The 12 Month Reality Check

If you read my last post, you know about my emotional reservations regarding Preston getting physically bigger. As it turns out, I don't have much to worry about. Since birth, he's gained a mere 13 pounds and has grown only 9 inches. According to the pediatrician, P'Dub is in the 10th percentile. This means, height and weight-wise, he's only bigger than 1 in 10 kids. But he's thriving otherwise – and his melon is topping the charts in the 75th to 90th percentile. Go brain!

So for now, he's little and cute. When Preston gets older and kids start picking him last in gym class and stuffing him in lockers in the hallway, it won't be so cute. There's nothing to worry about medically; he's little just as I was at his age. And you all know that currently I'm nowhere near the 10th percentile!

The pediatrician also alerted me to a couple other things. For instance, out with the formula and in with the whole milk. And not in a bottle...only in a cup. In fact, there should be no more bottles, except at night. And even the night bottles need eliminated by 15 months.

Holy crackers! Am I ready for this? Am I ready for no bottles? P'Dub is currently on the three bottle plan: morning, afternoon and bedtime (with solid foods inbetween). Knocking out the first two bottles won't be a problem. The night bottle will be the issue – at least for me anyhow.

I love rocking Preston in his nursery, listening to his Baby Einstein lullaby cd, cuddling, talking softly and giving him his bottle. It's soothing for both parties involved. But within the next three months I have to wean both of us. This is going to suck.

Another eye opener from the pediatrician: Out with the baby food. Say what? I'm solely responsible for his nutrition? I kind of liked it when Similac and Gerber took care of it. Besides, I can barely come up with dinner ideas for Jeremy, and now I've got three square meals and two snacks to provide daily!!! I'm doomed. Or, rather Preston is doomed.

The reality of Preston growing up is hitting me hard. It's truly bitter-sweet. It seems to me that as P'Dub gets older, there is always going to be something he'll grow out of that I'll miss (and I don't mean an outfit), and always something he's growing into that will be exciting. Like the bottles. I'll miss them. But I'm looking forward to the day he uses his own spoon.

Little Monkeys for My Little Monkey

One year ago today, at 8:45 a.m., my little monkey was born. He was tiny and pink (not unlike a newborn hamster, but bigger and his eyes were open). He was wrinkly and wiggly. And his movements were in somewhat slow-motion. He was the cutest little dude I'd ever laid eyes on.

*Tears* Yes, I've been a crying mess all week. It's not that don't want him to advance. I love it that he's social, learns new things every day, dances, gives hugs and kisses, and that he gives me that ornery smile when he knows he's doing something unruly. But I like it that he's little. I like his little socks and his little pants. His tiny tee's and small jackets. Physically, I like him little. Besides, calling him Mommy's Big Monkey just doesn't sound appropriate.

But even though he's little, he's still grown a lot. There is no way he could fit in his newborn clothes (although that would make for a great snapshot). He doesn't fit in his swing. And he doesn't want to play in his Exersaucer anymore...but that's just because he thinks he's too big!

So although this birthday is bitter sweet, it is his first birthday none the less and we celebrated. This time, the event was much smaller, with only Preston's friend Max, and his parents in attendance. There wasn't a theme, per say – although we had monkey cupcakes, and his gifts were wrapped in monkey paper. And we had one decoration, a "Happy Birthday" banner which hung from the exposed beam in the kitchen.

His birthday party was low-key. The kids played. The parents chatted. We ate. Opened gifts – Max got Preston a book and Jeremy and I got him cool sneakers with skulls, a piggy bank, and onesies...he didn't need any more toys). We had cake. Our guests left. We put Preston to bed. And then watched the hospital video from the day he was born.

*More Tears*

Cheers to Preston and to the next year of this parenting journey!

P'Dub is the Big 0-1!

Then and now...WOW! (Nostalgic post to come.)

Mom Brain

When I was pregnant, any absent-minded act I performed was blamed on the pregnancy.

"Oh me, oh my. How silly of me. All I think about is this baby. Pregnancy brain. Tee Hee."

And sometimes it was actually true. Like the time I got a bad case of backne and asked my husband to scratch my back with a piece of sandpaper. (That wasn't the pregnancy brain part.) Shortly after, I asked him to lube my back up with lotion. (This WAS the pregnancy brain part). Within seconds my back was on fire and I could feel every tiny skin lesion. I sat in front of the fan for a half hour.

But now I'm no longer pregnant, yet I find myself still taking part in one mindless act after another. Take yesterday for example. Jeremy, Preston and I walked the trail by our house to the Puget Sound. Preston was in his jogging stroller, and all our belongings were carefully bundled in the storage pocket below.

Upon returning home, I put everything away. Including my Playtex Fridge-to-Go Tote; which goes in the freezer. This little cooler holds two bottles – and for our walk, we filled it with one bottle of water, and one bottle of formula.

Hours pass. Jeremy is getting ready for bed. I'm nearly frantic looking for my cell phone. It wasn't in my purse, in the drawer, on the island. It wasn't anywhere I usually place it.

Then I remember. I put my phone in the outer storage compartment of the fridge tote. The fridge tote is in the freezer. My cell phone is in the freezer!

My phone was chill, ya'll. It was so cold I could barely hold it. And a lightning bug's butt gave off more of a light than my screen now did. Jeremy said I wouldn't know until the morning if it would still function or not. And, it does.

Mom brain. It ain't pretty.