He is screaming while I write this

Yes, the zitty, screamy little beastie baby is a whole moth old today, and I am typing with one hand and bouncing him against my chest with the other. A few minutes ago, I ate an entire column of Golden Oreos with him on my lap, lying facedown while I patted his back and used him like he was an angry, squalling napkin.

As you can see, he was not so thrilled about the photo shoot:




He does actually like a bath, so he'll be getting them frequently. Maybe as soon as I hit "publish" because these screams are starting to get to me, man. And it's all about me-- not about, like, why the baby is crying right?

Here he is looking like a teeny Monty Burns

and also just like Ben

So far, thirty rocks

The Witching Hour And Also Good Bye to my Twenties

This post is about two totally unrelated things, as you may have gathered from the title. Well, I guess they are united in their awfulness, but it's different levels of awful, you know?

First of all, Jack screams bloody murder from 7 pm until 10 pm EVERY. NIGHT. Don't worry. Moxie assures me it is the witching hour, which he will outgrow -- WHEN????--and is common in newborns around the globe.

Yeah. Well, it sucks. And you know Ben and me-- we're not totally awesome under pressure, especially since Jack turns into a squalling beastie baby during the busiest time of our night: the post-dinner, pre-bed rush. The time when we're doing all the little things we do everyday to make sure the house doesn't fall down around our ears: mopping the floor, vacuuming the upstairs, the stairs, the landings, the rugs, and the laundry room, folding laundry, wiping fingerprints off windows, mirrors, and doors, making tomorrow's coffee so all we have to do at the crack of dawn is jab a button with our sleepy fingers (or not-- sometimes we even set the timer). Anyway-- very crucial tasks all. Not to mention Harry's sacred nighttime routine, which requires participation from both of us and is not made smoother by the addition of an angry red-faced infant. (And speaking of that infant-- he'll be screaming and screaming, his little face a mask of tragedy, and we'll be seriously close to laying him in his pack and play and walking away when he opens his big, blue, lashless eyes and looks SO SAD and plaintive that we melt into puddles of coos and kisses and redouble our efforts to make him happy-- which is stupid because between 7 and 10 NOTHING MAKES HIM HAPPY).

So what do we do?

We turn on each other, of course. Last night, I even began an angry, whiny sentence with the phrase, "I was so pissed at you last week," and got mad all over again because of a late delivery of Harry's nightly tooth brush (that he requests bedside at the same time every night) that literally happened on Wednesday. Clearly, we're not rational. Last night, I also re-vacuumed the upstairs after Ben had already done it because I spotted one tiny stray piece of lint outside the bathroom door. Oh-- and I did this cleaning cussing under my breath and wearing my sobbing infant-- so, I did it graciously. I am a treasure, let me tell you.

Our goal for today? Remember that we are on the same team and be prepared. I have already done and put away 3 loads of laundry, and when Harry wakes up from nap, I am going to vacuum, so check those off the evening list.

Now the second bit: I TURN 30 TOMORROW! We did a little early celebrating this weekend-- and Ben and Jerry sure do know their way around an ice cream cake.

Here I am marveling at the huge fire

Blowing my candles out in one ragged, aging breath

Lately, Harry has been enjoying some really healthy snacks

All By Self

Harry and I have recently had some major victories that we accomplished all by self, as Harry says,

Harry can put on his own shoes (Crocs-- a total lifesaver, even though they are a teeny bit fugly). He can also walk down the stairs holding onto the banister-- although not always with total success. Yesterday, on the heels of me thinking "Well, tis certainly makes my life easier," as he clomped down the stairs behind me, he fell down the last 6 or so and scraped his back on the carpet. When I go downstairs to reflll his bup or deal with the mound of laundry Jack creates by peeing on everything, a little voice screams "I coming" or "Carry Harry" depending on the degree of independence he's experiencing at the moment. He can also put on his own sweatshirt-- yes, it is upside down, and yes, he wold prefer to wear it that way.


Aren't you loving the decorative bottle of hand sanitizer on the mantle? And no, we're not running a daycare center in the living room, but I could see why you might think that.

Okay, now my victory:

I LEFT THE HOUSE WITH BOTH KIDS ALL BY MYSELF!

First, I just loaded them in the stroller and went for a walk-- I have been having dreams about working out, so I figured it was time to start gradually introducing exercise back into my life, and I cannot imagine leaving Jack in the germ-filled gym nursery anytime soon, so walk it is.

