Tales of *tiny* Ty: He's got MORE skill

You may recall that back in his first month of life, Ty really started to develop of few of his talents (click "here" if you missed that post). In the months since, he's found the time to pursue more of his interests and hone a few more skills. I gotta hand it to that kid; he's fearless. And strangely well coordinated.

Take windsurfing, for example. Not just anybody can pick that up.

He's also gotten into bouldering and rock climbing. This one makes me a little nervous, but boys will be boys. 

Keyboarding! Now there's a hobby I can get behind. 

Baking is also something mom encourages. Nice and low-risk. 

That said, though, I admit to being really proud of his giant leap for babykind, even if all the other moms said I was crazy to let him shoot for the moon...

 While I thought chasing falcons in the Himalayas was kind of extreme, I tried not to discourage him from pursuing his dream: 

And of course I was wide open to him developing his costuming talent (after the rock climbing, it was really a tame venture). Gandalf was an obvious first choice... 

...though Superman wasn't far behind.

But Bert from Mary Poppins was my favorite. It's a jolly holiday with you, Ty!

That boy...what will he think of next?!

;)

Have a great Monday!

Tales of *tiny* Ty: Six Month Round-Up

Whew.

It's been a hard month. I can't say I'm sorry to be on to the next one. And it's not all baby related...it's just been a hard month altogether. Just in case I thought I was sanctified, I've learned there are lots of areas in desperate need of improvement. Turns out I don't need to worry about being the only holy person on the planet just yet.

I can barely remember what things were like last month...what was he doing again? If I remember correctly, not much was going on developmentally but we've been on quite the ride this time around.

Ty is now a proficient roller but he's not exactly comfortable with his new mobility and freedom. He flips from his back to his belly without much effort and sometimes he'll flip himself back just as effortlessly, but often he finds he didn't really want to be on his belly as much as he thought (the grass is always greener, no?) and instead of doing the logical thing and rolling back to his back, he just kinds of...melts down. Not all the time, but a lot of it. Sometimes something will fascinate him and he'll just talk and play and try to grasp. It can be really cute :)

Also new this month: solids. I've really been enjoying feeding him things, even though my original plan was to hold off until he hit six months. We ended up starting him 1.5 weeks ahead of schedule due to his sudden night wakings. Yep. You read right. My baby, my glorious angel of a nighttime sleeper, has hit a funk in his strongest subject.

My heart is broken.

Ok, that was dramatic. Here's reality: for a good three months he slept through the night almost to perfection. That was from 8:30 to 6:30 most mornings, give or take a few minutes, and included no night feedings or wakings. I could count on him falling asleep (99% of the time without any fuss at all) and sleeping soundly. It was WONDERFUL and made me feel a bit guilty about complaining about his naps.

Then I read a book on baby sleep and decide to try something. I'd heard before that sleep promotes sleep and thought that maybe if I tried to give him more nighttime sleep, he'd be more encouraged to take nice naps during the day. So, I gradually moved his bed time. I got all the way to a 6:30pm bed time and if I remember right, he was still sleeping to 6ish most mornings! It seemed too good to be true!

Yeah...that'd be because it was.

One night around 3am, I think, I got up for the bathroom and on my way back to bed I heard this thumping coming from his room. I stood there by the door, waiting to see if he'd start to fuss, but all I heard was this constant thumping. He was raising his legs and pounding them back down on his mattress (ab much?), a practice we came to refer to as "pounding." I was already awake, so I decided I'd nip it in the bud and see to him now rather than wait for him to get really worked up and start crying. I went in, picked him up, gave him his paci, and held him for a few minutes, his eyes wide and curious. I dubiously laid him back down and retreated from the room, expecting to hear that awful pre-cry cackle indicating that this party had just gotten started, but nothing happened. It was really bizarre. I went back to my bed and never heard another thing from him until morning.

I think this may have happened one other time but I don't recall going in to get him. It wasn't until my sister came for a visit that I was seriously confronted with it. Oh, yeah, my sister came for a visit :) It was great. I suppose you could say it came at both the best and worst of times, but I think she had a good visit. I know I did. I was very sad to see her go, but that probably goes without saying.

