I can't believe I've actually had the time and incredible wit required to post to this blog 175 times. This is my 176th post. I could have put '176 posts of worthless crap' as the title, but it didn't look as good, even though it would be accurate.
And when you're The Maven, it's all about looks. That's why so many people spend time with me. They like to say they hang with the beautiful people. Today was such a day.
This morning I had a meeting with one of the playgroup moms. I would refer to it as a playdate if her two-year-old daughter had someone to play with other than my four-month-old Spawnling. I would refer to it as a coffee date if she were a coffee drinker. Or an anything drinker, for that matter. In fact, she consumed nothing and her daughter only had a cheese string. I had two cups of coffee. So it was a meeting of the minds. Or um... of the moms. Or something.
I love complicating my life.
Afterwards, I picked up Gutsy from I-hate-school and went to Mrs. Wailings' abode. It takes about half an hour to get there and I've decided she needs to build me a room in the basement. That way the boys and I could live there part of the time, since we do anyway. I have it all figured out: She could drill a hole in the floor under the kitchen sink and drop scraps of food into a bucket. Then she could say things like 'It likes the apple peels it is given' in that creepy, cannabilistic tone. And she could let us upstairs for playdates. Or coffee dates. Or both.
It might put a wee bit of a strain on our friendship with the basement and the scraps and the name-calling, but if I could save a bit on gas then I'm willing to take that chance.
So in short, two people basked in my glory today. Spawnling then decided to become quite posessive of his pod-mother and cling to me for the rest of the afternoon, crying whenever I'd leave his site. Sitting on the floor playing with cool toys? Why would he want to do that? Afford me five minutes to complete a bodily function while his brothers entertain him? "Silly Food Source. You produce so much milk for me that you needn't produce much waste. You lock yourself in that bathroom to read O Magazine, Foul woman! I shall make you pay by screaming at the door while Intrepid politely inquires as to how long it will be before you emerge!"
And yet, I managed to speak to two friends by phone (Impossible MOM and Lushgurl, who is quite ill - not just in the head - and hasn't relapsed or died, in case anyone is wondering), make a healthy dinner and even watch Gutsy destroy my previously-clean diningroom by creating an elaborate 'obstacle course' for he and Intrepid to go through. Score one for messy creativity, Gutsy.
By the time Geekster came home and food was had, I had pretty much decided that I required some breathing space. So I loaded the Spawn up on his favourite food (that would be me, in case there was any question) and headed off to the grocery store. I was gone perhaps twenty minutes - a wonderful, liberating, peaceful twenty minutes - and came home to a howling baby and two hyper children. But Geekster, in true seasoned father fashion, was as cool as a cucumber. A cucumber that was in the fridge and not, say, sitting on a stove or something. The minute he handed me Spawnling, the little stinker stopped wailing and dove for my chest.
This has been an ongoing problem with our four-month-old Spawn. For nearly two weeks - ever since he really started to get the sitting up thing - he hasn't been pleased with the flow of my milk. It doesn't come fast enough and there isn't the amount he seems to need. At first I thought it was a typical growth spurt. But it didn't go away after a few days like it should have. It just kept getting worse and worse.
I'm trained in lactation and infant nutrition. I'm forever telling people 'It's just a growth spurt. Most babies don't require any solid food until at least six months of age.' And generally that's true. The average baby doesn't need anything but a liquid diet for the first few months of life. It's not recommended that they be given solids any earlier based on their size or much of anything else for that matter. In fact, it's downright frowned upon by most health professionals nowdays. Six months is the new four months. Or something. And it makes a lot of sense if you look into it.
But you know, Spawnling isn't your average baby. Call me a braggart (and I won't deny it most of the time) but this kid is a six-month-old in four-month-old clothing. He's about 18lbs, he sits, he pulls himself up to stand, he manoeuvers around the floor like it's nobody's business, and he expends a great deal of energy. Every day he does something new and pretty creepy, given his age. I've never seen anything like it. He's an exception to the rule.
So, I made an exception to the rule and fed him a potato.
