What I’m about to say is one of those things I probably shouldn’t write down, not because it’s bad or shameful or scandalous but because every time I say something good about the baby he immediately stops doing the good thing and does the complete opposite. It’s the curse of smug parenting – as soon as you start bragging your baby can sleep through the night/eat vegetables/walk/do long division that ability falls right out of their head and you’re up all night/refusing veggies/carrying him/doing all your own dividing. But I’m going to tempt fate by writing it anyways and maybe give some hope to exhausted miserable new parents everywhere.

Having a baby that’s seven and a half months old is awesome.

Our nighttime routine is dependable and portable – the first bedtime with the baby in Pennsylvania was later than normal but by the second night he went to sleep just as easily as at home. All that cuddly co-sleeping didn’t ruin the baby or his ability to self sooth at all. SO THERE PUSHY BABY BOOKS.

He’s the perfect size to prop up in my lap to nurse – no pillows needed – so he’s easy to feed anywhere. He still gets distracted  by loud noises or dogs or new places but he doesn’t bite or pull or try to rip of my nipples and he is very serious about his snacks and gets right back to business. Gotta keep those thighs as enormous as possible!

He has an adorable shy face he uses when women try to talk to him, tipping his face down and peeking out from under his ridiculously long eyelashes. But he’s a big fat faker and is only doing it to draw them in so he’ll get even MORE attention and MORE smiles and MORE “oh what a happy baby!” comments. Who can resist a charming ginger?

He also has a very serious thinking face he uses when he’s concentrating. Usually he’s concentrating on untying my shoes or eating a magazine or trying to climb through the coffee table, but when he sticks out his jaw and bites his tongue and goes “thhhhhhhhpppppt” I immediately forget I was going to scold him.

Mostly, he feels so much like MY BABY now, my very own tiny person that I grew. You get 9 months to prepare your mind and your life for a baby…but no part of pregnancy really prepares you for what it feels like to be someone’s mother. Now, finally, at 7 months I feel like someone’s mother. I love doing new things with him like the aquarium or the park or the beer factory museum. I can’t resist buying him presents every single time I see something I think he might like. Plus, I’ve started referring to Baby Evan and I as “we”, as in “we should probably take a nap” or “we did not nap today” or “WHY AREN’T WE NAPPING RIGHT NOW??” So I’m officially in a committed relationship with my baby. At least I know meeting his family won’t be too awkward.

Look what Baby Evan got in the mail today:

How cool is that?! I had submitted a request for a birth congratulations card when the baby was only a few weeks old and totally forgot about it. Apparently they’re taking a very long time to process under the new administration (Yes we can hold babies!) but they are definitely still sending them out.

You can send a request to:
White House Greetings Office
Room 39
Washington, DC 20500

Include you name, your baby’s name, address and date of birth. I also wrote a little note thanking them for their time.
Unfortunately, Evan’s name isn’t on the actual card but it’s written in caligraphy on the envelope! I’m so excited to put it in his baby book!

One of the developmental milestones I have been the most excited to reach is parental preference, when the baby starts to love E and I better than everyone else. I mean, it’s hard to spend the morning wiping poop off your child, yourself, the crib and the walls and still get the same smile as the lady in the grocery store who calls him “such a happy little girl”. I am your sole source of food child, and don’t you forget it. I want some love!

Unfortunately, that mindset seems to have backfired. Baby Evan definitely remembers where his food comes from. He remembers at night, when he refuses to unlatch even in his sleep. He remembers when I’m carrying him around and he starts patting my shirt to make sure he’s favorite things in the world are still there. He remembers when we’re playing on the floor and he launches himself right at my cleavage, head first. It seems that his parental preference isn’t for ME as much as it is for my boobs.

One of the things I love about breastfeeding is that it’s an automatic boo-boo fixer, sleeping pill, tantrum distraction and leisure activity in one convenient package. Now that head bumps and face plants are a part of daily life the ability to sooth Baby Evan’s tears on demand is more important than ever. But apparently while I was holding him in my arms and kissing his head and singing him little songs, all he noticed was the comfy pillows. So much for making his lovey a blanket or one of the dozens of cute and cuddly stuffed animals collecting dust in his room – he’s already picked out his two favorite things. I just hope he knows he won’t be taking them to college.

I am ridiculously proud of this scarf, especially considering I did about a million things wrong as far as “good” knitting goes. But hey, it will keep my neck warm so how wrong can it be?

Behold, the bebeh moddle, moddling my scarf: