Wordless Wednesday: This has got to be the cutest little boy ever.

(I know I’m biased, but good grief. Those eyes! Those lashes! Those cheeks! Could YOU resist him?)

Me.

Today was my first morning at the gym.

Granted, J and I put the switch into our schedules last week. But it was the close of our quarter, and both days last week I needed to be in work early if I was going to leave on time to pick Baby O up.

So this morning I hit the gym.

And boy do I have a long way to go.

I spent a full half hour on the treadmill. And I burned 200 calories. But I couldn’t run for more than 5 minutes at a time.

So my treadmill experience consisted of a hybrid running and walking it out.

Which, you know, is better than nothing. I need to start somewhere.

And there was a moment, when I was running to my favorite 80s song. Before I lost my breath, I felt GOOD. I got goosebumps. I felt alive, and focused, and happy.

So that’s something.

Right now my current plan is to hit the gym Tuesday and Thursday mornings. I also heard of a good hot yoga classs near my house that has an 8am class on Saturdays – so I think I’ll check that out this weekend, too.

Three days a week is doable.

I hope anyway.

I can’t say I’m not disappointed with how far I’ve fallen out of shape. I should have been doing this sooner, I should have started eating better sooner. Et cetera.

And I’m still struggling with the guilt thing. Because my husband has taken it upon himself to get up at the crack of dawn to do things around the house. His intention is to get chores out of the way so we can spend more time on the weekends hanging out with Baby O, but mostly it’s making me feel guilty for not doing more.

Personally I think we need to simplify and prioritize our life better. But since he’s the personality who can’t let his list of chores go, I don’t see that happening anytime soon.

Three mornings a week SHOULDN’T be a big deal. And in the long run, it’s going to help my sleep, which has been suffering lately. It’ll help my waistline, which could use a couple of inches shaved off. It’ll improve my health, and my mindset, and therefore make me happier.

That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway. At some point I’ll believe it, I hope.

It’s kind of scary how much I’ve lost MYSELF in being a mom. How when I take time for me on a regular basis, I feel guilty.

I need to figure out how to let that go.

Fast and furious.

I thought I had a good list of things Baby O was doing with my post last week. But then this weekend, there were MORE.

The milestones are upon us. One on top of the other.

1. Baby O started army crawling this weekend. Goodness, it takes him SO MUCH EFFORT to move 6 inches, and you can TELL that he’s putting it all together in his mind while he’s doing it. But he’s moving, and I have a sneaking sense that he’s going to get better and better at it in the next few weeks.

And in the process, he has become very interested in the things in our house. Like our wine bar, with the bottles of wine at perfect head-bashing height. Or the bottom kitchen drawer, where until last night we kept our grilling utensils. Or the iron heating grates.

So.

Babyproofing will commence this evening.

2. Baby O self-fed more than not this weekend. As in “I don’t WANT anything that’s on the spoon you’re offering. I want to PICK THINGS UP and eat them BY MYSELF, thankyouverymuch.”

Which meant that he didn’t get a LOT of food into him yesterday. Which meant a 3am wakeup for an 8oz bottle.

But he ate pancakes and peas and cheese and pasta and puffs this weekend. And eyed our plates like a starving animal, so we ended up feeding him bits from whatever it was we were eating too.

We’re going to try a hybrid of self-feeding AND spoon feeding when he’s hungry to get a few more calories into him so he’s not as hungry overnight. We’ll see how long that works.

3. Baby O took his first bath in our big tub last night.

Truth be told, he had a bath in a big tub when we were in Florida over Christmas. But this was the first in OUR big tub. (Mostly because I had to CLEAN the damn thing.)

J thinks it’s harder to get him clean in the big tub, since we can’t lean him back to rinse his hair or clean his toes. But since he was near climbing out of the infant tub, I am not going to complain about working hard to clean his toes or rinse his hair.

4. Speaking of hair – it’s upon us. His hair is now just touching his eyes, which was my threshold for waiting to get him a haircut. I was steadfast during the holidays when almost every person who saw him said “he needs a haircut!” Because once you cut it, you can never go back.

