Time to talk about the new kid

When I tell you that Cormac is happy, I need you to understand what I mean by "happy." This child suffers painful reflux, teething, and neurological growth spurts simultaneously. These are things which would individually adversely affect the mood of any person, not to mention a baby, if just one of those things happened to them. This kid takes it all on at the same time, gets kind of grunty and fussy (and probably barfs on you a few times), but then he's ready with a gooey chuckle and a grin that will melt you, the second you give him an ounce of attention.

None of these pictures show his smile, I know. You have to understand that if Cormac is smiling, he is moving, and he usually only smiles really awesomely if he's also being held. Not conducive to photo-taking.

Things that make Baby Mac smile: fake bite his hands, nuzzle his neck, tell him he looks like Alex Trebec, make buzzy-zerbert noises with your mouth, play airplane with him. The thing is, when he smiles, he laughs, and when he laughs, his whole body moves. He also opens his mouth in a big gummy grin and you can see the TWO (!) teeth which are about to pop out on the bottom.

Cormac rolls over, army crawls a bit, aaaaalmost sits up on his own (I know, right? crazy.), knows his name, recognizes Iris' name, grasps chunky objects and brings them to his mouth, supports his weight on standing legs if you hold on to his top half, and of course, he still does that thing where he says "Ehhhhhh" in greeting when he first sees you in the morning/after a nap/when you get home from work. He's in the bajillionth percentile for everything as far as his size goes.

I seriously need to get more pictures of this kid. Every time I post anything here, they've all been viewed to death on facebook and everyone's all "meh" about them. I mean, even I'm not all that stoked about them...

His six month well-baby check-up is in about a month (I can't even process that information), at which point we have Iris' 3-year check-up (again with the incomprehensible information), so I'll have all sorts of fun statistics for ya then. Meanwhile I swear I'll get better photos.

P.S. I hear Grammy is organizing the Pink Birthday photos and we'll get access to those soon, so stay posted for that!

Really Very All Right

So what does everyone think of the new layout? Nice, yeah? I think I might tweak the colors/fonts/background, but otherwise, I think it's good. Notice the little tab options near the top there? It makes for a really interesting set of view options. I like it.

The Whiz Abides

FBK: Was that BANANAS? You've been holding out. Feed me. (translated: love the blog; good job, mom.)

Blishhhhh

Once upon a time, these web log thingies were supposed to be online journals. I could be mistaken, but I feel that perhaps journal indicates a level of attention to detail heretofore untouched by this tiny pocket of the internet.

I didn't set out to intentionally gloss over life, but responsibility for this kind of thing tends to lead to the kind of circular naval-gazing which pretty much always ends with, "well nobody cares about THAT, so never mind...." Do you care about the mundanity in El Chap? Well, you're here, so I guess you do. Let's take these new shoes for a lap around the store, folks.

Cormac started waking me up this morning around five, five-thirty (read: smacking me in the face and grunt-shouting repeatedly till I woke up and noticed that morning nursing time had run its course). I finally gave up at quarter to six. Slinking past Iris' room revealed her to be awake, still in bed, singing full-belt a song I have no doubt she composed on the spot. I peeked my head in, invited her to get up and hang out with us, and she, like the precious good-hearted child that she is, looked over to her night light (which shows a moon when it's time to stay in bed, and switches to a sun when it's time to get up), saw that the "sun" was up, and said, "Okay, Mommy, the sun said it was okay, right?" MomSigh forever.

Change Number Two's diaper. Recommend potty break for Number One. Liquid ice cream/cake batter bottle for FBK (gentlease formula/rice cereal), chocolate milk for the Whiz (carnation instant breakfast), Coke Zero for myself (weight watchers zero points!!!), then morning PBSKids time is afoot. By this point, Cormac has vomited at least 10 times since the smack/shout party began back in bed, and the span of time this marks is somewhere in the 30 minute range.

Change Cormac's clothes; apply bib. Don robe because it's cold; admonish Number One for getting naked, again, when it's clearly colder than satan's toes over here. Agree to live and let live, change diaper, change Cormac's clothes, spot-clean the carpet where barf splattered, again, think about making breakfast.

Walk to the kitchen to make breakfast with robe open and trailing behind, Iris shouts, "You're like SuperMom with your cape! Cormac has a cape too (fingers his hand-towel-bib which drapes evenly over front/back), he's like SuperCormac!"

Indeed.

Prop baby up in bouncy seat on the counter. Frighten firstborn with speed of omelet execution with the hope of avoiding FBK meltdown. Iris, would you like ham in your omelet? Yes! Would you like green peppers and garlic? Yes! Do you want to help me whisk the eggs? YES! Chop/sautee/mix/pour/wait, wait, wait... omelet!

Mom, can I have some toast? momsigh....Yes.

Diaper, change clothes, new bib, nurse, bottle, nurse, nurse, re-dress the big one, locate coffee, repeat.

8:10 AM, Kyle emerges from his allotted one day of sleeping-in per week. Sees remaining (still warm!) omelet waiting on the counter for him, eats bowl of cereal. WifeSigh?

Kyle takes the dog out, Iris dances and sings some more, Cormac screamybarfgrunts several thousand more times, then finally takes his morning nap. As do I, on the couch, while dreaming about nursing and getting smacked in the face, and being intermittently woken up to tend to Iris' random motor skill limitations.

