Yeah, I’m going to talk about boobs again. Deal.

Happy Face :)

I love breastfeeding. It’s totally amazing that if you combine my pregnancy with the months of exclusive (really really exclusive) breastfeeding, I’ve kept this baby alive with just my body for 17 months. I’m practically a superhero, although thank God I don’t have a spandex outfit. I’ve given my baby the best start possible and he (and I) will both be healthier for it. I’ve saved an enormous amount of money by not buying any formula and an enormous amount of time not sterilizing, heating and preparing bottles. Nothing beats snuggling with a warm sleepy infant on a cold morning and starting my day feeling absolutely attached to my baby. I feel like I repeat all this stuff so many times a day I might as well get it tattooed on my forehead. Or at least embroidered on a pillow. A pillow I can throw off a cliff.

Sad Face :(

I’m so so so tired all the time from getting up at night to nurse this baby. Now that he’s mobile he’s like a tiny Michael Phelps – his body burns calories faster than he can get them in and he needs to eat fourteen times a day. Not to mention possibly suffering from a case of the munchies. When I committed to breastfeeding, I was relieved to learn “extended nursing” usually only involved a couple of feedings a day and not the round-the-clock sessions of a newborn. Unfortunately Baby Evan didn’t get that memo. My nipples feel like they’re going to fall (not from pain, just from pulling) and it only gets worse when he’s teething – which he’s doing AGAIN. This time it’s the top teeth, which means in a couple days he’ll be able to bite with the same power as an average sized dog. Think about how much that would hurt. And despite MY anytime, anywhere approach to breastfeeding the baby refuses to eat if there are people, noise, colors, sounds, dogs, cats, other babies, music, or toys within 100 feet. If I don’t plan for quiet time at home he goes all day without eating and the nighttime feedings go from 2 or 3 to 4 or 5. At this point, I couldn’t give up on breastfeeding even if I wanted to. The battle we have every time I try to give him a bottle or cup is EPIC and his refusal could easily outlast my will to force one on him. Every time I mention my frustration I’m told “don’t worry, he’ll grow out of it” and that 8 months is a totally normal age to still be nursing exclusively. THANKS FOR NOTHING advice givers. Why don’t you come over here and breastfeed this baby at 3 am? For 8 months in a row? Oh, I’m sorry, you’re too busy sleeping at 3 am? THEN SHUT YOUR PIEHOLE. Sorry, sleep deprivation is making me cranky. And complaining about it makes me feel a little better. Especially complaining about it in LARGE CAPITAL LETTERS. LOUD NOISES.

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.

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 finally got my baby tattoo, only six months after first thinking about it.

This is from my point of view. I think the artist found the perfect balance between looking like an E and looking like a 3.

This is how it looks when I show it to people. I love that it's more like a butterfly than letters and numbers.

A friend mentioned she thought tattoos were contraindicated during breastfeeding, but the internet tells me it’s (probably) ok. Actually, what La Leche League says is the ink cannot pass into breastmilk and the risks associated with getting a tattoo while nursing are the same as getting any tatttoo. I am 100% confident in the health and safety practices of the shop and the artist where I had it done, so as long as I follow my after care instruction Baby Evan and I should be totally safe. This is not my first time under the needle.

As a side note though, when E and I stopped in to make the appointment we had Baby Evan with us so the artist knew I had a 7 month old. The question of whether or not I was nursing was never asked and wasn’t in the waiver of liability I signed. I wonder if he would have had an issue doing it if I had brought it up?

I’m not really prepared to be the mother of a 7 month old. How did my baby get this old?! I don’t know why I never really got past 6 months in my head, but for some reason it never occurred to me time would keep going. I think it’s because 6 months was supposed to be our big milestone, the end of the exclusive breastfeeding and the moment when I no longer had to be Baby Evan’s only source of food. SURPRISE. Motherhood lesson #1: babies don’t give a crap about what you want. Really though, I don’t mind that much. He’s old enough now that he has to be really really REALLY hungry before he starts screaming, so I’m able to get some baby free time while E gets daddy time. I even missed bedtime last night so I could attend the mom’s knitting group at Papoose and made my first baby washcloth. Or at least I WILL have made my first baby washcloth when someone shows me how to finish it. I don’t think it will work very well with a knitting needle stuck to one side.

As for milestones…we have achieved forward momentum. It’s not really crawling, since he still hasn’t figured out how to get his knees under him while in motion (although he can get up on all fours while stationary and rock back and forth as if he’s trying to will his body forward). No, Baby Evan gets around by sort of half dragging half kicking his way across the floor, in a way that could only be described as “desperate gun shot victim crawls for safety” or “injured animal attempts escape”. Although I doubt either of those would move at the incredible speed Baby Evan can reach. There’s this corner of the kitchen where he always pauses and looks back, as if daring me to remember closing the baby gate, right before he disappears towards the HALLWAY OF DOOM, which holds the dog food, a bathroom and the basement stairs. In the 7 month old mind, all those things should be explored with one’s mouth. Unfortunately, the gates can’t do anything about his amazing ability to find the ONE piece of paper or bottle cap or dog kibble or dust bunny on a floor covered in baby toys and immediately try to eat it. We should send the babies to Afghanistan and say “Whatever you do, DON’T put Bin Laden in your mouth.” BOOM! Problem solved.

Our new nighttime routine is going…well, not really WELL, but better than I expected. More nights than not we make it past midnight before a feeding and until 4 or 5 am before the only way to get any more sleep is bringing him to bed with me. I’m hoping we get down to one early morning feeding followed by a couple extra hours of sleep by 9 months, so I’ve started checking stuff off Dr. Sears’ causes of nighttime waking list. We bought a space heater to keep the nursery warm (it’s now the most comfortable room in the house). We dress the baby in a cotton onesie before putting on his cozy jammies so they won’t itch. We set up the humidifier to help with his congestion. We play the Baby Go To Sleep cd on repeat all night. Even the worst insomniac in the world would fall asleep in that room, and yet it’s not quite good enough for my darling babycakes. The GIANT GLARING PROBLEM with this plan is that all the eating Baby Evan was doing at night now happens during the day. And I think his top teeth are coming through. So lets just say our days are  mostly spent topless.

As fast as the last 7 months have gone, the next couple are going to just fly by. We’re going to Pennsylvania to be godparents to my best friend’s baby next weekend, the weekend after that we’re going to Virginia (shh!! it’s a surprise party for my grandmother!), then it’s Thanksgiving. We don’t know yet how our holidays are going to play out or where we’ll be but I am ridiculously excited for Baby Evan’s first Christmas. The excitement on his face when he realizes all that wrapping paper those presents are for him to eat to play with is going to be fantastic.

For your viewing pleasure, a baby escape. He made it from the carpet to that spot in the time it took me to turn on the camera. If you listen carefully you can hear his cackle of laughter as he disappears: