8 months of the Beast

Our little beast boy is 8 months today. Here's a little summary of him:

Likes:
Goldfish crackers
Spoons
Videos of laughing babies
Putting everything in his mouth
His jumper
Sitting in his chair like a big kid at the table
Taking all his toys out of his little toy box, then calling for mom to rescue him by putting them all back in the box so he can take them out again. Rinse. Repeat.
FaceTime with dad
Sucking the water out of the washcloth during bath time, dipping and repeating
Smiling at people
Reading books
When dad comes home from work
Being tickled by dad


Dislikes:
The vacuum
The blender
Anything loud
Crinkling plastic bags
Having to put his head through a neck hole
Having his nose wiped
Having his fingernails clipped
Going the *&#^$ to sleep
Being left with people who are not his parents
Being held like a baby (he's obviously too grown up for that)


New skills:
Clicking his tongue
Experimenting with word sounds
Saying "Guhkkkhh" and "Aaghkkh"
Singing when mom sings
Dancing
Flinching when the car door is about to be closed
Leaning towards whoever he wants to be held by
Standing while holding on to the couch
Holding his own bottle
Choosing his pajamas


Expert Skills:
Sitting
Riding in shopping carts


Curiosities:
Why toys are so complicated to grab when floating in water
The flavor and texture of exotic foods like "chicken" and "rice"


Goals:
To finally put mom's iPhone in his mouth
To once and for all put mom's glasses in his mouth
To fully explore the wonder of mom's keys in his mouth
To eat whatever mom and dad are eating (and then promptly freak out because it doesn't taste like milk or goldfish)
To fully expose each book in his library to saliva water damage thereby indicating ownership


Favorite Toys:
Zulu the collapsable giraffe
Sven the bearded Swedish puppet
Tiburon "Ronnie" the shark finger puppet


Best friends:
Dad
Mom
Magic baby in the mirror

The beloved jumper

Ever-present drool

Watching the snow fall

Sitting like a boss

Christmas morning

Church style

"Yes, I am quite the intellectual."

Hanging with dad

Ronnie

Cart riding

Expert level cart riding

The backseat

BFFs at our construction site

Stylin'

Spoon love

The independence a chair can bring

Beast Boy, the Lover Boy

An update on our Beast Boy.

At 6 and a half months, BB is sweet, cuddly, affectionate, smart, smiley, drooly, and determined.

BB is learning to give eskimo kisses, and just generally loves to be held. He will gaze lovingly into my eyes or TC's eyes for long bits of time, sometimes raising an eyebrow or both. He is so loving. He will sometimes grab my face and pull it toward him for an open mouth, sloppy kiss. Its delightful, but between that and his constant drooling, I've recently remarked that I've never had so much drool on my person in my life.

The reason for the drool, TC and I have surmised, is that heavy bottom lip that takes quite a bit of effort for him to keep up. It's so endearing.

He has an easy smile. He started smiling at 6 weeks and hasn't stopped. He can be tired, in a bad mood, hungry and whiny, and yet, if he sees a new face will generally stop whining just long enough to smile and coo at them.

He is learning to imitate. A few weeks back he began imitating a "no" head shake. And with his comedic timing, he happened to shake his head at just the right time.

Me: Trying on hats, turning to him, and asking him, "What do you think? Do you like it?"
BB: no.

BB: dramatic cough
Me: "Are you okay?"
BB: no.

He mostly uses his no to make it nearly impossible to wipe his runny nose or to refuse a bottle when he's done eating.

He is giggly for TC. Those two can play and laugh for quite a long time. And it's adorable. He also gets super giggly when he's tired. He actually gets slaphappy, which makes it hard to put him to sleep because he's so much fun when he's that tired.

BB is vocal. He is pretty much always saying something. And he can get pretty whiny. But his whines typically replace a cry. He's more prone to complain than all out cry.

And when he does cry, I can hardly stand it. It's so sad. Or it's so angry.  He's a passionate little one. If he cries, it's with gusto, and full-on in whatever emotion he's feeling. Angry? Okay, well then it's an angry cry with fists shaking and eyebrows furrowed. Sad? Lip quivering and frowning with a healthy dose of sadness is in his voice. He's good at making his displeasure known, but not always good at communicating what exactly the problem is.

He can roll to his stomach and back, but doesn't love doing it. He doesn't like being on his tummy, and sometimes seems to panic and forget how to roll to his back, complaining until one of us helps him. He's learning to sit on his own, which he can do for a minute or so if we position his legs just right, and there's nothing on either side of him that he wants to reach for. Because if he leans to one side, it's all over.

He works really hard to accomplish whatever it is he wants to do. He's determined and will not give up easily. This translates into fighting sleep with all the strength that he has. Thankfully, once the fight is over and he's asleep at night, he sleeps for long hours.

We traveled to Barcelona in October with BB and he was an angel on the plane rides, and did really well while we walking around sightseeing. He was interested, checking things out, smiling at anyone who caught his gaze as we walked around the city.

