One!!!!!

My baby turned one last Sunday!!!!!!

I know this was meant to be kind of a tongue-in-cheek, snarky blog, but forgive me while I do something unbearably corny and write a letter to my son, for posterity:

My dearest S:

You are one! Happy birthday to my most precious baby! Your daddy and I are so crazy about you, you cannot even imagine. This has been the happiest year of our lives, thanks to you. Seriously, I have your pictures all over my cubicle at work and I just stare at them. (I might have to take them down if someone notices.) I daydream about you all day. Your huge, dimply smile, bright blue eyes, throaty laugh and happy personality have brought us so much joy, you can't even imagine.

And we had so much fun throwing your first birthday party, here at home, with your closest family and friends around. You got a little pissed off right at the time we started singing happy birthday and trying to give you cake, but that's because dumb mommy tried to put your birthday hat on and snapped your sweet little face with the rubber band snap. Sorry, little dude. Next year I'll do better. But for the most part you seemed really happy, pointing excitedly at all the decorations and exclaiming, "That! That!" It was so cute.

Christine said you took your first steps at music class yesterday! I am so sorry I wasn't there to see it. But I know you were in good hands. As you learn and explore more this year, mommy and daddy will be right there with you, watching in awe as you learn and grow and take in the world around you. My dearest son, you are so loved. 

Almost one

Earlier tonight I was snuggled up with my little guy and could not believe that he used to fit in my belly!

He'll be one in about two weeks. He's talking a lot--he says "up," "that," "uh oh" (especially right after he deliberately chucks something on the floor") and "whoa," which is unbelievably cute.

Still cruising; no walking. He went to a baby sing-a-long last week and the sitter told me he was standing up independently when all the other babies did it. And he still has six teeth. So that's what he's up to.

In other news, we're selling our apartment because we live in the ghetto. Somebody got shot on our street, at 4:30 a.m., as my husband was rocking S. back to sleep. So yeah, we gotta GTF outta here. It is upsetting, because we love the apartment and it is a giant fucking hassle, but it'll be worth it to live somewhere where we feel safe. So we'll probably rent in a safer Brooklyn neighborhood. I am trying to wrap my brain around maybe moving to the 'burbs and I can't. I'm sure there are nice towns, the schools are probably better, blah blah blah. But also: a three-legged commute (drive to train station, take train, then take subway) each way, five days a week. Also, driving. Also, no more Brooklyn. I am not ready for that jelly. Not now and possibly not ever.

Nine months!

I can't believe I let his nine-month birthday slip by without posting. He'll be ten months old in 10 days!

He is a wonder. He has six teeth now (four on the top, two on the bottom) and his blonde peach fuzz is growing out, though it's coming in faster on the bottom than on the top, which makes him look a little bit like he has male pattern baldness. In the most adorable way, of course.

His new favorite word is "Dat!" I think he's saying "that." He blurts it out all day long, but he says it sort of like, "Det," so he sounds like a little South African. The other night he murmured it to himself as he was falling asleep. He really is uncontrollably cute.

And he's crawling and pulling himself up like a madman and getting into everything. I predict he will be free-standing by the time his ten-month birthday rolls around.

Oh, and he is REALLY happy, lately, squealing with joy and babbling and shrieking with laughter. What is equally adorable is the fact that the only time he is not happy is when he wakes up in the morning. He is really grouchy; it takes him a couple of minutes to stop being pissed off and start smiling. I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Eight months.

Well. It has been a ridiculously long time since I posted. Being a working mom is hard. And time consuming. And I so wanted to write just a little something every day so I would have a record of his first year, like Anne Lamott's book Operating instructions. And I even have stuff I want to write, but then I forget or run out of time. I guess Facebook will have to be my official record. 

So S is EIGHT months old! I cannot believe it. He is the happiest baby on the planet. He smiles and laughs and squeals with delight. His bottom two front teeth are halfway in and the top two are starting to poke through. He is crawling like crazy and pulling up to standing and climbing on everything he can. Diaper changes are a nightmare; it's like trying to put a diaper on an eel. An eel crossed with a hyperactive monkey.

We are still cosleeping. Not sure when that is going to change. Still nursing, too, though he loves his solid foods and eats with gusto. He's my little man and we are totally in love with him. 

Six. Months!

My sweet baby boy turned six months old last weekend. He is such a joy. I love him so much I can hardly breathe sometimes. I can't even describe how ecstatic I am that I get to be his mother.

