What I'd Wear Wednesday

What I'd wear today if I could: this patchwork halter top from Urban Outfitters. It looks so summery. Seeing as it's practically June already and I keep forgetting that, this would help me feel more summery. I'd wear it with a pair of jean shorts to the park to play with Flybaby. And I bet it would disguise spit-up. At least some of it....

A day of firsts

It's a very good thing babies are born pretty much all at once, and not piece by piece: "Oh, here's a leg, and we're expecting the other leg any day now."

But I'm undecided on whether it's a good thing that babies sometimes advance in their development all at once.

Like today.



Flybaby pulled himself up for the first time. (You can't see me steadying his piano in this picture, taken in my oh-so-neglected office.) He even stood without support for two seconds.

Freak ... me ... out!

Flybaby clapped, although I'm not sure what he was applauding.

He also took his crawling into a new realm, following me into the kitchen (I was pureeing peaches for him) and leaving the comfort zone of the family room for the first time.

He flipped through the pages of his newest book all by himself.



And I'm not 100% sure, but I think he said "Hi" back to me this morning. JP and I have been saying "Hi" to him a lot lately. It wasn't "hey" or "hwugh-igh" or "harrrgf." It was definitely "hi."
How can you tell a child to please slow down so a mama's heart can take it all in?

From one mother to another

At some point in my adult life, I realized the moral thing to do isn't always the legal thing to do.

At another point, I also realized sometimes your heart goes out to someone even when it's neither moral nor legal.

But wouldn't you feel for a mother if you knew she was nursing babies at home and she was skinny and hungry? Wouldn't you want to help her out?




Hey, JP is the one who put cat food out for her. And a cat could have come along to eat it first.

I really don't think it's right to feed wildlife (don't get me started on a rant), but if you don't hand-feed them and they don't see you put the food out and they have to share it with other animals, then ....

If she gets rabies, though, the free handouts will have to stop.

A real crappy story

You know you're a mom when your conversations revolve around poop.

But you're an Awesome Mom when you have a poop-related contest. Awesome Mom is giving away an iTunes gift card for the best kid poop story. (Psst. There are only a few more days left until the end of the month, which is the end of my own contest over at Celebrating A Life. Go enter now.)

The best poop story? Probably not here. But it reminded me of when one of my younger brothers, Goblin, was a baby. I don't know how old he was -- a year and a half? Two? -- but he was able to walk around.

Well. Goblin was walking around in nothing but a T-shirt and his diaper. His diaper was falling off, so he pulled it the rest of the way off. Then he sat down on the living room floor with his diaper and started ... to ... eat ... his ... poop!

I was doing something important like watching TV, but when I saw Goblin eating his own doo, all I could do was laugh. It must have been quite a cackle, because our mom came into the room and saw the scene: her baby eating out of his dirty diaper, and her 6- or 7-year-old daughter giggling maniacally at him.

My mother was upset and asked me why I didn't do anything to stop him.

How could I?!

I'm not sure she has ever forgiven me.

OK, obviously I've matured since then and wouldn't let anyone eat their own (or anybody else's) poop. But every time I think about it, I still start laughing!

What I'd Wear Wednesday

What I'd wear today if I could: these tattoo slip-on shoes by Draven, found at Alloy. They make no sense for me. I really don't know why I'm drawn to them. But I seriously love these crazy shoes. Look, they don't even match.

What would the women in my mom group say?! Hee hee.

They would go great with my "uniform": a black or white T-shirt and a pair of jeans, khakis, or jean or khaki shorts.

So there.

Ohh, it's all downhill after the 300th post....

Post # 300

This is my 300th post!!!

And yet I feel so blog blah.

I think the big 3-0-0 is what has made me so blah. I couldn't think of one darn thing to make it special. So I went into denial.

Me? I have a blog? No I don't. Oh, I have two? So what?

All those 80 mom blogs on my blogroll I haven't read in a week and a half?

