guilt

Sometimes I wonder if I have this whole parenting thing down correctly.  I’m not sure how I feel as a mom.  I work from home while watching my son play on a mat with toys and I see in his eyes, as the minutes go by, a glimmer of “Why won’t you come play with me already?” and I feel guilty.

My alarm goes off in the morning and I press snooze and go back under the sheets for a few more seconds of rest.  I finally get up and rush through my shower before it’s time to push the bottle once more, dress and comb Ian’s hair, but my timing isn’t quite perfect and instead he watches me blow-dry my hair, a task that used to be entertaining to him.  Now, the hairdryer going is just something he stares at instead of looking off into space wondering when he can break free from the chains of the bouncer I have grown so accustomed to placing him in while I shower and apply moisturizer.

I feel guilty.

I’m exhausted from entertaining mandatory guests in our home.  After running around cleaning as my son sits in his highchair in the background clicking toys against one another and squealing at the maniac I’ve become to tidy it all up, the guests arrive, some late.  We feed them, sitting on the sidelines as Ian naps, and I watch everyone socialize.  This is my Sunday.  They finally leave, and I count the moments down as to when I can sit in peace, well after Ian has laughed his last chuckle for the day and drifts off to sleep.

I feel guilty.

I stand with an almost tremble as I twist my hands in one another in front of the daycare owner listing off the things I want them to do differently, what I want for them not to do at all.  I feel that I come across as bossy, anal.  I try to hide my concern, my irritation in my voice, but I am no good at it.

I feel guilty.

I play with Ian on the mat last night at home.  He is covered in random activities which show on his clothes: sweet potato splotches, sandbox grit, and he has the scent of the outdoors mixed with his vanilla drink and baby drool.  He is dirty.  I yearn to give him a bath immediately, before his last round of solid food before bed.  I know better than to bathe him and then feed him food that will end up on clean PJ’s and skin that is freshly moisturized.  I do it anyway.

We wait for the tub to fill and I take the moment to admire him in all the joy and glory he brings me each moment I am with him.  He is in just a diaper in his crib.  We’ve shared some laughs.  I spot a favorite mini cow under his crib. I go to grab it and he watches with intensity as I move to the opposite side from where he perches on his belly.  I pretend to be a mooing cow.  (I do not feel guilty.)

He army crawls over to me and we share a laugh different from the others.  A laugh my heart won’t forget.  He attempts to pull himself up to stand firmly with two feet.  I think to myself: soon enough.

We retire to the tub for playtime.  Ian learns what it means to splash water with each hand.  I focus on his new found fun and let the guilty accumulation melt down like the dirty water that will soon wash away.

all about me

I spilled coffee all over my scarf, coat, and glove this morning because I am the bag lady.  I carry four different shaped and sized bags with me to work each day.  There’s the laptop which I could stand to leave behind at the office for the days I am working there, but then I’d get sick one day and have to return on my work from home day to pick it up and that would be not only awkward, but a pain the in ass.  There’s my pump bag with the cooler inside where I put all of my milk (side note–my boss thinks it’s TMI if I say “I’m pumping”.  What?).  Then I have a purse, not because I’m that high maintenance but because the laptop bag and the pump bag don’t leave much room for necessities like the wallet and cell phone.  And then there’s the lunch bag. 

I’m glad I didn’t spill coffee on my actual outfit.  I’m so pleased to be wearing more “old” clothes.  “Old” as in I wore them before I was pregnant and well, I’m happy to fit into these items now.  I chock it up to eating lots of bread and potato chips…oh, and oatmeal.  Those are my staples on the diet these days.

We bought teeny, tiny utensils that change color when the food is too hot for little mister Ian. 

I am excited to start him on rice cereal.

I’m thinking of starting on V-Day.

Valentine’s Day makes me think of the childhood valentines I’d give out to all the boys and girls in my class in elementary school.

Once I accidentally wrote “To: Courtney” and “From: ____” (the person who was supposed to receive the valentine).  I swear I wasn’t drinking.

I signed “Love: Courtney” on my valentine for my crush in the 3rd grade.  He totally picked up on it (who wouldn’t?) and gave me one of his school pictures with the cheesy backgrounds they used to use as a backdrop.  He signed his name, and yes, I loved that he gave it to me.

He was never my boyfriend.

