Every Little Wonder

Ezra is amazing.

It’s such a crazy age, right around now. He wants to be everywhere, at once, and he usually succeeds. Nothing is interesting for more than a few seconds. He loves food one day and hates it the next. He has a constant death grip on one of my fingers and he never wants to be alone and he wants to play in the cat food or bang things on the tv or stand at the front door and jiggle the knob (He can reach the knob now? Wait, what? When did this happen?). He’s teething, like all the time, 24/7, hardcore. It makes him fussy and whimpery, but he’s handling it way better than I would, so I can’t even complain. I don’t want him to watch much tv, you know, but sometimes I just wish he would anyway. I wish I could just curl up on the couch with him and watch—I don’t even care. Thomas and Friends or Dora or whatever, anything, just so we could sit still for more than 30 seconds. But TV is so boring, mom!, and there’s a ball of loose cat fuzz on the carpet that needs to be inspected and DVDs that need be thrown off the shelf and…here we go, nonstop party time, and didn’t you know, naps are for babies, mom!, let’s go go go!

But, goodness, he’s just delightful. He’s finally starting to walk, little cautious steps, looking for approval the whole way. He stops to clap for himself after a few steps and squeals with delight. He’s so happy, so loving, so sweet. So full of excitement and laughter. He sings along and dances and claps whenever he hears music. He plays pat-a-cake games and chases the cats down so he can hug them and he growls like a monster when we’re having tickle fights. He’s a charmer, a total flirt with the grandmas in the grocery store aisles. He loves staring at our faces and trying to figure out where the nose is, the eyes, the mouth… he loves his belly button and he loves having his head rubbed and his ears cleaned. He’s obsessed with brushing his teeth, or at least with chewing on the toothbrush for hours.

And sometimes, right in the middle of the baby-step-taking, cat-chasing, teeth-brushing, dirt-eating, breathless-laughing, living-room-destroying, nonstop BabyPartyFest, he comes up to me and wraps his little arms around me and plants a big juicy kiss on my face and buries his head in my neck, and…yeah. I knew when I had a kid that I would love him like crazy of course, but I didn’t expect it to come in fits and starts like this. One minute you’re on the ground playing with a toy car and trying to figure out what to make for dinner and thinking about how tired you are and all the bills that need to paid and who’s going to clean the dishes and and and… and then bam, a tiny crazy monkey baby is dangling from your neck and mushing his face up against yours and suddenly you can’t even breathe because you’re heart is just exploding right out of your chest.

Sleep Issues. We haz them.

So, Ezra is a fantastic baby. Of course. Obviously. He is the cutest, bestest, smartest, funniest, happiest, amazingest baby in the whole world times infinity. Fact.

But the boy HATES going to sleep. Hates it with a fierce passion. The type of hatred one typically reserves for IRS audits or Holocaust deniers or that asshole right in front of me at Starbucks who ordered the last cheese danish.

The very second we try to lay him down to sleep for nap time or bedtime, my otherwise superhappy baby transforms into The Beast Who Shall Not Be Tamed. There is screaming and yelling and crying. Flailing and smacking. Rending of garments and gnashing of teeth. Heartbreak. Misery. Despair.

And after the forever long it takes to soothe him to sleep, the whole scene is usually repeated around 2 or 3 in the morning, when he wakes up and decides playing is so much better than stupid sleep.

I’m at a loss, really. Ezra hates being alone. I’m okay with that. I’m okay with rocking him to sleep if he needs it. I’m okay with us cosleeping. The thing he does as he drifts off to sleep? Where he grabs my finger tightly with one hand and then uses the other hand to rub my arm softly? It’s pretty much the sweetest thing ever. I’m going to be a sad panda the day he stops doing that.

But what is killing me is how hard he fights sleep no matter how exhausted he is. He’s been like that since he was a newborn, but now that he’s outgrown the swaddle and learned to sit and pull himself up on his own, it’s so much harder to keep him laying down long enough to close his eyes. And when one of us holds him down firmly, he just stares. Eyes locked wide open, barely allowing himself to blink. Because as soon as he closes his eyes, he starts to fall asleep, and this is just ENTIRELY UNACCEPTABLE. IT IS PARTY TIME PEOPLE, NOT SLEEP TIME!

