I just received the best gift in the mail today - my baby book. I don't think I've ever seen my baby book before, or at least, I don't remember it. And what a great gift!  My parents are either getting awfully sentimental or are cleaning out the basement, I can't tell which. But either way, it's great.

They also sent a lot of other old cards, pictures, and even some thumbprint cards I made when I was in school. (so talented). The roster from nursery school was enclosed which is weird, since I'm friends with a lot of those people on Facebook; I had no idea I've known them for so long.

But the best part, by far, was the baby book.  And oh my, was my mother detailed. What a fantastic gift to give to your child. I am having a hard time not cracking up at some of the comments. I remember hearing somewhere that we are who we are by age five; the only thing that changes with time is your amount of knowledge. This statement certainly supports the idea that personality is innate and something we are born with. And based on my baby book, I've been Kim for 31 years and no one else.

Check it out...

At five months old:  "Kim knows who her family is! She loves her bath and blinks a lot when approached by Kelly 'cause she never really knows what Kelly is going to do!"

At seven months old:  "Kimmy is now getting into Kelly's things more and more - a little sibling rivalry already!"

At eight months old: "Kim loves her buggy and to be outside."

At 11 1/2 months old: "Beginning to show signs of a temper" (what?! Who, me?)

At 13 1/2 months old: "...she loves to dig in the potted plants." (early signs of my love for gardening)

At 20 months old: "Kelly and Kimmy fight, but Kimmy holds her own. She imitates everything Kelly does...She likes to color, paint, and use play dough when Kelly does. She does her own freelance creativity, though." (giggle) "She has a mind of her own and can be very determined.  She can be very easy going as well."

At 3 years old:  "Kimmy is a delight; you never know what she is going to say next!" (ha!) "Kim goes with me to be teacher's helper at kindergarten; it's hard to tell her coloring and cutting from the 5-year olds." (thank you, thank you.) "She is so fun to shop with."

And then my personal favorite (also at age 3):

"Kim had three stitches in her right temple in February. She fell against the iron railing going down the stairs. Kelly was more upset than Kim!"

Oh, my poor sister. I had no idea I tortured her so! Sorry about that, Kelly! I'm in her things, I'm falling against railings...I was a mess.

And the part about Kelly being more upset than me about my injury is TOTALLY classic Kelly-Kim relationship. I once threw up on a plane and Kelly nearly crawled over me and several other passengers to escape it. She is so funny like that - Kelly can handle other people's bodily functions like it's no big deal, but when it comes to family members, she loses it.

Anyways, this has inspired me to get started on Scotty's baby book. Maybe one day he'll pour over it and be like, "OMG! My mom just sent me the blog she wrote when I was a baby. So trippy!"

I know that we always joke about Scotty having a girlfriend, but I'm starting to wonder just how serious it really is. Sam, as you may recall, is exactly eleven weeks his junior and daughter to our good friends, the Smiths.  Brian and Jason are co-workers and share a secretary while Courtney and I share many afternoons surrounded by Starbuck cups and piles of babies (and one very active toddler).

We've had all kinds of playdates over the last few months, and each time, Scotty has such an affinity for Sam that we've started to tease Jason (Sam's dad) that he better keep an eye on the two of them. (Jason usually pulls Scotty aside at this point and starts the discussion with 'the circle of trust' lecture.) Seriously - even at baby gymnastics, where there are all kinds of other babies and toys and stimuli going on, Scotty always manages to find Sam and reach out and give her a little squeeze on the arm. Or a not-so-gentle yank on the arm, but we're working on that.

And in perfect little baby girl form, Sam bats her eyelashes, coos, and smiles at him. All of which are totally adorable.

But today, I'm starting to wonder if there really is something between the two of them, not just some parental fantasy. Scotty and I dropped by to visit this morning and to visit Court's mom, who is in town for hte week. Sam was engaging in some tummy time and since it was the end of our playdate, I was trying to put my sneakers on without dropping Scotty. I laid him next to her and this is what transpired:

They crossed their little arms against each other. And stared into each other's eyes. I swear, this photo was not staged or arranged -- the kids melted into this little pile of baby cuteness all on their own. (and we, of course, were armed with our cameras and immediately began snapping away.)

