miss him, but I didn't anticipate missing him that much--and not only for the help with Patrick but just because I wanted his company. It's great having a husband who is also my best friend.
It has been two full days since our visit to the doctor, and two full days of trying his suggestions to help with Patrick's spitting up. The good news is that the spitting up is starting to get better already. We've only had one spit-up-related clothes-change between the three of us, and even that was only because Matt didn't want the tiny spots on his shirt when he went back to work after lunch yesterday. Patrick is still spitting up, but less than he has in weeks. I'm relieved that he's feeling better.

The bad news is that neither Patrick nor I likes the new routine at all. I'm sure we'll quickly adapt to the new medication schedule, but it makes sleeping long hours, something both of us enjoy, difficult. At least that is better than the new feeding schedule, though. The doctor wanted us to try feeding Patrick solids before nursing because the milk seemed to be upsetting his tummy more than the solids. I'm not quite sure I completely agree with his theory; it seems that any milk upsets his tummy regardless of when it's put into the tummy. Either way, he's the professional, so I'll follow his advice.

This means that we are feeding him solids four times a day instead of just two because I have to give him cereal before nursing him for breakfast and snacks. We are going to need to invest in more spoons and bibs at least to avoid doing dishes and laundry as frequently. Patrick hates going straight from bed to his high chair too. He used to wake up hungry and quietly get completely awake while he nursed. Now he's forced to be more alert right away by focusing on eating solids. It takes longer to get prepared, so he screams from hunger until I can get that first spoonful in his mouth. Feeding is turning into a traumatic experience.

I also hate that I can't nurse as a snack for him, something to tide him over between breakfast and lunch if his sleep schedule for the day has his feeding schedule a little off too. Before, I could nurse him at ten or so if he woke up from a morning nap hungry and then feed solids at a more normal lunch time. I was already planning to nurse him before solids either way, and there was no real reason to do one right after the other. Now I have to figure out how to put Patrick off a little to give him solids at a normal lunch time. I don't want to give him a solid-food snack because then he won't want to eat a full meal at lunch. I guess it's going to take some trial and error to work everything out.

The problem is that I don't want to work this out. I want things to be the way they were (except for the spitting up). I guess I just wasn't ready for a step this big yet. I know it is a step in the direction of weaning. By nursing second, it is taking a backseat to the solid food. It is growing increasingly less important, and already Patrick is showing less interest in nursing by the time he gets to nurse. My supply is already decreasing. I guess I wasn't expecting to even work toward weaning until he was a year old, and now we've already taken a major step in that direction. I just wasn't ready yet.
On the bright side, isn't the cutest baby in the world? He looks a little girly, but I don't care. He's adorable either way!

X's and O's

Patrick has taken his nickname "Snugglebug" to a new level in the last few days. I'm not sure where he's learned this, as neither Matt nor I has tried to teach him, but he now gives hugs and kisses. He'll reach his arms up around our necks as we hold him, then lean his head into our shoulder, and squeeze, holding on as tightly as possible. Sometimes he'll also turn his head up so that his mouth is even with our neck, cheek, or sometimes even mouth, and open wide to give the biggest open-mouth kiss I've ever seen. Last night before we put him to bed, Matt was holding him. Patrick gave him a hug and a kiss then reached out his arms for me. He didn't want me to hold him, though; instead, he just hugged my head and gave me a huge kiss on the cheek while still in Daddy's arms. He must remember it's routine for both Matt and me to give him a good-night kiss and decided to reciprocate last night even before we could lay him down in bed. I love having such a sweetheart baby. It's so much more amazing to realize that he learned the hugging and kissing on his own, just by watching Matt and me. He's smart to find ways to show his affection by mimicking what Matt and I do. I love that kid so much!

As endearing as he can be, though, Patrick can be just as exasperating sometimes. Lunch today was an ordeal because Patrick insisted on smearing chicken noodle everywhere. When he couldn't get enough off his bib and the drips on the tray, he would shove his hand out at the perfect moment to intercept the spoon before I could get it to his mouth, consequently spilling more mostly into his hand. It was so frustrating trying to continue feeding him despite his efforts to spill the food and to try not to let him make any bigger of a mess. It didn't work too well. He had food literally up to his elbows, all over his belly, and down one leg and onto the foot (his first reaction after I cleaned the tray and lifted it off the chair was to grab his foot with a still-dirty hand). I'm really wondering where he came from. He can't possibly be my child. I was the kind of child who would beg my mom to clean me if I had even a speck of dirt on me. "Dooty, Mama! Dooty!" Yet I think Patrick would roll in the dirt like a dog if I gave him the chance.