Looks like this whole journaling thing really is as mundane as I thought, and you only got the first couple hours of the day. I'll be kind and leave it here. Please remember this when you ask me to blog more, friends. For no other reason than I'm sure you had better things to do with the last several minutes of your life, let's agree I'll leave that "publish post" button alone till something actually happens.

The Happy Horker 2011

Cormac had his eight week check up yesterday. After getting all the stats, the doctor left the room to grab a growth chart, then explained that his weight put him in the 13th percentile. I very slowly asked her if she meant that to mean that 87% of the rest of the children his age were larger than he is. She agreed. I then noticed that the chart in her hand indicated that he was in the second percentile at birth. As in, 98% of this nation's children are born at a weight that is greater than 9lbs 11oz. Really. While I let the weight of that extrapolation sink in for her, she started muttering something about the metric system and stupid computers and sort of wandered off again for another 20 - 30 minutes. We might be switching practices soon, just saying.

Anyway, at eight weeks, Cormac is 24.5 inches long, weighs 13lbs 9oz, and has a head circumference of 16.25 inches. His percentile bracket for those groups is 98%, 83%, and 97%, respectively. His weight has always been the lowest percentile.

We also got a prescription for zantac. Cormac doesn't just spit up, be pretty much vomits continuously all day. He has coughing fits and gets the hiccups nearly every time he eats. He arches his back, and is the noisiest, most restless sleeper. He has reflux. So far the meds haven't helped a whole bunch, but I'm not sure if the results are supposed to be immediate or cumulative. I do know that whatever syrup this stuff is suspended in is seriously not tasty. Cormac makes faces every time I try to give him a hit of it, and I can actually smell how terrible it is from where I'm sitting. Finally today I tried a little drop and it is really, truly awful. It's like menthol and dirt and everclear, all wrapped in an eensy little dropper. (O, my word so many inappropriate jokes could be made here. I shall resist...)

Moving along - it would be nice if we could get the horking situation under control. Obviously so that Cormac will be more comfortable and able to actually keep food in his body (not that he's starving or anything), but also because the poor kid lives in a permanent state of swampy dampness. I swear we change his clothes sometimes 10 times a day (not exaggerating at all). Kelly mentioned that it's Christmas Family Photo time (Kelly: Are you going to take dorky photos of the kids in their christmas outfits in front of your tree? Me: Well, honestly the thought hadn't crossed my mind, but I might, if the puking stays to a minimum, but you know, probably not. Kelly: I'll plan on coming over in a couple of weeks to help you pose them and make sure Iris doesn't destroy her outfit or run away or something. You do HAVE christmas outfits for them? Me: Right. Okay!), and it would be really wonderful if Cormac did not destroy his (or hell, EVERYONE ELSE'S) preshus christmas joy costume with the contents of his stomach.

This year will be our first Christmas in the new house, the first Christmas as a family of four (OMG), and now that Iris is old enough, our first chance to really start building some family Christmas traditions. We plan on never moving again, so we're pretty confident that stuff we begin doing now could actually be carried on for years to come. I prefer to let traditions develop organically, but some things are too awesome to be left to the fates, and I plan to guide our little family down the path of righteous bacon consumption as a general christmas morning theme. See me in a few months for tips on all things bacon (casseroles, cinnamon rolls, ice cream, beer, etcetera).

Not that we'd serve bacon beer for Christmas breakfast, mind you. Maybe brunch. But only once everyone at the table is at least old enough to open their own beer. Tradition!

CleverOff

You know, I do try to be witty, sometimes. I actually take a few minutes to think of post titles that one might describe using words like, "sharp," or perhaps even "charming," if nothing else. This is not going to be happening for the foreseeable future. So, I'm sorry if I bore your pants off, but the big baby on the outside and the not-so-big baby on the inside conspired to melt my brains, and hey - at least you can say the party's never dull when the pants start coming off! Ahem - moving on.

This pregnancy has gone completely differently than the last. For starters, Iris' pregnancy dragged by because I had nothing else to think about or focus on in any way. It was pretty much 10 straight months (yes - pregnancy is 10 months long - look it up) of staring at my body, waiting for it to do something labor-ey. I was in pretty serious physical pain from the moment her little fetus self started to become big enough for folks to notice I was pregnant. Whatever cocktail of hormones her pregnancy created made me feel angsty and ragged around all the edges, all the time. I literally cried because I was hungry. Multiple times. My hips felt like they had bolts screwed into them way too tightly, and my back pretty much felt like someone took a hammer to it.

I had no idea what to expect, so I just figured that's what pregnancy feels like, and trudged on (Kelly's insistence that I see a chiropractor notwithstanding. I was stubborn. And feared the co-pay, I think). Anyway, Iris' pregnancy = anxiety, massive amounts of pain, and really wanting to stab anyone who paid attention to me. So, pretty much like the onset of puberty. Except when you're 14, everyone expects you to be a cranky insolent ass, but when you're pregnant, everyone expects you to be a joyful, glowing orb of Maternal Light. How anyone expects that when the experience is the equivalent of puberty with an extra layer of "run over by a truck," I'll never understand, but whatevs. That's what happened.

This time around, I actually had morning sickness. I must have been spared it last time because I was already being such a punk about how much things sucked and the universe decided to spare Kyle from the injustice of having an EVEN CRANKIER wife to deal with. So, I got the morning sickness this time, but it was totally bearable. It was essentially like the worst hangover, but without any of the fun before hand. Oh, and also I never puked, I just hung out on the bathroom floor "just-in-case" for a good three months. Good times. We had a really clean toilet during that time, that's for sure.

Once the fog of the sickness lifted, I started to notice odd things. Like, for starters, I didn't want to kill everyone at work yet. People would inquire about the pregnancy, and I didn't automatically shoot lasers from my eyes at their insolent question-asking. In fact, I don't remember even thinking that speaking to me made you an assh*le by default. This was not true last time.

Also I didn't feel the need to eat everything that was ever made of cheeseburger this time. Last time I would get all gaggy/barfy if I went more than a couple of hours without massive protein intake. Seriously. And I took in that protein in the form of bacon cheeseburgers. A whooooole lot of them. So this time around, I'm still a good 20-30 lbs lighter than I was last time. I also don't have stabby hip pain and my back doesn't feel broken. Coincidence? I don't know, but I'm not going to question it.

This time around, I've also been busy as hell. They actually give me something akin to responsibility at work these days, so that's taken up a lot of focus. We have been trying to sell our house and buy another one for nearly this entire pregnancy, which is unbelievably distracting. Once that whole situation is settled, I'll be sure to regale you all with the neverending story of how we settled the housing issue. For now, it's still ugly and I've turned completely superstitious, and I refuse to jinx anything by trying to talk about it online.

Then there's the whole issue of having a toddler around. Incredibly distracting creatures, these small people. They have far too fine motor skills to have such undeveloped brains. I read something, somewhere, one time (real specific-like, ya know?), which I am paraphrasing, which said, "bless the first-time mother, for she knows not how easy she has it, sitting there on the couch, NOT chasing any other children." Or something. The sentiment was the same. How could my first pregnancy have been SO much worse, when I had SO much less to do or worry about? I had nearly zero responsibilities and yet I wanted to cry myself to sleep every day. I don't know. It's not like this time around has been without pain, but it either wasn't as bad, or I didn't have enough time to focus on it. Hell, it's been so much better, I think we should go ahead and have two or three more of these suckers (right, Kyle? Ha, hahaha, Kyle?)!

In the next three weeks or so, we should be moving into our new house, having a baby sprinkle (like a small shower, get it?) at said new house, and then of course there's the small issue of having the actual baby. No big. We have time. I am so completely not being sarcastic when I say I'm not worried about it. I have some sort of weird internal gauge of "alrightness," which is usually pretty accurate, which is not anywhere near the red zone. I truly believe that everything will happen in the order that I want it to happen, in the time that I want it to happen, and I therefore have no need to devote any level of stress to it. Everything is okay because I said so! But really. Everything is okay because I said so.

P.S. I'm apparently not dilated at all, but I've been having all sorts of contractions! I don't think it means anything. Will try to post some pictures soon. OH, and we get an ultrasound in about a week and a half. Yay!

A Month In The Life

I know it's been a month and I'm total fail at blogging, but I'm not about to start getting better today. I have a quick break at work which I will use to post some stuff super quick like, but for a real update you'll have to wait till I screw my brain on a little tighter than it is now.

The Great Lone Range, or Why My Butt Loves The Couch Way More Than Me

So Iris and Kyle did go out of town, and lo, there was much lazing and repose. On my part, that is. Kyle and Iris did whatever they did, and it was all a mystery that I don't care to solve. I decided that I was so excited for their departure was going to miss them so much that I simply had to snap a photo right before they got on the road. Don't they look joyous? So precious in their stylishly coordinating travel costumes, those Kelleys....


Anyway, I actually did have to work the first two days they were gone, so it's a good thing Grammy took pity on me and babysat Iris for the weekend. I got all my work done and sat on the aforementioned sofa, and I do believe that was the last time FBK was small enough to avoid directly stimulating my sciatic nerve. If you're not familiar with your sciatic nerve and what it can do, do not bother trying to learn. That would be like researching what, exaaaactly jellyfish stings are like.

I was all set to blog about stuff that weekend, in fact, but then Babs' charger broke (Barbara Jean - the Apple laptop), and I had to rush order a new one. Then I was going to meet Grammy and Papa in Concordia to pick up Iris, and noticed the huge bolt/nut/washer combo sticking out of my driver's side tire. I did not drive to Concordia that day. G & P did bring Iris back home though, which is nice, since I kind of like my kid and everything. And - bonus - they fixed my tire too!

MOMMY, TakemypictureCHEEEEEEEZE!

Iris really likes having her picture taken now. She actually directs photo shoots starring her. It's... kinda weird in an endearing little way. I think it might be the "CHEESE" face that gets me the most. I mean, it reminds me of one of those poor, harried stage children whose mothers bleach their teeth and put them on toddler diets. I seriously have no idea where she learned that. I barely even wash my own hair, so I think I can safely opt out of that little blame cycle. Fortunately these shots look relatively natural. Here is a small sampling of a recent photo shoot:




Irisey With The Fringe On Top

The hair in the face was about to kill me. So, as much as I hate bangs, hated having them growing up and hate that they make children look creepily precocious, it had to be done. I stood her up on the toilet lid last night and chopped those suckers off. They are crooked and jaggedy, but at least she dosen't look like one of those Afghan dogs with the hair and the not-seeing and whatnot anymore.