That's what gets me.

I miss you. I miss you all!

I just don't have an hour a day anymore to read everyone's clever, touching, tender, angsty, inspiring, LOLy, cute-baby-photo-filled posts. And I miss that.

Flybaby started crawling for real yesterday at about 5:59 pm EST. (That's a little joke for my friend Star -- our mutual friend with a baby 2.5 months older than Fly marks down the exact time her little boy does things.) He loves making a dive for the cats. He loves making a dive for the glowing computer tower button. He loves inspecting the electrical outlets, or any electrical cord to anything. He enjoys playing with parts from my sewing machine. He wants to chew on pens filled with ink.

Toys? Who needs 'em? I think he'd prefer playing with a blender or maybe a chainsaw.

Combine an into-everything crawling baby with a child who naps only once a day (yesterday, he wouldn't sleep and was awake from 11 a.m. until 9:30 pm), and you have one freaked-out mama with serious blog envy.

Or blog blah.

What I'd Wear Wednesday: Show your vintage stuff

What I'd wear today if I could: one of these vintage purses recently given to me by JP's grandfather's wife. The one on the left is basically nothing more than fancy chain mail with a lining, and the one on the right is a pretty white beaded bag with a design. Both of them are yellowed, stained and/or tarnished in places, but I still think they are pretty cool. Trouble is, I carry around so much stuff for Flybaby in a tote (red faux croc from Bath & Body Works) that a little purse like this is hardly practical!

I bet you have some cool vintage stuff, no? If you do, show it off! Let's see it. If you write a post showing your own favorite vintage item(s), come back here and sign the linky below by providing the link to your vintage post. Fun!

A little piece of my heart is in China right now...

...because one of my older brothers and his wife are there and have just met their new daughter.



Her name means graceful orchid, and she's only a couple months older than Flybaby.

Call me crazy, but I think she kind of looks like my brother.

I'm bursting!

Playing before he can play

At eight months, Flybaby has developed a few favorite toys. He loves to sit on the floor and play with stackable rings and soft blocks. He likes teething rings and other toys to chew on. He loves bouncing in his Jumperoo.

And Flybaby likes watching a couple of new friends:



Baby I and Baby Q, super-cool marionette puppets in The World Around Us DVD sent for us to review from Baby IQ. Fly smiles when he sees the puppets, and I think he likes them because they have about the same amount of hair that he does.

But Baby I and Baby Q are also likeable for their antics as they introduce each new section in The World Around Us: colors, animals, counting, seasons, movement, shapes and patterns. Colorful paint that falls in splashes, children spinning on a merry-go-round, a frog toy that leaps out of a box, a dancing ape puppet -- Fly really likes watching them all.

I think he's plotting ways to do all of these things or play with them himself, if he could only learn to crawl and/or walk. Because the DVD is in high definition, it's almost like someone has come over to share these toys with Fly in our family room. That's the great thing about this Baby IQ DVD -- Fly can't do these things yet, so for now he can at least watch them! Sort of like playing before he can play.

When he's a little older, he can still watch the DVD as he learns to identify the colors, animals, numbers and shapes. I don't think he'll get tired of watching The World Around Us for a long time!

The DVD is set to music by the London Symphony Orchestra, which is great for Fly because if there's one thing I want to do, it's introduce him to a variety of music styles -- and he already gets plenty of nursery rhymes in my car and rock music when he's in JP's truck.

Baby IQ's other DVDs include Baby's First Word, Counting and Colors. We just might have to get the whole collection!

What makes me a mom

Mother's Day is this weekend. My first Mother's Day as a mom!

Will Flybaby be a happy child all day and a good sleeper and napper? Will JP gaze at me and extol my virtues as a woman and mother? Will angels sing? Will I receive the elusive, perfect sapphire ring to commemorate Fly's September birthday that I’ve been searching eight months for?

I doubt it.

But that's OK.