There. I said it. I fed my four-and-a-half-month-old a baked potato.
Not the whole potato. I baked a teeny tiny one, peeled it, mushed it up with some booby juice and some water and fed him a spoonful. He was in baby heaven. Gummed it up and swallowed it down. Then he went for a 90 minute nap and mommy wanted to jump up and down. And he was much happier and nursed at longer intervals for the rest of the day.
That was two days ago. Today I fed him some squash.
Don't scowl at me and lecture me about the evils of introducing more than one food per week and not giving him cereal first. I'll be forced to roll my eyes at you and you certainly don't want that kind of wrath. I know what I'm doing. I know how their tummies work. I even know that it's possible Spawnling's digestive system isn't as advanced his muscle tone is. But you know what? Mother's intuition is telling me that the incredible Super Spawn is ready for some nummy from another mommy. The 'mommy' being a bowl, but that didn't rhyme.
Just go with it. Geekster has for the last thirteen years and we're not divorced yet, so obviously it works.
What sucks is that I hate having to go against what I believe is best for the majority of infants. Because I'm almost an expert on the subject and I really should be practicing what I preach. But if I give him a teaspoon full of something solid when he's having a hissy fit day, it's not the end of the world. I need to suck it up and get over myself.
One of my best friends, Bumpkin, just moved back from Toronto with her husband and four kids. I missed her terribly for the few months she was gone and was thrilled to hear that she missed me so much that she had to come back here (me and everyone else, but they don't matter on my blog). I'm heading out to the country to see her tomorrow. I need to polish up my ten gallon hat and hitch up ol' Nell to the wagon, but it'll be worth it.
So with that I will head out for the night. Many speedy recovery wishes to, well, Speedy, who just had dental surgery. Get-well wishes to Lushgurl, the poor sicky.
Cherotica: coffee soon. I miss you!
Jobthingy and Fly: dinner soon! Before Fly can no longer fit in a booth.
Mrs. Wailing: Coffee sans gremlins soon. It's foreign, but I know we can pull it off.
Shout outs over. Way to overpersonalize your blog, Maven. Sheesh.
And when you're The Maven, it's all about looks. That's why so many people spend time with me. They like to say they hang with the beautiful people. Today was such a day.
This morning I had a meeting with one of the playgroup moms. I would refer to it as a playdate if her two-year-old daughter had someone to play with other than my four-month-old Spawnling. I would refer to it as a coffee date if she were a coffee drinker. Or an anything drinker, for that matter. In fact, she consumed nothing and her daughter only had a cheese string. I had two cups of coffee. So it was a meeting of the minds. Or um... of the moms. Or something.
I love complicating my life.
Afterwards, I picked up Gutsy from I-hate-school and went to Mrs. Wailings' abode. It takes about half an hour to get there and I've decided she needs to build me a room in the basement. That way the boys and I could live there part of the time, since we do anyway. I have it all figured out: She could drill a hole in the floor under the kitchen sink and drop scraps of food into a bucket. Then she could say things like 'It likes the apple peels it is given' in that creepy, cannabilistic tone. And she could let us upstairs for playdates. Or coffee dates. Or both.
It might put a wee bit of a strain on our friendship with the basement and the scraps and the name-calling, but if I could save a bit on gas then I'm willing to take that chance.
So in short, two people basked in my glory today. Spawnling then decided to become quite posessive of his pod-mother and cling to me for the rest of the afternoon, crying whenever I'd leave his site. Sitting on the floor playing with cool toys? Why would he want to do that? Afford me five minutes to complete a bodily function while his brothers entertain him? "Silly Food Source. You produce so much milk for me that you needn't produce much waste. You lock yourself in that bathroom to read O Magazine, Foul woman! I shall make you pay by screaming at the door while Intrepid politely inquires as to how long it will be before you emerge!"
And yet, I managed to speak to two friends by phone (Impossible MOM and Lushgurl, who is quite ill - not just in the head - and hasn't relapsed or died, in case anyone is wondering), make a healthy dinner and even watch Gutsy destroy my previously-clean diningroom by creating an elaborate 'obstacle course' for he and Intrepid to go through. Score one for messy creativity, Gutsy.