Oooo, Let's Dance, Awight?
...quoth Iris when she first heard this song, and then of course again every time after. This is the time when I shamefully admit that my kid likes dance music. Like, that one might find in a dance club. For dancing. I um... will be sitting on my couch with my unwashed hair. Someone who likes glow sticks and sequins can be responsible for endoctrinating Iris into the land of technopop:

(Sorry - would have embedded the actual video but Yeasayer said "no," if you can believe it.)

Miscellany - Ask Me Later

We bought a house! We did not manage to sell one though.

The dog died and I didn't even cry. Only part of that statement is true.

I like yard sales and I especially love preparing to host one! That entire statement is false, which makes the likelihood of its occurrence no less probable.

Cats only barf where bare feet go, and children only pee on the floor when you're late for something - discuss.

I'm way pregnant. Whoa.

Limpid Bagel

Wouldn't that be weird, and probably a little gross? Like Crystal Pepsi? Ew. Anyway, disregard the title, I just thought it sounded cool.

So I don't have any major (or minor, really) updates, and obviously you didn't get a song last week. I mean, I'm perfectly comfortable posting The Farmer in The Dell (AGAIN), but as Aunt PittyPat noted, you guys aren't really here for the cartoons, no?

Potty training is going much better; thanks for the suggestions. Turns out bribery does work, we were just doing it wrong. I mean, stickers are nice and all, but she was holding out for chocolate. We've actually noticed that Iris might be saving up trips to the bathroom to ensure more trips to the Potty Candy Stash. Smart kid.

I continue to get huge and FBK continues to kick about. I'm not really sure what's going on in there, but his feet are definitely still firmly planted on my bladder. It's neat.

That's about it for now. Again, name suggestions? Anybody? You know you are just dying to tell me what to do (right? people love telling other people what to do, don't they? that just me, then?).

Somebody buy me this book

I will say that I shamelessly ripped off this information from a co-worker (thanks, J-Bo!), but it was too beautifully fitting to pass up. I mean seriously. SER-I-OUS-LAAAAAY. I need this book. See fantastic CNN article here. Obviously I'm never going to actually read it to the children, but I figure that Kyle and I can take turns holding one another, rocking gently and reciting lines from this book, the hold-ee of course depending on who was in charge of bed time that night (ahem: me).

Smells Like Irrational Crying In Here

How about a State of the State address, if "state" (the latter) is like, the life of the Columbia Kelleys or something similarly vague? I knew you'd be down with that! Thanks for being so supportive of my generalities, oh bloggy buddies of mine.

Iris is on the potty train. She has shining moments of totally GETTING it, then slips back into rejecting the notion altogether, just hours later. I think in those moments she throws such a fit because the idea was likely recommended by one of her totally square and lame-oozing parents. We apparently do not ever have good ideas, and the appropriate response to any suggestion of ours is to throw an enormous fit. Like, enormous. Big old ugly tears and lying prostrate with woe, eventually winding down to a little wimpering and the declaration, "I crying, Daddy. I so sad." Juuuust in case you missed that giant floor show, let me tell ya, I'm sad.

Kyle is gleefully counting down the days remaining till summer break begins (24 with actual kids present - no idea how many total, but the kidless ones don't really count). Over the last four years he's mastered the Grimace and Ignore It face, so it will be nice to see him unclench a bit and just enjoy life. He's always so happy in the summertime. This will come in handy for him this particular summer as I get bigger and less pleasant to be around.

Speaking of being unpleasant (yay)! I have been gloating these last months about how much better I'm handling pregnancy this time around, how the hormones don't seem to be affecting me as much, and how generally awesome I feel. (obvious foreshadowing is obvious!)

Then last Friday someone at work was kind of a jerk to me, and then Saturday one of my "friends" was a mega huge cruel a-hole, then a gaggle of electric guitars woke up my kid from nap, then I couldn't seem to keep my eyes open for longer than 30 minutes at a time. Was this narcolepsy a result of the string of dumb encounters, or was it its very own entity, sent to push me over the edge? Don't know, don't really care I guess, but I did end up in the bathroom for about a half hour "pooping" (where pooping = crying into the hand towel), and I did briefly consider finding Iris to tell her that I had been crying, and that I was so sad. Okay, no I didn't. It probably would have scared her senseless and made her cry too, and that's just not nice.

FBK is the size of an avocado and as far as I know, is not crying. I mean he (he?) could be, but I'd like to think it's rather warm and comfy in there. He's busy growing toenails and contemplaing his cool squishy jumprope. He's likely also not very irrational. I'd like to think he lives a very frank and sensical existence.

So, two-thirds of the non-fetal members of the Columbia, MO faction of the Kelley family are currently prone to irrational crying jags. Do not be alarmed. I'm pretty sure that both are in phases which, while likely to get worse before anything else really happens, are temporary nonetheless.

Morning Glory

Well, I have morning something, but I doubt you'd be inclined to call it glory, unless you consider hugging the toilet to be a glorious endeavor. It's a nice image on which to focus (the flower, not the throne hugging) however, when one is attempting to hold onto their cookies in line at the grocery store.

Flowers are pretttyyyyyy

It actually happens at night. Typically I get the first wave around 6pm, and it hums in and out of focus till I go to sleep. There are also the errant sneak attacks that seem to happen for no reason. This morning around 9:30 was particularly bad, but I was also really stressed out, and kind of hungry. What's extra neat about this whole thing (I'm not even sure if I'm being sarcastic here), is that I have yet to actually vomit. I sure would like to. It seems like I might feel better if I could, but no. Just bone tired, achy joints and muscles, and the severe urge to lose my lunch. Don't you worry though, I will be SURE to update everyone the moment I cross that bridge!