I’m currently pumping (TMI?) and although it’s great because I can multitask, I don’t like walking to the kitchen with the pump parts because grown men, like this one guy I work with who has four kids, GIGGLE when I’m washing the parts.  Again, how old are you? And yes, he has laughed on more than one occasion.

I’m not looking forward to the snow tomorrow.  Our driveway is like an ice rink and I’m really afraid I’ll fall with Ian.  Also, I’m ready for warm weather and to not have to bundle myself up anymore and spill hot liquids on my winter items.  And bundling up Ian is hard when all he wants to do is play and grab my sweater and suck on my hair and eat his fingers.  I call them finger sandwiches.  And I love when he plays with what I wear.  Yesterday evening he was so engrossed with a ruffle on my shirt, he forgot to nurse.

I’ve said this before, but cuddling with your baby is the best thing ever.  Especially after nursing in the side lying position when you’ve drifted off to sleep for a few more moments and you wake up with your kid nestled close by to you in dream land.

Our house is a mess.  I feel that although it’s not the woman’s job to clean house, I feel some what responsible that we’re not as clean as we could be.  There aren’t enough hours when I get home in the evening to play and hang out with Ian who has been in daycare so I’m going to opt for play over cooking and cleaning.  But each morning I am reminded that I should do this and that and this.  But really, Ian is always at the top of the list so as long as his clothes are clean, his room is tidy, and he is happy (first and foremost), I can ignore the trash that needs to go out in the trash can that is frozen to the ground, the dust that’s accumulating everywhere, and the frigging wannabe squeaky clean floor (because who thinks white is a good choice for a kitchen floor?) that never gets swept and mopped enough.  Or Swiffer-ed often.

We are thinking about switching to cloth diapers.  I am not a huge green/environmental person.  Not that I don’t care, I think I’m just lazy.  But all the waste from diapers is getting to me.  So much trash, so many diaper purchases.  We got the Bum Genius diapers to try and I think I like them, but I have a dumb question–they have inserts.  So if your kid poops, obviously you change the whole diaper.  But if he pees, don’t you change the whole diaper, too? And if so, what’s the point of the insert??!

I’m 20 seconds away from being finished with pumping.  Back to work.  Woah is Tuesday!!

Did anyone else catch 24 last night? What about LOST from last week? Talk to me people.  I promise to post more!

I love a challenge, but…

When I went to London for work last April, I had high anxiety.  I had been spotting here and there during my pregnancy and I strongly considered not going.  My doctor cleared me and I went and survived, but not without driving myself crazy about everything, including what I ate.  Just as an example, I ate potato salad.  No big deal, right? Well, I wasn’t sure it was safe to eat.  They don’t refrigerate their eggs over there so my mind went bonkers and I thought Listeria! And bacteria! And I’ve put my unborn child at risk! I consumed the potato salad on my birthday and the following day I was determined to return to the place where I dined and ate said potato salad and find out just how fresh it was.  What had I planned to say? What did I plan to ask? I have no frigging clue except that I NEEDED to try EVERYTHING in my power to make the situation better.  But if it had really been bogus potato salad, what was I going to do? Reach into my intestines and put it all back together and take it out of my system? Right.  Well after a ton of walking, I couldn’t find the frigging cafe–and didn’t remember the name or have the receipt so I will never know what could have come from a second visit there…

So given the nutcase that I am and can be, I’ve relaxed a bit now that I am no longer pregnant.  However, since I am nursing I have not completely relaxed.  I drink only decaf coffee and sodas (I know, there is some caffeine in it, I know), I am not eating sushi or certain types of fish, and apart from an occasional glass of wine, I’m still on the no-alcohol bandwagon.

Never did I consider that other things would come up such as the fact that Ian has been diagnosed with some sort of allergy, most likely dairy, which causes there to be some blood in his poop.  Appetizing, I know.  We’ve found it only twice but after a test proving that there is blood in his poop that we cannot see with the naked eye, I am now starting a diet.  And I will do this, or attempt to, so that I can continue to nurse.

Basically I’m eliminating a boatload of things.  Milk.  Goodbye cereal and lattes and the like.  Eggs.  Not that I eat them for breakfast but this is found in a number of things including bread? I’m still learning about this.  Nuts.  Hi, if you know me, I eat peanut butter like it’s my job.  Soy.  Yes, I am a soy person and I just bought it for coffee the other day–and drank 3 glasses before going to the pediatrician yesterday.