Anyway, back to my being confronted with Ty's nighttime waking. We put his crib in our room so Courtney could use his and that's when things turned south. He woke every night/early morning and this time there was crying. To make a long story short, I decided that if this was going to become a regular thing (and it did) it might be time for me to take drastic measures. It might be time for food.

So, one very long and anticlimactic story later, that's how Ty came to eat solids before he turned six months. Truth be told, it hasn't proven to be the cure-all I was hoping. He still usually wakes at some point, either in the middle of the night or sometime in the 5am hour, and even though I'm almost always lying in bed awake by 5am (it's a curse), that's just too early to have to start the day. I've relinquished my dream of a 6:30am rise-and-shine and have settled, for now, on 6.

On the subject of food, he has tried butternut, sweet potato, peas, apple, papaya (barely), banana and yogurt. Apple and banana have been the winners (no surprise there), but he hasn't put up too much of a fight in general. I've had fun feeding him. I was going to look into baby-lead weaning, but at this point I've decided I'm just not comfortable with it. I like making him mashes and feeding him. It's fun for me. We'll stick with it for now.

I guess we can move on to the pictures...this has really gone on much longer than I expected :)

This was taken the day he turned five months. We put a weight in the laundry basket with him so he wouldn't topple, but he is standing all by himself!

Enjoying his high chair! Sophie Giraffe is standing by :) 

I love these little polos, but they make him look so grown up!

He really enjoys licking my apples. 

These are just too adorable. He was so happy and smiley...and so was Ty ;)  

Look at them...little best buds....

Don't be fooled...this picture was just a happy accident. Ty was neither overly fond of Aunt Coco, (it's nothing personal, believe me) nor was he in a good mood this afternoon. This is the magic of rapid fire mode on the camera.

Stylish little red shorts that are almost as long as his legs ;) Seriously, shorts on babies are a joke.

Everybody say cheese!

And that wraps up this month's edition. Tune in next time as I *think* there might be news on crawling...maybe.

Tales of *tiny* Ty: He'll have a swinging' time!

This weekend we bought Ty a little swing. I'm not sure who's happier about it. Actually, yes I am. It's me.

Ty tried a baby outdoor swing a couple months back and seemed to really enjoy it. Ever since it has been on my list of things to bless him with (that just sounds so much nicer than "list of things I want to buy him," does it not?). We hung it from a beam in the carport and have had at least one swinging event a day since Todd put it up on Sunday.

I love having something outdoorsy he can enjoy besides going on a walk which, if I'm honest, is more for me than him. But this is completely for him. Well, you know, as long as you don't count the pleasure I derive from watching him in it ;)

Tales of *tiny* Ty: Food!

It happened. Today was the day. And by "the" day I mean the day I put something on a spoon and eased it into Ty's very hesitant mouth. Not the day he actually gained any non-milk nutrients. Ha. No.

On this our maiden food voyage we embarked on the Butternut Boat. He handled it about like I expected. Made some pretty horrible faces while slowly moving the mashed up squash around in his mouth before spitting it all back out...or letting it escape naturally in a slow drool. I didn't try to give him very much as I know that's far from realistic at this point. Plus I don't want him to hate food. Or me.

Anyway. He was a normal baby. No food lover on my hands just yet.

I plan to give him a few days to get good and used to butternut before moving on to sweet potato, perhaps? I don't see who wouldn't like sweet potato, but this baby...he's his own man.

Please enjoy these highly revealing images from our morning :)

Anticipating the first bite...

Wait for iiiiiiit...

What is happening???

Um...

Yuck! Oh, bleh, that is DISGUSTING. 

Noooo! Not another one!

Yeah...he hasn't quite figured out that he actually has to tip the bottle up before anything will happen. 

The realization that we might not make it

Recently I learned that a couple I admire have separated. What's sad about that statement—besides the fact that it's true—is that every one of you reading this can probably say the same thing. We are quite surrounded.

I've heard of more marriage trouble lately (and in my life) than I care to recount, and I consider myself to still be on my first lap around the block. A multitude of marriages are quivering, crumbling and ultimately dissolving right before my eyes.