After two increasingly frustrating hours trying to get him to take his nap yesterday, I actually yelled at him for the first time. He sat up and laughed at my “WHY WON’T YOU JUST SLEEP?!?!” outburst like it was the funniest joke he’s ever heard and I immediately felt like a giant douchebag and tried to relieve my guilt by taking him to the living room to play…so, yeah, Ezra: 100, Mommy: -100000000.

How does this ever end? We have a bedtime routine. We have baths and books. We have a relaxing, quiet environment. I’ve tried putting him to bed earlier. I’ve tried putting him to bed later. I’ve tried feeding him more or less. I’ve tried music and rocking and walking and white noise. I’ve tried tylenol and teething tablets in case it’s from any pain. I’ve taken him to the doctor to rule out anything more serious. I’ve read books and websites and tried everything I can think of (except for letting him cry it out, which I just don’t have the stomach for). I have NO IDEA what to do anymore. I mean, besides doing my best zombie impersonation every morning.

(I guess the one benefit to having horrible insomnia my whole life is that I’m pretty experienced in (just barely) getting by on a pitifully small amount of sleep. Yay? )

My request to work from home two days a week was approved.

Internet, let us all breathe a collective sigh of relief. I know you were worried about me.

Wednesdays and Fridays are now officially the days I work from home, i.e., the days I lounge around in jammies with a cute baby and a laptop and a much chirpier personality from not getting up at 6am and not being stuck in traffic for four hours. I.E. NOT SUCKY DAYS.

The best part of working from home:

Notice: lack of shoes! awesome baby! sunshine!

And—less than two minutes later—the worst part of working from home:

I think I am going to have to buy Ezra a laptop for his birthday.* I see no other possible solution to this.

*Speaking of his birthday: OH HOLY WTF?! ONE YEAR? WHAT? This cannot possibly be right! Somebody hold me.

1. There is a not-too-small part of me that wishes I could move to Alabama and wear sundresses and drink sweet tea and call everyone ‘honey’ and bake lots of pies.
2. I’m a perfectionist, but the laziest perfectionist ever. I’d rather just not do something than have to actually, you know, try or work hard. In my twisted-up brain, effort is for suckers. If I could change anything about myself, I’d start there. (But you know, that seems hard. I’ll just sit here and eat some cake instead.)
3. I love everything about the ocean, but when I think about the deep, deep sea—even for just a few seconds—it fills me with extreme anxiety. It is too scary down there!
4. I go to Starbucks every single stupid day just so that I have an excuse to leave my cubicle. My waistline and my wallet are not happy with this AT ALL.
5. I watch Secret Life of the American Teenager. I don’t know why. I can’t even call it a guilty pleasure because there’s no pleasure involved whatsoever. It’s painful. I hate every single aspect of that show. And yet. There I go. Watching it every week.
6. Given unlimited money and support, I would want to have a huuuuge family. Like, Angelina-Jolie-huge. Like Cheaper-by-the-Dozen-huge. Like you-have-HOW-many-kids??? huge. Huge. Kids, everywhere!
7. My fantasy dream career? It changes at least every few weeks. I’m beyond jealous of people who have always known what they wanted to do.
8. The one exception? For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be Indiana Jones when I grow up. It was a sad day when I realized that studying archeology would not in fact guarantee a life of endless travel and adventure and intrigue (and, uh, womanizing?).
9. I subscribe to almost 400 blogs. This is the real reason I never get any work done. It’s a disease. I need help.
10. I want to be a stay-at-home/work-from-home mom in theory, but whenever I spend more than a day or two at home with kids (mine or otherwise) I get horribly antsy and frustrated and awful. I don’t have what it takes to be fully engaged with kids (or anyone, for that matter) on a 24/7 basis.
11. I feel really guilty about that even though I know I shouldn’t.
12. I read so many ‘the truth about motherhood!’ type of articles and blog entries and whatnot before I had Ezra that I was pretty much expecting everything to be completely terrible. I thought I would regret the c-section forever (I never even think about it), I wouldn’t bond with baby right away (I fell crazy, madly in love with him the first time I saw him), I would go through a horrible bout of PPD (I know I had some low moments, but I mostly remember being incredibly happy the few months after he was born), that Cris and I would drift apart and not be able to make time for each other anymore (I think we’re doing better than ever (just don’t ask me in the middle of the night when the baby is crying and he somehow sleeps right through it (jerk))), and that I would feel like I had ‘lost myself’ (I’m still here! Everything’s the same, but I get this cute baby now! Bonus!). I sometimes feel bad that things were so much easier for me that they were for many other women.
13. I think I used to be a good writer but either I’ve totally forgotten how or I’m going through an awful, years-long bout of writer’s block. Hence the lame posts and lists like this.
14. Uh, sorry?

After complaining to my mom about our Endless Sleepless Nights and the epic fog of sleep deprivation that is currently holding my brain hostage, she offered to pick Ezra up this Friday night and take care of him until Sunday so that we could have the weekend to ourselves. To party. And by ‘party’, I mean ‘nap’. And by ‘nap’, I mean ‘sleep for 36 hours straight’.

As much as I love my mom for offering, and as much as I realize how incredibly lucky I am that this is even an option for us, I hate hate hate the tailspin of self-doubt and confusion that offers like this throw me into. Do I want my mom to take Ezra for the weekend? On the one hand: NO YOU CAN’T HAVE MY BABY! He’s MINE! I will miss him so much if he’s gone all weekend! It’s the only time I get to spend with him besides fighting him for sleep every night! I want to snuggle with him and play with him and help him walk across the living room and chase the cats! I want to see his hilarious expressions when trying new foods and hear him babble away for hours! I want some sloppy, drooly open-mouth kisses and some sweet, sleepy hugs! I want to take pictures of him and go to the beach and have a baby dance party, darn it! Stay away from my baby!!!

Aaaand on the other hand: OMG YES PLEASE! Please! I will be able to sleep! And do laundry! And sleep! And finish all the work that has been piling up and finish watching season 2 of Veronica Mars and drop off all the crap that’s been accumulating in the ‘Drop Off at Goodwill!’ box corner of the living room! And sleep! OMG, did I mention sleep! Maybe we can have some people over for dinner! Maybe we can have some drinks! Maybe go see a movie! Maybe sleep more!

And on my third, mutant hand (and this is where things get really fun in my head): What kind of a selfish cow of mother would hand her child off to someone else for days just so she could sleep in?! Why would I mess up my baby’s already precarious sleep schedule for a chance to plop myself in front of the tv and eat cookies uninterrupted? How sad and horrible of me! My baby clearly deserves a better mother!!!

AND ON AND ON IT GOES.

I have no idea which of my many hands will be the winner come Friday, but I am already completely exhausted just thinking about it.

When I was pregnant, I swore I would never be one of those mothers who stuck their babies in a playpen. You know, those mothers who gleefully abandon their poor, neglected babies so they can, like, drink martinis and get manicures and whatever? Right.

And then Ezra started crawling all over the place on an epic quest to find new, amazing things to put in his mouth. Like cell phone chargers and cat fur and loose change. And it turns out I need to actually use the bathroom or get food ready or do something, anything once in a while. So… yeah. So much for that.

I’m becoming remarkably good at doing things I swore I’d never do.

I’m going to start this post with a picture of my baby’s bum:

I’ve really got nothing to top that.

Ezra is rolling and flopping and squirming like crazy in his quest to learn how to crawl. He does some pretty epic downward dog poses and then launches off head-first into whatever is in front him. And then he cracks up. Funny stuff.

The not-so-funny stuff is the part where he’s so gosh-darned excited about moving that he refuses to lay still in bed. No matter how late is. No matter how tired he is. And especially no matter how tired I am. Even half asleep and whimpering, with eyes closed, he tries to squirm on to his tummy. So either I hold him and he open his eyes and starts screaming at me. Or I let him roll over and he opens his eyes and starts trying to launch himself off the side of the bed while laughing adorably. And then crying because he’s just so sleepy.

And he does this for hours before finally falling asleep.

And then he wakes up a few times throughout the night and repeats the madness just for good measure.

In other words: Man, I could use a nap.