Then, I realized that my life would be so much better if I had a Baby Bjorn (we had a carrier for Harry, but it was off-brand and never totally comfortable for us or him), so I loaded them both in the car and went to Target. Okay, this sucked, I am not going to lie. I parked right next to the cart corral and put Jack's seat in the basket of the cart and Harry in the seat. That's when I realized that nothing would fit in my cart because it was so full of kids-- hence my need for the Bjorn, which I put-- along with a jumbo pack of wipes and another pack of newborn diapers (I keep buying the smallest pack because I keep thinking he will outgrow them, and we have #1s in the closet, but he keeps fitting into them) on the bottom of the cart. The whole trip only took 20 minutes, but it took at least that long to load both of them in and out of the car.

Feeling invincible with my Bjorn, yesterday, I braved the mall. Harry fell down a few stairs on our way to the garage, swinging like a monkey as he held onto the banister, bashing his forehead on said banister. Then, I helped him with his left Croc, which made him lose his balance and hit the back of his head on a cold air return. Then he pooped, and we had an impromptu pants change in the laundry room. Finally, as I loaded him in his car seat, I bumped the top of his head on the roof of the car. Poor kid.

Ben met us at the mall over his lunch hour, so I was not totally alone. Also? Not pleasure shopping, my friends. It was necessity shopping (no, Jack did not NEED anymore crap from Gymboree, but have you seen the stuff with the lions on it?). We have a photographer coming over on Saturday to shoot us and the kids with all of our parents for Mother's Day-- which was a great idea 3 months ago, but the reality of my pst partum body makes it a sucky idea right now. Also sucky? Guess who got visited by the post partum acne fairy? Yeah. And she threw in some back-of-the-arm bumps for an added bonus. I refuse to buy clothes with numbered sizes at this moment, so shopping was difficult-- especially since I was shopping with a baby attached to my person and couldn't try anything on.

I ended up with a semi-slutty (I know!) dress from H&M, slutty only because I am not sure if it is a dress or a shirt-- but it buttons down, giving me awesome breast feeding access.

Shopping thrilled Harry as usual (even though he did get to ride the helicopter in the food court, which he calls Harry's helicopter. Also, Harry and Ben went shopping for my upcoming 30th b-day last night, and Harry rode the helicopter-- and the bus and a couple of cars-- like 4 more times because Ben is a saint. And apparently carries an awkward amount of quarters on his person.)


Me and jack-- he looks fake-- like those creepy robot babies in License to Wed.


So, I may look slutty in our family pictures, but the dress gives me a waistline! And it's raining today, so we are NOT attempting any solo missions. Gotta go feed the baby, who just woke up and sounds like a cat.

4 Under 2

Just a little over four years ago, there were only 4 of us for lunch on a crisp Wisconsin spring day. We drove downtown in a car with no Britax seats, where we had beer and cocktails and lingered over our food. We walked along State Street and shopped a little, entering any store we wanted-- even the ones with really narrow aisles and lots of breakable items displayed on low shelves--staying until we got bored, buying anything that caught our eyes.

A few months from that lunch, Jen and Maurice got engaged in the late spring, and Ben and I followed in the early summer. The next year, we all got married (not at once), and the following year Harry and Max were born. Then Lucy and jack arrived on the scene, and that scene? A little chaotic.

Yesterday, there were 8 for lunch. One of us sat on the floor helping toddlers eat infinitesimal pieces of hot dog (Jen), two of us ate with babies in our arms, covering said babies with lettuce (Maurice and me), and one of us kept jumping up to grab more bup and to wrangle one very hyper 22 month-old back into his tiny little folding chair (Ben). On tap? Water, Coke, whole milk, formula and breast milk-- no cocktails or microbrews, that's for sure. No after lunch stroll or leisurely shopping, either. Instead, all 4 kids pooped themselves and then Harry and Max had meltdowns because they were an hour-ish past nap. Ahh, the glamour of it all.

How cute is Lucy with this dinosaur?

Jack-- or John McCain, as we've been calling him since he bears a startling resemblance to the Arizona senator-- was a bit out of sorts yesterday. Probably because he pooped like 12 times-- he spent a lot of time on this changing table. In other JM news, he outgrew his Gymboree and Zutano newborn clothes (Carter's newborns are still baggy) and is in the 0-3 months in those brands. Awwww.