I was supposed to have my first ultrasound today. The doctor I see does an early ultrasound, then the regular one at 20 weeks. It had to be rescheduled because the nurse who originally figured out my dates figured them incorrectly. My due date is correct (according to her chart, 10/03/11), but she told me last week that I was almost 6 weeks pregnant. I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn't hear it, so she scheduled the ultrasound for today. I was pleased with that result, since it got me look at the kiddo sooner than I thought I should get one. Turns out that today would have been too early to see anything. Like, ANYthing. A different nurse (I like to think of her as the one with the brain) called me to explain today that, while I was perfectly within my rights to keep my appointment today, it was unlikely that I'd see anything at all; certainly not a heartbeat, and perhaps not even a mushy sac-shaped thing.

So my first ultrasound will, really for real this time, take place on Friday, February 11th at 9:30AM. I'll pop in here afterward to share the first photos of the kiddo. Perhaps by then we can decide on a fun in-utero name. The Whiz is just such a difficult act to follow! Kyle and I had been referring to the baby as FBK (Future Baby Kelley) before it was conceived, and of course there's Iris' idea (Dido/Lola). I guess I've been calling it the kiddo, but that's a little generic, don't you think? I suppose if all of this awesome yakking-esque fun time continues, I might start calling it Captain Gut Muncher or something equally savory.

The rest of the weekend

The temperature actually warmed up to something close to 40 degrees on Saturday, so we bundled the kids up and ran them around downtown till they started whining about it. Good times.

We went to lunch at a little cafe on 9th street. Iris chose to spend most of the meal with my sunglasses on, Olly mostly gnawed on...everything, and Lola pondered nervously about what exactly was all over! Iris' toast (Lola, it was butter).




Today we had painting time, mostly because I didn't have the energy to explain again why picking up the cats by their throats and carrying them around is not nice, they don't like it, and they will in fact retaliate eventually.

I'll have you know there was much keening and woe when the paint-ey snoopy shirt had to be taken off once artiste time was over. We ended up putting another, less paint-oozy, giant Kyle t-shirt on her to stanch the tears. The Artist Formerly Known As Iris (TafKAI!) is very emotional.

Portrait of the Baby as Esther Williams

Thank you all for suffering through my first attempt at a home movie of sorts. I thought it was going to be this awesome click/paste/cut/slap/done situation, but it ended up taking me the better part of six hours to get it compiled, formatted, and posted. And yes, it is embarrassing as all jehoshaphat to admit that to you. Oh well. Learned something about this lovely piece of macintosh machinery here. The upside is that I apparently nearly made a pregnant lady cry (said pregnant lady who took at least half of the photos that comprise that little number), if you consider that to be a good thing, anyway.

I'm here to tell you a quick story and to direct you to the new! awesomesauce! photos of Iris in her yellow swim suit from last weekend, which are completely dissimilar and opposite in every way to the photos of her in her green swim suit from the weekend previous. har. Anyway, second things first: go check out the Picasa albums to see the new set of pool pics. They're cute.

Okay, story time: Every morning at dawn o'clock, light begins to seep through curtains. The house starts shuffling and rolling, trying to hide from the shifty new light, and a little chubbylegged, curlyhaired, sassyfaced monster begins her song. "Woof? Dawh? Dawh? Dawh? CACK CACK CACKCACKCACK! woof? aaaaaahhhhhhhhh! AH!" Every day is the same. Every song begins with a "woof" and ends with an "AHHHHHH!"

Eventually the monster is dissatisfied with her lack of audience and commences a round of protestation so thorough that it cannot be ignored. Then, the gate to the evil steep stairs is closed, the monster is relocated to the big bed, and the assault begins. First it's wiggles. Then it's thrashing. Then it's full-on grabbing and kicking and pulling hair and gnashing (of tiny, singsong, monster) teeth. Once the slumbering beasts in the big bed have lost enough hair/sleep/sanity, the monster is returned to her white wooden sleigh with a book and a toy and a kiss.

The monster recommences singing, and the slumberbeasts pretend like there's still some night left in which to sleep. Dawn solidifies, and there's silence again. Curlyhairs plays with her toys or reads her book to herself, or contemplates Hemingway's position on modernism and houses on stilts. No one knows, but they welcome the quiet nonetheless.

The silence lasts for an indiscriminate number of minutes before the pleas for rescue begin. They are traditionally jumbled cries, but they are not always without actual words. Favorite requests include "ba!" (bottle), "Moah! Bie! Eeee!" (More! Bite! Eat!), which are always fulfilled with expediency, as hungry monsters are sad monsters, and no one wants that. Some days, there is no request for goods and services, only a call to action: "Da. DA! DADADADADADA, Mama. Mama?" So the beasts heed the familiar call of the monster; they accept defeat, flick switches and squeeze chubbylegs and descend evil steep stairs, and the day begins.

Today, the monster completed her silent dissertation on Lacanian Jouissance while the slumberbeasts slumbered, and when she was finished, she said,

"Lola?"

We weren't quite sure what to do. So we fed her some strawberries and pickles, gave her a bottle, and got ready for the day.

See? I told you I'd come back SOMETIMES.