Because I'm a mom, and moms are used to going without. We are used to not getting what we wish for. Moms may even expect nothing good at all will happen, just so they can be pleasantly surprised when something good does happen. ("He didn't spit up all day!") We are unselfish. It's part of what makes someone a mom.

The Parent Bloggers Network and Light Iris are doing a "Blog Blast," asking What Makes You a Mother?

Well, duh. Flybaby. He's my son. He makes me a mother.

But of course, I know it's not that simple. Did you ever see those T-shirts that read, "Anyone can be a mother, but it takes someone special to be a mom"?

I think it's the mom part that PBN is really asking about.

In Flybaby's early days -- you know, when newborns wake up every two hours -- I actually wished someone would be there to take care of him and just wake me up so I could nurse him.

I reminded myself that's not a mom. That's a wet nurse.

I was exhausted from entertaining constant visitors and still trying to do everything I did before Fly. I started resenting Flybaby for not sleeping because I wasn't sleeping, either. If not for the little hooded towels embroidered "loveable" and "thank heaven for little boys," I feel I really might have forgotten he was indeed loveable and heaven sent.

But once the postpartum hormones lifted and I got sort of used to the sleep deprivation -- oh, and once I lowered my standards for what housecleaning and personal projects I can accomplish -- it kicked in just how amazing it is to develop a tiny human and to nourish and nurture him.

I'm a mom!

In those early days, I also actually resented people for admiring my baby. I thought, Hey, I’m doing all the work, so you shouldn’t get to reap the benefits of ogling this beautiful boy. Twisted, I know, but we’re still talking postpartum here.

I told myself, that’s not a mom. That’s a freak.

I’ve moved on from being overprotective -- not a mom, but a Secret Service agent -- but I’ve had to be a medical detective to try to figure out it was acid reflux that was plaguing Flybaby. Lately, I feel like his camp counselor, personal chef, personal trainer and court jester.

And most days, yes, I feel like his mom. And lucky to be.

As Flybaby grows, he will need me less and less -- and more and more at the same time. What I mean is my role for him will change. He will need less from me physically and more from me intellectually and emotionally. And financially!

Every once in a while, Flybaby and I look at each other, and I know we’re making a connection. When that happens, I feel we understand each other. I feel he gets who I am, in all the ways I manifest myself to him. And I try to impart to him how much I love him and the lengths I will go to for him.

Because I’m his mom.

Tag sale

Actually, there's nothing for sale here. (However, I am giving away notecards over at Celebrating A Life.) But I have been tagged twice this week! Wow.

M over at My Journey tagged me to write "I am..." Hers was very poetic.

I am an ex-perfectionist.
I am a glide on a tree swing at twilight, surrounded by fireflies.
I am not as confident as I’d like to be.
I am a melody playing in the background.
I am a slight hypochondriac.
I am one of those women who will be called an "old girl" when she's 70.
I am a vivid dreamer.
I am still undecided what I want to be when I grow up!

- - - - -

Then, author and blogger Julie Carobini tagged me to report on eight random things about me. Because she knows I am as random as they come.

1. I don’t like for other people to see me putting on makeup. If someone comes in the same room, I have to stop and wait until they’re gone!

2. I own two red cars. I have been trying to sell the first red car for a year and a half. Someday, I’d love to drive around in a Sunbeam Tiger and a vintage restored pickup. Red, of course.

3. I’d really like to publish a children’s picture book someday.

4. I love wearing toe rings!

5. People seem shocked when they find out I like “stupid humor” movies like “Wayne’s World” or most of the ones Jack Black has done. I just like comedies, is all. I’ll see a comedy over a drama any day. And I love Jack Black!

6. If I were visually artistically inclined, I’d create paintings of nothing but skies filled with clouds: sunrise, sunset, storm. But I can barely draw a stick figure.

7. I am a wildlife watcher and have identified around 150 species of birds so far -- not a lot, considering some people have identified 500!