Something else funny that Patrick has started doing is greeting the world with hands out. Almost any time I carry him somewhere now, he has his hands reached out like he wants something. Usually I don't think even he knows what he is reaching for--just whatever happens to cross his path (unless there's a water bottle within sight; then that's without a doubt what he's reaching for). He is developing an intense curiosity about everything, which is cute for now but may become a problem once he figures out how to crawl.

Speaking of crawling, he is one step closer now. Yesterday afternoon during the much-hated tummy time, he managed to pull his legs up under him and pushed off like he wanted to crawl. He hasn't coordinated pulling with his hands at the same time or pushing his belly off the ground yet, but once he figures that out, he'll be all over the house. Something tells me then I'll turn into more of a baby-chaser than a baby-feeder.

Unanticipated Morning Outing

I finally gave up yesterday afternoon and called Patrick's doctor. We were quickly given an appointment for this morning. Funny, I spent the time between the call and the appointment worrying more about whether it was going to be a wasted appointment than how sick Patrick might be. I finally decided that if I was worried enough about Patrick to call the doctor, then it was worth going, even if it didn't turn out to be anything serious.

It turns out that he isn't sick--not technically. He doesn't have an ear infection or a stomach bug, something the doctor could have prescribed medicine for to get Patrick back to his old self in no time. It sounds like instead his reflux is getting worse and worse instead of getting better as it should be about now. There's not a lot we can do about that. We're now giving him his reflux medicine more often and feeding him more solids than breastmilk to help keep everything down. It's not anything to fix the problem, just hopefully to get it under control. If these tactics don't work, then we'll be going to see a specialist, a gastroenterologist this time. I dread having to take him to a specialist so much that I am praying these ideas work. I don't want there to be anything seriously wrong with Patrick.

On a lighter note, I took Papa's suggestion from a few days ago and attempted to part Patrick's hair on the other side yesterday. After ten minutes of careful combing, this is the best I could do:
It's still pretty cute, but I figured out why his hair had always parted the other direction before. There's a spot on the back of his head from which all his hair swirls in a clockwise direction. None of the hair on his head wants to be combed against that flow. I give up. It can stay in its typical church hair combover and flap like a wing on bad hair days. He's cute no matter what his hair does anyway.
I don't think he was swatting a fly, no matter what it looks like. By the way, the choice of the tie-dyed shirt yesterday was quite deliberate. I decided that as it already looks kind of like a rainbow puked all over it, it was perfect for disguising any color of Patrick's spit-up, no matter what garishly colored food I fed him for lunch. It worked, didn't it? Can you find the spit-up?
I was talking to my mom during the photo shoot. Here is a picture of Patrick "talking" to Nana for a minute too. I hate that the picture is blurry, but you can still tell he was having fun. (Actually I think he's more fascinated by the phone itself, but we can pretend he was that happy to hear Nana's voice. He does react to the sound over the phone, for sure. Just look at that smile!)

Uh-oh, I'm in Big Trouble Now!

Seriously, how will I ever be able to resist him when he gives me this face?
This is the outfit I was trying to photograph the other day. I've done laundry since then, so I thought I'd try again, now that the spit-up has been cleaned off the shirt. He did spit up on it once or twice before we started taking pictures, but they were the little kinds. He waited on any complete gushes until after the photo shoot.
(Is that a dimple on his right cheek? I don't recall noticing that before!)

So if you can't figure it out on your own, no, Patrick's spitting up has not gotten any better today. If anything, it's been worse. I feel sometimes that everything in our house must stink like spit-up. I still wonder what is causing the spitting up to get worse, and how that relates to his other fairly non-descript symptoms. It seems silly, but we suspect maybe teething (yes, after saying yesterday that couldn't be the case). Earlier today he grabbed my finger and shoved it in his mouth to chew on it. He didn't want to bite with his teeth, but instead to chew on it with the gums way back in the right corner of his mouth. I didn't really feel any bumps, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt yet. Matt says that Patrick was doing the same thing with him yesterday too. Could it be that a molar is already threatening? Even though we suspect another tooth, though, we already have plans to call the doctor if things don't get better in a few days. That much spit-up is worrisome.
By the way, Gigi, I checked on Patrick's Radio Flyer outfit yesterday, and he still won't be able to wear it for several months--maybe by his birthday if he continues growing at the same rate.
Ok, one more quick Patrick fact and then I'd better go. Patrick is super ticklish. He roars with laughter if you tickle him along the ribs or his back. That's the easiest way to make him stop crying, at least temporarily, because he will be distracted from whatever's bothering him and start laughing instead.