By the time Geekster came home and food was had, I had pretty much decided that I required some breathing space. So I loaded the Spawn up on his favourite food (that would be me, in case there was any question) and headed off to the grocery store. I was gone perhaps twenty minutes - a wonderful, liberating, peaceful twenty minutes - and came home to a howling baby and two hyper children. But Geekster, in true seasoned father fashion, was as cool as a cucumber. A cucumber that was in the fridge and not, say, sitting on a stove or something. The minute he handed me Spawnling, the little stinker stopped wailing and dove for my chest.
This has been an ongoing problem with our four-month-old Spawn. For nearly two weeks - ever since he really started to get the sitting up thing - he hasn't been pleased with the flow of my milk. It doesn't come fast enough and there isn't the amount he seems to need. At first I thought it was a typical growth spurt. But it didn't go away after a few days like it should have. It just kept getting worse and worse.
I'm trained in lactation and infant nutrition. I'm forever telling people 'It's just a growth spurt. Most babies don't require any solid food until at least six months of age.' And generally that's true. The average baby doesn't need anything but a liquid diet for the first few months of life. It's not recommended that they be given solids any earlier based on their size or much of anything else for that matter. In fact, it's downright frowned upon by most health professionals nowdays. Six months is the new four months. Or something. And it makes a lot of sense if you look into it.
But you know, Spawnling isn't your average baby. Call me a braggart (and I won't deny it most of the time) but this kid is a six-month-old in four-month-old clothing. He's about 18lbs, he sits, he pulls himself up to stand, he manoeuvers around the floor like it's nobody's business, and he expends a great deal of energy. Every day he does something new and pretty creepy, given his age. I've never seen anything like it. He's an exception to the rule.
So, I made an exception to the rule and fed him a potato.
There. I said it. I fed my four-and-a-half-month-old a baked potato.
Not the whole potato. I baked a teeny tiny one, peeled it, mushed it up with some booby juice and some water and fed him a spoonful. He was in baby heaven. Gummed it up and swallowed it down. Then he went for a 90 minute nap and mommy wanted to jump up and down. And he was much happier and nursed at longer intervals for the rest of the day.
That was two days ago. Today I fed him some squash.
Don't scowl at me and lecture me about the evils of introducing more than one food per week and not giving him cereal first. I'll be forced to roll my eyes at you and you certainly don't want that kind of wrath. I know what I'm doing. I know how their tummies work. I even know that it's possible Spawnling's digestive system isn't as advanced his muscle tone is. But you know what? Mother's intuition is telling me that the incredible Super Spawn is ready for some nummy from another mommy. The 'mommy' being a bowl, but that didn't rhyme.
Just go with it. Geekster has for the last thirteen years and we're not divorced yet, so obviously it works.
What sucks is that I hate having to go against what I believe is best for the majority of infants. Because I'm almost an expert on the subject and I really should be practicing what I preach. But if I give him a teaspoon full of something solid when he's having a hissy fit day, it's not the end of the world. I need to suck it up and get over myself.
One of my best friends, Bumpkin, just moved back from Toronto with her husband and four kids. I missed her terribly for the few months she was gone and was thrilled to hear that she missed me so much that she had to come back here (me and everyone else, but they don't matter on my blog). I'm heading out to the country to see her tomorrow. I need to polish up my ten gallon hat and hitch up ol' Nell to the wagon, but it'll be worth it.
So with that I will head out for the night. Many speedy recovery wishes to, well, Speedy, who just had dental surgery. Get-well wishes to Lushgurl, the poor sicky.
Cherotica: coffee soon. I miss you!
Jobthingy and Fly: dinner soon! Before Fly can no longer fit in a booth.
Mrs. Wailing: Coffee sans gremlins soon. It's foreign, but I know we can pull it off.
Shout outs over. Way to overpersonalize your blog, Maven. Sheesh.