A shout-out and big thanks to Lushgurl, Devilteen and Jobthingy for a very fun Friday night. Because, while anything can be deemed "fun" in the eyes of a bored, new mother, Friday was actually quie enjoyable even by pre-Spawnling standards. Rock on, crazies!

Yikes! I can't believe I haven't posted since Thursday. It's been so hectic around here lately. This whole "new baby" thing is taking me away from the important task of blogging more than is deemed acceptable by several complaining readers. They call me to gripe on that object I vaguely remember using more of before the Spawnling made his debut: the... telephone, is it? I rarely call anyone these days, as their voice would probably be drowned out by the sonic boom that is my house. I call it a symphony of pull-my-hair-out proportions.

It's impressive how quickly the other two gremlins have incorporated their newest member into the frey. Brother bonding at its finest. Having three children is like juggling: there's one in each hand and one flailing loudly in the air, spitting, crying or drawing on the window with a permanent marker.

Sir Gutsy is officially a four-year-old today. Four years ago, after 27 hours of labour, I gave birth to a beautiful little boy who simply would not come out without some surgical assistance. Stubborn? Not my Gutsy. He's a brand new, mutated form of stubborn that goes way beyond the original. It's a superpower deserving of its own X-Men character.

I got a little teary today when I looked at my big boy walking into his preschool. He was the product of five years of secondary infertility, a miscarriage and a lot of hard work. Not just the usual hard work, pervert, but a lot of battling with PCOS, AKA the mystery bitch, my diet, exercise and a whack of other things. But he's here now and we love him to bits. It's also made Intrepid and Spawnling seem even more miraculous. How we managed to have three beautiful boys is beyond me. Gratitude flows heavily today.

The newly crowned four-year-old had a family party on Saturday and was spoiled rotten. He received a lot of great gifts including some PJs from my grandma and slippers from The Madre and co. that he basically wears 24/7 unless he has to go somewhere. Unfortunately, we decorated the house to match his Sponge-Bob cake. There are yellow streamers and balloons everywhere. Basically, the diningroom looks like an obese canary and my eyes water whenever I go in there. It's not good for the new-mother psyche.

Gutsy's hugely into Rescue Heroes right now, too. We have a large bin of them from Intrepid's preschoolhood (read: back when he was a spoiled, only child). This conversation happened yesteday while Gutsy and his daddy were playing with them on the floor:

'This guy has a really big hose, dad'

'Oh, does he?'

'Well, no. Actually it's small.'

'*snicker* But people think it's big, right?'

'Yeah, they all think it's really big, but it's actually small'.

It's incredible how immature two parents in their thirties can be. That poor Rescue Hero had no idea we were making fun of his small hose. And besides, it's not the size of the hose, it's the water pressure in it. That's what all my firemen boyfriends tell me, anyway.

A big reason why I haven't been online much is because Spawnling has the pukes. Not just the pukes, but what I think might be a half-decent case of reflux. What do I mean by half-decent? Severe enough to be reflux, but not severe enough to be threatening to his health, thank goodness. It's painful for him and somewhat time-consuming and annoying for me, though. I'm forever taking off the baby weight by pacing around the house with a fussy baby. I change my spit-up saturated shirts at least three times daily (Yes, I know about those nifty things called 'receiving blankets'. Yes, I use them. They receive their fair share of baby yak, that's for sure).

So I've done something very noble and, dare I say, brave. Something that will shock and awe people who know me well. After doing some research, I, The Maven, have eliminated caffeine from my diet.

Breathe. Just breathe. It's ok. Look around you. See? The world didn't end.

Are you ok now? Alright, I'll continue.

It appears that caffeine in mom's diet can aggravate reflux in a big way. We're on day two of no caffeine and, while I fought off a nasty withdrawl headache yesterday, he seems to be doing a lot better. Still pukey and fussy, but not nearly as much as before. I've also cut way back on dairy and have upped my soy intake.

While this potential reflux thing is not the most comfortable for either of us, he's showing no signs of it being a serious issue. I'm going to bring it up with the doctor, but I think she'll just suggest I keep doing what I'm doing. It's times like this when my lactation training really pays off, though. I'm not panicked like I might be if I didn't have my ejumakation.

If I may brag for a moment (shocking that I would do such a thing!), Spawnling can now roll over, has full head and neck control and - my favourite part - has just started smiling! On the night of the 11th, while I was playing with him on the bed, he broke out in a huge grin followed by a couple more. He gave me two or three more yesterday and another one this morning. It makes smelling like a curdled carton of milk slightly more appealing.

It's amazing how infant development works. I've decided that the reason they start smiling within a few weeks of their birth is to reward their mothers. Being the self-centered creatures we are, we require some kind of payback for the sleepless nights (or caffeine deprivation, as is the case), the fussiness and the all-consuming black hole that is caring for an infant. Smiles melt frustration like fat off a Jenny Craig spokeswoman. Even smiles with puke on them are ok. I speak from experience.

Pictures to come in next posting session. No caffeine for the Maven may equal more posts on the blog. Let's hope, anyway.

PS: Special message for Reese. Please, PLEASE email me. I lost your address and I miss you! Thanks :)