Hmm.

Dear Diary,

So I took Edwin to my office today again, because I was bored and wanted to show him off. He is quite popular wit da ladeez, naturally. He was basically bewildered the whole time. I was hoping he would show off his smile, but I think being in a corporate environment freaked him out (as well it should).

My MIL was visiting this weekend and so we left Edwin with her and went out to dinner. It sort of felt like we were committing a crime at first. I kept expecting social services to come after us, but after I downed 2 beers I totally relaxed and we even talked about things other than our baby, if you can believe it. And speaking of those 2 beers... wow. Cannot hold liquor. Even after eating an enormous burger and fries, still felt totally drunk. Good thing the baby was asleep when we got home and I didn't have to feed him right away.

Oh, and instead of sending him to daycare I have another solution. Please see below.

Love,

Fluffy

Instability

Dear Diary,

OK, the mad little man has begun accepting bottles from me, grudgingly. He will only drink like 2 ounces (of formula) before he realizes what is going on and pitches a fit for boobies. So here's hoping our daycare lady will have more success. But now I feel confident at least that he can take a bottle and he's not going to starve and die at daycare.

And being my totally unstable and irrational self, after fretting about him taking a bottle and tolerating formula, once he started to actually suck it down I found myself feeling offended, like, "Are you kidding me? You actually like this crap?" Which is stupid, because once he starts eating solid food I'm sure he'll eat all kinds of unnatural crap, so I don't know why people get so bunched up about baby formula. I'm sure I don't take in half the vitamins that they put in that stuff. Considering my diet, he's probably better off.

And because I'm completely unstable, not to mention incredibly vain, I'm worried that I'm going to gain a bunch of weight once I cut down on breastfeeding. Which wouldn't be so bad, because I'm down to a size 2 now and I got rid of most of my size 2 pants when I realized a couple years ago that I would probably never again be a size 2. Also, the other day the BHE accused me of having "refugee legs". (Sorry, we're really not very politically correct around here. We're working on it, now that we'll be raising a kid who will probably repeat every offensive thing we say to his teachers.) But I'm crazy and have body image problems and always feel fat, even when I'm totally not. Like, really, really, not.

SO... in non-baby news: that would be nothing. Once I get back to work maybe I'll have some more material. But oh my god, my company was recently bought by a huge defense contractor (I know, wtf?) and they block facebook, flickr, blogger, gmail... all sites like that. So what the hell am I supposed to do at work?

Love,
Fluffy

Tweedle Beetle Bottle Battle

Dear Diary,

Please disregard my previous comment re: bottle feeding. Edwin still basically refuses, and carries on like the BHE is trying to poison him. And that's with bottles of breastmilk, not the formula he's supposed to start on.

Anyone want to give the BHE a job that pays enough for me to stay home? He is a cartographer but he also might make a good cabana boy, as he is good at laundry and can mix a mean drink.

love,
fluffy

Those Brilliant Mayans

Dear Diary,

I keep seeing this show on the History channel about how the world must be ending on Dec. 21, 2012 because the Mayans predicted it. Because you know, the Mayans had everything all figured out. Everything... except THE WHEEL. So maybe don't go building your bomb shelters just yet.

And now for an update on the mad little man:

1. He is 8 weeks old now.

2. He slept for 6 hours straight this week (once).

3. He finally figured out how to eat from a bottle. This has been an ongoing battle, and with my return to work date looming (December 1, wtfbbq?) I have been totally stressing about it. He wants none of this bottle business and who can blame him? I have spectacular boobs.

4. He went to sleep in his big crib last night and slept there for 4 hours!!! Of course, when he woke up I brought him back to our room because I'm insane.

5. His range of show tunes is ever-expanding. Here he is belting out Big Spender:

6. I have been telling him all about the different foods he will be able to enjoy when he gets bigger, and this week I ran through the different types of cake. I told him he has 8 months to think about what kind of cake he might like for his 1st birthday, and when I got to pineapple upside-down cake his face exploded into a huge smile. So I guess I better figure out how to make that.

7. Don't worry, I don't actually think my baby understood what the hell I was saying when I said "pineapple upside-down cake". I'm not one of those moms. Yet.

Love,

Fluffy

P.S. for other moms out there: Anyone have experience with giving your baby formula at daycare and breastfeeding in the evenings/weekends? Does this work? I will not be able to pump at work and I am worried about my milk supply. Advice sought, please advise. Kthx.

Sorry, but I CAN'T TALK ABOUT ANYTHING BUT MY BABY

Dear Diary,

So last night, I put the mad man in his bassinet in our room at 8:30, waited until he fell asleep, then went downstairs to watch the Office with the BHE and drink wine. This was the first time he was asleep away from me for any significant amount of time (and it was only 45 minutes before he woke up, realized I wasn't there and screamed his head off until I went in there and picked him up.)

Anyway, as the BHE pointed out, I was supposed to relax and enjoy this time. I did not. My whole body was tensed up, anticipating his crying and, upon not hearing any, convinced that he had stopped breathing while I was downstairs neglecting him and living it up with a glass of wine. So of course I had to go up there and tiptoe into the room until I heard his little breath.

The BHE is a very practical and calm parent, while I am hysterical and overprotective. He likes to note this by saying things like, "When Edwin grows up, his wife might not appreciate you coming into their bedroom every 10 minutes to make sure he's still breathing."

Humph.

Love,
Fluffy

Also?

Dear Diary,

I would like some confirmation that in the Ethel Merman picture below, Edwin's hair looks red. The BHE insists that the boy will not be a ginger (because the BHE had such a hard time with being made fun of as a kid, which I am sure had more to do with him being a dork than with him being a ginger). But I just don't think there's any denying it.

Let's just hope the other kids don't start calling him ginger balls. (Flight of the Concords? Anyone? Anyone?)

Also, if anyone knows of a sort of dog whisperer for babies, let me know. This kid needs to learn to sleep in his crib like a big boy. I've tried offering dog treats to no avail. Were I to curl up in his crib with him, I'm sure he'd be golden. But that's just not practical. He is supposed to be napping in there right now, but is. not. napping.

Love,
Fluffy

Photo Shoot

Dear Diary,

OK, I have like 5 seconds to post before I have to go deal with laundry and baby and husband (not necessarily in that order...)

We had a little crib photo shoot today.

Look, here he is almost smiling, kind of.




Please note the black and white. I am trying to stimulate his brain, like a good mom. So that he can grow up to be successful and put us in a decent nursing home.

After this photo was taken, Edwin broke into song. Not really, but it looks like he's about to bust out with some Ethel Merman, doesn't it? (You'll be swell, you'll be great, gonna have the whole world on a plate...)

Love,

Fluffy