So.  Can I handle this diet? Part of me wants to laugh, especially with the holidays coming up and all.  But part of me wants to cry–what can I eat exactly?? I’m trying to eat oatmeal for breakfast and I must say, I’ve never liked it.  I have to go to the grocery store since everything in the house breaks the rules, just about.

The bright side? Maybe now I can shed the final 10 pounds of baby, er, lazy weight hanging (literally) around.

The down side? If I have to stop nursing I will be somewhat devastated as I had wanted to for a year.  I have 1/2 of my freezer stocked with pumped milk and it was a lot of work getting such a supply going. 

So here is to day 1 of elimination.  Wish me luck.

A new season

We went to a wedding recently and the minister spoke about changing seasons and love’s endurance throughout each of them.  As I reflect on the time I’ve been with Ian since his birth on August 29th, I realize that not only have the seasons changed from warm, musty, humid air to cool, tingly, autumn breath, but I feel that I have gone through my own “seasonal” changes.  Sure, my body has changed physically and I’m a new mom so this has changed me emotionally, but I feel that my time with Ian has ripened and each day is a new adventure.

The birth experience was so positive, exciting, that I don’t really feel that the aftermath and healing or the pain I endured before I was medicated outweigh the positives of this major event in my life.  The weeks that followed, however, with the hardships of no sleep and demands of nursing is really a trying time.  Exhaustion makes everything that much more difficult.  That is until Ian turned two months old and started sleeping through the night (!!!).  And the fact that as someone who avidly and enthusiastically wanted to nurse and was doing so successfully, really had trouble coping with the initial pain of it all.  And the constant and persistent yelps that meant Ian was hungry? Those were intense times.  And ones I could not get help from anyone on since hi, I’m the one with the boobs.

And then came the first and what will hopefully be the last of any scares.  ER visits, constant questioning of “Is he OK?” and doctor checkups that make someone who is already anxious and nervous and a full time worrier worry even more. 

Once my worries were reigned in there was the fear of going out in public alone with the little guy.  What if he wails? What if I don’t find a good place to change a diaper? And my biggest concern–where do I nurse him?

After several car sessions of nursing and some public ones too, I was good to go.  And diaper changes in the car although tight and confining (and sometimes smelly)? Nothing I can’t handle now.

But then I had to go and hurt my back and hip and limp for a good few weeks.  And today I continue to go to physical therapy with my little guy at my side.  As always, he’s an angel while Mum does her thing.

And so now I let weigh on my shoulders a new set of fears: returning to work where at least I have a new, shorter schedule, one that allows me one less day of work and one day of work at home.  But still a daycare must watch him for three days and a new mom wonders how it will all come together and will my baby remember me and still grace me with tons of smiles, gurgles, and coos? A baby who I must admit I love when he turns his head to find me in a room when someone else happens to hold him while visiting.  Will I then be the visitor he wonders about when dropping him off and picking him up from this new place?

I want for our bond to not get wiped out by a couple of paid employees who have shown their adoration for children but who do not know the love I have for my baby because they did not birth him, they did not stand by to wipe the tears from his first vaccinations, to bathe him in love, to sit silently in the wee hours of the morning while the world slept or pressed snooze so that they could extend their warm residence under the sheets, snuggled with their spouse.  No, I was there, rocking my son to sleep after so carefully stroking his head so as to not disturb his concentration as he suckled.  I was the one whispering that Ian can and will be the focal point of my heart.  And yes it’s hard to divide your love and attention between your new son and your husband.  But I’m working on that.

It’s been a trying time and a time of happiness.  It’s been an amazing journey.  And amazing is a word I hate to use since it’s overused but it has been truly special.  To wake and see the smile of your son as he connects with your eyes and recognizes the love that is there, always waiting for you, is something I hope everyone is able to experience at some moment in this life.

Love,

itsy bitsy mama

life, part II

My guy is currently sleeping in his Pack ‘n Play and sucking on his thumb.  I figured the sleepy photo, above, would be a good indication of how he looks after he’s stopped fussing right before he tuckers out. 

Ian doesn’t usually enjoy the Pack ‘n Play.  I think the fact that the cushion/mattress/whatever, if you will, is really a paper-thin sheet of foam that makes for an “eh” sleep experience.  But that’s just a guess.  As you all know I’ve become obsessed with elephants which began in preparation for my little one’s birth so we did pick the Pack ‘n Play with elephants on it amongst other creatures.  And the arch of stuffed critters hanging overhead like a mobile and attached to the Pack ‘n Play? Well, those are elephants of course.

