Hi from E!

Yeah, it's the cop-out post. The "I'll upload a cute picture of Ethan and they'll never realize I have nothing interesting to say" post.

Actually, I have TONS to tell you about & the pictures to go with, but right now they are all sideways and for some reason, my computer won't let me save them when they are rotated to the correct view. A.n.n.o.y.i.n.g. I will figure it out, though and then I will be back to dazzle with stories AND pictures....

Until then...do enjoy the little man's mug!

The Cow Fairy Came Early to our House...

All right. You probably remember the post where I mentioned my pediatrician suggested I starve my child to get him to drink formula right? I waffled between having the determination to go cold-turkey on the breastfeeding and whimpering in a corner that I couldn't deprive my baby of what he wanted.

I begged, pleaded, cried, hopped up and down on one foot (all fairly useless tactics when dealing with an infant), but this child was not going to take formula, no matter how much $$ mommy spent on fancy sippy cups with biteable spouts or bottles with nipples just like his pacifier. The joy of the paci, apparently, is that nothing comes out of it when he sucks on it. The paci is Zen for him--it just is. No formula allowed. And so, we acquiesced. He now gets formula in his oatmeal daily (along with a big old pat of butter and a DHA supplement), but we don't try to get him to drink it on its own.

We assumed the issue was with the mode of delivery--sippy or bottle. I began to have nightmares of introducing cow's milk at a year. If he wouldn't take a sippy of formula, how would I convince him to take a sippy of milk? What, we wondered, is this child actually going to drink? Is he waiting until he can go straight to Corona?? Because if so, he's going to have some thirsty years ahead of him.

So a couple of weeks ago, on a whim, I thought, "I'll just put some milk in a sippy & see what he does with it." Okay, it wasn't really that much of a whim, considering I had to go out and purchase the milk--we don't have full-fat whole milk just lying around in our home (although it would explain my lack of weight loss if we did). I plopped the sippy down in front of him at one of his meals and what do you know? The stinker drank it. I had to help him (he's still working on how to hold it since he never held a bottle, what with the direct line he had to the good stuff). But now he's getting to the point where he can pick it up and drink it on his own. Just a couple ounces at a time, but we're getting there.

Now, my dilemma is, you're not really supposed to start whole milk until a year. Allergies and all that. Harder to digest than breastmilk and formula, and all that. But he likes it. And it doesn't seem to be causing him any harm. Now rashes, eczema, tummy issues---nada. But I still feel like I have to keep it on the down-low in front of other mommies (clearly, internet mommies are the exception to ALL my rules) because it is just one of those things...

And when my pedi gives me the green light to start whole milk at the one-year visit, I will be a good girl and have all kinds of "nervous new mommy" questions about how to start milk and what to look for in the way of bad reactions. Then no one has to know that I've been sneaking my kid the cow-stuff since he was 10 months old.

Shhhhhh, don't tell!

Red, Red Wine...

Tonight, "play date" took on a whole new meaning. That's because the mommies went out, without the babies, to a place where they serve adult beverages. This group of women I've known since September, normally seen in yoga pants or jeans and t-shirts or sweaters, often wearing part or all of their child's most recent meal, and toting gigantic bags full of diapers, binkies and baggies of cheerios, cleaned up into a quite an attractive bunch of gals in dressy jeans, silky tops and in some cases, necklaces that would make their babies' fingers itch to grab and yank.

Sadly, I was not far off from my normally frazzled self as most of my girly clothes are either still 2 sizes too small for me or in the wash. But I made it. I got out of the house to socialize with my girlfriends on a Friday night! Yeah, baby!

Pathetic how exciting it was. At first I did the whole, "awwww, I don't wanna. Can't I stay home and lay on the couch?" routine of the recently socially inept. I used to be quite the go-out-and-party girl. I was all about Mojitos on a Friday night and Cosmos on a Saturday. And I could tell a story and get some pretty serious laughs (granted, drunk girls are an easy audience for laughs). Now, though, one glass of wine generally sets me a'snoring and a'blathering like an idiot. Teaching an infant to clap and sing "itsy bitsy spider" does not exactly exercise the parts of the brain that control sharp wit and conversation. So I have been a bit reticent to head back out there to the social scene.

Fortunately I did not cave to my inner Debby Downer. I went. Fabulous! It was so much fun to actually hold a glass of wine in my hand and talk, talk, talk. Yes, I tend to be a talker. Bet you couldn't tell from mah blog.

