Bullet point 1: I am writing this in the fastest possible way, since my laptop is seconds away from conking out completely thanks to one small person’s habit of ripping the power cord out. It’s now broken and won’t charge at all. New power cord is on its way, until then consider these my last words to you. FAREWELL CRUEL WORLD.

Bullet point 2: You’d think I had some sort of brain damage or been dropped on my head and suffered severe memory loss from all the wailing and complaining I’ve done over Baby Evan’s teething woes. His molars are certainly not his first teeth ever and we got through the last ones relatively unscathed with Tylenol, teething tablets, camila and an amber necklace. All of those have again been located and I have high hopes that in the next 48 hours we will no longer be a family of exhausted, screaming zombies.

Bullet point 3: Although it cost us more than we wanted/could afford to spend, our new kitchen island is already the best investment we’ve ever made. My counter space has literally DOUBLED and my cabinets are no longer overflowing with small appliances that threaten to fall on my head as soon as I reach for a cookbook or a Tupperware container.

Observe:

A reminder of what the space used to be: a giant suck of shoes and crap. Only you can't really tell in this picture since it's from the home tour, when I hid all our junk.

A more accurate view of the space, after the Great Electrical Outlet Incident of 2010

And now we have this. The drawers AND the cabinet have no-slam hardware so never again will the baby pinch his fingers. We're living the high life, let me tell you.

The back side of the island, where we can put a couple of stools. Which means a) we now have an EAT-IN KITCHEN and b) We aren't doomed to eat on the couch for the rest of our lives. Also c) I get to go to IKEA for some stool shopping.

Look at all that space. Fantastic. I have the urge to bake a dozen pies. Or maybe just lick it. Oh and in case you were wondering, it's Corian, which I've always been very happy with.

This also means I have enough space to designate one drawer as specifically for Baby Evan. A Baby Evan drawer, if you will, full of plastic cookie cutters, old whisks, and sippy cups. No more spatula emergencies half way through making dinner when I realize they are all covered in dog hair and drool.

This may not be the kind of island most exhausted mothers dream of, but home improvement beats vacation around here every time. It lasts longer and you don’t end up with a sunburn or sand up your butt. At least, not so far.

I should also give a HUGE shout out to the kitchen guy, Jim from Roger’s Kitchens. His attention to detail in installing the island in a really awkward space was AMAZING and he didn’t complain once about our uneven floor, crooked walls or weird moldings. He was on time both days and cleaned up every speck of dust. He was even great with Baby Evan! This isn’t an endorsed plug  in any way (not even close – we paid full retail price for that VERY EXPENSIVE island) but I think a good job done deserves some recognition. If you’re in the Eastern Connecticut area and need a recommendation for a custom kitchen guy, now you have one. Roger’s Kitchens. Love.

Like that title? I just made up a word, y’all.

Baby Evan has been experiencing a little bit of day/night reversal lately, but not in the usual way. Most of the time when babies get their days and nights confused it involves sleeping all day and very exhausted parents at night, especially during those first crazy, disorienting weeks right after you bring baby home. My child is doing just fine with his day-night sleeping patterns (besides the sudden and disappointing shortening of the ONE nap we have left to less than 2 hours most days) but his need-for-attention patterns are WHACKED.

Today at breastfeeding group Baby Evan flung himself into at least four different mamas’ laps, climbing over and pushing out of the way their own smaller babies. (He’s pretty much the infant version of Godzilla.) When one mom was foolish enough to pick him up after group he clung to her like she was the last empty lifeboat on the Titanic. While I was trying to make a pie this afternoon he literally hung on to my apron strings and pressed his face against the backs of my knees. His independent playtime has been cut from at least an  hour a day to just a few minutes at a time followed by much crying and whining and arm-raising until someone (me) lets him rub his nose on their shoulder and dig his sharp, grubby little finger nails into their arms.

And then bedtime comes and our sweet baby boy – who was once totally unable to sleep without at least 30 minutes of rocking and lullabies – thrashes out of our arms. He wants to be left ALOOOOOOOONE dammit, alone in the dark in his crib with his stuffed Yoda and his blankie. Mere minutes (and zero crying) after E sets a totally awake and active baby in his bed there is total silence from the nursery.The baby lays himself down. He pulls the blanket over himself, stuffs a corner in his mouth, and sleeps. It’s….mind boggling. As far as I know we haven’t trained him to put himself to sleep or encouraged it in any way. In fact, I’m a little sad he doesn’t want to rock before bed, since it’s the quietest, calmest part of the day and a baby cuddle is such a great way to relax.

I’ve started to wonder if affection works the same as food – maybe Baby Evan has a necessary daily allowance of love and if I meet all his needs before 7 pm he doesn’t have to fill up right before bed. Clearly his heart is bigger than his stomach.

Of course I know I’m tempting the mommy-blogger-gods AND Karma AND Fate AND probably a pack of rabid flying squirrels by writing about this on the internet, but I’m willing to risk it. Maybe my story will help some poor exhausted parent give their kid a chance to put himself to sleep and discover that’s what he wanted all along.

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.