So I thought about posting this picture today:

And I could have left it as just that -- a great picture of Scotty. Looking jubilant and proud as he stood on the slide at the park yesterday. I love that he's looking in the distance with a big grin on his face; it really sums up what our little Mayor Bear is all about.

Except that's not the truth. Because right after the picture was taken, this happened:

Not quite so proud and victorious, eh?

See, this is one of the problems with Motherhood (and our media-obsessed society). I could have easily just left the first picture up and called it a day, while waiting for all of the "He's so adorable!" comments to roll in. And yes, while he is adorable, he's also extremely unsteady on his feet which means he's a disaster on an uneven slope like a slide.

The last thing I want to do is write a blog that isn't honest. And while pictures on Facebook, Twitter, other mommy blogs, etc are great, it only shows a snapshot - literally, a snapshot -of what this whole experience is like. Also, I didn't mention that is took us almost 90 minutes just get to the park, and we stayed for all of 20 minutes. A little blond terror by the name of Liam took it upon himself to make sure he followed Scotty around and got in his way on each piece of equipment (the terrible twos, no doubt. And this kid was terrible).  Liam Khan finally kicked Scotty's hand as they climbed on the slide together (and Liam's mom was a no-show) so we left.

Don't get me wrong - it was a fun day, but so much work went into a very small amount of time. And I don't know why I feel strongly about this, but I just really dislike it when people gloss over all of the hard work that goes into Motherhood and offer chirpy comments or rah-rah support. So in the sake of full disclosure, I offer both sides - and both pictures - to the story.

One topic that I have not really addressed seriously in this blog is the topic of weight. Weight gain, weight loss, baby weight...blah, blah, blah. Aside from a few silly comments about an ill-fitting dress or bathing suit, quite frankly, I'm bored with the topic of weight. Because I've been there, done that, and in my opinion, it's rather tired.

But I received an email from a friend this weekend that put it into new light for me; namely, how do some women (read: the Bikini Babes) snap back into shape so quickly post-baby, and some women don't? It's kind of like a genetic lottery, it seems - depending on your numbers, either you are blessed or cursed with an inherent predisposition to either keep weight on or shed it quickly. I like to think that I'm from hearty Irish stock that needed to keep weight on in order to survive cold Irish winters.

Of course, that doesn't explain the Tollhouse cookie ice cream sandwich I ate yesterday, but whatever. I'm not a geneticist.

But I'm also not 100% happy with my body, either. Cold Irish winters aside, I wouldn't mind not feeling the need to dive immediately underwater at the start of swim lessons. I wouldn't mind fitting into more than 30% of my current clothing selection. I would like to not sweat while I eat (editor's note: this not only doesn't happen, but I shamelessly stole this line from Jen Lancaster. Sorry, it just seemed fitting. And hilarious, much like Ms. Lancaster herself.)

And over the weekend, I ran across this old photo of me, circa 2006:

I've never posted a picture of myself on the blog before, because I have always felt that this is Scotty's story, not mine. But for purposes of example, I looked at this picture and thought, "Man! I was skinny!"

Not "Wow, I was so happy!" but skinny. Because I think we're all old enough to know that the number on the scale does not dictate happiness.

And let me tell you, it was a low number on the scale when this picture was taken. We were three days out from the wedding, on honeymoon in Oahu at the (now closed) Dole Pineapple farm. And despite the large smile on my face (attributed mainly to large, soft-serve pineapple ice cream cone in front of me), I was not a happy camper. At all. In fact, that ice cream cone was probably the only thing keeping me going at that point. Our wedding had been a disaster, I was still shell-shocked, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw Storm Troopers.

(if you don't know the story, I'm not even going to get into it. Sorry.)

So yeah, in terms of weight, I don't see a happy person in this picture, just a skinny one. And not surprisingly, the 22 lbs I had lost for the wedding came back within a year, plus ten more.