At one point, I noticed a group of attractive young men standing near us. Obviously a gaggle of pretty, dressed-up girls is going to get checked out at some point. I didn't point it out when I noticed them looking us over because I didn't want anyone to think I was trying to be flirty with them--I don't want to be the "Gabrielle " of the group (Seinfeld AND Desperate Housewives references in one post...I love me some pop culture). Anyway, there was checking out, specifically of the blondes I was chatting with. Well, there was checking out, until the guy closest to us and within earshot overheard us discussing the various qualities of our babies' diapers. Yeah, that will extinguish the fire in the loins of pretty much any being with testosterone coursing through it's system. Needless to say, that group of men left a little cartoon puff of smoke in their wake after they figured out we were a bunch of mamas.

No worries. My favorite men were at home, snoozing. After a lot of laughs and a couple glasses of wine (I was unable to convince any of the girls to have a glass of champagne & peach nectar with me--perhaps next time), I found myself happily bidding my friends adieu to head home to my men. As fun as it is to let loose with the ladies, there is nothing in the world as sweet as curling up for the night with Ethan and Husband.

Confessions of a Blog Delinquent..

Thank you, internet (specifically Amy), for poking me in the proverbial ribs to see if I'm still breathing. I am indeed. And I'm not even in the hospital with any weird illness, or curled up in my bed, in the fetal position hiding from the world, as I normally am when the blog gets cold.

Nope, just being a big old blog-deadbeat. As the Ethan who used to lay on the floor, occasionally rolling from one side to the other, playing with one toy at a time becomes the Ethan who crawls at warp-speed, going from one side of the room to the next, eying the staircase with an adventurer's lust and playing with every toy he owns in a 10 minute timespan, I find I have less and less time to sit on my fat ass to randomly post my mothering musings into the blogosphere.

I have also, praise be the change in seasons, managed to get my aforementioned fat ass out of the house and onto the jogging trail. Mama sunk a buttload of cash into a BOB Revolution jog stroller a couple of weeks ago and made a renewed vow to shrink dramatically. See, at first, I placated myself with the "9 up, 9 down!" mantra and for the first 6, went about scarfing down my grande soy chai tea lattes and blueberry muffins. Then suddenly, I was facing my 9th month post-partum and looking surprisingly....fat. Hmmmmm, I thought breastfeeding was supposed to just melt the baby fat away. I thought the weight would just fall off--it's not like I needed it for the baby anymore, right? Then as I rounded 10 months post-partum, I realized that I am hardly in any pictures with Ethan because Mama doesn't take a very good picture right now. And I thought---that's no way to be!!!

So here it is--I have 1.5 months to go until his birthday and I want to be at least 10 pounds lighter in his birthday pictures. And so, when the weather is nice, Mama and E hit the trail along the Potomac and I jog until I feel like my head is going to explode. Then I walk until I can breathe again and the searing cramp in my side goes away. Then I jog again. Good times. It had better freaking work. If anyone out there has some suggestions on how to drop the pounds (aside from 16 weeks in The Biggest Loser house), I'm open!

So that's what I've been doing--chasing after my cheeky little monkey and trying to melt my fat ass off. I promise to keep you posted on both more regularly, internet! I love ya!

Ten Months

How we started our month:

How we ended our month:

That hardly seems fair!

It's almost impossible to believe, but this time last year, I was sitting in a hospital bed, probably having just gotten a lovely steroid shot in the ass to get your lungs to hurry on up and mature, and now.....POOF! You're ten months old.

It's been a busy month, little man. I can't believe we were in Honduras a whole month ago, with your Tia Emi & Tio Pete snatching you away from us on an hourly basis, trying to teach you how to crawl; and now here you are zooming along the floor after kitties and rolling balls, and oh yeah, Daddy's blackberry, and anything that slightly resembles an electronic or electronic cord of some kind. You're becoming more of a handful daily; while I used to be able to blog or surf the web while you explored the world available to you at arm's reach, now I find myself throwing the computer aside as I throw myself between you and the power strip next to the television. Good times. Thank goodness Babies R Us has a big baby proofing section. And to think, I was *this* close to breaking the Babies R Us addiction.

Tio Pete passes right over the whole learning to crawl thing and starts thinking about Ethan's career as an Olympic swimmer...or beach bum.

Along with crawling, you've mastered the art of the "pull up". You started it last month with the whole "Look Ma, I could jump out of the pack and play!" stunt, but this month, you have taken on the coffee table, the jumperoo, the chair in the basement, the entertainment center, the built-in bookshelves in the basement and mommies legs. You are quite the puller-upper. Nothing cracks me up like watching you pull up on the coffee table while I am on the couch. I will sitting there watching you play on the floor and the suddenly you disappear from view for a moment. Next thing I know, I see two little hands on the coffee table. A second later, there's a forehead. And then the eyes...and the nose....and then the smile. It is too cute for words. You know it makes me giggle and you always laugh when you finally show your whole face.