Usually when I hear about marriage trouble that has ended in separation or divorce, I stop to consider how shocked I am (for I am inevitably shocked) and how sad the situation is (it is universally sad), and then I pray for restoration (it's never impossible). But the most recent account to reach my notice made me do something else. It made me fear.

I can't think of another instance of marriage difficulty that has struck fear in my heart. I don't know if I identified it right away but it certainly didn't take me long to realize what the marriage trouble of this couple means: it means no one is safe. I look around me and can't help but come to the conclusion that years invested don't matter, shared children don't matter, faith doesn't matter. It seems marriage problems are respecters of nothing.

This lead me to the blaring-in-my-face-obvious reality that if the mighty can fall, if the godly can topple, what hope can I have? When these decide it's impossible to go on, what can the rest of us do? For I know I am still early in this journey with Jesus. I have much to learn, much to ruin in the process and much to see redeemed in the end.

Let me say this: I don't know anyone's whole story and I won't presume I do. Who knows how long and hard the years have been and how much hurt has been endured? Not me. Maybe enduring has gotten to be more than can be endured. Maybe for some, out is the only way they can see. I can't say. I'm not there, and I can't say.

What I can say is that I have heeded the warning. I have surveyed the battlefield and beheld the bloodied landscape and run from the horror of it. It is too much. When I enlisted it was with the understanding that all who enlist must fight to the death, no turning back. But it was also with the understanding that "fighting to the death" wouldn't be required. Christ would fight with and for me. He'd wed the church long ago and had promised not to leave her, so the battle was won. He meant it, I think. And the fact that he meant it meant that I should never have to look on the dead and wounded, that there wouldn't be any dead and wounded. Right?

Wrong. So, so wrong.

Not only are there thousands of them littering the battlefield on every front, there is apparently no reason to think that I won't join them. I check myself and gasp to see that I have entered the ranks in nothing but my skin. I'm a sitting duck. I'm begging to be shot down. I look across the field and am alarmed to see that the casualties are all in nothing but their skin. No armor. They entered the fight just like I did, with nothing but faith that I'd make it out alive and more than alive.

Here's the point, and I am broken to have reached it: I can't hope to survive. I believed that as long as I had Jesus and his words right in front of me, I'd have a shot. Pretty good one, actually. But how many of those lying before me thought the same thing and yet...there they are? And I know I'm so far from being holy enough to escape joining them. I'm nervous and shaken and scared and disappointed and sobered. Please Lord, please no.

I want to beg those who have fallen to tell me how to avoid their fate; that sounds insensitive, and I really don't mean for it to, but I'm frantic to know! What happened that made these couples question their commitment? What happened that made them doubt it was worth with it? What happened that was too much, too hurtful? Because right now, I can't imagine my and Todd's not-seeing-eye-to-eyes morphing into packing-my-bags and see-you-in-courts. There must be lots between here and there and I want to know what to look out for so I can turn around and tear back up the road when I see it coming.

There's another thing I want these injured souls to tell me: what would have been enough? If time together and love shared and faith weren't enough, what would have been? Those with years and years of marriage practice can come unravelled; those who love deeply at one time can stab deeply at others; those who claim the Faith can forget. And here I am, wide-eyed and watching. Who did I think I was to embark on something so futile? If others couldn't and can't swing it, why should I think I can, wretch that I am?

I don't know the answers. I can ask and ask and then tomorrow or maybe the next day I'll hear of another failed attempt and no one will have any answers and I'll need them even more.

This month I celebrated four years of being married to my favorite person. It's not much, I know. But I'm not celebrating the fact that we made it another year; I'm celebrating the fact that we're doing this life together. And I'm glad. I want this. I think I'll always want this, but how many other couples have said the same thing and in the end walked away, brokenhearted?

Until I hear of anything better to do, I suppose I'll just sit quaking in fear before almighty God and beg him to spare us the end that has met so many. I'll pray for all the protection and wisdom and patience and faithfulness he's willing to part with. I'll quit pretending I'm immune and start believing that I'm every bit as likely to fall.

