Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Two Months

I was way too impatient to wait for a smile.
 Somehow it has been two months since Jack joined the fam.

This is the paragraph that I would LIKE to be contained in this post:

Jack has acclimated nicely to a predictable and structured schedule. He sleeps peacefully for 12 hours straight each night, along with the routine morning and afternoon naps we both enjoy. When this ever-so-smiley guy is awake, we spend hours cuddling and playing. Except, of course, from the time I set aside for exercising and getting myself ready for the day, that is. It would be a shame to hide this size two body under a pair of baggy, bleach stained sweatpants after all! Jack rarely spits up or fusses and his sweet smelling poop is always contained neatly in his diaper. And since he goes down at seven each evening, Brock and I are able to spend lots of quality time together. I never knew having a baby would be so easy! I'm already thinking about baby #2!

Ha. Yeah. Freakin'. Right. Don't I wish...

If there is one thing that I have learned in the past two months, it is this: babies (at least this one) are NEVER predictable. Not at this age, anyway. Almost every notion I had about Jack at one month has changed over the past few weeks.

Some examples:

The old Jack.
He used to love riding in the car. Any drive over five minutes was bound to lull him into a peaceful sleep, which sleep continued conveniently to last throughout any errand we were running. Now? Jack screams bloody murder for the entire duration of the ride. Seriously, the dull thunk of the carseat being clipped into the car is like a starting gun. The second he hears it, the shrieking commences at full force. You'd think there was some sort of creature hiding between the folds of fabric in there, constantly poking Jack with mini scissors. To be fair, the straps do look pretty uncomfortable. I've been known to do the "seatbelt tuck back" myself from time to time (shhhh, don't tell Officer Friendly.) At this point, I've just come to grips with the fact that any drive we take will be accompanied by the shrill sound of infant wailing, as opposed to the shrill sound of Carly Rae Jeppson. It's kind of sixes, I guess.

See? Serious but calm. And tastefully covered.

On a more positive note, Jack used to hate the bath. At first, our son spent a good chunk of his life hygiene deprived. It just made me too sad to see his slippery, wet and obviously very unhappy tiny body squirm in that hard plastic tub half filled with lukewarm water. I chalked it up to genetics. He obviously got his hate for baths from his mom. I personally haven't taken a bath since about 1992. I find the idea of floating around in my own filth water disgusting. However, I LOVE showers. They are always at least twenty minutes long and the water temperature must be skin-meltingly hot. Recently though, we figured out that while he hates the "baby bath", he loves the good old fashioned sink. At first, his baths were a silent and somber occasion. He always looked rather concerned as we soaped his little body down, but never actually cried, which we saw as a victory. Now he's gotten more used to his baths and he actually smiles and laughs in there now. Baths have become a daily occurrence, and it's a good thing too- which leads me to our next paragraph. (Take note of the clever segue.)

Poop. Jack used to do it all the time. Little, cute, neat diaper messes were cleaned up with ease. Apparently Jack's bowels have matured or something, because now he's only pooping once or twice a day. This is nice, as far as diaper/wipe conservation goes. (Who wants to spend $ on this kind of stuff, right?) But when he poop, he POOPS. Some of these blowouts have reached epic proportions. I once cleaned poop off my child's neck. This is not a joke. To date he has pooped directly on me (a few times), Brock, my sister-in-law Brandy, his carseat (that one was probably out of spite), his changing table and multiple blankets. This is some pretty persistent slime, sneakily fighting its way through a thick layer of diaper, a thin layer of onesie and whatever else Jack has on. The silver lining to this cloud is that Jack is almost always in a really good mood after this happens. Hey, I think we can all relate... (Did I just cross the line?)

Disclaimer: Jack never sleeps in our bed unsupervised.
Jack used to sleep for hours, all day and night. I'd find myself getting impatient for him to wake up because I'd be bored and want to play with him. Plus, he is cuter with his eyes open, so I preferred him awake when people were around so they could appreciate his maximum cuteness. Now he seems like he's always awake. Especially at night. This kid is a night owl. Try as we may to get him to sleep at night, he rarely goes down before 10:30. Sometimes it's more like midnight. I think his little biological clock is off by a few hours, because he simply isn't tired before then. Luckily he has started sleeping for long periods of time at night. He'll usually sleep anywhere from 8-10 hours once he is finally down. This has been life changing for me. Since he really isn't on any sort of schedule yet, his naps are very sporadic and unpredictable in length, making it almost impossible for me to doze along with him. Now I at least feel like I'm getting a somewhat decent amount of sleep.

$4 baby toy? Yes please. 
Happy babe, happy mom.
When all is said and done, we feel dang lucky to have this little guy. Although I realize now that baby habits are never set in stone, he hasn't yet thrown us anything we can't manage. He is getting to be more fun every day. He smiles and laughs more and more often and his excessive spit up problem is starting to improve. (Thank you, baby Prevacid.) I think he might have a touch of the A.D.D. like his mom; he is only ever entertained by something for a few minutes before he gets bored and wants something new to do. Luckily we've got a good rotation of "activities" for him. He loves his swing, his changing table (weird, I know, but it seems to be his favorite place in the house), his homemade PVC pipe jungle gym, and his boppy pillow. He loves his playlist full of lullabye renditions of classic rock songs. He responds particularly well to Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" and the Rolling Stones' "You Cant Always Get What You Want". Go figure. He also loves to lie on the floor and be played with. This probably interests him for the longest and it's definitely the most fun. It's just hard to get the floor mopped when you're gazing down at and making ridiculous noises to your sweet baby. 

We love our little man so much. I miss him when I'm away from him for an hour; I'm sure it's much worse for Brock who is at work and school all day. He really is the best!

Also, let's quickly address one more aspect of my "fantasy" paragraph. No, I am nowhere near a size two. Probably never will be. I have been trying to mix in a little gym time now and then, mostly because gym clothes are stretchy (thus easier to fit into). But my bleach stained sweats are always a nice alternative.

A few more pictures:

My main men.

I laugh out loud every time I see this picture. Sometimes I look away and then look back so I can laugh again. He looks like a creepy bobblehead or some sort of mutant from a Goosebumps book.

Acid reflux in action. Quite possibly the luckiest shot of my life.