In fact, Scott laid there so quietly for so long (an unheard of in the era of tummy time) that I actually remarked, "Is he sick?" He just laid there silently, starting at baby Sam.

He was just completely fascinated with her. And she, with him.

So sweet.

Uh-oh, Jason.

I cannot say it enough: I love making baby food. I am like a baby-food making junkie. I think about baby food all day, I read about baby food, and I spend hours (okay, not really; more like a solid eight minutes) pouring over the beautiful produce at Whole Foods, dreaming of the next fruit or vegetable I'm going to puree.

I love it. I can't get enough of it.

It has been one of the unexpected delights of Motherhood. Each week, I map out a new course for what the Bear will try.  And so far, so good. We've had no allergic reactions to anything, as well as no food aversions. Scotty wasn't a big fan of just plain rice cereal (he kept making this face at me like, "Really, Mom? It tastes like wall paper paste.") but everything else, he has eaten with zeal.

And I'm making it with zeal. After our first disastrous attempt that involved me scraping zucchini off of my kitchen ceiling, it's been smooth sailing. I've also found that with a little prep work, I can make a month's worth of meals in about two hours. I'm not sure I'm saving money at this point, since I splurged on a really lovely All-Clad steamer pot from Williams-Sonoma, but it makes me deliriously happy to know exactly what my baby is eating and how it has been prepared. And the fact that the shiny silver pot is rather aesthetically is a bonus.

So far, we have tried (and loved) avocados, sweet peas, sweet potatoes, bananas, green apples, red delicious apples, Bosch pears, blueberries, carrots, zucchini, and zucchini with mint. As of yesterday,I just made and froze Yukon gold potato whip, cauliflower, and asparagus. I've never been a big fan of cauliflower, but after steaming it and then blending it, I was so enamoured with the velvety, rich concoction that I actually raced upstairs, spoon in hand, to feed a little of it to Brian. And even he agreed - it was delicious. Sadly, our house now smells like it, but at least Scotty can enjoy the fruits of my labor.

Aside from the produce, we've also been having fun with grains. I found this great book that recommends making your own rice and grain cereals; all that is needed is a grinder. So now our fridge it stuffed with organic, unprocessed brown rice and millet, a type of yellowish grain. I simply blend the rice until it has the consistency of dust, then whisk it into boiling water and cover it for ten minutes. The result? Super porridge. Scotty has his super porridge every morning, mixed with a fruit, and he loves it. Mom loves it too - I have to stop myself from eating off of his spoon.

And we've also started him on a little bit of whole milk yogurt, too. I mix it with a fruit and he has that with his lunch. In fact, yesterday's meal looked like this:

Isn't it pretty? I just loved the colors. In the dish is zucchini with mint (mixed with 2Tbl of rice cereal - the commercially-prepared kind - to thicken it), blueberry puree mixed with yogurt, and pureed carrots.

And that is not my hairy arm in the picture. Dad was kind enough to feed the Bear while I worked on the bills. And here is a picture of what the baby looks like after Dad handles meal-time:

Needless to say, Dad is working on his technique.

Not a lot to report here...so how about some pictures of everyone's favorite Bear?

Out of all of the baby toys we have for him, what is his favorite? A little blue hairbrush that Aunt Kelly and Uncle Jake sent. He loves this thing. We have to take it everywhere with us. People give us some strange looks (like, "Why are you allowing your child to chew on the end of a hair brush?") but whatever. He's a baby. Give the kid a break.

When not chewing on his brush, he also enjoys...

Flying with Dad...

Eating yogurt...

And finally, bath time. Because who doesn't love bath time??

Happy Friday, everyone!

Pumping = Dunzo.

And like most things, it ended with a whimper, not a bang.