And I'll beg him not to let me.

The Pregnancy Tag-Team Initiative

My husband told me that if he was the one who had to do it, we wouldn't be having babies. End of story. However, he is more than happy to let me handle it, if I want (as evidenced by our, well, baby).

Thanks, babe. I got this.

Isn't it funny, the way our strong and adoring husbands will cower at the very idea of birth but will gladly give us, their fragile, tender wives, a lift to the hospital when the time comes? I got one word:

Wuss.

Though, maybe it's for the best; I'm not sure they could handle it anyway. So I came up with a really brilliant idea. All we need is an alternate reality and I'm sure it would work great. Here it is: the husband and wife tag-team it!

Divvy it up any way you like, no rules. You could do an old-fashioned fifty/fifty split, which, just so we're clear, means that both parties take half of the pregnancy, half of the labor, and half of the delivery. You could opt for something a little less "fair" and just do the second trimester and leave the rest of it to your husband. Or, you could be the bigger man and take the first and third trimesters and the delivery. Anything sound tempting?

Here's what I would do: I'd give Todd the entire pregnancy and take the labor and delivery. Before you go all "What witch of a wife would doom her husband to an entire pregnancy?", believe me when I tell you I had it pretty easy. But even still, I'm getting the better end of the deal. If I were to have another baby with an identical pregnancy/labor/delivery, I'd be coming out on top.

Here's how I figure: pregnancy is SO LONG. I don't have the patience for it. Plus, Todd suffers from heartburn on a regular basis so what's a little more?

But labor and delivery, it's like just a day, most of the time, and stuff is happening! No more sitting around, waiting for things to get started. Is it painful? Yes (though not the worst pain I've ever had). Hard? The hardest. But it's super productive! At the end of labor and delivery, you have a BABY! At the end of pregnancy, you have labor.

An added advantage to letting Todd handle the pregnancy is that I could be in super-duper shape to tackle the labor. The biggest contradiction on the planet is doing the hardest work of your life while in arguably the worst shape of your life. Without the limitations of pregnancy weighing me down (haha..."weighing me down"), I could hardcore train for the big day! Todd could gain the weight (a few pounds wouldn't hurt him), endure the heat (whether there is any or not), and sleep on his side (which he does anyway). It's a win-win-win-win situation!

Of course, my plan is not without its sacrifices. Doing things this way would mean missing out on all the little baby flutters and...Hmm. I guess that's about it.

Oh wait, I thought of another one. I'd have to be the one catering to a pregnant person, instead of be the recipient. That might be a problem, considering how good a job Todd did at this. I don't think I could compare.

So, there you have it. My plan for a new and improved pre-baby experience :) If you see any glitches, don't tell me. I'm starting to really like the way it sounds...

If you could , how would you split things up?

Tales of *tiny* Ty: Getting out the door

Quick, now. I've just got to quickly feed the baby (we'll do it on the couch without the Boppy and nobody will die; it's just a quicky), then I'll be out the door.

But before I pick him up off the floor and wrench that soaking wet rubber giraffe out of his faucet-mouth, I'll just quickly use the bathroom. I better do it on this side of feeding him. Might as well; he's loving drooling all over that poor giraffe. Better go now while I can...if I'm fast, he might not notice I'm not sitting right here, watching him salivate.

Oh, he noticed.

Well, I guess I can take my time now that he's crying anyway. Oh good! My jeans are right where they're supposed to be: under the rest of the laundry. I love knowing just where to find stuff. One day I'll put that folded stuff in the drawer. Unless it manages to unfold itself. Then I'll put it back in the hamper. Laundry's so good about offering second chances.

Shirt, shirt, shirt...what does one wear to pick up one's husband from work? Green t-shirt or maroon? Let's do green; it'll set off my eyes. Good. That way I don't have to put mascara on.  That's one for the win. Hmm...it's a little wrinkled, but that's it's own fault for hanging out under the rest of the laundry.

Chapstick, check! Should I do some color over top of that? Oo—better not. Colored lips might draw attention to the fact that I'm letting my t-shirt do mascara duty.