Which is why when I ask myself in present time, "Should I lose weight? Should I jump on that wagon again?" the only response I keep coming up with is...no.  I just don't care. Now, that kind of a response is a bit of a red flag for anyone in the field of psychology. I don't care? First thought: depression. But I did a full-body scan for any symptom of depression (Mood = fine, sleep = great when I can get it, appetite = normal, energy = good, no suicidal thoughts, feelings of hopelessness or worthlessness. Depression scan = a-okay) and came up with nothing. I think it's because at this point in the game, I know that losing weight doesn't make your life better, and gaining weight doesn't make it worse. It's just a number on the scale.

So what is the point of this whole post? Well, I would like to feel healthier. And right now, the only number I'm looking at is my BMI - body mass index. Which is saying that yes, I am overweight. Despite the fact that I am four pounds below my pre-pregnancy weight, I am exactly 15 lbs heavier than a 'healthy' BMI of 25.0.  So me minus 15 lbs = healthier, yes? Sounds doable.

I think is a great starting point.  This is reasonable goal, one that will hopefully see me fitting into my clothes better, feeling less self-conscious at swim lessons, and producing an over-all increase in energy throughout the day.

I don't want to become a Diet Zombie -- you know, the girlfriend who has that slightly crazy look in her eye whenever you sit down at a restaurant. The one who watches you bring you fork to your mouth with a glimmer of both intense jealousy and slight disgust. The one who never stops talking about her cardio routine or last workout. I've been that person and I don't like it.

I want to eat healthier, be more active, and just see what happens. As a fan of the scientific method, why not?

And I'd like to invite you to join me - maybe you are a new mom, too, that pulled an unlucky number in the genetic weight lottery. Or maybe you are having a baby and are worried how you are going to shed not only your baby weight but also your rekindled love for double-stuffed Oreos once the little fella joins us. Or maybe you don't have kids at all, but wouldn't mind feeling healthier. Whatever the reason, just do it.

The rules:  every Wednesday, I hereby dub it "Weigh-in Wednesday." I'll be posting my stats, as well as a recap of the week. Feel free to share yours, or just read about my progress (or lack thereof - ha!). I'll also be posting a recipe or work-out that I found helpful, and if you've got one, please share it. But no processed diet plans -- Jenny Craig, Nutrisystem, etc -- I think they are all gimmicks. If you want to lose weight, then let's do it the natural way: fewer calories and more exercise. Considering dieting in this country is a multi-billion dollar industry, I'd like people to learn the right way to eat (myself included) and not rely on a program that works up until the moment you go off of it. (Weight Watchers is kosher, in my opinion...you eat real food and learn portion control.)

I figure we can do this until the end of the year and then actually be ahead of the game come New Year's. So, let me know what you think. It will be an interesting experiment!

Today is Monday and my BMI is currently 27.4.

Brian is currently installing a baby gate at the bottom of the stairs. I want to recap this for you by the numbers:

Number of days the gate installation has been going on: 3

Number of gates to be installed: 1



Amount of time it says on the box it will take to install the gate: 30 minutes

Number of trips to Lowe's: 3

Score he received on his ACTs:  33

Number of screws he has stripped: 4

Age he became a shareholder at his firm: 33

Number of times he's accidentally drilled into his own hand: 2

Number of Ivy League schools he's attended: 2

Number of times he's threatened to stop the installation if I don't quit blogging about him: 2

Number of times I've thought about installing the gate myself: 15

Number of years of higher education he's had: 7

Number of times he's read the directions:  6

Number of holes in my banister:  4

Amount of sawdust laying on my new tile:  approximately 2 oz.

Number of dirty looks I've received from him: too many to count.

::sigh::

Couldn't find my life-guarding suit. (It's probably lost in my parents' house, among old sorority sweatshirts and high school papers). So I wore a black tankini from two summers ago that was highly suspicious in the boob area, but whatever. It was going to be me and the Bikini Babes, right?

Wrong.

Saturday at swim lessons is clearly "Dad's Day."

