Stories from the front lines of an unplanned pregnancy.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

He's definitely my son...

So, the Infant Fatale I.R.A. started solid foods today. Make that "solid" foods, as there's nothing remotely solid about the gluey gruel better known as Gerber Rice Cereal. I mean, as if it wasn't hateful enough that we've all been sitting around stuffing our faces with veal meatballs and mahi mahi steaks while the Spawn gazed longingly up from my boob for the past few weeks, but when the time finally comes to expand his breast milk-centric diet... we give him that shit?! Damn.
Actually, you would've thought it was pureed caviar on a mother of pearl spoon the way he inhaled that mess. And when I was too slow with it, he took matters into his own pudgy little hands. Literally. Spoon be damned, he was gonna get his fix even if that meant tugging it to his mouth and scraping off every delicious morsel.

Needless to say, he was totally into it. Sure his doctor was all, "We now recommend waiting until six months to start infants on solid foods," and whatever. But, A. the little binge eater's been giving the side eye to every loaded fork that enters his line of sight and bypasses his mouth for a while now, and B. I've been giving the side eye to his pediatrician ever since he suggested getting Ian on the formula when he was having some issues with the whole nursing thing-- the DAY after he was born. So, yeah, he can pretty much kiss my breastfeeding and rice cereal pushing ass. And in all honestly, I was starting to worry about being gummed to death in my sleep if I pulled one more handful of (insert food item that has no business being in a four month old's mouth) out of Ian's grasp. Um, he growled at his great grandmother today when she had the audacity to drink a glass of tea in front of him without offering any. Yeah, I know, the nerve. Anyway, It was shortly after that last display of food related aggression that I decided to try a little change of pace. All the books say that one of the biggest signs that your precious hellspawn is ready to try the whole solids thing is an noticeable curiosity in what you're eating. "Noticeable curiosity", "borderline desperate desire to cram into mouth"... potato, po-tah-to.

But before you know it, I'm going to be picking green flecks out of his pasta in restaurants and slapping together pb&j's like it's my job. So for now I'm gonna enjoy these lovely, simple times of breast milk and the occasional spoonful of vaguely food like sustenance before they're gone, because once they're gone, God knows I'm going to miss them.

...And besides, solid food poop is such a bitch to clean up.

With love and gruel,

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

And now for a little showing off...

The Mister & The Spawn.
Good morning, indeed. Lucky bitch that I am, this is what I get to wake up to every morning. Well either this or a very tiny pair of feet wedged all up in my ribcage and a lightly snoring and totally useless husband sleeping through the first loaded diaper change of the day.

Action Baby on the move

Okay, so the while he's quite the competent little roller, the whole crawling thing is still a little out of his leauge. Instead, he prefers to do this bizarre face-plant-and-drag move that leaves his cheeks rosy and his mouth full of carpet fuzz. Don't judge. And anyway, who gives a crap when you look this good doing it? As Our Lady of The Runway, Ms. Banks, would say, "He's smiling with his eyes."

The littlest skeptic.

Now listen-- Nobody mention his (lack of) hair. It's been falling out for the past few weeks and I'm he's very sensitive about it. As a matter of fact, so has mine. Between the two of us, the sheets on our bed look like a barbershop floor. Ah well, so much for the Maddox Jolie-Pitt faux-hawk look.

It could be worse, I could've become a republican...

So. I just got off the phone with my first grade teacher. Nevermind how I came to be on the phone with my first grade teacher 1,000 miles away and thirteen years later in the first place-- I just was. And after exchanging about five minutes of catching up (yes, she's still married to that firefighter, no, I haven't gotten much taller) I hung up feeling warmly nostalgic and, truth be told, more than a little bit embarrassed.

Everything's relative, right? So if I was from some little podunk town in Kentucky where neither of my parents got much past tenth grade and everyone became a grandparent by 35, my being married and a mother at 20 with a quarter of a college degree under my belt and all of my teeth would be nothing to sneeze at. Hell, I might even be considered the "together" one in my family. But when all you're life you've been the smart one, the golden child, the award winner, the (insert braggy-type adjective here), the kid that everyone just knows is going to do something, be someone.... well marriage and motherhood just isn't all that impressive. Worse than that, it's downright disappointing. Sure, I knew my parents would be disappointed. I was ready for that. But what I wasn't ready for was the queasy feeling that I get every time I have to talk to somebody I haven't seen in awhile. Every high school friend, every out of touch cousin,
the guy at the dry cleaners, my old agent, and, yes, even my first grade teacher.

It's like regardless of how happy I am (very) or how sure I am in the decisions I've made (completely), I feel like all they see is a whole lot of wasted potential. Maybe it's just me projecting how I feel on some level onto everyone else, I don't know. But either way I still can't bring myself to get over it and introduce either the Mister or the Spawn with the wholehearted enthusiasm and pride that I really feel. There's always the traces of an embarrassed smile playing on my lips when I do, and the rush of justification and reassurances that follow along right after. People probably think the Spawn's name is "Ian-Rhys-it's-definitely-not-where-I-saw-myself-this-soon-but-I'm-really-really-happy-I-swear-and -did-I-mention-that-I'm-actually-married-to-his-father-too?"

Anyway, I really am fantastically happy and I really am proud of myself for stepping up to the plate and taking on all these new roles with all the confidence and enthusiasm I could muster. I just want to know how long it will be until I stop feeling the urge to apologize to everyone for being something other than what they expected.

I don't know. I'm working on it.

With love,