Rules for My Unborn Son

Dane and I happened upon this book while shopping in Southwest Harbor, ME. The shop is called Under the Dogwood Tree. The owner has some very unique things for babies and children. I could spend hours in there (Dane, unfortunately, could not). I had to buy this book because it's so darn funny. It reminded me of one of my best friends, Katherine. A boy that follows these rules would be the right boy for her. (especially this one: Never turn down a girl's invitation to dance.)

After buying it, I googled it. Turns out the author not only has a book but also has a blog. Check it out!

A couple of poignant rules for Robbie:

Stand up for the little guy. He'll remember you.

When in doubt, wear a tie.

Ride in the front car of a roller coaster.

Let napping dads lie.

Offer to carry a woman's bags. Especially your mother's.

Don't date the bartender.

Short pants are for little boys. Decide for yourself when you are a man.

When it comes to opening presents, no one likes a good guesser.

Sit in the front of the classroom.

Until you are a doctor, never answer your phone at the table.

Don't be a mooch.

Have a favorite song. It doesn't have to be cool.

Marry the girl, you marry the whole family.

You won't always be the strongest or fastest. You can be the toughest.

Don't loiter where there is a dispute that doesn't concern you.

Honking your horn won't make them go faster.

In the long run, loyalty trumps ambition every time.

Nothing good happens after 3 am. I promise.

Girls like boys who shower.

Spend time with your mother. She's cooler than you think.

You are what you do, not what you say.


There are so many more I'd like to share!


P.S. Yes, I changed the name of the blog. I thought a family blog would be less exclusive!

Baby on a Mountain!

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Blowouts

Who knew an individual on an all liquid diet could excrete so much waste? This little guy to the right sure knows how to ruin an outfit. He also knows how to silence (and clear) a room. You'd think he'd never pooped before in his life, it's so loud and stinky (not to mention the excessive quantity he produces)! We find it everywhere: leaking out the sides of his pants, crawling up his back, smeared behind his ear (among other ridiculous places).

Pampers are double walled. We're not sure how he's able break through these suckers, but he sure does.

Grunt, poop, gleefully watch mom and dad change me, repeat.

Daddylove

"My father didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it."
Clarence Budington Kelland

What is it about seeing a baby with his daddy? There's nothing I like to watch more than Dane interacting with Robbie. Robbie and I were playing today and I was really on my game (making really silly faces, singing songs, waving all sorts of visually stimulating toys in front of his face, etc.). He was engaged and seemed pretty happy with the entertainment I was providing. The SECOND (and I mean second) Dane walks in from being at work all day, his mood changes. Robbie immediately stops looking at me and looks for his Dad. As soon as he finds him, his eyes lock on Dane's every move. I no longer exist. And while I feel as though I should be upset or somewhat hurt by this, I'm not. It's both elating and relieving that Robbie not only knows his Daddy but is also excited to see him. Robbie is so lucky to have such a wonderful daddy. It's nice to know that if something happened to me, Robbie would be perfectly fine in Dane's care. Dane is a wonderful role model for Robman and I know they will be great buddies when Robbie gets older.

Misadventures of the day:

Peeing while holding a baby. This is something they don't prepare you for in those childcare prep classes. So I take Robbie, sans stroller and carrier (because they won't fit, of course), into the stall where the changing table is located. I lay down my soft changing pad, change Robbie, and realize I have to relieve myself (it must be something about being around all those toilets. I don't have to go before I change him. Weird, I know.) So, I think I'll just strap him to the changing table and do my business. Unfortunately, none of those changing tables ever have the straps. It's like they were once there but someone decided to sever them off with their teeth leaving nothing but shard remains of what was once a reliable restraint. What do people do with the severed straps? Collect them and make a vest? Anyway, by this time I really have to go with nowhere to put my screaming baby. So I have to hold Robbie while unbuttoning my pants, pulling them down (with undies all in one movement) and pee. It's quite a process, but one I've come to master.

Random strangers touching baby's hands. WHY? Don't people know that babies put their hands in their mouths? I don't know where your hands have been, you rando! I know you think my baby is cute, but does it have to extend to touching him? Do you touch me because you think I'm cute? No, because that would land you in JAIL, you creepo! Strangers, you can coo at my baby, but please stop touching his hands to see if he'll grip your finger. It's a REFLEX, it's not because he likes you.

Eagerly awaiting another misadventure...

the great napping boycott and stones for miles

Since this is my first post, I suppose I'll discuss what's been plaguing me the most. Robbie is a great sleeper at night. No doubt. People always ask me, "is he sleeping through night?" and I, with much reluctance, tell them that he does. Reluctance because a.) people are often taken a back (and secretly jealous) that my baby sleeps through the night, but b.) because I would much rather him sleep during his nap times than all through the night. Sure, I like sleep as much as the next overworked mommy, but unfortunately, I can't get ANYTHING done during the day because Robbie is constantly needing me to attend to his spoiled ass. Here's the worst part: he'll conditionally sleep in my arms, but not in his crib. What a stinker. Suffice it to say, we're working on what is popularly termed as "sleep training" but what is really just letting your infant scream until he can't scream anymore and falls asleep out of sheer exhaustion. Nothing brings a smile to a new mom's face more than her baby screaming for 45 minutes straight. We'll get there.

Milestones. The scariest word for a paranoid mommy. Open any book about baby development (my current poison is What to Expect: The First Year) and you're bound to found some milestone your child hasn't met or has far surpassed. Either way, there's something terribly wrong with your baby. Robbie has surpassed a couple (rolling over...front to back and back to front and lifting his head 90 degrees during tummy time). Normal moms would be ecstatic. I immediately think my doctor miscalculated Robbie's gestational age and for some reason he spent an extra month in the womb because he wasn't supposed to reach that milestone for another 2 1/2 weeks. Which is more plausible: Robbie meeting a milestone early or Robbie exceeding a 9 month gestational age? hmmm. I guess have to come to grips with the fact that milestones aren't static. At any rate, I'll be dealing with these milestones as a I monitor Robbie's development. Stones for miles and miles.

Until another misadventure....