But now that his hair is long enough that it is actually in his eyes?

I call uncle.

Truthfully, I am expecting that it will be a very bad experience. Baby O is dubious of strangers in the best of circumstances.

But one who gets in his personal space? Wielding sharp scissors?

Eeep. (Perhaps I should just do it myself.)

His new skills make me immensely proud. Every day for him brings new discovery and adventure. And it’s so thrilling to look at the world through his eyes; a whole new perspective for me. He’s gaining independence, and knowledge… and turning into his own person with every day, it seems.

And yet, he still leans in to play with my necklace when I’m holding him. He rests back against me when he’s drinking a bottle, reaching up with his hand to feel my face (and lately, yank on my nose. OUCH), allowing me to inhale his scent. He still loves to snuggle enough that I can get my baby fix when I haven’t held him for a little while. (Have I mentioned that I’m completely, utterly, ADDICTED to him? I need my snuggle fix!)

But yeah. This really is the best age yet.

My big little boy.

Baby O had his nine month wellbaby appointment on Tuesday afternoon. (Despite the fact that he is only eight days away from being 10 months.)

He’s doing great. He’s now just over 18lbs and 28 1/4 inches long. Which keeps him in the 25th percentile, but he’s growing well according to his own little curve, which again is all I can ask for.

He delighted in sitting on the examining table and shredding the tissue paper, and was VERY interested in the doctor’s stethoscope, which kept him from crying at the indignity of having his breathing examined.

Course, as soon as she looked into his ears? It was all over. Poor kid.

But he’s doing really well.

Well enough, in fact, that he’s 3/4 of an inch away from being at the maximum height allowed for his infant seat.

Which means that my plans for purchasing a convertible seat for him in the next couple of months have been made priority in the next few weeks.

I’m actually pretty excited to stop lugging him around in the bucket – he’s gotten really heavy, and it’s just awkward to carry him in it places. So for the most part, when I take him out, I put him in and take him out of his seat in the car anyway.

But it’s bittersweet, too. I vividly remember lifting him in his carseat the day we left the hospital. Briefly, of course – because I had just had a C-section.

He looked like this.

Goodness, he was SO LITTLE, wasn’t he? I remember when I lifted the carseat, it felt like it was empty. Because he weighed nearly nothing at all.

And to see him in it now, his feet hanging over the edge… it’s totally, utterly NUTS.

How did this happen? Wasn’t he just a newborn yesterday? How is it possible that I have a 10 month old?

It’s ridiculous how quickly time has passed. I worry sometimes, just a little, that if I blink, I’m going to miss it all.

But anyway.

He’s doing fantastic. His one tooth has grown in a bit, and I think he’s getting the second one – he’s been squeaking his gums on anything that goes in his mouth.

Still no crawling, but he’s worked out a neat little hybrid of rolling and pushing himself backwards on his belly which seems to get him anywhere he likes to go.

And my kid is an EATER. In literally the past week, he has fallen in love with self-feeding; right now his current repertoire is puffs and cheese, so I’m going to have to expand his horizons into more finger foods quickly. We’re going to try pasta and baby peas this weekend, both of which he’s had pureed.

And g-d forbid we have him in his highchair and we’re eating when he’s not. He reaches his hand out towards us for whatever it is we’re eating so he can try a piece, too.

He’s still not much of a sleeper, but it’s getting SO much better these days. At bedtime, which is usually between 6:30 and 7:30 he goes down easily, without complaint, and he sleeps through until between 4 and 5am, when he requires a bottle. Usually he’ll doze until about 6:30 or 7am when he’s up for the day.

And on the weekends, he has two pretty solid naps of an hour or more.

We’re working on scaling back the early morning bottle by trying to feed him a bit more solids at night and encourage him to have a bottle before bed, which really is hit or miss right now. And we’ve started to replace his pacifier the first time he cries in the early morning, too, but it doesn’t seem to last too long – he’s hungry at that point. Hopefully we’ll get there in the coming months.

Overall, we’re in a great place right now. Both J and I feel more comfortable in our role as parents.

And I know this is gushing. But. I am so HAPPY. I feel content. Fulfilled. I love our son more and more every day, in ways I never thought possible to love anyone.