Growing Sense of Independence

The biggest news around here is how well Patrick is progressing with his finger foods. It's still hit or miss whether each piece makes it into his mouth, but he sure loves trying. Last night's dinner was getting frustrating because he was working too hard on picking up the few Cheerios I had out that he wouldn't let me feed him the rest of his dinner. I had to confiscate his finger food until he'd eaten his other food. Amazingly once he saw his Cheerios out of reach, he gave up and let me feed him, but he was all too eager to go after those Cheerios again when I moved them back. His arms are still too short too reach very far into the tray, even though he's reaching a little farther every day, so I've been putting the Cheerios right at the front. They're right behind a little lip, so he can't see them very well and will grope blindly behind that lip if he thinks I might have left even one piece of food there. A lot of times if there is a piece there, his little fingers only push it farther away. As a result, I've been handing him most of the Cheerios, one at a time. It makes for a very slow process, especially when only about half the Cheerios even make it to his mouth. The good news is that he is slowly but surely getting better at it and growing more insistent on feeding himself. Last night he actually picked up one piece off his tray himself and moved it into his mouth, getting it in the first try. I was so proud of him!

Yes, I'm sure you noticed in yesterday's pictures that Patrick's hair was not exactly cooperating. While he may have inherited the texture and color of my hair, he appears to have inherited the behavior (or lack thereof) of Matt's. I couldn't find anything yesterday to help keep that hair from flapping up. I decided it probably wasn't a good idea to stoop to gel or hair spray--not yet anyway. It may be time for a haircut, as much as I hate to admit it. You don't realize just how long it really is until it's standing straight up.

Patrick's been frustrating this morning. He's still spitting up like a fountain, and I think it's starting to hurt his belly too. He hasn't been as eager to eat, and he's been fussier than he has in a long time. I'm pretty sure no new teeth are coming in yet, so I doubt that could be the problem. He cried through lunch, closing his mouth to even macaroni and cheese, one of his favorites. (He was still eager to play with the Cheerios, though.) The only time he quieted down and was perfectly well-behaved was when I was talking with Matt on the phone for a few minutes. I think he misses his daddy.

Lotsa Pictures, Few Words

I guess since I blogged twice yesterday, I'm not so much in the mood to blog today. Instead I'll just show off a few of the newest pictures. This is Patrick's other new outfit that he got while Nana was here. I was hoping he'd get to wear it to church first, but he didn't--and that's a long story for another day. I was pleasantly surprised to get one whole picture before he spit up all over the outfit. If you look closely, you can probably find the spit-up stains in all these pictures.

I still love pictures where he smiles to show his teeth. He's doing that more and more these days.
He was in a particularly smiley mood today.
This was cute. He decided to play shy by hiding behind the blanket I was using as a background. He also kept doing his surprised look for me. I probably have five good pictures with this look on his face. I wonder what was so surprising today...

Spit-Up Woes

I just don't know how much longer I can take it. The spit-up should be getting better now that he's approaching a year old, but each day lately it has only seemed to be getting worse.

I dressed Patrick in a cute outfit today that I hadn't photographed him in yet. Each time he wears it, he drowns it in spit-up before I get a chance to take any pictures. Again today, he drenched it right away. Stubborn as I am, I decided to wait until the spit-up dried and take pictures anyway. It would be gross, but if it dried right, only Patrick and I would ever know. Unfortunately, it didn't dry completely until time for the next meal. That prompted a new round of spit-up. I couldn't even get one spit-up dried before he was launching another. It was all over me, all over his clothes, all over his high chair, and all over the floor. This time, it was solid food spit-up too, which means it won't dry clear like the milk spit-up that I used to loathe until I realized its relative harmlessness.

I am so tired of the spit-up and the reflux. I'm tired of having to remember to medicate Patrick twice a day; I'm tired of worrying if I'm even a few minutes late that it will only make him suffer more. I'm tired of changing both my clothes and Patrick's several times a day. I'm tired of Patrick smelling like sour milk even within minutes after finishing a bath. I'm tired of having random green and orange spots on our carpets from pea or carrot spit-ups that we didn't catch in time. I'm tired of explaining to anyone who wants to hold him that they really might not want to if they value their clothes. I'm tired of Patrick suffering through tummy time because it hurts his belly, and I'm tired of hating his tummy time just as much because I have to listen to him scream in pain and I'll have to clean up numerous spit-ups that result from the tummy time. Most of all, I'm tired of Patrick feeling bad that often.