My last official day of pumping was March 18, 2010, exactly seven months after greeting our little Bear to our world. I made it seven solid months of pumping and I'm pretty darn proud of myself. I can't think of one thing on a daily basis for seven months - diets, making my bed, working out - and through all of the crying, complaining, and flat-out swearing, I made it. Three breast pumps, four sets of pumpers, countless ounces of spilled milk on my counters, I made it.

Whew.

I'm also really happy that Scotty had almost exclusively breast milk for the first six months of his life. After I hit the six month mark, I started to eliminate one pump every few days, and eventually end up only pumping once a day for about a week. I was only getting about three ounces at that point, and for twenty minutes worth of work, I decided to throw in the towel.

And what did I do to celebrate? Well, Brian and I tossed around a few ideas. After all, this is the first time my body has belonged to me and just exclusively me for the better part of two years. I don't know if you know what that feels like (unless of course, you just had a baby and are breast feeding, too), but it's weird. Just plain weird. All the fun things in life - caffeine, alcohol, cold medicine, dairy - were shelved completely during the process of conceiving and pregnancy, and after the birth, then I gradually added a few things back in (mainly caffeine and wine.) But now? My body is allllll mine. What a weird feeling. I don't have to worry about onions and garlic.  A second cup of coffee? Sure, why not. A three day vodka bender? Bring it on. (Just kidding, Mom.)

So Brian and I thought maybe I should have a stiff drink. Or a hit of a crack pipe. (again, just kidding). But in the end, I settled for some Advil to help with my back pain. Along with several other body parts, I don't think my back will ever be the same again. After hoisting around an additional 47 pounds during the pregnancy, I followed that up with grueling back labor and seven months of being hunched over a breast pump six to eight times a day. My chiropractic bills are going rival our wedding.

So anyways, I'm pretty happy.  I'm doing far less dishes during the day (since those nasty pumpers have been boxed up and sealed from the light of day, much in the manner of the Arc of the Covenant in Indiana Jones and Raiders of the Lost Arc.) Scotty is sleeping like a champ and I'm not rushing off to pump, so my days are literally...luxurious. I kind of feel like I'm cheating. Like this is supposed to be harder. But it's not. And that is fine with me.

Remember how I once complained that stay-at-home-moms have a harder day than working mom? Yeah, that's not true anymore. I think I was really sleep-deprived (read: crazy) when I wrote that. You couldn't force me back to work if you tried. (Just ask Brian. I told him I would have to be hog-tied and dragged to an interview, and when he removed the bandana from my mouth, I would shout at the interviewer, "Don't pick me! Don't pick me! I'm a terrible worker!" Poor Brian has no idea that I am never going back to work. I got a slice of the stay-at-home pie...and I'm loving it.) 

And best yet, I even hired someone to come once a week for "Me-Time." This is usually three to five hours that I entrust the little Bear to our lovely baby-sitter, and I hightail it to Target, the gym, or the nail salon. (I know, I know, please stop gagging.) And last week, a lunch date with friends was canceled at the last minute, so with three hours ahead of me and an afternoon without a baby, I thought to myself, "Where can I go to relax and eat a nice meal?"

And so I ended up at my favorite spot in all of Las Vegas:

The Four Seasons.

Ahhh, tasteful elegance. I won't bore you with the details of my delicious lunch (Crab Louis salad, iced tea, lemon tart for dessert) but just know, I'm surviving this whole Motherhood thing just fine. (and it's not all easy...I had to send my salad back since I had asked for the dressing on the side. Then I lost my valet ticket, which translated to several awkward minutes waiting for my car.) Poor Brian came home from work that night as I excitedly told him about my day and his only comment was, "I guess I need to work harder to afford your me-time." Ahh, a husband who understands! I'm a lucky girl.

Scotty and Ben turned seven months old yesterday...as my brother-in-law Jake pointed out, they are now officially closer to one than they are to zero. So crazy to think about!

I just want to freeze time and keep Scotty at this adorable, fun age.