BB is still a big boy. He weighs in at 20 lbs and is wearing 12-18 month clothes. His doctor says he's killing the growth charts. I say he's killing my back.

Over Thanksgiving we went to Disneyland. He's always so interested in everything around him so I was surprised that he did not seem to like anything about Disneyland. On It's A Small World he yelled at the dolls as we passed them in our little boat. We will try again in a few years.

We are in love with our lover boy, and often remark that we are so blessed to have him in our lives.

He rules with a chubby, dimpled, iron fist

Three months of Beast Boy, and this is what I have to say: I never knew that a tiny human who squalls and yells in my face to "request" my service, who looks me in the eye while he's filling his diaper, who fights me while I'm wiping HIS butt, who wakes me up at all hours of the night, demands so much of my personal time that it's nearly impossible to take basic care of my basic needs (like, you know, eat, use the bathroom, shower, get dressed...), could be so, so


delightful.


In fact, I love this little squirt so much that I don't mind that he reigns as a tiny despot in this household. It's crazy how much I don't mind it. Don't get me wrong; there are days when I think I'm going insane because I haven't had a shower and the house smells like crap (literally), but a smile from the little dude (and a quick shower) makes everything alright. Other days, I think I'm losing my mind due to sleep and food deprivation, but then Beast Boy coos, and then what am I supposed to do? Nothing, except melt like putty into his chubby Roman hands and obey his every command.

So that you can understand a little bit of his delightfulness, here are some photos from the last three months in chronological order.

And that sums up three months of his life with Gordita and The Compensator.

BB goes to church

BB went to church last Sunday. We got him all dressed up in an adorable outfit that his aunt and uncle in Spain sent us.

And this is what he did:

Good times.

In love

Friday, May 31st our Beast Boy was born.

Stats: 8 lbs 5 oz, 19-20 inches (there is some dispute about his birth length but he measured 20 inches at 5 days).

Story: At 3am on the 31st I woke up in pain. Intense, sharp, periodic pain in lieu of the constant dull and annoying pain I had been experiencing for weeks. I leaned over to TC and whispered "It's go time."

Okay, not really. I think I said something more like "Ow ow. This hurts. I'm going to die," followed by obscenities.

So we got up, got dressed, vomited (that was me) and headed down the street to the hospital.

Once we got there they got me situated in a labor & delivery room and I asked, "When can I see the anesthesiologist?" Then I vomited again.

They brought in the anesthesiologist 8 hours later (or 15 minutes, my perception might have been off). Anyway, once she did her thing, which made me vomit one last time, I felt golden. Then we just waited. All day. I made progress until noon, and we all felt hopeful that by 4 or 5 our little one would arrive. But then all the progress stopped, so the pitocin began. 

And still the progress was stagnant. But they have cable, which means HGTV, which I don't have at home, so I was still golden. I watched TV, ate the contraband granola bars that TC had smuggled in for me, drifted in and out of sleep while nurses came and checked on me impressed at the strength of the contractions I was having, but dismayed that nothing was happening. Meanwhile, TC was a wreck, worrying about me. He's a good husband.

Well, at 7pm my doctor called it: this baby would be born via c section. After some extra anesthesia, a priesthood blessing from TC with my Dad and BB's honorary grandfather Brown attending, I was wheeled into the OR. And just 30 or so minutes later our little baby boy was born. As they were pulling him out, the nice anesthesiologist pulled down the curtain so TC could see. Yeah. TC didn't want to see. Poor guy.

Then I heard the following conversation:

Doctor 1: Did he just pee on us?

Doctor 2: Yes. Yes he did.

Our baby came into the world urinating on the doctors. That's my boy. Not sure why that makes me proud, but it does.

I saw him for a minute before they took him and TC off to bathe, measure and weigh him. In the meantime I drifted in and out of sleep while they stitched me up. I felt nothing other than them yanking on the lower half of my body, to the left, then to the right, then to the left again. For all I know they were playing with my legs like I was a marionette. 

At any rate, they wheeled me back to the labor and delivery room, and shortly after TC came in with our big/little boy. And almost immediately he was looking for his next meal. Such a hungry little beast. Thus his nickname: Beast Boy.

And that's when I fell helplessly in love. 

More to come later.

2nd Trimester and other stuff

Hey there. Guess what? I'm still alive. And I'm doing well. Work (yep, I'm working right now), baby prep, house stuff and general life have taken over any blogging time. But I've found a moment or two to write, so here I am.

So, I'm now about 8 weeks away from little Peter's due date, which is exciting and stress-inducing at the same time. The second trimester was a breeze, with only minor annoyances (like heartburn, finding it more difficult to bend over to put shoes on, and snoring). In fact, it was actually pretty fun to have people start to notice the Peter bump and comment on its cuteness. Flattering. The attention, I won't lie, is fun.

Oh, and feeling baby move is fun and interesting. These days he fights with me over resting things on my belly. Not even heavy things, just pieces of paper, or the edge of my laptop. He pushes back. Such a resistant little fellow. He also tends to be elusive with TC. When I tell TC to come feel Peter move, the little guy typically stops. We figure he doesn't like being a prank monkey and so out of spite stops moving. Our doctor says it's probably because TC has a calming effect. 