So apparently after a long nap, feeding, and bath, Ian is taking to this environment for his next nap.

The thumb sucking is new and so darn cute!

For those who are unaware, I was a huge thumb sucker.  It was killer to quit it.  My parents just about pulled their hair out after trying everything to make me stop (braces eventually won me over).  I did not use binkies; apparently I spit them out (and I hear weaning them from babies/toddlers is a challenge; and yes, I’m aware of the orthodontic challenges to come if Ian continues to enjoy his thumb as much as his mother did.  But for now? So.  Darn.  Cute!) He jams a thumb, fingers, whatever in his mouth until he settles on the thumb and well, we never saw this behavior on ultrasounds as some may have been fortunate to witness.

So, moving right along.  I am broken.  As in, I am in pain.  No broken bones, hopefully, but it’s not unusual for a new mom or parent to pull or strain something while handling a new babe.  Well, that’s me.  Last week, I’m assuming during one of many trips to and from the car probably, I pulled something and pinched a nerve and so I’m most likely suffering from sciatica according to my doctor.  I have to go to a physical therapist which fits in oh-so-nicely in my maternity leave schedule.  I haven’t left the house in a while and when I do, I have to be in my husband’s presence so that I can sit in the car with Ian and tell Bub what errands to run.  Yes, I’ve become that sort of wife.  I feel sorry for Bub, too.

All of this drama aside, I’m still adoring Ian (yes, I know you’re shocked) and dreading work (again, shocked).  I’m so dreading work that after finally figuring out what to do as far as my schedule is concerned I’ve now decided there must be some other way not to have to return in just under four weeks.  Right? I’d prefer if I could just move to the UK where a year is standard leave for moms.

Enough bitchin’–Halloween is at the end of the week and when you are cooped up in the house with a hip that leaves you limping you bet that I’m sampling the Halloween candy! How it does wonders for a figure trying to shed baby weight!

So enjoy our pumpkins (sorry Facebook friends, you have seen this one) and then a pic of me and my rolled out of bed look–but hey, anything to cuddle with my son.  Oh, how I love to say that!

life

As I wrote before, I have pretty much put the blog on hold, save a few photos, because being with Ian is more important than finding the time to write here.  But since he is napping for either another four minutes until the two hour mark arrives and I feed him, or another hour (which is rare), I felt in the mood to report how things are going.

I can’t say I’m a seasoned mama yet.  I’ve managed to somewhat overcome my fear of going out in public with the little guy in hopes that he won’t fuss and I won’t be able to console him, he’ll be hungry and I’ll need to figure out where to feed him, or I’ll have to get creative with where to change his diaper.

Thursday was my first time breastfeeding in the car.  I can’t say some people walking by didn’t stare or guess with their eyes and somewhat blank expressions that they knew what I was doing (I used a cover up so it was not like I was exposed for a show or anything).  When Ian cried from being cramped on my lap and needed a diaper change I can’t say we weren’t calling attention to ourselves as pedestrians strolled by.  But the pediatrician and at least a nurse or two have seen at least one of my boobs so I’m getting used to it.  Hey, it is what it is.

Getting out of bed in the morning is still hard and I would be a liar if I said that when I hear Ian stir I check to see that he is okay in his bassinet that he has almost outgrown (four more pounds to go and then we have to switch to his crib) and then turn over in hopes for a few more seconds of shut eye.  I hope to get better at getting myself up after a morning feeding so that we take advantage of more of the day.  As it is they do go by fast and I don’t want to think about how I am half way through my maternity leave and that yes, everyone was right: the time does fly.

So how do I feel? How am I doing? I haven’t stopped to think lately. 

I am better.

I am better now that the ridiculous feelings of sadness AKA baby blues have passed.  I am better now that I feel confident enough to get outside with Ian and not feel captive in the protection of our home.

I am happy.  I am in love with my son. I pick him up and everything else melts away.  I see him with Bub and my heart melts.  I will be driving in the car and look back in our baby mirror and remember that is my son, there are two of us in here…slow down.  Take it easy.  I enjoy talking to him, telling him about me, about Bub, about us.  Telling him what we will do, what we’ll play.  I’ll ask what he wants to be.  I let him know I’ll love him no matter what and that I’ll always be there for him.