• The first time I rubbed Ezra’s tiny head in the hospital after he was born. I couldn’t get over how impossibly soft his hair was, how sweet he smelled, how perfect he was.
• The first time Ezra really really laughed. We were at his aunt’s house, and his 9-year-old cousin came over and said “I bet I can make Ezra laugh! I’m really good at making babies laugh!” and I stupidly thought, um, surrrre you can. Then he… I don’t know? Moved his head a little bit? Made a little sound? And Ezra just cracked up. He started laughing so hard and so loud and it was the best sound I’ve ever heard in my life. Good job, little nephew!
• The huuuuge smile and happy shrieks from Ezra when we start to read him his bedtime story at night.
• The first time we took Ezra to church, on Easter. It was so loud and his eyes got huge and his face crumpled up and he was about to start screaming, but I held him close and made soft shushing sounds and he looked at me and grabbed on my fingers and immediately calmed down as he nuzzled his face against my neck.
• Our daily walks to Starbucks towards the end of my maternity leave, and seeing Ezra so excited and curious about the world around him.
• The first time I saw Cris napping on the recliner, with a tiny Ezra napping on his chest. It was this tiny moment where it finally sunk in that this is my life now and it felt perfect.
• Every night putting him to bed, the way he curls up on his side to face me and pulls my arm close to him and runs his amazing little hands over my hands over and over, and clasps on to my fingers so that he can make sure I stay close as he falls asleep. I don’t appreciate this as much as I should since I’m always trying to pry myself so I can go do dishes or watch tv or whatever. But really, it’s the sweetest thing ever and I’m going to miss it like crazy when he’s old enough to not care anymore.

There are so many I’m already forgetting. I wish I could package every moment up and save it forever. I wish I could freeze time and just stare at his face for hours, memorizing every tiny detail.

I called in sick this morning so I could spend the day with a feverish, sleepy Ezra. Yesterday was our 6-month checkup and vaccinations. Ezra handled it like a champ and the charmed the pants off of the nurses (uh, not really. ew.), but then he woke up at one in the morning with a fever and just wanted to spend a couple hours making pitiful whimpering sounds and cuddling up with me. In other words, I spent the night trying to sleep in a pool of sweat and droll.

Aside: Every time the nurse has given Ezra the rotovirus vaccine, she’s given us a little speech beforehand saying that he’ll probably spit it out, most babies do, but that’s okay, etc. And it amuses me because she obviously does not remember my son. Because, Ezra? Yeah, he’s the one trying to rip it out of your hand so he can shove it in his mouth even faster. Because medicine, didn’t you know, IS DELICIOUS OMG MORE PLEASE!

Right now, Ezra’s sitting in his Circle of Neglect (i.e. the hideous exersaucer) while I try to get some cleaning done check twitter and facebook. He keeps excitedly trying to show me his favoritest thing on the exersaucer: the fabric tag hanging off one of the stuffed toys. Because of course that would be his favorite thing.

Every time I’m home alone with Ezra for the day, I try to get work done to prove to myself that I could make it as a work-at-home mom. But I started this post at 9 and it’s already 3 and the most exciting thing I’ve accomplished so far is microwaving some leftovers for lunch. So… maybe not.

But now it looks like my baby is ready for a nap and I think I just might join him. Who needs accomplishments when there are babies to cuddle?

I know it might seem like I’m a little biased, but it’s actually 100% pure scientific fact that Ezra is the most amazing, intelligent, fantastic, adorable, funny, wonderful baby who has ever existed in the history of forever.

I am not a morning person. I detest mornings. But a certain someone is making it VERY HARD to be a grumpypants in the morning, as is my wont.

For Ezra, mornings are a time of wonder and delight and giggles and silliness. He wakes us up laughing and smacking various body parts until we’re awake enough to play with him too, and then he happily sits on the bed with toys or stuffed animals or books while Cris and I take turns either tickling him or getting ready for work. It is sweet and adorable, and it makes getting up in the morning totally worth it.

Oh, Ezra. I never knew 6am could look so delicious!

