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.

So if month 1 is an exhausted blur, month 4 you start to get the hang of things, and month 6 is when you can start buying them all the good toys, month 8 of baby care is when you no longer remember what sitting down feels like. In the past 24 hours, Baby Evan has:

– Eaten a piece of yarn
– Fell on the cat
– Pulled the recycling can over on top of himself
– Dumped all the dog food out of the bowl
– Ripped up a roll of wrapping paper
– Fallen on his head at least four times
– Hit himself in the face with the baby swing
– Hit me in the face with a baby hammer
– Pinched his hands under the rocking chair
– Tried to put a knitting needle through his ear
– Climbed onto the bottom shelf of the changing table and threw everything on it on the floor

And all of that was before E got home from work. At 2 pm. I picked the wrong month to (re)give up Diet Coke…unless I’m planning to replace it with speed. Or maybe breastmilk, because apparently it makes you super strong – the better to hit you in the face my dear – and super fast – the better to escape the confines of the baby gate. This afternoon while I was unloading the car Baby Evan actually managed to push the back door open a couple inches and was seconds away from falling right out onto the (cement) back porch face first. As much as I DON’T love his sharp little baby teeth, I think it’s better if we keep them intact for at least a few more years. He may actually need them for eating something someday. Not now, or tomorrow, or probably next week, but some day. I mean, he can’t exclusively nurse forever, right? NO baby has ever survived entirely on breastmilk until kindergarten…right? RIGHT??

So besides the violent puking, thrashing, gagging and general crankiness regarding solid food (or really, anything besides milk straight from the boob – still no bottles, cups, spoons, shot glasses or straws either) let’s see how he’s hitting his 8 month milestones:

Mastered Skills (most kids can do):
• Says “mama” and “dada” to both parents (isn’t specific) – No, not really. We’ve both heard “dada” or “daddy” but nothing even close to mama, unless High Pitched Screeching Velociraptor Noise is what he plans to call me.
• Passes objects from hand to hand – Check.

Emerging Skills (half of kids can do):
• Stands while holding onto something – Lord does he ever, and he gets there on his own. The couch, the chair, the rocker, my leg, his play table, the baby gate, the handle on the stove, the dishwasher, your mom. Anything.
• Crawls – He finally got the hang of real crawling, which means my plan to tape a Swiffer cloth to his stomach is out.
• Points at objects – Meh? He reaches, but there’s no actual finger pointing.
• Searches for hidden objects – Do immaginary objects count? He is totally convinced I am hiding something WONDERFUL and DELICIOUS under the rug and one of these days he is definitely going to find it.

Advanced Skills (a few kids can do):
• Pulls self to standing, cruises – See above for “pulls self up”. But he’s finally got the hang of cruising, although sometimes he forgets he has to move BOTH legs and unintentionally ends up doing a very impressive center split.
• Picks things up with thumb-finger pincer grasp – Then shoves them in his mouth, then throws up. Really awesome.
• Indicates wants with gestures – Not so much “gestures” as EAR-PIERCING SCREAMS. I took the disgusting car keys he was gnawing on away from him in Target yesterday and the noise he made sounded so much like the fire alarm he almost cleared the building. I hope he gets the hang of gestures soon.

Speaking of gestures, I’ve been meaning to watch that Baby Signs DVD my friend Amanda let me borrow and get started on making Baby Evan into a genius child. Or at least a child who understands the word “no” or “danger” or “for the love of GOD STOP PUTTING THAT IN YOUR MOUTH”. I felt a little silly signing to a baby that clearly didn’t understand the difference between actual sign language and crazy hand waving, but at this point I think I need to either really make an effort or just forget about it all together. I should at least teach him the sign for “nurse” – he’s GOT to understand that one at this point.

This is my thinking face, which means I'm about to get in trouble.

Listen woman, I'll put up with the climbing but if he starts biting I'm outta here.

I think the cat is actually TRYING to help him stand up.

Having trouble with your computer? Let me just climb through the coffee table and check out those cords for you!

I'm here to help unload the dishwasher. I'll get the knives!

Look what I did! Look look look! Now you can never leave a room again.

And this morning, I found him standing up in the (mattress still on the highest setting) crib, leaning over the railing.

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.