It has sunk in.  I am a parent.  I am a mother.  And I am trying my hardest, but I know I can do better.

Motherhood feels great.

Oh, and I obsess about every little thing Ian does.  To hope that he is okay and healthy.

But that is to be expected.  I mean, remember how crazy I was during my pregnancy?

Pray for us,

itsy bitsy mama

Here is my favorite picture of the moment:

mama deadline

The mama deadline is here.

I laid on my left side and stared at what I guessed was flat or eggshell ivory walls as I had two belts strapped over the enormousness that is my stretched out belly.  It felt good since I feel like I’ve needed a belly sling since around June. 

Immediately the galloping could be heard.  If you listen long enough, which I did at 20 minutes-plus, you might think it was tap dancing.  Fast.  Slow.  Medium.  Fast.  Faster.  I tried to link one of the background whooshes to my breaths, but I’m not sure my breathing was picked up on this thing.

Little bug passed the non-stress test with flying colors.

My cervix was less active; it’s still at the same 1 cm dilation that it was last week.  And an induction has been arranged. 

The mama deadline is here. 

On Thursday morning I will have meds administered by one male doctor who I’ve met.

On Friday after being sent home (unless I go into labor), I will return for Pitocin, and will be tended to by a doctor I’ve only spoken to on the phone.  Again, male. 

So much for having a female doc…!

And on Saturday? Or Friday night? Or sometime soon after (or possibly earlier?), I think I’ll have crossed the threshold into mommyhood.

The mama deadline is here.

I can’t think of anything else.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

d-day, due date, or 40 weeks: take your pick

I am currently working from our screened-in front porch. 

Someone next door is doing the nesting behavior I wish I could do (I hear a vacuum) instead of answering emails and attempting to tie loose ends before baby makes an appearance.  But that’s next to impossible seeing as how this job keeps lots in motion and I can’t just draw a line in the sand and say okay, I finished, see you on the other side of three months.  No, instead I keep getting emails from my boss who is away and has been for the better part of the month with the subject line as “If you’re still here…” which is followed by snippets here and there in emails of “No baby yet??!!”

So now that I’ve made it to my due date I feel like I can start to get anxious.  Not that I wasn’t before, but if the baby came before today it would have been considered early and well, I was a late baby and I’m a late person in general.  I don’t believe in early anything : ) So here I am.  On the day that I have spoken about often.

August 22nd.  August 22nd.

My gut still says baby will take its time to come.  And, I do feel that I’ll have to be induced.  I have no idea what I’m in store for.  A co-worker asked me if I was excited yesterday and you see I haven’t let myself be 110% excited.  Why?

Because of the unknown.

This pregnancy has been a time of fear ever since I was unsure I was even pregnant.  I wouldn’t believe the tests.  How could it be? In getting past that, it was the first ultrasound, what many would think is an exciting time.  Instead, our sonographer was cold, all-business, and the words “heart beat is low” still ring in my head at times.  I’m told there is nothing I can do but wait and see what progresses.  So I tend to side on the negative rather than on the positive because somehow that sets me up for feeling less of a failure, less of a shmuck if something were to go wrong.

But the thing is, outside of eating right and taking care of myself overall, I really can’t control what’s going on in there.  In fact, I should save up all the energy and fear for when the baby is outside, in the real world, when I can control more.

So I want so badly to tear down the wall I stand so close behind, to say we are ready for you little bug.  And embrace a new life, a new love, a new piece of my heart.

I know, I know, I owe pictures of our mural and our new elephant curtains which came yesterday and are so frigging cute I could pee, as well as what will hopefully be final belly shots.  But the camera is packed neatly away in the hospital bag that will hopefully find use in the near future as I transform into what one would call mom.

So that leaves the cell phone camera.  I’ll get right on it.  More to come, as always.  And thanks to you all for listening and writing with happy labor thoughts!

Love,

itsy bitsy soon to be (?!!) mama

ping pong, babywatch, relax and repeat

Some of you know I got Bub a ping pong table for his birthday.  He reads this blog and knows about it.  We just need a way to get it to our house as they won’t ship it and our car is small.  I look forward to getting in a few games before baby arrives.  I hope Bub’s excited about it because he really wanted it and I’m not an expert on the best kind of table to have.  So we shall see.  Hopefully we’ll have it set up soon.