I may want Patrick to remain a baby in so many ways, but I couldn't be more eager for him to grow up enough to outgrow this reflux. I firmly believe the reflux was a major contributor in Patrick's lack of interest in sitting up--he still spits up repeatedly every time he sits for longer than a couple of seconds--and I'm afraid it is also hindering him from other activities that he needs to be on his belly to accomplish, like crawling. When will it be over? The doctor has given me so many different answers that I no longer know what to believe. I know he probably won't be spitting up by the time he starts school (how many kindergarteners still carry burp rags around because they expect to spit up after every meal?), but I don't know when between now and then I can expect it to start to subside. And kindergarten seems like such a faraway goal right now...

He Reached for Me!

The other day after finishing our photo shoot, I reached down to pick up Patrick out of the orange chair, and he reached his hands up to be picked up! That's the first time he has reached clearly for me. He's been reaching for toys and Mommy's and Daddy's drinks for months, and sometimes he'll lean towards one of us when he's being held by the other. But that was the first time he showed how much he wanted me. I was so excited. Not only is that quite a milestone, but it makes me feel so good too, just knowing that he uses the same gesture to show he wants me that he uses for drinks or toys.

I also spent some time in the last few days going through all my folders of pictures of him. The goal was to weed out most of the pictures that I thought I'd never use. Typically when I take pictures of Patrick, I snap way more than I think I'll ever need, with the theory that if I take enough, some of them are bound to turn out well. The problem is that I haven't been very good about going back and cleaning out the junk pictures. I've gotten better about it recently, but most of the folders from January and February had lots of really bad pictures.

It was really weird looking at every picture I've ever taken of him. I can remember almost every photo shoot. As I would look at one folder of pictures, I would remember what problems I had taking pictures that day or how excited I was at how the pictures turned out because he wasn't blinking at the flash as much that day or he was looking at the camera more or smiling more. I was able to watch backwards as my photography skills got worse, before I learned how badly Patrick reacted to the camera's flash (most of those show him grimacing with barely open eyes, trying to block out the light of the flash). I also watched backwards as he grew back down to a baby. I noticed things about how grown up Patrick is now that I hadn't realized before. He has so much more hair now than he did even two or three months ago. I guess a part of me thought he'd always had this much hair, but he could barely escape the label of bald back in January and February. There were also many almost imperceptible changes in his face, like how well he would focus on the camera or what was going on around him, and the chubby baby face compared to the mostly leaner and more mature face of a pre-toddler. I'm so glad I have all those pictures to document his growth. I'm glad I always have those reminders of Patrick as a baby, and how far he's come already.

Personality Overload

Patrick woke up this morning on personality overload. It's like he carefully deliberated every move he made to make sure it was oozing with cuteness. He was very insistent with feeding himself his lunch, making a mess everywhere; I was cleaning chicken noodle from his nose and eyelids even. I thought he was going to fall out of his chair he was so excited when I brought his water bottle over. He looked right up at me at one point and said something cute in his baby language, and he was downright delighted when I repeated it back to him. I wonder what I inadvertently said to him. I've never seen Patrick in such a good mood. I hope he stays this way for a while.

I was between books last night, having already read my two freebies I got early in the week (expect the second review before much longer), so I decided to reread one of my favorite series. I haven't read these books in years and already suspected before I started reading that I would see them differently now. Different things would hit me that hadn't hit me before. I remembered a lot to do with true love and mothering in them, and now that I have experienced true love and motherhood, I see those things differently. I ended up sobbing through nearly the whole book (yes, I'm embarrassed to admit I read the whole first book last night before going to bed). It was good crying, though. I was able to cry tears of joy along with the main character as well as tears of sadness because I was able to identify with the emotions she was feeling so much better now that I've felt them myself. The characters' experiences and emotions are so much more real to me now that I don't have to imagine how they might feel in each instance; I've experienced those same emotions or something remarkably close for each experience. I'm anxious to reread most of my collection of books now to see them from this new perspective.