I don’t know if it’s teething or a growth spurt or some karmic retribution for sins I committed in a past life, but Ezra has just not been a happy sleeper lately. Back in the distant, barely remembered past, he would go to sleep and 8pm and wake up around 6am. It was nice. I was functional.
Lately? Not so much. Last night, he woke up crying every hour or so for his binky (I have a definite love/hate relationship with that thing) and then stayed awake (and miserable! and LOUD!) from around 2 to 5:30. THAT WAS FUN.
I kept trying to nurse him, but we would fuss and yell and pull away, so I just figured hunger wasn’t the problem. But in a last-ditch effort to get him to sleep oh my god please sleeeeep!!!, Cris went and made a bottle for him. He nearly swallowed the bottle whole in his attempt to drink it as fast as possible, and then he immediately fell asleep until we had to wake him this morning.
So, huh. Maybe this breastfeeding thing is coming to an end? Huh.
And the thought of this is actually making me sad? Huh.
This is unexpected.

While in Sacramento last weekend, we also visited my friend’s brand new tiny week-old baby girl. I got all squeeeeeey the second I saw her adorable itty-bitty baby face and chub rolls and purple hair bow. Personality-wise, she was about as opposite from Ezra as could be possible, I think. She was all calm and serene and peaceful where Ezra was fidgety and feisty and already straining to sit up. I know when people would hold him during the first couple months, they would always comment on how active he was, but I didn’t really have much to compare it to and it thought it was just something people said. I had no idea babies could be like this. Oh my. Oh, my ovaries!

I spent the car ride home trying to convince Cris that having another baby right now is probably a really great idea, ok???

I remember being really sad for a bit in the hospital after Ezra’s birth because I knew that I would never want to go through childbirth again. Never ever. Never ever ever. Definitely. No matter what. For sure. Never. Labor was that painful. Surgery was that traumatic. Recovery was that awful. I always knew I wanted more than one kid, and I got so sad because I knew that would never happen now. Ezra would be my only baby. Forever.

Fast-forward five months and I honestly have no idea what I was talking about. It wasn’t that bad at all! Sheesh! No problem! Let’s do it again! Nine months of uncomfortableness? Thirty-two hours of horrible labor? Weeks of painful recovery? LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU. It’s just amazing how quickly I’ve forgotten the whole thing. Whatever space in my brain was occupied by OMG TRAUMA!!! memories has quickly been replaced with OMG! BABY GIGGLES!!! memories.

It’s obviously not at all the right time to even think about having a second baby—there are bills to pay off, houses to buy, better jobs to get, pottytraining to complete—but I’m surprisingly relieved to realize that it’s not number one on my list of things to NEVER EVER DO AGAIN anymore. One day we’ll be there.

As I was going through Ezra’s old clothes to donate, I came across a pile of newborn onesies that made me sob like a little girl a bit teary-eyed. Was my baby ever that impossibly small? Who is this giant who’s a mere bowl of carrots away from 12-month sized clothes? Who is he and what has he done with my teensy baby?

He’s growing so, so quickly. Everything is just zooming by. He can sit unsupported for whole seconds at a time, people! This is so amazing. So fascinating! I came across a new blog (everybody loves baby) and saw a picture of a little boy standing and thought aww, one day Ezra’s gonna learn to stand up! … and then I realized that her baby is only three months older than mine and “one day” is probably not so far away after all.

O.M.G.

In the beginning, people would tell me to appreciate the time when he was an itty bitty brand new baby because it would pass in the blink of an eye. I would smile politely and think I understood what they were talking about, but, really? I had no idea. I absolutely love the funny, cuddly, strong-willed boy that Ezra is becoming, but I already find myself waxing nostalic about back when he used to be a babyyyyyyyyy!!!!!

Slow down, little guy! Mama can’t keep up!

These the the top ten baby items I couldn’t have survived the last five months without!