8. I wish I had more time for reading others’ blogs, but right now Flybaby is a hyper, almost-crawling non-sleeper who demands almost constant attention! I'm thinking of you, though, peeps.

Now I have to tag eight people. Hmm. Eight. So, I tag M right back, as well as Cathy, Leah, Amber, Melissa, Mamacita Tina, Chelle and my friend Star. See? Totally random in selection. I hope you haven't been tagged already! It seems there are so many memes floating around, it's hard to keep track. And if you just don't do memes, I apologize for that too.

If you're tagged, here are the rules:

1. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
2. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
3. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.

What I'd Wear Wednesday

What I'd wear today if I could: this necklace tank by Free People in one of their African prints. This top has everything going for it. It's loose, so it's comfy. It's got a hip print (all the better to disguise baby stains) and cool colors. It has built-in jewelry. It's the kind of top you could live in all summer. I'd like to picture myself wearing this during the Fourth of July party JP and I have every year, accesorized with a red-white-and-blue-dressed Flybaby on my hip!

The dress bib concept

This past weekend, JP got up with Flybaby and fed him his cereal so I could sleep a bit. When I woke up, I was shocked to find which bib JP had put on Fly:



I had to set JP straight.

Me: Honey, um. This bib is really nice. It's one of Flybaby's dress bibs.
JP: "Dress bibs?"
Me: Yeah, see, it doesn't have any stains on it and the bear is made out of a sweater. I use it for when Fly has to look presentable. But for feeding him, it's better to use a bib that's already stained. Like this one:



JP: Well. As long as it doesn't involve him wearing a dress, OK....

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Also, you should know about a Blog Blast contest sponsored by the Parent Bloggers Network and Light Iris. Write a blog post on Friday, May 11, about What Makes You a Mother? and e-mail the link to the post to PBN. You (or I) could win a $100 Spa Finder gift card.

Eight months old!

Flybaby is eight months old today. Happy birthday, Flybaby! And I almost forgot. Someone at the library today asked me how old he is, and I said, "Almost eight months," as I have been in the past week or so. Sheesh. I'm sorry, Fly.

Flybaby has six teeth now. I'm not sure how big he is, but he's somewhere around 29 inches long (high?) and around 21 pounds. He can pick up little pieces of food and feed himself.

Fly's getting on his hands and knees and rocking. He doesn't crawl yet -- but he's the best at pivoting that I've ever seen! Between pivoting and rolling, he can move several feet within minutes!

Also -- and this is where you, my dear blogging friends, come in -- he hasn't been a good sleeper. Nighttime is one thing. But naps have been hard to come by. Without naptime, I can't really get my blog reading fix.

I'm not ignoring you. I'm just watching a roly-pivoty baby who won't nap.

Oh, er, he's napping now.

Caught wipe-handed

Flybaby and I love going around in our sling. He's almost always very happy in it, and that's a plus when we're out in public.

However.

When you have a baby who's prone to spitting up, holding him puts pressure against his tummy, and it only makes the spit-up easier to come up.

The scene: Suburban supermarket. Mid-afternoon.

Flybaby and I have just perused the baby aisle and are now a couple aisles over, looking at cereal. Suddenly, I feel warm wetness on my arm. Fly has just spewed half his lunch on himself, on me and on the floor -- completely missing his bib. I freeze, not sure what to do.

A stock boy who's only feet away looks at me. Still frozen. He gives a friendly smile and says hi. Oh geez, I think, he doesn't even notice the spit-up.

I race back to the baby aisle and grab the cheapest little bag of wipes I can find. I tear it open on the spot, knowing I haven't paid for it yet, and start wiping Fly down. Another wipe for myself as I walk back to the cereal to tell the stock boy about the spit-up. Which I should have done in the first place.

Then....

"Hi! Do I know you?" a woman says.

Uh-oh.

"Do I know you from church?"

Double uh-oh.

And I'm holding the used, unpaid-for wipes.