I love the new pictures of Patrick I got yesterday. I'd forgotten he had this pair of overalls. He hadn't worn them yet because I never could figure out which shirt was supposed to go with them. I finally decided it didn't really matter and paired it with this plaid shirt:

Meet Farmer Patrick. Too bad I didn't have a straw hat for him.
Meet Farmer Patrick doing his best imitation of a frog. (This is his new thing, leaning forward on everything, trying to support himself.)
Meet Farmer Patrick indulging his sensitive side. It looks like he's working on his tryouts to be a concert pianist...or maybe a composer. Or maybe Linus (I think that's his name) from Charlie Brown, playing piano with one hand and clutching a blankie with the other.

Update: Patrick cut his fourth tooth during his afternoon nap. Now he has both his middle top and bottom teeth.

And do they make child-proof diapers? No, really. Do they make diapers that nine-month-olds can't unfasten when they're supposed to be napping? I'm awfully glad he can't crawl yet; he's full of mischief today!

Overwhelming Sappiness

I don't know what it is, but every so often I'll look at Patrick and be completely astonished at how much I love him. It's like that love hits me like a brick, threatening to knock me over and stealing my breath away. I notice it most often when I see him sleeping each night when I creep into his room to give him his medicine. He usually hears the creak of the door as I open it and stretches his legs out as far as they'll go and sometimes rolls over. That sleepy, eyes-still-closed look catches me off guard every night. I just want to snatch him up into my arms and let him snuggle into me until he dozes back off. Of course I don't. I instead give him his medicine as quickly and painlessly as possible and leave him to sleep on his own. I move the corner of his favorite blanket back into the crook of his arm so he can immediately roll over and snuggle his face into it (don't worry, he doesn't stay sleeping that way). Somehow that snuggle into the blanket becomes too much for me and I have to retreat quickly. That's the moment I'm the most afraid I'll give in to temptation and pick him up.

There are times I'll wake up in the middle of the night and wonder what woke me up. I hope in those still moments of night that I'll hear a sleepy cry or coo from the other room, that I will hear that Patrick needs me. I'll jump at any excuse to spend just a few minutes holding him when I wasn't expecting to. Unlike his first few months at home, I am eager to jump out of bed at even my sleepiest to attend to his needs. I wonder when that changed. Could it be that when he stopped needing me quite as much, I found I needed him instead?

Ok, enough sappiness. Lately Patrick has been spending more time in his rocker chair than he has had since his first few days home from the hospital. I glanced over at him in his chair the other day and was struck with how well he fills up the chair. I can still remember not bothering to strap him in because the front flap came up to his armpits, and needing the preemie headrest behind him and still worrying about his poor neck because it didn't fit tightly enough around his tiny head.
Even with the headrest thing, he doesn't come up all the way to the cow. I remember thinking how big he was then. My point of reference was that three-pound birth weight, though.

Look at him now:
You can't even see the cow anymore. He may not have caught up to the charts yet, but he has definitely grown! Incidentally, doesn't it look like he's saying, "Mom, it was this big!"
Something about his look the other night made me suddenly think of him more as a little boy and less of a baby, and I was trying to capture that on camera. I think it was a combination of the unruly hair (that finally escaped from the "church hair" combover) and the expressions on his face. It's finally starting to sink in that in a few months he really will turn one year old. Around the same time, he will graduate from being a baby/infant to a toddler. He really will have that little boy look by then and my baby will only exist in photos from that point on.

Oops, I fell back into the sappiness. I guess I'm just in a sappy mood today. Ok, one quick funny story. Patrick was playing in his gym on the floor when Matt got home for lunch today. He could see the door into our garage from his position on the floor. The second Matt walked in, Patrick looked over towards him and grinned from ear to ear. He recognized Daddy before Daddy ever said a word. That's particularly impressive because Matt got a haircut yesterday. Yes, that's right; all the curls are gone. I don't know that I would have recognized Matt at first if I hadn't known he was planning to get a haircut. I think it's sweet that Patrick still recognized his Daddy so easily, crazy hair or not.

Something Different

I have finally made it to the ranks of the "it" bloggers. These are the people who have been offered something free merely because of their blogs. Typically there is an assumption that the bloggers will review the free product, thus generating publicity for it. I lucked out big time for me because I was sent a free book (actually two; I got the second today). I was so thrilled that I devoured it right away. As I anticipated after reading the cover, it did draw out all kinds of emotions. I feel the need to review the book while the emotions are still fresh.