I just probably won't ever tell you anything useful or anything, and what I do tell you will only come in random short bursts. I give. Anyway, here's a little story for ya.

At Christmas, as most of you know, we went to visit the Reinhards for the week. We spent all day in our jammie jams, we drank too much coffee, we watched lots and lots and lots of TV, we mostly did nothing. It was farking heavenly. That right there is my absolute favorite thing to do, EVAR. Mom and I went shopping one day, and I was all, "you mean I have to put PANTS on???" The humanity. I totally hate going places. This might explain my unusual disdain for shopping, but I think that has less to do with the pants application/going somewhere thing, and more to do with all the strangers standing too close and trying to get me to make decisions/spend money. So it's much less painful to go shopping with Mom A) because of course that drastically cuts down on the amount of money I'm spending (thanks Ma!) and B) because if any of those pushy strangers starts setting off my weird social anxiety stuff, I have my MOM there with me, and helllooo? She does not mess around. Woman has a stinkeye that will melt your face off.

Okay, this shopping story was soooo not the point of this post, but I do have a couple of pairs of lovely work shoes now, so there's that. Ahem.

Claire was given a new memory card for her Blackberry as a Christmas present from her lovely boyfriend. Seeing as we all have Blackberries now, and I was without a memory card, Claire deleted most of the pictures from her older, smaller memory card, and passed it along to me. I (just today!) went through the pictures she left on the thing, since I took a picture of Iris this morning with my phone when my real camera had the nerve to die on me. I swear, you replace a battery then let the camera sit on a shelf for a couple of months, and all of a sudden it's running out of juice the minute you get the baby in a cute ensemble. So as I was uploading the picture from this morning, I looked through and found a couple more that were pretty precious in their own right. They're supper fuzzy, definitely not print-quality, but I thought you might enjoy nonetheless.

From Iris' Baptism Weekend - you can almost see how much less hair she has then (in July)

This morning, right before we left for school. I've been waiting to put Iris in that sweater since my baby shower, and I only had to roll the sleeves a little bit. There might be a picture around somewhere of big ol' pregnant me holding this sweater up to my belly.

It's Iris & Auntie Katie Pants! It would appear that I have a thing with dressing the kid in green stripes. I won't apologize - she looks darn good.

Okay, when I first saw this on my phone it was all super teensy, and my first reaction was, "WHO is that person holding my child, and WHY do my sisters continue to think it's okay to hand the baby to strangers just because she's cute?!?!?" All sorts of righteous indignation followed, only to be capped with a mighty dose of contrition when I embiggened the photo and realized that said stranger is my cousin Kate. Hi Kate! *waves* You're just lovely. No really. Love you! Hearts.

Aaaaand finally, Auntie Clairence and Iris wearing their matching PJ's. Does not get much cuter than that, folks.

LOVE me!

It's kind of hard to tell (actually impossible to tell) in this photo, but Iris' jammies actually say, "LOVE me." I find that to be hilarious. As if we need a written reminder, stamped right there on the baby's chest. Just in case you forgot, folks, you are supposed to LOVE me! LOVE ME! AAAAAHHHHH! I dunno, maybe some kids really are so awful that a helpful reminder is always in good taste. I suppose that should make me feel better about Iris. She may suck your will to live at three in the morning, but she never sucked my will to love her! Ooookay, that might be a teensy bit morbid. Moving on.



Kelly once again proves her awesomeness by not only having her christmas decorations already in place (we're getting there with ours. we just have a lengthy and in-depth planning process that we like to call "disaster-preparedness," but which you might refer to as "procrastination." Semantics, really.), but she has also taken all manner of adorable christmas photos of my kid in front of her tree. I am totally going to mail out these photos and claim the background as my own. Pretend you didn't read this when you get the pictures, okay?



Anyhoodle. Please to click here to see the entire album.

Surly Monkey

Hi, my name's Iris, I like carrots and pickles and biting and freaking out and not sleeping. I'm proficient in the arts of fit-throwing and melt-downing (subtle differences, but I assure you, they're distinct). I can say "MAmamamamamamama," "DAdadadaDADAdaDAdadadad," and "Ka-ka-ka-ka-ka-ka-ka!" That last one means "cat." I can hold my bottle, but I won't actually ever do it. I can crawl, but that would require you to stop holding me, so again, not gonna happen. I could probably walk, but see above re: put me down and you shall know pain.

Last week I totally punched Kelly in the face for not being Mama. Pretty much every night I try to install my foot into Mama's bellybutton for not being awake at omfg-shoot-me-now-o'clock. I have successfully removed about 25% of the cats' fur, yet for some reason they keep coming over to hang out with me.

Iris is really a joy to be around. She's a pretty happy baby in general, very smiley and ticklish. She's totally interested in everything around her, loves to sing songs and hear music everywhere we go. She wants to touch everything, but somehow skipped the part where she puts said everything in her mouth. Genius baby. Anyway, she's just sorta high maintenance, but I'm thinking "baby" is synonymous with "high maintenance," so I'm not exactly surprised/concerned. She's happy and incredibly demanding and maybe the demon in her soul is just a tiny little innocuous one, one who doesn't necessarily want to harm you, just really freak you out a lot. Hard to tell.

