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Is there anything better than the smell of sweet breast milk on your babes breath? It makes me want to melt.

This handsome guy turned five months on the 26th and is ready to crawl. When he isn't yelling at his toys and beating them on the ground (anger issues?) he scoots his way around his blanket pile on the floor desperately trying to get somewhere else…like the dining room. Now that's a new adventure.

Even though I have hugged my new Dyson vacuum a few times since Christmas, my baby boy is by far the greatest gift I've ever received. 

He smells of vinegar. Aren't babies supposed to smell sweet, like freshly baked bread or something? Well, my baby, he smells like vinegar. Wipe that disgusted look off your face, he doesn't smell like that all the time. Mainly in the morning after he has been smashed against my body all night; our bodies molded together like (not sweet smelling) bread dough.

Having a baby is funny. I marvel at everything he learns to do. Every noise he makes, every new expression, every interest he shows. The things he finds humor in fill me with joy, and I could stare at him bouncing in his jumper for hours. "Oh! He's never rolled over in that position before!" It's bizarre. What's even more bizarre is that I excite in the way he pushes when passing gas, or, you know, shits his pants. Never, ever, EVER would I think it was cute or impressive if I saw someone pooping their pants. (I guess that goes without saying.) I might not even think it was cute if it were another 5 month old baby. But my guy, well it wasn't very long ago that gas made him extremely uncomfortable and pooping was an undesirable activity. So now I feel proud of his little grunts, like, "wow! I am so impressed by your strength and how cool you are being about this!"

Maybe, other moms can relate, or maybe I am too easily impressed by my baby.

The Power Of Empathy

Oh, if only there were more empathetic humans around. What would the world look like then? It would look good. Real good.

When you become a mother, you no longer have the option of dying. 

As a mother you are given the magical ability to heal wounds with a kiss, to banish the tears that no one else can, and to interpret a language you don't speak. As a mother you feel your own bones under someone elses skin, you smell your own scent on someone elses neck, and you are given the magnificent ability to nourish another with your body. 

Motherhood is scary, beautiful, maddening, and divine; because when you have a child it truly is as if your heart beats outside of your chest. 

   

I haven't posted anything in a while. This being a work from home mom business doesn't leave me much free time. Who would guess?

We decided that cutting down our own tree this year required too much effort. So although our tree doesn't compare to the one we hunted down in woods (someones yard) last year, it does the job. Graham decided to decorate the tree on his own which of course gave the perfectionist in me anxiety in the beginning, but now it's sort of sweet to look at in an avant-garde way. Perhaps Picasso placed the majority of his ornaments on one side of the tree?

Baby is growing fast. An original statement, I know... He likes to talk, scream, yell, squeal, blow strawberries, grunt, sigh, growl, grumble, sing, and make dinosaur calls. He also enjoys a good roll around on the floor but gets irritated when he finds himself on his tummy for too long. He has taken to slapping himself with toys, finds great joy in coughing and sneezing, enjoys taking frequent nursing breaks to make sure I am still there, loves to watch wine and beer splash around in a glass, and thinks clothes are an abomination.

xoxo