Hold on, I hear you...I've just got to quickly grab the diaper bag. I doubt I'll need it for the five minutes we'll be at the office but the one time I'm caught unprepared...

Don't forget the phone! That'd be my luck, blow out a tire and not have a phone to call Todd.

Ok, ok, I'm here. Lunch is served. *GASP* Wow, those are freezing cold hands! Sheeeesh...put those things away. And no, not back in your mouth.

This isn't a six-courser now, we've just got to quick go pick daddy up. Then it's nap time when we get back. Haha. "Nap time."

Stop crying, you're not done, I just want to burp you real quick and—oh. Oh gross. Grooooss. And this shirt set off my eyes so well. You are the spit-up King, aren't you? Calm down, you can admire your work but ew, don't touch it! Whew, nothing on the couch. Just me. That's easy enough to fix, but gag-a-LICIOUS, it reeks! Well, we'll deal with it after you're done. I got most of it off with the burp cloth anyway.

Done? Great. Let's quickly run back upstairs and change. I guess it's the maroon one after all. It doesn't do a thing for me but a puke-covered shirt does even less, even if it is green.

Ah, that's better. It's not as wrinkled as the green one either! Ok, baby, diaper bag, shoes, out the door we go, and—

Wait wait wait...what is this? Did you puke on this the last time I wore it? Apparently so.

Plan C...what have I got in the drawer? I haven't worn this one since I was whoa-pregant with him. Wonder how it fits sans belly? Fits ok...but how is it that this one is even more wrinkled than the others; it was in the drawer! This is why it doesn't pay to put the laundry away.

Ok, I think I'm ready. And the third trip upstairs gave me a chance to burn more calories and grab another burp cloth. At the rate you're going, we'll need it.

Now, into the carseat you go—I know you hate it. Sorry. But we'll be there real quick. How do I get this thing buckled in...is that it? Belt's a little twisted. Let's try it this way; better. Ok, I think that's good. What? You want your paci? Here you go...you have to put your tongue down for this to work. No, quit spitting it out. Ok, fine. I guess no paci. Oh, you'd rather have hand? Whatever works, buddy.

Car, baby, hands, diaper bag, shoes, keys, garage door up, and...let's go get daddy!

This doesn't have anything to do with anything...I just thought it was cute :) 

Little Miss Monday: Dawn of the Microwave

I weekend hard. Like from 4:30pm Friday until 11:00pm Sunday it's one big, unmediated party up in here.

Kidding. So, SO kidding. I don't even sleep past 6am on Saturday.

So why is it, then, that my house always needs to "recover" from two very un-weekend-ish days? Who knows. But it does and so we do and there's that. For that reason—recovery—I don't "schedule" cleaning to do on Monday. I just...tidy up. Load the dishwasher. Fold the laundry I've been teasing for three days (you know the game...on the bed awaiting attention during the day, relocated to the floor over night, back on the bed the next day...oh wait, is that part just me?). Start a new load of laundry. Or two. The stuff waiting on the bed gets lonely.

You get the idea. Mondays are makeup days.

On rare occasions, though (like today being the only one I can think of) I toss in something for bonus points. It's like swatting at little gold stars above my head and hearing a nice techno "BLIP! BLIP! BLIP!" Super satisfying, even if "BLP! BLIP! BLIP!" is the extent of the pay-off. Today I tackled the microwave, for the second (I think?) time this year, I'd like to say. I feel like that's as often as anyone can be bothered to devote a full five minutes to the microwave, am I right?

 And actually, the microwave is lucky to get that. My in-laws were here in January and I wanted them to know I could keep a clean microwave so their son can reheat in style. Then, my sister is visiting later this week and while she doesn't need to open my microwave to justify her judgement of my housekeeping, I'd just as soon eliminate the opportunity.

No one else is paying me the honor of a visit this year, so the microwave can just deal from here till...the next time I'm feeling "bonus-y."

Back to the microwave itself. It's got some sass to work through. That or a keen sense of humor. I mean, just look at the cute little note it left us:

Good one, Microwave.

Happy Monday to all, and to all, a good...morning :)