Everything is a wonder to him. I take blocks out of a box and he looks at me with total amazement. I put the blocks back in the box and he is shocked. He loves my dancing skills. (::cough, cough::)  He thinks my jokes are hilarious. Just the other day, I carried him into the bathroom and flushed the toilet, for lack of something better to do, and he looked at me as though I had just blown his mind. "Yes," I told him. "The water swirls...and then it disappears!"

To him, I am the most fascinating person in the whole world right now. Not a bad gig.

Or my personal favorite, a shot of Scotty later that day with his hat on. Love it!

I will admit, staying home with your child all day can really start to edge on...boredom? Dullness? Lots of one-sided conversations?

I'm not complaining (ooooh, I am not complaining...more on that later), but I will admit, I tend to invent my own games when left to my own devices. Give me 8 hours to spend by myself and I'll try to write a screenplay, call four friends, make homemade pasta or re-organize my closet. Or, write narratives for my child that never actually existed.

Complete with pictures. See below.

It started so innocently. Just a boy with his over-priced, ridiculously over-hyped giraffe-squeakytoy named Sophie.

Then it took a strange turn. Scotty decided to start nomming off Sophie's face.

Sophie did not like this much, but didn't have much say in the matter.

Sophie threw an elbow (hoof?) and took it to the mat. She shouted a battle cry that sounded eerily familiar.

It was at this point that both parties started playing dirty. There was some eye-poking...some kicking....and lots of face nomming.

Scotty's ferociousness was fierce, but his hatred of tummy time had taken over. While he once looked like an easy victor, suddenly, all bets were off...and...

Faceplant!

Our hero falls.

And a giraffe is victorious.

Sophie 1, Scotty 0.

(and yes, I am currently shopping this around. Possible titles include "Bearheart," "2," and "When Glorified Dog Toys Attack."

So last Tuesday night, my cell phone rang at 9:05pm. Needless to say, it scared the beejezus out of me.

My phone hasn't rang that late since I was in practice. And because I currently have a caseload of zero clients (not to mention a suspended license), I knew it wasn't a client. Caller id told me it was my dad.

Of course, the requisite thoughts flew through my head. Something happened. My mom is sick. My mom died (although I doubt this will ever happen, since I'm fairly certain she will outlive us all). Dad's sick. The dog died. The house burnt down. The cat got stuck in a tree (again).

So by the time I actually answered the phone, I was slightly out of breath and had that waver in my voice that you get when you are nervous. "Everything okay?" I asked hurried.

"Oh, yeah..." My dad drawled. He sounded fine. Relaxed. Content.

Okay, no one died. The house is still standing. Whew.

"What's up?" I asked, quizzically. I love my dad and we chat all the time, but not usually at 9pm on a Tuesday nights.

He proceeded to tell me that he ordered our Easter present and it will be arriving some time in the next week. He said that he had been watching Food Network when he was suddenly inspired by something they featured, and went promptly to the computer to order us one. (He also sent one north to Minnesota).

He sounded really proud of himself. And I was dying of curiosity. My dad's gifts are always really great and well thought-out (not to mention delicious). We are still working our way through the 13 lbs of bacon he sent us two Thanksgivings ago. (mmm...bacon.)

When the doorbell rang this past Tuesday, I was excited for two reasons: 1.) Scotty wasn't sleeping (and thus not in danger of being woken up early) and 2.) the present was here!  The UPS guy looked a little envious to be handing over the large, white box and it wasn't until I caught sight of the return address did I understand why.

Two words, folks. Two words.

Lou Malnati's.

And one more word:

YUM!

For all of your Chicago-ites, you understand my excitement. If you are in the unfortunate group that has never tried Lou Malnati's deep dish pie, well, I feel badly for you and think you should probably remedy that problem quickly.

My friend Krista had sent us Lou Malnati's after Scotty was born and we were able to enjoy both pizzas until my diet became dairy-free. Likewise, just about this time last year, I remember watching (insane amounts of) Food Network and having to talk myself out of ordering Lou Malnati's. Because the last thing my uber-pregnant, ravenous self needed was more food.