My only regret? It’s all just happening so fast.

I just want it to hit the pause button. Just for a bit.

Wordless Wednesday: Baby O and his great-grandmother.

How lucky is he to know her?

Unconditional.

Or: Clarifying a comment I made in my last post. Probably more than you care about.

When J and I first moved in together, we had a lot of problems. Part of it was that I was out of work, yet again, and depressed about it, while he was in business school (and busy).

But I was really REALLY hard on him. Over the course of about six months, we fought almost all the time. And he would say things like “I can’t win” and “I feel like I’m failing you” and “Why are you even with me?”

It wasn’t until much later that I realized what was going on.

I was the one who would start the fights.

Why?

I was TESTING him. Trying to get him to fall out of love with me. To see if there was a point where he’d walk away from me. I was searching for the point where his love would become conditional.

Because, see, that’s what I was used to.

My husband never wavered. Though there were times over that 6 months where I’m sure he didn’t like me very much, he continued to love me.

In fact, he loved me enough to propose.

And so. That was my first real experience with unconditional love.

And when we were trying, and pregnant, I knew that I wanted to ensure that, no matter what, our child (ren) felt loved all the time. I didn’t want them to grow up like I did, feeling like I had to behave/succeed/be good at something in order to earn my parents’ love.

And then I became a mom.

And my love for Baby O is so deep and wide and bright and to the very core of my being. I have a hard time imagining NOT loving him. Even when he tries my patience, and I’m tired, and all I want is for him to go to sleep already, dammit! – I always love him.

And he loves me. He murmurs “mama” when he’s crying at night. No matter how tired he is, I always get a big smile when I come home each night.

J and I are HIS WORLD.

Now. I’ve made my peace with my family. In fact, I got as close to an apology from my mother back in April as I’ll ever get. (“You and J are good parents,” she said. “There was a time in my life where I wasn’t a good parent.” I mumbled something placating like “well, you weren’t always a bad parent either.” And that was the end of our discussion.) And there most definitely will be times where I can imagine losing my patience with Baby O. Particularly when he’s older and tests us deliberately.

But Baby O’s simple and deep love for me makes me want to be a better person. A better mom. A better wife.

So when I say something like “I sometimes feel like I don’t deserve Baby O,” it’s not REALLY how I feel.

It’s more that I want to be the sort of person who deserves his unconditional love.

Because I think that parenting isn’t just about setting boundaries and teaching your child about the world around him. That’s a big part of it, but not everything.

It’s about mutual respect and love, too. And that’s something I’m vehement about with respect to my own parenting style. Bottom line is this. I want Baby O to grow up in an environment where he feels that he’s respected as a person. As an individual.

So. Anyway. That’s what I’ve been thinking about since I posted two days ago.

The “magic” number.

12.

That seems to be the magic number of months your kid has to be when you start thinking about trying for number two.

Or at least when people start asking if you are thinking about expanding your family.

And this is what I want to know.

Why 12?

Maybe because people want kids close in age so they can be playmates. Maybe it’s because they feel like they’re on top of the parenting thing at that point. And, well. So many of my friends have multiple kids, that it’s hard for me not to think about the ifs of whether or not we want Baby O to have a sibling. Because, in THEORY, I want Baby O to grow up with a sibling.

But truthfully?

I’m not sure I want to go through the rigamarole to have another.

I mean, there’s the IF to contend with. Any sibling for Baby O will require doctor visits. And tests, since at this point we’ll have to repeat them since it’s been so long since our last treatment. And shots. And medication. And the transfers. And the 2ww. And the betas. And…

… ugh. Even though the pain and fear of IF has diminished in the past year and a half, the idea of going through all that again makes me want to vomit.

And then, there are those moments. Usually when I’m rocking Baby O to sleep, or feeding him his bottle in the early morning, when I look down and see my perfect, beautiful, wonderful son. Where I think to myself “I don’t DESERVE him.” Every day, every moment I spend with him makes me want to be a better person. Because he has an absolute and unconditional love for me. And I want to be the kind of person who deserves that sort of love.