The book is The Early Birds by Jenny Minton. It's the author's memoir of her struggle to conceive, finally resorting to IVF, and then delivering her twin sons over two months early. I expected before beginning the book that it would probably bring back all the emotions through my own struggle with Patrick's prematurity, and in that way the book did not disappoint. One thing I understand better after reading the book is that almost all preemie moms go through at least some degree of the same emotions. I'd thought that was likely the case already from my increasing associations with other preemie moms, but it's interesting to see so many of my own thoughts and feelings in print, yet written by somebody else. I also learned that although some of the details of our situations may be similar--like delivering at 31 weeks, one detail I have in common with the author--every mom's experience is unique. I found myself repeatedly wondering if I truly understand what the author had to go through, despite her careful explanation of her emotions, because my experience was so vastly different from hers.

I really wanted to like the book, I really did. But I found myself nitpicking my way through it. And I closed the back cover feeling unsatisfied with it. I think I was expecting that if a preemie mom got a book published, then she must have experienced the whole story; she must have found absolution and contentment with being a preemie mom. I was waiting throughout the entire book to find her moment of enlightenment, hoping I too could be enlightened in that moment, that I would discover how to erase the persistent emotions that plague me simply because my body refused to gestate my son the full nine months. Instead of finishing the book a healed woman, though, I realized just as the author did that such a thing is not possible. The emotions having a premature baby evokes will never go away completely. With time, preemie moms can learn to cope with them, as the author did, but we will always be haunted by those memories.

My biggest criticism of the book all along was the lack of direction. I felt as if the author was merely trying to tell her story but had no purpose to it. As a former English teacher, I still cannot fathom the concept of writing a story without a clear point or theme to it. At times the book felt directionless. I got the impression that the author wasn't entirely sure how or when to end the book either. When exactly does her story end? Certainly not when her sons left the hospital, nor when they reach a particular milestone. She can't end with her sons finally graduating to "normal," because who can say when that happens? And she can't end the moment she comes to terms with her traumatic experience; does that ever happen? The best she can do is catch us up-to-date with how her sons, family, and herself are doing now (or at the book's publication anyway). I also wonder if the supposed lack of direction or a theme is a theme in itself. By letting her readers assume that her story ends with that elusive moment of enlightenment that everything will be all right, and then not giving one, she is suggesting that there just can't be one. Most likely all preemie parents come to terms with their situations, but it doesn't happen in a flash and probably never completely. It was definitely a more realistic ending than I would expect in the fiction books I'm more accustomed to reading.

I'm not going to pretend this was an easy read for me. In some ways it was, as it was written in a clear manner and the story flowed well throughout the first two-thirds of the book. If I had only been reading the words, I would consider it an easy book. The problem was that it's impossible to read it as a mother, especially of my own special preemie, and not feel the pain the author felt. I also felt all the same pain I had felt when living my own preemie drama, multiplying the pain her words produced. I think part of the reason I pushed through the book as quickly as I did was the Band-aid effect; if I could rip off that Band-aid by reading the painful story as fast as possible, I might be left with a sharper sting, but at least the pain wouldn't be prolonged.

I am hesitant to recommend this book to other moms. Moms who have had full-term babies and are not planning to have more. or moms who are considering fertility treatments might find this book very informational, both about fertility treatments and what all of us preemie moms have gone through. Preemie moms, on the other hand, will probably have a harder time with the book. No matter how well you think you've coped with the preemie issue, this book will dredge up all sorts of feelings you thought you'd worked past. Read it with caution--and a box of tissues nearby.

I Hope He Didn't Get THAT Look From Me

I guess Matt was hinting in his comment yesterday that I needed to tell a story from our visit with Lauren and Will on Saturday. Will is fourteen months old, mobile, and into any toy. Patrick was sitting on my lap because he refused to show off his limited sitting skills that day and was playing with his twisty, clicky toy. Will thought the toy looked cool and reached for it to see if Patrick would share. When he didn't offer the toy to Will, Will just took it himself. Apparently Will thought the toy was as fun as it looked, because he was so absorbed in it that he completely missed the withering look Patrick sent his way. I didn't know children as young as Patrick had developed the ability to send looks that could kill. I do believe it's about time to start working with Patrick on the concept of sharing. I never want to see my child with such a horrible look on his face ever again.