But my dad really hit this one out of the park as he ordered not just pizza...not just Eli's cheesecake...not just baby back ribs....but also an entire package of (::gasp::) real Chicago Hot Dogs. (they deserve all caps, in my opinion). The little kit came complete with dogs, poppy-seed buns, mustard and even a little pouch of electric-green relish.

I teared up a little at the sight of that relish.  

So, thank you Dad for such an awesome Easter gift! Brian and I can't wait to dig into all of our goodies. There is nothing better than a little taste of home, especially when you are 1700 miles away.

Scotty and I decided to take advantage of the fabulous Las Vegas weather and venture to a new part of town. We headed north towards something called The Springs Preserve.  It is a 180-acre "adventure" (as the pamphlet says) that features a detailed look at the geological and biological history of Nevada, interactive exhibits that focus on sustainable living solutions, and a botanical garden with a wide range of desert plants. Well, we all know how I feel about botanical gardens (especially ones attached to chocolate factories), so this was a trip three years in the making.

And I have to say, it was very, very interesting. I love the fact that this type of institution finally exists in Vegas. It is refreshing to see movement for a more 'green' desert in a place where conservation, in my opinion, is not a priority. (I'm sorry, but it really is the wild west out here some days.) Vegas also seems to always get reprimanded for a lack of culture (although one could argue that you cannot not have culture, in a rather post-modern fashion), and while this isn't technically a museum or art exhibit, it's certainly closer to the mark than most.

And Scotty and I loved it. We liked it so much we bought a year pass. (Brian, are you reading this?) We didn't get a chance to check out many of the exhibits since it took us almost 45 (death-defying) minutes on the 15 to get there (and one wrong turn on Charleston which landed us on...Commerce? Commerce? I locked the doors).  Nap time was closed in quickly, but it is definitely worth many future visits.

The trails were especially neat, although I reject the idea of a trail if you can see the entire area you are walking in. I call that more of a path. But there are over three miles of "trails" and with our new year pass, we can get in early to walk (8am instead of the normal 10am). This might be a fun option for the summer months, since I'm wracking my brain on a daily basis as to what I'm going to do with a nine month old all day long in 120 degree weather.

And in typical "this is my child" form, out of everything at the park, what did Scotty like the most? The exhibit about recycling? The desert lizards? The pear cacti?

No, he loved the artificial grass the best. Check it out.

He couldn't get enough of the stuff. He even protested a little when we left.

I think my favorite part is that while walking on the path, er, trail, you can actually still see the skyline of the Strip hotels. Only in Vegas.

I'd always heard that having a baby changes a relationship, but I really had no idea just how much.

Aside from the fact that nearly all of our attention is fixated on our little bundle of joy, Brian's and my communication is clearly in need of help. I find this so interesting since pre-kids, we were seriously the model of How to Communicate Effectively with Your Partner. No really, look it up in the dictionary; you'll find our pictures.

I'm not trying to brag here, but if you put a therapist and a litigator in the same room, you're going to get some stuff accomplished. I handled the emotional direction of the conversation and Brian would skillfully navigate through complex logical issues. One thing I was so proud of between the two of us is that we, given a certain amount of time, could pretty much resolve any issue. And resolve it well. Differences aside, I would say we were on the same page about 90% of the time. And when we weren't discussing something, we were able to pick up on the other person's idea fairly quickly and run with it.

(And, just in case you are not familiar with studies that look for factors that contribute to successful marriage (and the work of John Gottman), please know that it's really the degree of resolution between a couple that predicts future happiness, not the number of conflicts between the two. Does that make sense? So if a couple has one big blow-out a year but get no resolution to the problem [i.e. they both walk away still mad, resentful, and like the other person did not hear them], they are much more at risk for future unhappiness than the couple that argues weekly but argues with a purpose (i.e. finding a solution to the problem) and both parties walk away feeling as though the problem has been resolved.)

(Look, you just learned something today.)