1. Aden + Anais Muslin Wraps : We have a million blankets, but these wraps are awesomest. For the first four months, Ezra wouldn’t sleep unless he was tightly swaddled up like a baby burrito. The Aden + Anais wraps were the only ones large enough to wrap our fiesty, fidgety baby in comfortably, and they can used for tummy time or to cover a stroller or even as a nursing cover. And they are beautiful and soft and comfy and BLAH BLAH BLAH I am in love with them. They are pricey, but totally worth it. Ooh, and the dream blanket? That thing is fantastic. I want one for myself.
2. Soothe & Glow Seahorse: This little seahorse is lovely and soothing and plays beautiful, relaxing music that doesn’t sound tinny or obnoxious in any way. When we lay Ezra in his crib at night we start this, and five minutes later, the music fades away and our baby is fast asleep. Most nights.
3. Sophie the Giraffe: Okay, yeah, I felt a little dumb spending almost $20 a stupid rubber giraffe but I had seen in recommended so many places that I caved. THANK GOD. Ezra loves this guy. Especially chewing on his face. It’s cute. And drooly.
4. Moby Wrap : I loooove carrying Ezra in this. He’s always hated being alone, and once I got over the initial learning curve, I would hold him in here and it was the only way I could manage to get anything done. We’re using it a little less as he gets bigger, but I don’t know what I would have done the first four months without it.
5. the swaddleme : Once Ezra started getting too BIG AND STRONG to be contained by a mere blanket, this was a lifesaver at night. We got the miracle blanket too, but it mostly sat in a pile all alone and unloved because the swaddleme was just so much nicer to deal with.
6. Baby Einstein Take Along Tunes : This thing is like baby crack. Push the button and Ezra will immediately stop whatever he’s doing and stare at this thing, mesmerized by the lights and pleasant-sounding music. He also enjoys trying to eat it.
7. Graco Sweet Slumber Sound Machine: My mom bought this for Ezra at Christmas and it’s been great. We use the soft light and lullaby songs as we’re getting him ready for bed, and then the gentle white noise to help him fall and stay asleep. It also plays music from the ipod, for the occasional spontaneous stuffed animal dance party!
8. BabySmart Cooshee Changer : This is the best changing pad EVAR. It is warm and soft and comfy, but also totally wipeable (very important for a boy who took every diaper change as an opportunity to PEE IN YOUR FACE). Not having to wash a million changing pad covers has been so nice.
9. Graco SnugRider Car Seat Stroller I am dreading the day when Ezra grows out his infant car seat and we have to deal with a real stroller. This is so, so much easier.
10. JJ Cole Bundle Me Lite : This was the perfect weight for taking walking in our chilly-but-not-too-cold Alameda weather, and a million times better than trying to keep blankets covering Fidget McFidgetyPants here.

The first time I fed Ezra rice cereal (verrrry watered down), he got mad. He kept trying to shove the spoon in his mouth and suck, while looking at me like I was crazy and then YELLING LOUDLY every time I dared to pull the spoon out of his mouth. I gave up after a few bites and nursed him, figuring that he just wasn’t ready for solids quite yet.

And then he started trying to grab food out of my hand whenever I ate near him. He would pull glasses of water to his mouth if I was drinking. He would SCREAM WILDLY every time he finished a bottle.

So we tried again. He loved the cereal this time. I don’t think he really understood the purpose of the spoon when clearly, if I would just stop being so dumb about it, he could grab the mush directly out of the bowl with his AWESOME HANDS THAT CAN GRAB THINGS!!! But if I gently held his hands and kept the bowl out of reach, he would deign to use the spoon, and now he’s an EXPERT.

A messy expert.

I had been planning on making our own baby food from the beginning. I finally got a copy of Top 100 Baby Purees in the mail earlier this week, and last night I made my first batch of baby food. Yes, I needed a recipe book to tell me how to steam some carrots and mush them up.

Of course, last night Cris ended up not getting home with the baby until almost 9, way past Ezra’s bedtime. He took one bite of the carrots, smiled at me, and then put his head down on my shoulder and started drifting off to sleep.

And after all the time spent on his dinner (steaming carrots is hard, people!), this is what happened:

I have so much to do, but, woe!, I seem to have come down with a cold. Which I caught from my baby. Sick baby + sick mama = NO FUN. The past few nights, Ezra has decided to remind us that he’s not feeling too great by waking up every couple hours and SCREAMING SO LOUD OMG SO LOUD. The only thing that seems to console him is to sit him on my lap and gently rock him for hours as he stares off into the distance, all pitiful and morose and snot-filled. Sleep? What is this ‘sleep’ you speak of?