I’m just two (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) days away from the date I’ve been sharing with so many…my due date.  And I thought telling people what date you’re getting married was one that would get worn out.  Last night we went to dinner and while waiting at the hostess stand which was right in front of part of the bar, I noticed one by one that people turned to take a good long look at the belly.  Lately I’ve been too tired to react but last night I was hungry and therefore grouchy so while staring back I spoke up to Bub and said something like “Look, they’ve never seen a pregnant person before.” I think they realized that I knew they were talking about me.  How do I look different than any other almost 10-month pregnant lady?

I had been enjoying the attention, the “When are you due? Is it a boy or a girl? Is this your first?”, but the body commentary–are we sure we’re not having twins, the stares, the people scooting over to one side as if I really am a cow that needs to squeeze by? It’s really a tad bit dramatic.

And finally, we finished the nursery mural on Monday night!! Pics to come soon! Our new elephant curtains come tomorrow, hopefully, and outside of a bookcase, I think we are set.  I bought a print to hang up in baby’s room without Bub’s approval and shocker, he’s not a fan.  Says the zebra looks silver.  And what kind of zebra is silver? Well, we have 2 zebras we painted that are white and black.  I think we’ve got zebras covered. 

So now there’s just a bit more cleaning and organizing I want to do.  But I’m ready to really sit my bum down and feel like we are ready. 

Ready, ready for what’s to come.

I have a feeling that in a few weeks from now I’ll be of a whole other mindset.

Zebra print:

For others, check out: http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=5665881 or the artist’s blog: Fall Down Tree.

sooo…yeah

7 days.  I might have a baby.  I might not.  I might have one tomorrow.  Who knows.  All I know is I’m acting like it won’t come early.  In fact, I think I’ll be late–or even induced.  I’ve started thinking about my ideal situation for the birth, and here’s what I’ve got:

No C-Section.  Whether I’m taking meds or not, I want to push this baby out.  It’s the way a mama was supposed to do it and I want to experience it that way.  If I have a C-Section of course I’ll be delighted as long as my baby is delivered safely and is healthy, but I just want a vaginal birth.  That’s it.  If I have to have a C-Section because my labor stops I will get angry, I’m pretty sure of it.  I can get very impatient and will think I’m going to have wasted all that energy only to go into surgery.  I guess we’ll see.  You get what you get, right?

I bet I’ll have an epidural.  I’m a wimp.  Step on my toe, pinch me hard, pull my hair? Forget it. I will yelp.  I will swear.  Some bad cramps can hit you–especially in your calves–when you are pregnant.  Something about blood circulation? Anyway, I am a wimp.  I will scream murder to make it stop.  Oh, and I’m afraid of bees.  So there.  If you want me to push a baby out without drugs? Not sure I can imagine it, let alone do it.

I’m pumping myself up to nurse.  I tend to get discouraged easily.  I know it will be difficult.  But I want to do it.  Bub supports me.  My goal is to do this through the first 3 months at least.  I hope I can make it the first day and week, let alone month! I hope those classes I took help me!

So those are a few things I have thought about.  But I’m a pessimist and I believe that when I say one thing, the other will happen (or is that being superstitious?).  So perhaps I’ll have a C-Section, feed with formula, and go natural.  Well, I’m pretty sure the natural thing won’t happen.  Again, we shall see.

In other baby news (because outside of all things baby, my life has ceased), our carseat was already recalled.  Yup.  The car seat we so happily put in the backseat, hounded the police to inspect to make sure we put it in correctly (7 out of 10 people don’t install them properly) has an issue.  The base LATCH straps have a defect.  This would happen now.  Right after we installed the cute little mirror, complete with a remote control light to check on the baby during a car ride since it will, of course, be rear facing, and aligned it with the seat (which took longer than one might think).  It’s okay though.  We’re using the seatbelt method for now until they send a new base. But the inpsection thing? We have to do it over. Boo.

And for those of you who didn’t know, Bub has been adamant about doing a mural in the nursery.  If we did it, we’d have to do it this weekend.  Ahem.  That means painting.  Oy vey.  But anyway, we are going to start with one animal and work our way up.  We borrowed an overhead projector (remember those things?) and everything.

The baby’s room is where I want to live.  It’s, like, so much cooler as it is than our room.

Have a good weekend!