Ok, here's a good example. Everyone here seen The Incredibles? No? Great Pixar flick. You should totally go watch it right now. For those of you who haven't, allow me to explain the baby Jack Jack phenomenon. This movie features a family of super heroes who are doing their best to hide in plain sight, not reveal their superpowers & live as normal folks, etc, etc. Both parents and the two older kids have identifiable powers, but the baby (Jack Jack!) has always been known as the one "normal" person in the family. Cut to the end of the movie, most of the family is off saving the world, and some bad guy is trying to run off with the baby who has been left home with a sitter. This is also, quite helpfully, when Jack Jack comes into his super power.

Let us just say that Iris and Jack Jack have much in common.

Because

I'm fully aware that I sound like the bad guy when I describe Iris with words like "Angry Demon Elf," or "Satan's Razornails Freedom Hater," and that everyone wanted to believe that I was joking when I warned that she doesn't take smack from anyone, and that you should watch your soft parts because she's out to maul you. But just look at that face. That is the face of one twisted puppy. She's gonna mess. you. up.

Just joshin. I think she just really wanted some pancakes. She tends to make that face when she's feeling silly and/or really wants to lick your face. Which is always, so.... ya. She makes that face a lot.

P.S. Shamelessly ripped off this pic from Sarah's FB. Thanks dude.

If You're Not Down With The Brevity

And here I thought it had just been soo long since I'd posted anything, but look! It's only been three days! I'm not completely sure if a few sentences outlining my lameness count, but for my sake I plan to pretend they do. Ah, ok - just checked back to see when the last time I posted something of any length was, and it was definitely still August. Woopsie daisy. Moving on, then.


Iris would like for the internets to know that she is a big kid, and big kids do not lie down, nor do they willingly succumb to sleep. Big kids eat a bunch, and they shout. They don't take smack and they really like feet.

Is that pie? I'll be taking that, thanks.

I am totally serious about the staunch anti-recline position that Iris has taken lately. She won't even lean her head back a little to eat. When she falls asleep we have to resort to the utmost in trickery to convince her that she does not, nor will she ever, exist in anything other than a fully upright position. It was this behavior coupled with a few days of extreme sadness and a teensy mild fever, which convinced me that she had an ear infection. I sort of knew that she didn't, but I was feeling paranoid so I just went with it. Of course it turns out that she is infection free, maybe had a mild reaction to a virus or something. But! This means that she had to be weighed!

Check your socks, they're about to be knocked.

19 lbs, 14 oz.

!!! !!!!!! ! !

Well, I think it's a big deal. It's so funny when I watch others try to hold Iris for any length of time. I like to time how long it takes them to start sagging. Best time goes to Uncle Craig, but I think he just hides it well. The kid is a chunk.

Exhibit A:

You tell ME which one looks bigger, and then which one is almost three. years. old.

Crawling seems pretty imminent these days. I propped Iris' knees up underneath her while she was having some tummy time just to see if anything would click for her and it sort of did. It at least gave her a new perspective for long enough to stop thoroughly hating the situation. She lost the pose after a few seconds, but the idea is there. She's almost more interested in standing than trying to figure out crawling though, and I think she fully mastered sitting up alone just a few days ago. Her second (bottom) tooth came in yesterday-ish as well, but for some reason the drooling has ramped up, rather than taper off as I'd expected. She was crying quite a bit on the car ride home today, and one of the few things that seemed to quiet her was pressure on her top gums. It never ends, does it? I shall strive to imagine a word evil enough to encompass my feelings about teething.

Did you bring the baby tylenol? Cuz if not, the sharks are waitin'.

We went to the KC area this weekend for a Kelley wedding. The weather was beautiful and we got to spend some good times with the fam, even though Grandma K. was under the weather (boo.), and we woke up at 6:30 after sleeping in 45 minute increments all night (thanks, teeth!) Last night Uncle Chris was waving to Iris, who was being unusually unresponsive to the gesture (normally it's totally enthralling for her), because she was too engaged with my foot. All babies seem to love their own feet, but we recently discovered that she really likes mine too. I can't decide if it's only my feet or I'm the most frequently barefoot person she knows or what. So I had her sitting on my knee facing away from me, and she caught sight of my toes. The only way for me to get her to even notice Chris was by lifting my leg straight and swinging it across the room to point directly at him. By the time she noticed him everyone was laughing, and I think she was just confused as to what was happening (duh - your mother is pointing her legs at people again.) Good times.

Mom. Why do you have to be so embarrassing?

I've put these, and all the other photos that I absconded from Kelly's Facebook up on Picasa. Unfortunately, no photos yet of Iris standing (working on it) or of me gesticulating with my lower extremities (don't hold your breath), but I do happen to know someone who could give you an excellent tutorial on the Flying Superman Punch, speaking of leg gesticulation (Steudle).

Laming Out

Hey All. Just wanted to let you know that I haven't forgotten that I have a blog or anything, just lacking motivation at the moment. I'm going to post something really soon. It will be full of intrigue and romance and violence and hilarity. Promise. Soon.

Here - Distract yourselves with this while I think of something intelligent to say:

Minutiae

I opened this new post window with the idea that perhaps I could start with one random piece of information and sort of stretch it into something worth reading. I mean, I do hold a degree in English Literature (i.e. take a small concept that can be covered in your standard five-paragraph essay, write till your fingers bleed and submit twenty pages of brilliance, thank you very much Professor Poosty-Pants). Not tonight friends. I can seriously only think of maybe one really cool new thing that Iris has done in the past few days: she uses a walker.