See, there’s a part of me who thinks we cheated somehow to bring him home with us. Why did we get lucky when so many haven’t?

Thinking about adding a sibling makes me feel like we’re tempting fate. Like we can’t just be happy with the one amazing little boy we have.

I mean, obviously I’m not ready for another right now. THAT much is clear. And I don’t expect that I’ll magically be ready in the next two and a half months*.

It’s just something I’ve been thinking about, that’s all.

I wonder what my magic number will be.

* I do acknowledge that it COULD. I doubt it, but maybe.

Happy New Year.

We’re back from Florida. It was quite a shock, actually, to land in near-blizzard conditions yesterday after circling both Providence and Boston for a half hour each. Baby O did brilliantly on the plane, though, despite soaking through his regular diaper (honestly, I changed him JUST BEFORE we got on the plane that morning! Should have changed him before we started circling Providence, but at that point we were supposed to land in 15 minutes. Poor kid was soaking by the time we actually got off the plane.) and having to be wrapped in J’s fleece until we got our bags. Because I was utterly UNPREPARED to have to change his pants. Extra sweatshirts? Yep. Bib? Yep.

Pants? Nope.

Woops.

Anyway. Um.

It’s cold here.

So. The holidays.

Baby O’s big Christmas present from Santa? A brand new tooth. His first. He’s been chewing everything he can get his hands on right now, but otherwise seems to be happy. Which is further proof that everyone who told me “He’s teething!” when he first started drooling and fussing was completely and utterly WRONG.

And I’m starting to feel like the mom who cried “crawling!” Because he’s SO FREAKING CLOSE. He gets up on his hands and knees and rocks. But when he needs to move? He lowers himself to his belly and rolls over to wherever he wants to go.

*sigh*

Big issue for us in Florida was overstimulation. He NEVER.SLEPT. One morning he went from 5am until 2:30pm before he actually went to sleep. And by then he was so completely overstimulated that I thought he was going to put himself into orbit. I actually let him cry it out, he was so tired. Which I never do. But three minutes later? He was down for the count. (Granted, he was up a half hour later. Completely beside himself – he cried for 40 minutes straight until I finally got him to go back to sleep. After that? He slept for THREE DAMN HOURS. It was unbelievable.)

I was seriously worried that we were going to go backwards when we got home, and he’d be up at 2 and 4 and then at 6 again. But he seems to be trying to catch up on his sleep; and we’re encouraging the behavior by putting him down for the night at 6:30. And down for naps whenever he shows the nearest sign of tired.

Other than the sleep thing? He really did wonderfully. He was happy and smiley and social – he loved to see everyone. And despite the fact that every person in my family was sick at least ONE day while we were here, he didn’t get sick himself.

Yet anyway.

J and I are TIRED, though. Like in-bed-at-9pm-and-could-sleep-until-noon tired. Sharing a room with a baby that doesn’t sleep on top of staying up way too late visiting with family? Not much of a vacation, really.

Still, though. It was fantastic to see everyone.

And now it’s 2009.

I can hardly believe it.

Resolutions for the new year include these two:

1. I need to get serious about losing weight. Not that I’m FAT, per se. But the pregnancy roundness in my face hasn’t left me. I grimace EVERY TIME I see a picture of me. I brought my bathing suit to Florida and freaked when I saw myself in the mirror in it, so. Um. I didn’t go down to the pool. Despite the fact I was HOT.

2. Dieting never really works for me unless I am also working out. So starting next week, J and I will be alternating dropoff so on Tuesdays and Thursdays I can get my fat @ss to the gym. I’m pretty scared. Because honestly, it’s been a full year and a half since I ran. But I need to do this, and there’s really no other way.

So that’s the deal. The losing weight thing? I’m going to call in the big guns. And I’m going to sign myself up for wei.ght wa.tchers. Like go to the meetings and stuff. This time, I need someone to keep me honest. And accountable. Because right now I am not doing it on my own.

My last resolution included staying on top of my bloglines feeds, but when I looked today I had 215 new feeds. Eeek.

Hope everyone had a fantastic holiday. And for all of us, may 2009 be a great year.