I had scheduled Monday and Tuesday off of work so that I could enjoy some time with Cris and Ezra during Cris’s last week of family leave, but spending the whole time on the couch or in bed whining about miserable I felt and worrying about the baby was not exactly what I had in mind.

And now, I’m back at work with a ton of stuff to do and an inability to concentrate on anything for more than two seconds because MY NOSE! MY HEAD! MY THROAT! OMG MISERY! HEY LOOK TWITTER! Plus, my annual review is tomorrow morning. AWESOME.

Having a baby and a full-time job is taxing enough for me (really, how do so many people do this? I am so weak!), but add a (relatively mild) cold to the mix, and I’m just done. I need a margarita and a bottle of nyquil, stat.

My mom came over yesterday to spend the day with me and Ezra (well, okay, mostly just Ezra if we’re being honest. But she she’s stuck with me until she can finally convince me to just drop him off at her house for weeks at a time and, I don’t know, run off to Vegas or something). After a day of wandering around town, getting drinks at Starbucks, and spending way too much money at Target, she agreed to spend the night so that Cris and I could get some much-needed Time Away.

Cris got home from work at a relatively decent hour and we excitedly got ready to go out on our Night of Freedom! What are we going to do?! I don’t know! I don’t care! SO MUCH POSSIBILITY! We were out the door in record time, barely remembering to even say bye to to the baby. We ran to the car, jumped in, and then… huh. So, uh… what are we gonna do?

After some remarkable displays of indecision, we settled on dinner at a little pub/restaurant place we’d had our eye on for while. But a large plate of fries, some sliders, and one whole bloody mary later, and we were right back where we started. It was only 9:00 and we couldn’t thing of a single to do besides go home and crawl in bed. Determined to not be the most boring people in the universe, we drove around the island for another hour, halfheartedly thinking of something we could do. But we were tired, sad people and eventually just gave up and went home, way before curfew time.

But not before stopping to pick up an entire apple pie. Of course.

I feel like I’m caught in a holding pattern. Most nights, we get home with just enough time to put the baby to bed. Then we make a quick dinner, eat—usually while watching tv, of course—and go to sleep. Work, baby, sleep. Work, baby, sleep. It’s not exactly happyfuntimes and I’m just waiting for something to give…a new job, a winning lottery ticket, something. I’m not exactly sure what, but man. This just can’t be the new normal, right?

Oh, world! You are full of so many crazy people. Ezra woke up and started crying his poor little head off while we were out today, and right as I turned to Cris to say ‘Hey, let’s go home right now so I can feed him!’, this crazy old lady with crazy old lady makeup practically jumps out of the aisle, shakes her finger at me, and squawks “Geez, why don’t you give him a bottle or something?”

I just looked at her and said What? dumbly because I’m a little slow in the morning and I really couldn’t figure out who she was or why she was yelling at me and, I mean…what??? Feed him? You mean these baby-things need to eat?

I had been told that this whole ridiculous parenting-advice-from-a-complete-stranger thing was going to happen all the time, so I guess I’m pretty lucky I made it so long, but I hope any future random strangers can at least provide me with some better advice, because really, crazy clown-makeup lady? Feed him? You think?

My first day back at work felt almost surprisingly normal, but I think it was just muscle memory that got me through the day: enter building, wait for elevator, badge at the door, sit at desk, log on, say hi to coworkers, Starbucks, sit, lunch, sit, go home. Lather, rinse, repeat. Just like any other day. Just like the past few months never happened. But I kept having this nagging feeling in the back of my head that I was forgetting something—

wallet?
nope, it’s in your purse
phone??
no, that’s right there in your pocket
badge???
on your desk where you left it, of course
…baby? Baby! OMG WHERE IS BABY?????
Oh. Right. Breathe.

It was exhausting. I am exhausted. We got home just in time to spend an hour trying to get Ezzie to sleep and now we’re just eeking out some lazy tv time before passing out and doing it all over again tomorrow. Thrilling, I tell you! My life is thrilling.

Today was supposed to be my first day back at work, but… no. The thought of going back to work right now leaves me all anxious and vommity-feeling so I panicked at the last minute and emailed my boss to ask for an additional two weeks off. I know it’s not going to get any easier in two weeks, but I’ll take every extra second of time with this that I can manage—