Oh, kill me now. Please. Breasts everywhere, men surrounding me, and straps that didn't hold ANYTHING in.

At least Scotty had fun.

Scotty and I are off to swimming lessons again (what I am now referring to as "Humiliation I am Paying For,"or just "Paid Humiliation" for short).  The towels are packed, his suit is laid out, and I have decided that I'm going to wear my life-guarding suit circa the summer of 1997. It's the only one that seems remotely appropriate (in the sense that it 'contains' everything). I'm going to look like a moron, but whatever. Here's hoping the bikini moms from Thursday are sunning themselves far, far away from swim lessons today.

And really, the only reason I'm continuing (aside from the fact that we signed up for pre-paid lessons) is that Scotty looked so darn happy when we got out of the pool. He was literally grinning from ear to ear, even after we got out of the water. When I toweled him off, I have expected him to give me a high five and a breathless, "Great workout, Mom...let's do it again soon" comment.

Such a silly bear.

We are coming up to almost 24 hours bottle-free...and we are still alive.

Whew.

I will say, the afternoon nap is almost nearly a disaster and taking away the bottle yesterday proved to be no exception. I decided to give Scotty his last bottle for the 9am nap, and it was a little emotional for me. I realized that I am not going to rock him to sleep (or sleepiness) anymore. It's like naptime (and bedtime, to some degree) has become a diaper change, a little snuggle in the glider and then, "Okay, well, then. Talk to you soon, kid" and I exit. A little, um...abrupt?

And I also realized that Brian is either going to have to do bathtime or won't see Scotty at all at night. This also made me a little sad. We've been trading off at nighttime - I tackle the Bear in the water and then promptly pass him off to Brian for bottle and rocking. But now...no bottle. So what do we do?

Anyways, yesterday afternoon's nap was **almost** a success except Scotty decided to poop about 30 minutes into falling asleep. Who poops when they are sleeping? I'm still trying to wrap my brain around that one. Likewise, I feel like I have a love/hate relationship with poop. He seems to not poop enough, and then when he does, it's at the most inopportune times. Oh, well.

So by the time bedtime rolled around (and I was flying solo as Brian had dinner with a friend), Scotty went down with no problem. But in the sake of full disclosure, I feel like I need to also point out...he had a crappy 30 minute afternoon nap, we had swimming lessons at 5pm, ate dinner at 6, and then I ran the kid around (on the stairs, no less) until 7pm. So yes, I kind of feel like I cheated. Scotty went down without so much as a peep, probably because he was absolutely exhausted.

But hey, all's fair in love and Motherhood, right?

And today for the morning nap, there was some serious fussing. But he also had dropped Froggie outside of the crib, so I think that contributed to the hysterics. He's still sleeping now, my sink is strangely empty of dishes, and my countertops are glistening. It's a new world, indeed.

As for swimming lessons...okay, was I being punked yesterday? It was my first time taking him (Brian and Scotty had gone previously for a little Father-Bear bonding) and I will admit, I was a little self-conscious in my suit. I had bought it back before the Scottsdale trip and since then, I've lost weight. No worries - I still look like I'm five months pregnant, but the only place to have lost girth is in the boobs (so typical). So the top (on a very conservative black one-piece, I might add) was a little big. Breasts everywhere. Yet the tummy was still protruding and the butt...well, I didn't look that far. But I kept telling myself, it's fine, whatever, we're all mothers and there's no way I'm going to be the heaviest one in the class.

And as Scotty and I sat on the bench waiting for our lesson to start, it hit me that I have to stop fidgeting with my suit and keep a hand on my child. It was really like a light bulb of Motherhood went off over my head -- it was like, "Da-dum! You cannot be vain enough to worry about yourself when your child is inches from a pool." It was both illuminating and slightly unsettling (mainly because I was really worried a boob was going to pop out if I moved the wrong way). But, boobs be damned, I'm a mom now. And that means I'll flash the whole pool if it means saving my child from falling in.