Of course now my mind goes straight to your standard, geriatric tennis-balls-for-wheels style walker (happens every time I tell someone about Iris in the walker), but I'm pretty sure everyone knows that I mean a baby walker. Is that what people call it? I've heard jumparoo or something, but I think that's the wheel-less alternative for folks with dangerous stairwells. ANYway, Lola's old walker has been recently exhumed, and I got to see Iris like, walking... in the walker. Her little socks were actually sort of grungy on the bottom from walking around today! What kind of person's feet get dirty on the bottom side? Oh yeah that's right, the sort of person who WALKS (ish).

Oh excellent, I just remembered something else! Iris is thisclose to being able to hold her own bottle. From almost exactly the time that she started staying home with Kyle during the summer she has enjoyed bottles with intense aplomb. There is always a bunch of bouncing and panting, and just wanting to get the bottle to her mouth so badly that she gets all worked up and can't eat. These little fits of love for the bottle have always included this crazy thwacking at her face for the first few minutes of bottle time. I always thought she was just really super stoked to be eating, but as the motor skills develop, I can see that she did have ulterior motives in mind. She's been doing it for so long I didn't catch on as fast as I might have, but she's been honing her ability to actually grab the bottle with her hands and hold it up. She's aaaalmost got it, and it's so cute.

On the honing of the motor skills note, Kelly and I watched Iris nearly pick up a bottle off of the table and bring it to her mouth. She was sitting in the bumbo seat (it's that little molded foam/plastic thing that looks like it's made out of roller coaster ride parts) on the kitchen table, and the half-empty bottle was sitting directly next to her. She reached down with her left hand and grasped it by the nipple, then hoisted it up off of the table just high enough to grab the body of the bottle with her right hand. Then she struggled for a few minutes to actually lift it higher than three inches off the table because it was a glass bottle, and full of liquid, and we can really only expect so much of the muscles of an infant. Still pretty cool to watch though.

I'm telling you, tomorrow she's going to ask me for something in a full sentence, perhaps even in another language, and I'm really not going to be that surprised. I'll be sure to let you know when she solves the formula for cold fusion though.

Just Idle Prattle

Didn't the crazy octopus lady in The Little Mermaid sing a song about that? Ursula? Idle Prattle? No? In any event, it's fun to say, and you get the idea. I have things to say. They are not related.

• Haven't taken any more pictures, as I can never tell when The Sleep is coming, and I would really totally stab myself in the eye if I ruined it by screeching "Iiiiiirissss! Iris, look at Mama! Iris! Iris! Over heeeeere!" No wonder she avoids the camera.
• We are having unusually beautiful weather tonight so I thought I'd sit outside to compose this post, but then like eleventy flying beetle things dove down my shirt and attempted to build a nice community inside my bra, behind my armpit or something. It was gross. I retaliated by running inside to strip down and squeal like a little girl and smack at myself till I felt reasonably bug-free. I sincerely hope the cats step up their game on the whole creepy crawly hunting thing. Bring their A-Game, you know what I mean?
• I recently regaled my Mom with Iris' new anti-sleep strategy: Let's postpone afternoon nap juuuust late enough that it can't be called afternoon anymore, but it can't really be called bedtime either, then sleep for a couple of hours and wake up at 8pm all bright and effing bushy!

Mom: You were always a bad sleeper. It's just your personality.

Me: Huh. Yeah, I guess I was a bad sleeper. I remember being like ten

and still having trouble falling asleep.

Mom: No Meg, you are a bad sleeper. Think about it.

Me: Oh.

Me: ...

Me: oh.

(insert foul-mouthed rant here)

• So Iris inherited my awesomely hexagon-shaped toes, and the sleep skills of a ferret on trucker speed. Neat.
• Kyle goes back to work next week, which means Iris goes back to Kelly's house next week. Interesting caveat of that scenario is that I'll have to pick Iris up twice a week from the gym where Kelly works, since our schedules overlap a bit. The only way for Iris to attend the gym's play center, even with Kelly there, is if I am also a member of this gym. So you know where this is going. Now I have to work out and stuff. Let's all close our eyes and picture a reality wherein Megan works out on purpose. I'll give you a moment to compose yourselves.
• I think I'm finally going to cut off my superlong pregnancy hair. It was pretty when it wasn't shedding all over the place, but I've now lost so much of it to daily brushing that it's starting to resemble a poorly managed rat tail. Long hair, I barely knew ye...
• I still feel like there are bugs on me.

Okay, I'm off to bed. Speaking of bed though, have I told you guys about my rampant pregnancy dreams? Just to be clear here NO I AM NOT CURRENTLY PREGNANT IN ANY WAY. NOT EVEN A LITTE. But these dreams, guys. They are so realistic. Normally I can tell when I'm dreaming, but these are just eerie. In the last one, I was eight months along (Iris was still only six months old though. That probably should have tipped me off), and I hadn't told anyone in the family about the pregnancy. I also hadn't been to the doctor for any sort of prenatal care. I woke up in a panic that the baby would be taken from us because of my total negligence. Gah. It's got me thinking though: can I get some input on baby spacing? What are your thoughts here? Is it better to get all the diapering and not sleeping and ramming your head into a brick wall out of the way all at once, or is it better to give yourself a couple of years to recover before jumping back in? I'm very curious to hear your responses.

Now I really must scour my body for stowaway creepy demon beetle things and tuck myself in. Night All.