I feel like I've reported on a lot of housing stuff lately, but very little Bear info. Long story short: the Bear is fabulous. As in, most awesome baby ever. He's adorable, he coos, he eats his nummy-solid foods with zeal and best of all, he is sleeping like a champ. I cover his little cheeks daily with thousands of kisses and he and I just can't get enough of each other.
I am also starting to feel a little like a celebrity in my own community. I have trouble going places without people stopping to coo at him. Seriously, I'm not trying to brag (and I hope it doesn't come off that way; perhaps this is how the world responds to a chubby baby? Not sure.) Especially in his forward-facing stroller, everyone has a great angle to glance at him and whether we are at the grocery store, the local mall or out for a walk, I would say 90% of the people that pass by look at him and smile, and then smile at me. 70% of these people vocalize something to him, and about 50% actually stop and squeal. (these are rough estimates, fyi). There is the small 20-30% that actually tries to hug me or attempt to touch my child (which results quickly in me running in the other direction), but I have to admit, all of this attention is really kind of fun. And terrible for my already-inflated ego. I'm the mom with the really cute baby. And Scotty is such a ham, I swear everyday is like a parade for him. He just sits in his stroller in his one-float parade, smiling and waving (not really) at everyone.
It's great that things have finally settled out. This cuteness, combined with the fact I'm only pumping 2x per day, is making things almost...easy. Scotty is only taking 5 bottles per day (6oz each) so our dirty dishes are practically nil. I'm only donning the pink rubber gloves twice daily which means I have so much more time for the important things, like blogging. :-) And thinking crazy, crazy thoughts. Like...let's have another baby.
The other day, during our final walk-through of our house, I found myself standing in one of the bedrooms. We have already assigned rooms for different purposes: guest room, our room, Scotty's room, etc. The first loft will be my writing area (!!) and the second loft will be the kids' playroom. There are still two open bedrooms, which made me start thinking (and yes, you read that correctly...kidS' playroom - as in multiple...)...maybe we should think about expanding the family? I mean, we have all this room...and a really adorable, well-behaved, sweet little boy...I'm staying at home, I've done the newborn circuit once so I have some real hands-on experience...you know, why not?
I'm not getting any younger.
Mind you, just weeks ago, I was bemoaning the idea of being pregnant to a friend. "We're adopting!" I trilled shrilly to her. "I'm NEVER going through that again!" But now, with a content baby, a quiet pump, and a huge house in front of us, I have to admit, it's tempting. Mom-nesia is a powerful sedative...
Brian dismissed my musings as crazy talk. "We could do it," I pressed him. "Maybe not in the next few months, but after Scotty's first birthday..." Even I couldn't believe what I was saying, but it sounded right. After all, once you get through the newness of the first baby, the second one just kinds of folds in, right? Like doubling a batch of cookies.
Fast forward to today. In my glowing fog of Motherhood, I've forgotten about a few things. One - when not at home, I am mostly likely in an environment that is somewhat child-friendly. After all, it seems like everyone I know either has babies or toddlers, is pregnant, or trying to get pregnant. As a result, I've developed a false sense of confidence about not only my mothering abilities, but also my child's behavior. (after all, when you are surrounded by toddlers, it's easy to feel like you are the best mother ever. Your child doesn't run, break stuff, or beat up other children. You just sit back and gamely think, "My screaming child is SO much better behaved that that kid that is drawing on the walls. Bad, bad kid. Good baby. Bad kid, good baby.") And Two - Scotty is bound to have some tough days. He's on the edge of teething, after all, and he has a right to have a grumpy day every once and a while.
So today, I *ahem* attempted to have lunch today with a few friends (former co-workers) that have older kids. Kids that attend school and were not present and are old enough to not try to eat the napkin at the restaurant. Or scream at the top of their lungs or flip around like a little fish when they want to be released from the shoulder harness in the stroller. Or vomit on you - twice - because you overfed them, since you confused their crying with hunger when it was really about teething. Or cause you to run out of the restaurant, tail between your legs, clutching your baby, diaper bag, to-go food and keys, just praying to get home before the Meltdown launches into Stage 5 (the point of no-return).
Needless to say, it was the shortest lunch ever. But it was also a very healthy dose of reality and a good wake-up call to my crazy talk - baby? Another one? Really? Hellll no. At least, not until Scotty can walk, talk, type, and possibly, make his own sandwich. And then make one for his Momma. :-)