And if my boob-drama wasn't enough, imagine my horror when they called for my class and two other women, clad in string bikinis, stand up clutching their toddlers. Um...what? I know this is Vegas and all, but seriously? Were we at Wet Republic? Bare? Any other Strip property that encourages nakedness? Last time I checked, it was 'Water Wings' on the corner of Trop and Fort Apache, not Heidi Montag's birthday party. And aside from their general hotness, how did they manage to lose the baby weight? And why was I in their class?

I really thought there were cameras there or something to record the look of horror that must have crossed my face. But again, boobs and bikinis aside, I'm a mom and I was there to let the little Bear float, jump, swim and kick. And that's what he did. But I made sure my towel was within reaching distance the moment I got out of the water. 

With Scotty's milestone birthday behind us, there have been some big changes around our house.

First of all, our little Bear can face forward in the car. Hooray! I love this arrangement, especially since I positioned his seat behind the passenger's seat, not mine. I just turn my head a little and can actually see my child, as opposed to having to look into the maze of mirrors I've been living with for the past year. Scotty, I think, also digs this arrangement since I usually reach back during red lights to high five him. It's like having an actual human passenger in the car, not some mysterious bundle in a baby seat. I can't wait until we start fighting over the radio station.

And yes, as soon as I took this picture, I realized that 1.) the straps on chest harness were too low and 2.) I didn't like having the seat directly behind mine. So...I took the damn thing out (again), redid the straps, and rehooked the seat on the other side. I'm starting to realize that "car seat installation" are three of the most dreaded words in the human language, since it took me several days (and much swearing) to actually accomplish this feat. The first time I tried to tackle it, it was during Scotty's naptime and I was crawling around in my car, with the garage door closed in the middle of the afternoon in August. In Las Vegas. Which meant the garage was approximately 140 degrees. And there was a stinky garbage bag of dirty diapers right next to me. (but I couldn't open the garage door b/c Scotty was napping and his room is right above the garage...argh). Needless to say, it was a "call Brian and cry" kind of afternoon.

But...we got it installed. Twice, in fact. And now I'm not touching that car seat until it's time for him to go to a booster seat. I will likely take that car seat out to an empty field and beat it "Office Space" style one day. That's how I feel about car seat installation.

Second, we are....(drumroll please)...done with formula (!!) and DONE WITH BOTTLES! Hooray! My kitchen counters are mine again! I can finally let my lovely granite counter tops shine, and not be repressed by bottle racks. Mind you, I've been washing bottles at least 3x/day, everyday, for the last year of my life. I'm ready to be done. (I think about my friend Courtney who had kids fairly close together and she's literally been washing bottles since May 2008. With several more months ahead of her. So I really have nothing to complain about). We saw Dr. Awesome this morning and she said "vamoose!" to the bottles. I'm 100% on board with this.

Also at Dr. Awesome's appointment, we learned just how big of a Bear we have. He is currently weighing in at 27lbs, 10oz (he lost a little weight from his last appointment). He's 31 inches tall, and his head circumference is a whopping 20 inches. For weight and height, he's 97%ile and 75%ile, but for head size, he's +99ile. So we are going back in a month for a recheck, just to make sure it's evening out. I told the doc that there are just a lot of brains in there, but I blame Brian for this.

And finally, I took down the baby gates this week and have allowed our little guy to roam free. With a little coaxing and a well-placed wooden spoon (he loves his wooden spoon), he started...climbing! He made it up all 17 stairs and 2 landings with no problem and promptly crawled into the master bedroom to play with the ceiling fan remote. He is obsessed with remote controls (like his father) and is happy as a calm to push the buttons all day. I'm sure we will end up with three very dead ceiling fan remotes in about a month, but for now, he can play away.

