38 weeks

Some days I come here just to see how many days I have left.  The counter says 14, but my section is scheduled three days prior, so 11.  Eleven days left.  It sounds so close, yet seems so far away.

I've never been this pregnant before.

Life, daily

I wake before the sun, before my husband, before my son.  I shower and dress, while gently waking the men in my life to start their days.  Waking Carter is a love/hate act.  He is so content and so deeply asleep that some mornings, I have to lift him from his crib to wake his sleepy head.  Some mornings, he rises to greet me.  I relish in his baby-ness.  His soft, rubbery belly skin, his delicious toes and chubby hands.  This baby, half me, half him, is amazing. 

I change a diaper, put on some clothes and his day starts.  These days, he's like a little Linus, insisting on taking his blanket with him most everywhere until he forgets about it, abandoned on the floor.  His hair is unruly because his father wants a "professional" to cut it, insists it's time.  But... my baby.

The drive to work is getting increasingly difficult.  An hour in the car with an infant is easy- make sure their fed and changed and undoubtedly, sleep will follow.   An hour with a toddler requires toys and songs and the tickle monster.  I keep my eye on him via a special "rear seat mirror" and try my best to keep him entertained. 

When we make the turn to his sitter's home, the rising sun blinds us both.  I sing, "Hi Sunshine!  Good morning Sun!" And he waves, while squinting and smiling.  These little moments are ones I do not want to forget.  I want to lock them safely away so I can revist them at less happy times.

The drive home is much the same, except most days he's worn out from playing and laughing and running and squealing the day away.  A two-hour nap is not enough; the sandman will catch him in the car, too.  It makes me happy that he is at a place now where he plays so hard that he cannot help but collapse from sheer exhaustion. 

At home, evenings are a race.  Dinner, bath, bed.  He relishes in "bathtime with Melmo" (he has an Elmo bathmat) and loves the water.  Last night, in fact, he dumped a bucket of it on me.  Stinker.  His feelings are so tender now that even a harsh, "No Sir!" makes his lip quiver and tears come.  He usually comes right back for a hug and reassurance that he is still loved. 

Footy pj's are a year-round staple.  He refuses to sleep under a blanket, so, long sleeves and feet it is.  He is so adorable, so delightfully squishy in them.  He has his night-night milk and it's off to bed he goes.  Where he makes not even a whimper, just rolls over to slumber.  He's been sleeping with a humidifier due to a little cough, but I think it's almost time to switch back to a white-noise machine.  I love that the noises of an awake house do not disturb him if we add a little hum to his room.

His happiness is intoxicating and addictive.  His smiles light up a room and his snuggles.... they are incomparable. 

Soon, things will change.  Time will not be as abundant for him and sharing will be required.  I worry about him and the impending adjustment.  I worry that I'm not enough for two, that one is all my heart can handle.  But, I know that's not true.  I know it will grow.  I know we will all adjust.  We will be fine.

Adventures in Potty Training, sort of

So, a couple of weeks ago, I bought Carter a potty chair.  C kind of thought I was crazy but I figure it's never really too early for a kid to start learning.  So, I told my sitter about his sometimes-dry morning diapers and she encouraged me to let him sit on his potty.  I did and he peed.  We successfully did that 2 or three times- once after a nap, even.  Each time we cheered and danced and then I poured it in the toilet and let him flush while we said, "Bye bye, tee-tee!" 

Then, this morning.  Things started off well, but he wasn't really on the seat good and he was kind of trickling out of the reservoir.  So, I readjusted him.  Then, he dropped his plastic ball in between his legs.  Then he tried to retrieve it and each time I said "No baby, you can't have your ball...." (because it's covered in pee but I don't want to tell you it's dirty because I don't want you to think pee is a bad thing).  So, he got up and went and plopped down against the tub and cried.  And peed.  All over my bath mat. 


I knew things were going too well.... Monday's sometimes just start in the pisser.