not so much like a dog

On Saturday night, Jack used a straw for the first time -- well, successfully used one for the first time.
In the past he had used a straw but only as a means to hurl milk around the room.

Yesterday he used the baby sign for "eat."
I think it was intentional because he said, "eat, eat, eat" at the same time.

I know this stuff shouldn't shock me.
My friend's daughter used a straw at 11-months.
Other babies begin to sign at 8-months.

But every time my kid does anything like this, I'm just as amazed as if he discovered a cure for cancer.
It's sometimes shocking to see him do such human things.
I know he's a human, but honestly, raising him thus far has been a bit like raising a dog.
And when he demonstrates these glimpses of understanding, I am always amazed.

Internet, he's a real live little person.
It's so unbelievably cool.

doggie style

Over Christmas, Jack had another first:  he ate dog food.
Now when we feed the boys, we need to keep Jack in the other room or he tries to steal their food. 
Everyone with pups warned me this would happen at some point, but it still seems pretty gross.

In addition, over Christmas, Geoff's aunts got a funny video of Reiki, Geoff's Aunt's Jack Russell, humping Jack. 
She loved Jack. 
A lot.
I can't seem to post the video, but it is hysterical.

due date

Tomorrow is the second anniversary of the due date of the pregnancy I "lost."
I'm wondering if you ever forget these things.

gettin' his hair did

Jack got his first haircut on Friday, January 6, 2012.
He was pretty relaxed about the whole event. 
He seemed mostly confused, but it was over in a flash.

I was so happy to get rid of his mullet.

The hair dresser gave me a "lock of hair" for his baby book, and said, "Look, it's a mullet in a bag."

Of course I can't help but repeat the phrase "mullet... in a bag" with the same accent and inflection as "jalepeno... on a stick."

(I know you're trying it now, too. It's ok. You can admit it.)

Here are some photos of the big event:

Before, sporting the mullet.

During

After, sans mullet.

one bear in a bed

...and the little one said, "I'm lonely."

This song is really catchy.  I sing it a lot to Jack. 

I'm sure some day, he'll understand the subtraction, but I'm wondering how I'll impart the missing message:

You can feel lonely even when you're not alone. 

I've been "battling depression" since my early-20s.  Although, I know it's cliche to call it a "battle," it's also correct.  It is a battle, or, more accurately, a war.  But it's not like the Civil War or some short ass war.  This is like the Vietnam war or the Iraq war: long and with no satisfying victory.

Currently, I'm losing the battle. 

I'm just trying to get up the strength to fight again. 

Like Miranda July says, "All I ever really want to know is how other people are making it through life — where do they put their body, hour by hour, and how do they cope inside of it."
I want to hear how other people get through it.
I don't want to hear "You'll be fine;" "You have so much to be thankful for;" "It could always be worse;" "Just think happy thoughts;" "You just need to learn how to budget;" "Every one is struggling right now;" "Put on some happy music;" "Have a glass of wine;" or "Just stop being crazy."*

I want to know what you do. 
How you cope when you're right in the fucking middle of the storm?

Because, as it turns out, that baby I had?  He needs to be fed every day.  He needs baths.  He needs diaper changes.  He needs attention. 

He needs someone to comfort him when he cries in the middle of the night.
And, although feeling the weight of him in my arms as he sleeps does give me some measure of comfort in the moment, those moments are short.
And these days and nights?  They're long.


*All of which have been said to me.

Jack in a box

This is Jack playing with a leftover box at Uncle Jack and Aunt Deb's house in Vermont after Christmas.

ready to fight the last battle

I'm not sure if this is true of all first-time parents, or just us, but Geoff and I always seems to be one step behind in the baby proofing. 

He started wiggling out of his baby seat, so we started strapping him in.
He started pulling down the curtains, so we installed blinds.
He started playing with all the plugs and cords, so we protected the sockets and moved all the electronics up a level.
He started rolling off the bed, so we stopped leaving him there unattended.
He started crawling, so then we installed cabinet latches and a baby gate.

We're now one year into this thing, and it seems like we should be better at predicting this stuff and not being forced into the reactionary situation. 

But we're not.

While we were packing to head to PA over Christmas, Jack, who apparently can now reach things further back on the top of the night stand, dumped a full cup of coffee on himself, the nightstand, the floor, and the bed.  (Thankfully, it was no longer hot.)  But the clean-up required steam cleaning the carpet and enlisting the generous help of Auntie to watch him while we took care of the mess and finished packing.

Now we are realizing that he can reach things on tables.  So we try to keep vigilant about moving spillable/breakable/harmful things off the edge of the table.  (I'm not as good as Geoff is about this.)

Last week, Jack was pulling on the oven door.  It opened and he fell backwards and scared the shit out of himself.  Then we had to go buy an oven lock.

At what point can you just anticipate these issues and make a preemptive strike?  Seriously.  I think we should know better by know.

Or maybe you just don't know until the next kid. 

(Not that there is a next kid on the way or anything -- don't freak out, Mom!)

Walk it out

Around mid-December 2011, Jack took his first unassisted steps.



I was ridiculously excited about this, as you might be able to infer from my obnoxiously high-pitched voice.