Oh, and Brian and I have also taken to calling Scotty "the Mayor" or "Politician Bear." This kid can work a room. We walked into Child's Play yesterday (a neighborhood kids' gym) and Scotty immediately began waving to people like he knew them. He was more than happy to crawl over to anyone who was sitting, climb up their legs, and tap them on the face (there were a lot of patient parents at Child's Play yesterday). I'm surprised he didn't shake hands and kiss babies. And then we left, he again threw up a very enthusiastic, Nixon-like, two-handed wave at the room.

Such a silly boy.

Let's hope he stops biting Momma very soon. 

There is a river of mucus running through my house.

So Brian started this mess (I'm going to blame it on him; sorry, sweetie) almost two weeks ago. Scotty followed his da-da's lead and promptly came down with an ear infection and a perpetually runny nose. And now, I have joined the gang and I'm about 99.9% sure that I have a sinus infection (you know the kind - bright green boogies, the feeling like your head is going to explode, etc). I can't stop blowing my nose, my head is stuffed up, and my whole face is swollen.

I've been fairly grumpy the last few days, and combine this with a self-imposed exile during Scotty's illness means we been out of contact with the outside world for almost 10 days.  I'm starting to get a little stir crazy.

And no, Scotty has not stopped trying to bite me. So I am trapped with a vampire child and his runny nose that screams when I attempt to wipe his nose. Even the grape-flavored boogie wipes are not helping.

I think he's getting a little stir crazy too, since in addition to his vampire baby tendencies, he's added 'food fight' to the list. He is refusing to eat. I mean, he will eat it if HE picks it up, but heaven help us if I try to feed him on a spoon. Both hands go to the face, he shakes his head, he cries.

Oh, joy.

So instead of my taking this space to whine and complain more (I think the above paragraphs suffice), how about some cute pictures? Because colds don't last forever and I need something to think about other than my throbbing sinus headache.

And yes, Scotty looks very grumpy in the pictures because not only is he sick (and I dragged him outside for a little fresh air), but it was also 110 degrees out. Is August over yet??

So, if you know me, you know I am a big fan of the HBO series 'True Blood.' And I have read all of the Twilight books. Big fan. (although Stephanie Meyer, not such a fan.) Loved them.

That is, until my child turned into a little vampire himself.

Scotty has started...biting. Me. Mostly me, sometimes Brian.

And let me tell you...it HURTS. Ouch.

I guess he thinks I'm Sookie or Bella or something. Do I look like a waitress from Bon Temps? Or a melancholy high school student with a penchant for Pop Tarts from Washington state? I don't think so.

I have no idea what to do about this. It usually comes out of nowhere, and just when I think he's leaning in for a hug...WHAM! Sharp little teeth on my shoulder/arm/chest/neck, or my personal favorite: my knee.

What the heck?

In my favorite baby book (Baby 411), they recommend you don't scream. How is this possible? The first time he bit me, I not only screamed in pain but also cried. (it hurt! I had a bruise for a week). The second time I yelped but managed to hold back the tears but I had to walk into the other room, cursing under my breath in an effort to maintain my composure. And now, I can usually spot him when he's coming in for a bite since his mouth is wide open, fangs are bared, and he has this crazy rabid baby look in his eyes.

Which means that snuggling has been put on the back burner until we correct this problem, since I don't really want him to draw blood anytime soon.

What do you do about this?? I'm trying to ignore the behavior but it is really, really hard. God help us the day he decides to bite a random stranger or another kid.

We took Scotty out to eat for his birthday last night (Red Robin...yum!) and I think all three of us were surprised when our table filled up with waiters clapping and singing at the end of the meal. I mean, we had mentioned to the waitress that it was Scotty's birthday (mainly to score a free balloon), but did he really need a full-restaurant serenade? And once people at the other tables realized it wasn't Brian or my birthday, they were all smiling at our little Bear, too.

Except our little Bear wasn't smiling.

He didn't cry - I'll give him that - but he looked completely and utterly confused about the whole process. And I will admit, when 12 wait staff gather round and start belting out a tune with matching hand gestures., it can be a little overwhelming

I managed to capture his expression after it ended.

Priceless.

And Brian and I split the free sundae. Score!