Ever since Patrick's early days, he's been called dramatic. He would twist himself into some of the most unusual positions in his incubator, perfect outward embodiments of the emotions we assumed he must be feeling inside. His flair for the dramatic has only increased over the past months. Tummy time on Sunday was a perfect example of his drama queen tendencies. As always, he was crying to show he was unhappy on his belly. The longer I sat there talking calmly to him, though, the more the screams began to sound forced. Finally recognizing the screams were getting him nowhere, he played the pity card, laying his head on the ground and whimpering. It looked like he had given up. Then Daddy walked into the room, into his line of sight. Matt and I both knew what was going to happen before it did: the second Patrick saw Daddy, that head was right back up, and the screaming started all over. He may have given up on Mommy, but Daddy was a new victim and maybe he would feel bad for Patrick and pick him up. Neither Matt nor I felt the least bit bad when we started laughing loudly right in Patrick's face. It was so predictable and so dramatic that laughter was the only logical response, even if he was hoping for pity and cuddling. I have a feeling if we let him, Patrick will turn into the type of kid who will throw full-on whining tantrums in the store to get what he wants, way past the age when that is tolerated.

All of a sudden, yesterday Patrick decided he was going to lick this whole sitting thing. I set him down on his bottom, helped him get balanced, which happened much more quickly than normal, and left him. He cooperated very well, staying seated without falling over for long spurts at a time. If he started to lose his balance and fall one way or the other, he was able to resituate himself to get balanced again. I guess yesterday Patrick suddenly realized it was time to sit.

Patrick sitting well all by himself

Doesn't he look so thrilled to be on his belly again? Look at those teeth, though!

Now he's not as unhappy on his belly. His hair was cooperating well, though, wasn't it?

The Stuff I Forgot

So as the day went on yesterday after blogging, I remembered all sorts of things I forgot to mention. It's probably good, considering how long yesterday's post was already. So here are all the things I forgot to include yesterday.

1. We're finally getting brave with what we feed Patrick. The doctor very much encouraged us to try more grown-up foods and ways of drinking on Friday, so I pulled out our standard box of Cheerios the other day and started Patrick on those. He can't exactly pick up a Cheerio and manipulate it into his mouth easily yet, but he is practicing at each meal now. He really likes the taste and texture and opens his mouth so I can put one in his mouth if he can't get the one he's clutching into his mouth after the first few tries. The best news is that he hasn't choked at all yet! I've been paranoid about him choking on "real" food, so this is a huge relief to find out he can handle bite-sized pieces of food. I'm feeling a whole new freedom with what I feed him, and suddenly I'm excited to get to the point where he can eat off our plates.

2. Patrick's newest favorite toy is a water bottle, just your typical Dasani bottle. He still refuses to take a baby bottle, but he's interested in water bottles because Mommy and Daddy and Nana drink out of them. It's fun to play with, and he can get both hands around it easily. The cap is apparently fun to suck on and teethe on, and he drinks out of it even better than any of his sippy cups. It's considerably cheaper too. I'm in complete support of this new toy.

3. I'd like to take a moment to thank Nana for reminding Patrick how to spit. It's almost non-stop now. He hadn't spit for a long time, and then suddenly after we left Patrick alone with Nana for a few minutes, that became his favorite way to express himself. I hope that's all she taught him!

4. Mom helped me tackle a huge project while she was here last week: Patrick's baby book. I've been relatively good at keeping it caught up with his milestones, but I'd done nothing with these thousands of pictures I have of him. They've all just been taking up hard drive space on our computer. Mom helped me choose the pictures to have printed, send them to Wal-Mart, and pick up the prints. Then she helped me decide which pictures to use where in the baby book, a more typical photo album, and a few picture frames. I still have a few blank spots in the book and the frames, but the task of getting completely caught up isn't overwhelming any longer. I'm actualy very proud of the baby book now. It looks so much better with pictures! In the process, though, we discovered that several folders of pictures have disappeared. We were very grateful for the blog because my favorite pictures out of those missing folders are in my archives, so I can always download those again. It's not the same, but I'm glad I still have them somewhere.

5. It's been interesting watching Patrick's personality develop over the last few months. He reached a new milestone on Friday, though: he showed definite preferences. Mom and I took him to Babies R Us after his doctor's appointment. While there, he chose his own toy and one of the shirts he got. He was much more excited about this shirt than any of the other tie-dyed styles. How cute is that? He seems awfully proud to be wearing the shirt of his choice too.

Bits 'n' Pieces

Wow, I think I was going into withdrawal from not blogging for two whole days. That means I have lots of little things that crossed my mind recently to blog about, so I'm just going to give snippets of those ideas today.