I now have an intense desire to eat exactly as TC does. I can't get enough chocolate milk and cookies (which is a staple in TC's diet). And just to show that this baby is indeed part Argentine: I crave meat. Good thing we are going to Tucanos tomorrow night for all you can eat meat. That should satisfy the dude.

I bought some maternity jeans and a few tops and have just been creative (or not so creative) in putting outfits together. TC bought me a few cute dresses for church, and I have plans to sew for myself, but I haven't felt motivated to do so. Oh, and, in case any of you are wondering, I am still wearing heels most of the time, unless I have to walk a whole lot, in which case I wear flats. Today I am wearing these:

Also, it's warm. I kept thinking, back in January when Utah had three continuous weeks of snow and ice and freezingness and mucky skies, and then a short break before more snow and muckiness, that I would never have this baby, since he's due at the beginning of June, and by then it should be warm and sunny and lovely. But now, there is evidence that eventually it will be warm, and this baby will come. Whew! No chronic pregnancy for me.

Our house still has not taken material form, but we are hoping to apply for building permits in the next few months. Everything is designed and engineered and awesome. 

I have been sewing for Peter, and if I ever get around to it I'll post the projects here. I do have, however, for your viewing pleasure, some gifts that he has already received.

A pair of shoes (gosh I hope he inherits his parents' love of shoes):

And a very fitting onsie for our super baby:

The First Trimester, According to Gordita

I've been thinking about this post for quite a while now. What would I say? How would I describe my first trimester? Now that I'm well into the second, I think I'm far enough removed to be objective, but still close enough to it that I remember.

Well, here's what I've come up with to summarize the experience: it was crappy.

The nausea, the bloating, the digestive ummm struggles, the emergency ravenousness, general cloudy headedness, acute loss of sense of humor, the panic and guilt I felt... Yeah. All crap.

Because I was so nauseated, and only a few foods really appealed to me, I ate whatever sounded good. For some reason fruits and vegetables in any form did NOT sound good to me. Neither did anything with any semblance of nutrition. I subsisted on cereal, white rice with butter and salt, boiled pasta with a whisper of olive oil, chicken nuggets, fries and toast with honey. My favorite foods--goldfish, diet Dr. Pepper, pizza, and even Cafe Rio (the horror)--did not appeal. In fact, they induced nausea. Heart-rending, I know.

My poor diet, along with the zofran I was taking for nausea, plus the general pregnantness I was experiencing led to my digestive ummm struggles. All I will say about that is this: I do not wish that kind of pain on even the most loathsome of people.

Then there was the emergency ravenousness, the feeling that fatty's gonna have a heart attack if we don't eat again soon (name THAT movie). What a conundrum: I must eat or I will die, or worse, vomit. But nothing sounds appealing. Plus, it's 2:30 in the antemeridian and my dear husband is trying to sleep and our apartment is small and every sound is heard everywhere and it's not like I could prepare boiled pasta without disturbing him. So, I ate cereal. Like a kid at fat camp that sneaks into the kitchen at night, I snuck around eating cereal as quietly as I could. You'd be surprised at how much racket a metal spoon makes clanking against a porcelain bowl. It's like jet engine loud at 2:30 am.

Between the bloating and the poor diet, I gained weight. I wasn't "showing," just chubbier. I was less than delighted about that.

So as a result of my physical difficulties I felt cloudy-headed. I wasn't ME anymore. And I completely lost any semblance of a sense of humor. TC was no longer funny. His jokes or words of comfort and support intended to ease my burden were seemingly insensitive (i.e. TC: "Well, at least this will be over soon." Me: "That's not funny jerk. Don't trivialize my demise! It's like you want me to feel miserable.") Yeah. I was a joy to be around.

I felt panicked that this condition was permanent, although every degree of logic pointed to temporary. And I panicked that I wasn't happy to be pregnant. After waiting and hoping for so long, I was miserable. Is this what tragic irony is all about?

And I felt guilty that the little one growing inside of me, sucking the life out of me, snuffing me out gradually, wasn't loved and treasured. Would I love this baby, the cause of my lengthy expiry, once it was born, assuming I survived that long? Would I resent the creature? Would I continue to view him as a parasite?

I'm happy to report that with the second trimester things gradually changed, on all fronts. Things have gotten better: I'm not nauseated, my head is unclouded, it's no longer eat or die, and I'm starting to kind of like this little guy. I realize now that wherever I go, I have company, and I like it. Also, my diet is more varied and my favorites are back into play (except for pizza for some strange reason). And the digestive struggles have subsided. Things are looking up!

So to anyone out there reading this that might be in their first trimester, fearing that they will never be funny again, that they will never have another normal "movement," or that they will never love diet Dr. Pepper the same, take courage. Things will get better! This IS temporary.

However, when one problem is solved, another takes its place. I'll tell you all about my second trimester once it's over.