He ate his first solid food this week; puréed bananas. He made a hilarious WTF face but then got into it. And he's eating a better formula, which I pay ridiculous amounts to import from England, but it really is so much better than the other crap he was eating. Still trying to find a good Eco-conscious disposable diaper though. I tried the Honest Company diapers and learned that not only do they cost an arm and a leg, they don't work. He peed our bed three times in a week. Someone should tell Jessica Alba her diapers are as good as her acting. Zing!

But back to S. he is rolling and pre crawling up a storm. He loves bouncing up and down, either in his Jumperoo or when you hold him. He is, for the most part, really smiley and sweet and cute and colic free! We love him like crazy. He is the cat's pajamas.

Elimination communication breakdown

I'll admit it, I'm one of those people who, before I had a kid, had Very Definite Ideas about what parents should and should not do when it came to raising their babies. And then I had a baby, and I realized I was a judgmental asshole who didn't know what the fuck I was talking about. Happens to the best of us.

Take "attachment parenting." This consists of holding your baby all the time, co-sleeping, nursing on demand until the kid is pretty old, etc. I always thought this was a surefire way to raise clingy, overly dependent kids who can't wipe their own asses when they're 32. Well, guess what--when they're very small babies, you're attachment parenting whether you like it or not. "Breastfeeding on demand" means feeding them when they're hungry. And just try not picking up a crying baby. You can't do it. You're biologically programmed to be incapable of it. So yeah, I did all those things. And then we started co-sleeping, because it was the only way he would sleep. So my objection to attachment parenting pretty much went out the window. 

Then there's the "cry it out" method for sleep training. While I don't think this is for me, I know lots of people who have done it, and they say it saved their sanity. On the other hand, I know lots of people who said they can't stomach it, and I totally, 100% get that, too. 

Also, there's the thorny issue of breastfeeding. I truly believe--and numerous studies have shown--that breast milk is the best source of nutrition for babies. There's really no arguing that point. That said, modern formula is really pretty good these days. And while I think every woman ought to try as hard as she can to breastfeed, even if she can only do it for a short while, the truth is it just doesn't work out for everyone. And at the end of the day, the most important thing is that your baby is well-fed and healthy. So I say, do what you've got to do, ladies. No judgement here. 

But there is a new parenting trend that, I'm sorry, I'm judge-y as hell about. And that is something called Elimination Communication.

There was an article in the New York Times about it, then in something called DNA Info. Of course all of the parents interviewed are from Brooklyn, because we Brooklyn parents need something else to make us look like assholes. Anyway, from what I can gather, elimination communication involves not using diapers and instead "reading your baby's cues" to figure out when they're going to take a shit, then hustling to park their little butts over the closest bowl (because you're supposed to strategically place them around your house) and hope they crap or pee in it.

SERIOUSLY?

I know people in other cultures do this, but those cultures are impoverished. I guarantee if you backed a truckload of Pampers up into a rural Chinese village, they'd use the shit out of them (no pun intended).

And also. I have a full-time job. I get very little time with my precious baby. I do not want to spend all of that time scrutinizing his facial expressions and panicking over whether he's about to take a shit and racing to get him over the nearest bowl when really he's just grunting because he grunts sometimes.

And finally. I breastfeed him several times a day, bathe him, play with him, comfort him...I kind of have my hands full as it is. I really think these people have no jobs or something. I mean, we looked into cloth diapers and quickly realized we would never have the time to deal with that; how on earth could anyone have time to do this?

Sigh. Parenting is hard, people. There is no reason to make it harder than it already is. 

Despite my blog title, I'm not fucking pregnant.

So I have exactly 14 pounds to lose to get to my pre-pregnancy weight. You'd have thought that breastfeeding and forgoing wheat and dairy for so long (I'm done with that, thank God) would have whittled the weight right off me. Well, it actually kind of did--I've lost 30 pounds--but since I pigged out a little harder than I meant to during pregnancy, I gained like 45 pounds. Not quite Jessica Simpson baby #1 territory, but close. So I've got a little ways to go.

Still, I think I look mostly okay; I can get away with wearing some of my old clothes, at least the wrap dresses. But for the last several days, I've been getting offered seats on the subway. WHERE WERE YOU BASTARDS WHEN I ACTUALLY WAS PREGNANT? I mean, there were days when I was NINE MONTHS PREGNANT and it was so fucking obvious, and the dude I was standing in front of would take pains to pretend like he didn't see the giant preggo belly in his face. These last few days, the men of New York have become unbearably chivalrous all of a sudden and are falling all over themselves to offer me a seat. I know they are trying to do the right thing, but I can't help it; it makes me angry, it's so humiliating. Worst of all, yesterday some bitch actually gave me the "when are you due?" line.

Are people really that stupid? I didn't think they were, but apparently I was wrong.