Lucy up close and personal

John McCain with his Aunt Jen

Harry was so excited that his cousin was coming to play-- he almost passed out from the euphoria. Instead, he was the hyperest hypo in the whole hyper world

His aggressive enthusiasm freaked Max out so bad he wanted to play in Harry's crib

This was Harry's dream lunch scenario

Harry going in for a kiss

Lucy playing peekaboo with herself


In other news, look who bought himself a brand new Camry! See ya 1997 Mazda (well, see ya tomorrow that is because he bought it at the end of business on Saturday, and it won't be coming home until Monday)

John McCain didn't sleep at all last night. But he sure did drift off as soon as I dragged my sad-looking self out of bed at 7. Grumble grumble.

Here he is in his "big boy" sleeper

The Combi Twin Savvy makes its inaugural journey to Super Target-- apropos, no?

Petting the Rabbits

Maybe you could call it tough love? In any case, Jack generally does not object to having his head smacked, his hat ripped from his melon, and his fingers tugged on in an attempt to "off Jack's mimmens." Last night, after we read stories, Harry gave Jack a really sweet kiss on the head (which stopped Jack's fretful fussing) jumped off our bed, and waddled cheerfully into his room, where he climbed into his own bed and pulled up his own covers.

Here they are taking an impromptu morning nap. I was too high on my morning coffee to sleep when they did, but I did gather Harry into my arms and cuddle with him the moment I finished snapping this picture. Sadly, those were the only 20 minutes he slept yesterday. He made mischief in both his crib and his bed for 45 minutes when I finally rescued him, and he smiled sweetly at me and said "Ha! No nap." Luckily Jamie came over in the afternoon, so I napped with Jack until Ben got home.


My view of Jack most of the day/night


Ooops. I seem to have passed on my fear of storms to Harry-- we're working on it.

Remember when Harry was an infant and all of our pictures were of our brown couches? This time, we're all about the bed. Anyway, here's Lennie in action from this morning-- note his musical repertoire . Also, "Hold Tight" is a song from his Backyardigans guitar (which is another toy that, sadly, lacks a volume control).

In Which Everyone Sleeps But Me

This is what I found last night when I came down from the shower.

Harry sleeps on the couch when he's been out late-- he tries not to wake us up when he stumbles home wasted.

Actually, Jack was not sleeping here-- he was blinded by the stray sunbeam that I thought he might like. Ooops.

When Harry was teeny, Ben and I were really into Curb Your Enthusiasm, and we loved the episode with Wanda Sykes and Krazee-Eyez Killa. We started calling Harry Krazee-Eyez because he would be up staring at us all night long. Yup. Jack does that, too. Also? Not only do my babies not look like me, they also are not like me, in that they do not like chocolate milk-- or chocolate in breast milk that is. I ate most of a chocolate chip cookie from Noodles last night, and Jack was a wreck-- he spent the whole night grunting, pooping, crying, and staring.

Here's Jack

Here's Harry

Same blankie, same sleeper, but totally different baby, huh? (Also, Jaime Long, this blanket still rocks)

Have you ever had one of those days where your toddler watches Sesame Street at both 7am and 10am? Yeah. Having it.

Also, Jack has not napped all morning. The problem is he eats THEN poops like 10 minutes after drifting off to sleep. If I change him, he's totally awake and grumpy until it's time to eat again. So, I just put him down with what I suspect is a poopy diaper, but jeez. Get a rest, kid, and give us one, too, you know what I mean?

I am finally done with my handy dandy make-me-a-freaking-wet-diaper-counting-psychopath March of Dimes breastfeeding log. Jack weighed 7 pounds, 10.8 ounces at his 2 week check-up yesterday-- almost a POUND over his birthweight (and the expectation for breast fed babies is that they reach their birth weight by 2 weeks)-- so I can finally relax about feeding him. He doesn't go back to the doc for 6 weeks (although the doctor expressed doubt that we could stay away that long, even though we assured him we are much cooler this time around), and my goal is to chill the eff out about breast feeding and realize that it's great. I know the March of Dimes means well, but counting wets and solids starts me down the road to post partum depression. I would pay a crap load of money for a device that could calibrate my breasts and tell me how much he eats (and no, I don't want to get a scale and weight him before and after. I m trying NOT to pass my eating disorder on to my kids, thank you very much). But yeah, I still worry. I am not engorged or leaking milk anymore, and even though it's much more comfortable this way, it freaks me out a bit-- even though I know it should not.

Enough about me and my breasts-- which, by the way, Harry calls my bups and pokes really hard in an attempt to turn them on. Katie told me yesterday that I need to update this blog more often, to which I replied "I need 2 hands for that!" but I am going to try, even if it means Jack occasionally naps on his tummy (is the Back To Sleep campaign a conspiracy to make women so crazy with sleep deprivation that we'll not notice the sorry state of healthcare, welfare, and daycare in America? I think it might be).