The jumperoo is even more fun from this angle!

So I mentioned the basement--that's because this month, apparently right in the nick of time, Daddy & I got the basement carpeted so you'd have your very own little playroom. So far it's the best thing since sliced bread. You get to have your "a tornado of toys went through here" room and mommy kind of has her living room back to herself. It's lovely. The basement has a long way to go, but it's so great that you have a place that is totally safe and wide open to explore and play. I love watching you go from toy to toy, figuring out how they work, deciding which one is your favorite for the day. Yesterday you actually figured out how to steer the wheel on your English/Spanish ABC car. Very exciting stuff.

One other thing you've added to your repertoire this month is high-chair sitting. You were a pro in Honduras, in the little wooden restaurant high-chair. You've never been a fan of your big fancy Chicco high-chair, so we decided to get you a booster seat for home instead because they look more like the restaurant seats. And guess what? You dig it. So the fancy expensive high-chair sits in the corner, collecting dust. Fabulous. But at least you eat better now. And in restaurant high-chairs, which means Daddy & Mommy get to go out more often. Thank you!

Where's mah beer, wench?!

Speaking of eating, you've mastered the art of picking things up with your fingers and putting them in your mouth. Give you a tray and a handful of sweet potato puffs and there's nothing you can't do, my friend. Every time you pop one of those things into your mouth, you yell out in victory, and then "chew" it (you have no teeth and it dissolves, but still...) into oblivion. You're also enjoying a fine array of foods these days; we sneak you formula a couple times a day in the oatmeal. We ply you with yogurt and puffs and cheerios and veggie booty and shredded cheese. We put butter in your oatmeal and meats. You get two hardboiled egg yolks daily. And in the past two weeks, you've started getting little bits of everything that goes into Mommy & Daddy's mouths. In the past couple of days you've even been entertaining the idea of a sippy cup of formula with your breakfast and lunch. You don't manage to ingest more than an ounce of it, but Mama will take what Mama can get.

Sleeping is....well, didn't I say we weren't going to talk about sleep again until you were a year old? Yeah. Let's stick with that plan. I will say that this is the month we all started sleeping in a big king size bed and that, in and of itself, is very, very nice!

Today we took you to get your ten month pictures. They should have been nine month pictures, but we sort of dropped the ball on that one. You were supposed to go two weeks, but you had a cold & I didn't feel the need to immortalize your snotty nose forever with professional, expensive pictures. Then you were supposed to go last week, but Mommy was sick and didn't feel like dealing with the anxiety of picture-day while fighting the "hit by a bus" sensation of this year's rendition of the common cold. So we got to it today. Last time we went, you were just barely sitting unassisted. Today, you were all over the place, sitting, twisting, crawling, all the time totally irritated that I was trying to get you to hold still and constantly putting you back into position.




You've become an independent little boy, if you can even believe it. Between today's "Maaaaa, leave me be!!!" attitude at the photographer's, to the way you lose track of my presence while you're playing with your toys, it is clear to me that the high-needs, colicy baby of your newborn days is growing into a confident, independent little person. You still like to nap with me and you still love a good cuddle, thank G-d, but you also seem to love exploring on your own.

At play group, you are off and running, of course wanting whatever toys the girls are playing with and it's a riot to watch you all fall over each other to get the toy drum. I love watching you and thinking that these are your first friends and wondering how far we will all go together. Of course, you're almost the only boy in the group, so I expect you'll grow up either pulling on a lot of pigtails or being totally comfortable playing with dolls. Well, come to think of it, you did look lovely in pink the afternoon you borrowed Chloe's sweater because your super responsible mommy forgot to pack a change of clothes for swim class.

"How you doin'?" He's a big hit with the ladies...

In touch with his feminine side, Ethan models the latest in pink crocheted sweaters.

The thing is, little man, no matter where we are or what we're doing, you have the ability to make me smile, laugh and realize that there is nothing in this world more perfect and amazing than knowing that I get this front row seat to watching you grow up. Daddy laughs at me because I take pictures of you almost every day--he jokes that we'll need another house just for the photo albums. But I can't think of another way to capture everything you do and all the happiness you bring to us.

At least he's still a baby at heart...

Sure, he's crawling all over the place now, but given the choice between daddy's blackberry and a toy ball, the shiny toy ball still wins!