Who's Your Daddy?

Two little men.
Same masculine sailor outfit.
30 years apart.

This Book is No Joke

This book was recommended to me by Dr. Ben at Preston's one-month well visit. At that time my sweet babe had his days and nights mixed up and sleep-wise nothing was consistent. True to Kate nature, I bought the book on Amazon as soon as I got home.

I've been reading the book and applying many of its practices since I put Preston in his crib five weeks ago. The book walks you through baby's sleep patterns with reference to their age – it's kind of like the "What to Expect When You are Expecting" of sleep books.

The beauty of this book is it leaves no stone unturned. It literally teaches you, in an easy-to-read fashion, how to read your baby's body language. These signals will alert you to when it's time for naps and when it's time for bed.

Weissbluth believes that children's sleep patterns are developed between the ages of four to six months. His theory is that babies need to be taught to self-soothe and taught to fall asleep unaided before the four month mark hits.

So in the past five weeks Preston and I have learned a lot about napping and sleeping. And today we hit the mother load of accomplishments. Last night, Preston took his bottle at 6:00, fell asleep, and didn't wake up until 7:30 this morning! He slept nearly 12 hours and didn't even wake for a bottle. And to top it all off, he took his first crib nap today completely unaided. I followed his sleepy cues, put him in his crib, he fussed for 5 minutes, then conked out.

I'm beside myself. If Weissbluth was here himself, I'd give him a big ol' tongue kiss and an ass slap.

Well done chap, well done.

It's a Miracle

Yesterday morning Preston woke with his first hint of diaper rash. Until this morning, poo has spent a maximum duration of 5 minutes on his cheeks because he usually poos while he's awake, and we take care of it promptly. But, this time he poo'd his sleep, so it could have been there, drying on his tiny derriere, for at least 5 hours. Anywho, the poo had left him a little rash.

So I got out the ol' Butt Paste – I really think this stuff should be called Ass Clay, as it looks like and is as thick as Ohio River mud. I wiped this expensive concoction (about 5 bones for 2 ounces) all over his rump and diapered him back up.

Two hours go by and it's time for a diaper change. The Butt Paste was stuck to every little nook and fold of my son's nether-region, but the rash was COMPLETELY GONE!

I heart Ass Clay®. (I made that ® part up, in case you were wondering.)

Oh, that's a Nummy

At two months, infants are due for their first shots. And looking into the mirror in the examination room, I could tell I was much more nervous than Preston. My neck had turned a pale shade of pink with darker blotchy patches on every inch of visible skin. If only Preston knew what he was getting into, he wouldn't be so jolly.

The nurse politely asks to hold Preston and starts talking to him in a high-pitched voice saying, "You want your nummies don't ya? You love nummies. All babies love nummies." This is going to be better than I thought – the nurse is going to numb him before he's introduced to the needles of pain.

She then proceeds to feed him a liquid that resembles clear syrup. And I can't help but be a little confused – how is something the nurse is putting in Preston's mouth going to numb his hammies (a.k.a thighs, or ham hocks)?

So I ask her, "What is that stuff you are putting in his mouth?"

She replies, "This is his 'nummy', it's really sweet, so he should like it."

Okay, so that was NOT helpful. But then it dawned on me, his nummy wasn't going to numb him at all. This damn nummy was his oral vaccination. Nummy is baby speak for Yummy. (What? The word 'yummy' isn't baby-cutsie enough on its own? Is the 'n' sound much more appealing to babies than the 'y'?)

This nurse was twisted and clearly trying to fake us both out. What a mean trick to play on a first-time Mom who has no idea what all this baby lingo is about.

And just as my epiphany ends, the pain begins. As the first shot goes in Preston's hammy, his eyes get as big as fifty cent pieces, his mouth opens wide enough that I can practically see down this throat, and the loudest, most shrill sound flew out of his tiny little mouth. This is a cry of pain – a cry I have not heard before. This is not good for either of us.

Second shot. Third shot. A REAL BABY TEAR! A real Mommy tear. Fourth shot. Fifth shot. Band-Aids. Then an extra Band-Aid because Preston is bleeding so badly from his left hammy. The nurse finally leaves and I scoop up my distressed child.

Ten minutes later we've both calmed down and our on our way home. Preston crashes in the car and all I can think about is how badly I need a beer to calm my nerves.

I can hardly wait to do this all over again in two months. At least next time, I'll know what a 'nummy' is.

(And before you ask, YES, I totally saved his Band-Aids. Just like I saved his cord. And just like I save Jeremy's belly button fuzz.)