Holiday Musings

I'm still here -- really!

And I have new admiration for all the "mommy bloggers"; where do they find the time?!?

Anyway, the squeaker had a good Christmas. (Yes, we're atheists who celebrate a secular Christmas. After all, the roots of the holiday are much older than Christianity, and why should the Christians have all the fun just because they usurped a bunch of pagan traditions and myths into their own?). Santa came to our house and left plenty of loot.

The squeaker had a lot of questions about Santa. He also was very concerned about whether his papa would be snuggling with him on Christmas Eve. At first, we thought he was worried about being lonely. Maybe he thought papa had to talk with Santa or something?

But it quickly became clear that he was in fact suspicious of Santa and his motives.

"Why does he sneak in?" the squeaker wanted to know. "Why doesn't he just use the door?"

"Because we lock the doors at night, don't we?" we told him.

"Yes," he replied. And I could see him thinking, "to keep creepy people out...people like Santa Claus!" But he didn't say that. He's too smart to alienate someone carrying a big sack of toys.

The pipsqueak didn't get much, of course, but he didn't care. He's too busy being fat and happy. And he is indeed fat. I can't believe I had such a skinny first baby and such a fat second one. But having a fat baby means that I worry less (it's hard to fret about whether your 12-week old baby is getting enough to eat when he's outgrowing clothes meant for a 6-month old.)

So that's where we are. Most days follow the same pattern...nurse, change diapers, make breakfast, nurse, clean up breakfast, change diapers, nurse, start making lunch, change diapers, nurse, clean up lunch, read some books, nurse, change diapers, start making dinner, nurse, change diapers, get everyone ready for bed, nurse, sleep...and then again...and again.

But it's nice to be home. Under the Family and Medical Leave Act, Christmas Eve would have been my first day back at work. That was 12 weeks of leave. I'm taking extra time, though it will hurt the wallet. But I can't bear to leave such a young baby. He would have been 11 weeks old when I went back to work. I haven't left him with anyone yet. I'm definitely not ready to leave him for a full work day. I'm not sure when to go back. If only I could take a year off. Sigh.

Squeaker Words

The squeaker is a messy eater. This means that each meal is followed by extensive cleanup -- the table, the booster seat, the chair, the floor, the ceiling...you get the idea.

It also means cleaning up the squeaker, who usually tries to make a quick escape. If he escapes, you have to chase him down, pounce on him, and then pin him down to wipe his face and hands. He particularly resists having his face cleaned. It can be a pain.

So his grandma recently took the stealth approach, coming up behind the chair and quickly wiping his mouth before he realized she was there. His response?

"Granny K, you ambushed me!"

Quite so.