Anyways, so as I was saying, I would be lying if I didn't say that communication has seriously changed in our relationship.  But what I think is so funny is that it changed not in the way I expected, at all. I mean, yes, we don't nearly have time for a 3+ hour discussion on a problem like we did pre-Scotty. And yes, we are more tired and more cranky (um...me), but aside from working through differences, it's actually the content of our communication pattern that has changed, regardless of if we are in an argument or just talking through our day. It's Not that we are arguing or disagreeing more, it's that we just simply communicate on a whole different level now.

Let me give you an example.

The night we went to Joel Robuchon, there was a lull in the conversation. Just a normal dip. The waiter had just set our newest course in front of us. We had both taken a bite. And then, out of nowhere and without thinking, I blew a raspberry at Brian.

In the middle of Joel Robuchon.

I think we were both surprised.

And so was the waiter. And so was the snooty french couple sitting next to us, who made faces and turned in the other direction.

Unfazed, I just kind of shrugged and said, "Sorry...we have a baby at home."

And I'm not the only one guilty of regressing to baby behavior, either. That same night, as we were waiting for the valet, Brian was rubbing my back. Well, at least I thought he was. But then I realized he would make a circle...another circle...and then two hard pats.

After this happened twice, I finally looked up at him and asked, "Are you trying to burp me?"  He shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry," he said. "Habit."

See? This is what I'm talking about. Hang out with a six-month old and you will revert back to baby behaviors. Or you get so used to caring for the baby that you can't control when your parenting skills will rear their ugly heads. Like, in the middle of Joel Robuchon when you blow a raspberry at your partner.

Also, reading too many board books does weird things to your head. Brian and I will be out together, sans baby, and one of us will point to a bird and say, "Bird. Bird. Say it with me...BIRD." Or "Truck." Or "Tiger."

Lion. Penguin. Fish. (clearly, we've been working on animals recently).

We'll be sitting on the touch and Brian will point to my foot. "Toe," he'll say slowly. "Good boy," I tell him. "You're such a good boy." He grins.

One of our favorite series of books is the 'That's Not My..." series. They are books that you can touch while reading, and it's like, "That's not my dinosaur! His teeth are too bumpy. [touch the bumpy teeth.] That's not my dinosaur! His flippers are too slippery [touch the slippery fins]," etc. You get the drift. Well, recently I found the "That's not my train!" book and Brian and I love reading it to Scotty. (And yes, all of the books end happily with the reader finding their train/dinosaur/monkey/what have you).

So the other morning, I was playing with Scott on the rug when I noticed Brian emptying in the dishwasher. Before I could even think, I blurted out, "That's not my husband! He's doing some chores!" Brian scowled but we both giggled a little. 

Sadly, this change in communication is not limited to just between Brian and I, nor is it limited to verbal communication. A few weeks ago, a friend and I went out for drinks and dessert, sans children. When the waitress came to check on our table, she asked if we were done with our mountain of chocolate lava. I held up both hands and shook them. "All done," I told her, waving my hands. "All done."

So, it's clear that board books, burping, raspberries, and baby sign language definitely will bend one's brain. Take, for example, a recent phone call between Brian and I.

B: [picks up phone] Hello?
K: Hi sweetie. Bad news. We lost Spot.
B: What? Are you serious?
K: Yes. We can't find him anywhere. He didn't eat his supper.
B: Well, is he behind the door?
K: No...
B: Is he inside the clock?
K:  No....
B:  Is he in the piano?
K:  No...
B: Is he under the stairs?
K: No...
B:  Is he in the closet?
K:  No...
B:  Is he under the bed?
K:  No...
B:  Is he in the box?
K:  No...Oh, wait! I think I see him. He's under the rug.
B:  [waits patiently]
K:  He's in the basket!
B: Good boy, Spot. Good boy. 

Is it date night yet?

::sigh::

(and thank you to all of the authors I shameless quoted in this blog. They include: Eric Hill, Fiona Watt, and Rachel Wells. Please don't sue me.)