1. Friday night, Matt and I got to go on a double date with my sister Jennifer and her husband Nick. It was nice to get out and let Nana hang out with Patrick. The only problem was that all during dinner, I was within sight of a tiny baby sleeping peacefully. Then that baby left only to immediately be replaced by a little girl about Patrick's age. How could I not miss Patrick while constantly being distracted by such cuteness?

2. Patrick had his nine-month check-up on Friday. First the vital stats: 14 lbs 11 oz, 25 1/2 inches long, and 17 1/2 inches head circumference. They're all bigger, but his growth has considerably slowed down from his last check-up. The traumatic part of the appointment was his CBC for anemia. I'd expected a tiny prick on his finger or foot and a few drops of blood collected, maybe a little screaming, but just a routine process. It turned out that the nurse was having problems with the new blood collection tubes. After trying two different ones on his heel, she got very frustrated and asked another nurse to come in to try. The new nurse pricked his finger and didn't have any problems filling the tube that time. Patrick didn't even notice the first prick and was perfectly happy during the time it should have taken to fill a tube, but by the time the first nurse gave up, he was in hysterical-scream mode. The only good part about it is that he was more than happy being comforted when the ordeal was over. I have never seen him that snuggly. Other than getting blood drawn, the appointment was easy. Patrick was perfectly happy being checked out and showing off his new skills and teeth for his doctor.

3. Of course I got a few pictures from Jennifer and Nick's short visit. They also showed up with their little girl, Katie. She's a little furrier than most and looks nothing like her parents, but she and Patrick bonded right away. Patrick would squeal and bounce around every time she came in the room, just hoping she would come lick his toes or let him pet her. We may need to think about getting Patrick a puppy dog before long, considering his absolute infatuation with dogs.

Uncle Nick and Patrick playing

Aunt Jennifer and Katie watching Nick and Patrick

Katie and Patrick getting acquainted

Now they're best friends.

4. Yesterday afternoon we went swimming with my friend Lauren and her son Will. It's been a rainy week, so we wondered if we'd ever make it into the pool at her parents' house. We did get in the pool for a few minutes, but it started raining just a few minutes later and we were forced inside. We still stuck around and socialized for a little while, but then the boys started getting fussy and we had to let them take a nap, which unfortunately ended the outing. It was still a lot of fun hanging out, even if things didn't quite work out as planned. I was hoping to get lots of cute swimming pictures, too, but the pool time was so abbreviated that I didn't get an opportunity to pull out the camera. Maybe next time...

5. After coming home from swimming, we all just collapsed. Patrick was asleep before he hit his crib, and Matt and I crashed on the couch and chair in the living room. It was an impromptu family nap time. Most likely, it was letdown from the busy schedule of the week, much more than we're all used to doing, and all the socialization. Patrick's sleep schedule in particular had been manipulated to extremes to accommodate our busy schedule, so it was no surprise that he slept a full three hours for his late afternoon nap yesterday. The letdown continued this morning when we couldn't make ourselves get up for church, sleeping until almost noon instead (yes, all three of us). I hate missing church, but I think it was pretty necessary this morning when even Patrick needed to sleep that late.

6. Patrick and I had a special "mommy moment" this morning. He woke up crying about 5:15 and couldn't go right back to sleep--I'm guessing maybe a bad dream. Surprisingly I was eager to get up and comfort him, maybe because he didn't want my boobs like he had as a newborn baby, but wanted me instead this morning. As soon as he started nursing, he was perfectly content again. He took his time eating, enjoying the quiet time with me. And instead of turning on the TV to help me stay awake, I just focused on Patrick too. When he finished eating, he still snuggled up close to me and gazed up into my eyes. If ever there was a time I was convinced Patrick loved me, that was it. I took the opportunity to tell him what he means to me too. I could swear from the way he watched me that he knew exactly what I said. He knew the exact moment I was finished talking to him because he squirmed away, positioned himself comfortably across my lap, and relaxed. Almost immediately, his eyelids got heavy. He was all set to fall asleep on my lap, something he hasn't done in months. If I hadn't known we would both sleep better in our own beds, I would have let him. I can't begin to describe my emotions during those short thirty minutes. I made a point to cherish every one of those pre-dawn seconds alone with my baby--while he is still a baby. I finally took my own advice and took advantage of a special moment, carving that sweet memory into my mind forever.

7. And finally, to counter the sappiness with humor, here is a picture I snapped while Nana was bathing Patrick the other day. Patrick has finally started showing an interest in playing during his bath, so naturally he has the standard rubber ducky. Of course, now it's kind of a family joke:

Oh, the jokes just write themselves...