I don't know the woman. But somehow she knows me. She knows my name. And let me just say how freaked out I am when people know me but I don't know them....

Turns out she's the mother of someone I know. So after we say hello, Flybaby and I are on our way back to the cereal -- and all thoughts of spit-up are gone.

Will God and the universe forgive me for not remembering to ask for clean-up on aisle 12? Or cleaning it up myself?

In any case, those wipes are staying in my purse from now on!

Giveaways

Mother's Day is next weekend already. And as I mentioned in my blog exchange post, I don't expect very much in the way of gifts (material or intangible).



So I'm entering the Mother's Day giveaway at 5 Minutes for Mom. So far, the giveaways include an iPod Nano plus chocolate and a handmade mei-tai. Have you noticed their giveaways always rock?!

Unlike mine. Did you notice last week I put up a giveaway at Celebrating A Life? Please check it out. It's not an iPod by any means, but still. Unless you want Amber at Crazy Bloggin' Canuck, the only person who has signed up so far, to be "winner takes all" ....

What I'd wear Wednesday

What I'd wear today if I could: this amazing hat by Louise Green, my favorite milliner. The Kentucky Derby is coming up this weekend (I think), and this is sooo definitely the hat I'd wear if I were going and had the money to blow. Who cares about horses or racing? I would go to the derby just for the people watching and the chance to wear this hat. I'd have Flybaby decked out, too, you can be sure. But -- sigh -- I am not going to the derby. So ....

Here are other Louise Green hats new for this spring that I love. This pink one would be so cute just for church or if I were going to be invited to a wedding. Hey, I could have worn something like this to my sister's wedding do-over, if I had thought of it. And if I'd had the dough.



This white and green hat looks fun, too, but I can't think of where else I'd wear it besides church. Maybe a St. Patrick's Day parade?!

You know you're a mother when...

Please welcome Mrs. Chicken, who wrote this post as part of the monthly blog exchange. You can read my post at her blog.

Last night we attended a party for the doctoral students in my husband's department at the Huge Midwestern University. Hosted by one of his professors, the event was scheduled for 4:30 to 6 p.m.

In the good old days, The Poo would sleep like an angel during those hours. Oh, how glorious it was! Three hours every day to clean, shower, write, nap or watch The Gilmore Girls.

Those glory days are behind me now, and the same time of day is currently set aside for crazy. Unless, of course, we need to be somewhere.

Yesterday, The Poo fell into a deep sleep during the 10-minute drive to the party.

I carried her in like a sack of potatoes, lying her down on an unfamiliar sofa in a house full of doctoral candidates jockeying for face-time with the faculty bigwigs. I left her there to doze as I watched the competition from the sidelines, and just as we were getting ready to leave, she woke.

Eyes huge from slumber and cheeks rosy from playing in the hot sun all afternoon, she made a pretty picture. Snuggled into daddy's shoulder, she flirted shyly with Mr. Chicken's mentor and waved goodbye as we trundled her off to the car.

Where she proceeded to have a huge meltdown.

There we were, driving down the town's main drag, me half out of my seat and twisted backward to see what was plaguing the child so.

She was hitting her nose frantically.

"Yuckas, Mommy! Der's yuckas in my nose!" she screamed.

So I reached back as far as my (freakishly long) arm-span would allow and pulled from her nose the largest, grossest, most man-sized booger in all the land. This was not a delicate little snot from a tiny, girlie little nose.

This was a booger for the ages.

I turned back into the front seat, the aforementioned booger on my index finger.

"Look at that!" I held it up for Mr. Chicken to admire. "That is one huge booger!" At that moment, precisely, it dawned on me.

This was a booger only a mother could love.

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Mrs. Chicken is a freelance writer and mother of The Poo. She is learning to love life on the prairie while her husband pursues higher education at a Huge Midwestern University. When she isn't ridding the world of gigantic boogers, she is blogging at Chicken And Cheese.