My Thoughts Exactly

Just kidding. I'm actually having a pretty good day.

Best Picture?

I would like to thank the Academy, the Hollywood Foreign Press, my agent, my lawyer, oh, and also my husband and children, without whom this film would not have been possible.

You will never get back the six minutes of your life that you spend watching it.  (I discovered there is a reason most Hollywood movies are not edited by the actors' mothers.)  But whether you watch it or not, you must tell me that you laughed, you cried, it was better than Cats, because I spent an embarrassing amount of time teaching myself how to use iMovie to make this thing.  I normally say that this blog is for myself and my family, regardless of whether anyone else reads it or leaves a comment, but this is an exception.  Further blogging shall be suspended until I have received sufficient accolades.

And to think, I have numerous friends with children Waylon's age who have not embarked on capturing those children learning to walk in the form of a nearly full length feature film.  Seriously, I am somewhat embarrassed by what I have created here, yet happy with it, too.  It is an inspirational tale of perseverance and triumph that I hope reaches those who most need lifting up this week.  (You know who you are.) 
When Life Gets You Down, Get Up Again from Kate on Vimeo.

Happy 1st Birthday, Waylon!

More gushing to come, but I just wanted to wish you a happy day.  I love you so much my heart might explode.  My favorite spot on you to kiss is what I affectionately call your neckal region; you know, that area between one's head and collar bone that you might otherwise think of as a neck, except that on babies it's not really a neck so much as a tiny, hidden wonderland of delectably soft skin made especially for mothers to burrow their noses into.  Since you might not like me doing that when you're older, I intend to spend your entire first birthday there. 

Minute 1.


Day 1.


Month 7.


Day 365 of 366 (this was a leap year, you know)

About a Boy

Before I go on, how about a quickie update on our little guy? He is eating whatever he can get his hands on, in fact he's become a bit of a garbage disposal in that all unwanted leftovers from our entire family get set aside for him. Don't want the rest of your sandwich? Those green beans? Mom's mashed cauliflower, two bites of taco meat and three bites of tomato and watermelon salad? Give 'em to Waylon, he'll eat it. He's also cruisin' for a bruisin' in the most literal sense. Waylon is in that phase where he has more strength than sense, so unfortunately split lips, blood loss and bruised foreheads have been the markers of his 10th and 11th months I'd say. The girls suffered similar injuries at this age, but I think Waylon has had more of them because I'm spread so thin. And when I say "split lips", what I really mean is: slipping while standing in his crib, accidentally biting himself, and then bleeding so much that Joe won't even let me show the pictures to you here. (Duh, of course I took pictures. I had to email them to my sister and ask what to do.) After getting a 2nd, 3rd, and 4th opinion from anyone willing to listen, I decided not to take him to the E.R., (against the advice of my sister, yes). However, it now appears he will have a scar, so I'm trying not to let myself get too worked up about that, even though truthfully it makes me incredibly sad each time I see that tiny blemish underneath his lip. I'm not sure why. I know it wasn't my fault, and it's not as if his modeling career just ended. Maybe it just throws into relief the fact that his days of babyhood are waning, and he's becoming more of an honest to goodness little boy.



In honor of Waylon now being 11 months old, I thought I'd take down the "Is it a Boy or a Girl?" poll in the sidebar and replace it with something equally important: a survey about what color my hair should be.

[For the record, Waylon, it was a 50/50 split vote. Even amongst your own parents. I went into the delivery room expecting a boy, but your dad was convinced you'd be girl #3 and was therefore floored by the "It's a Boy!" pronouncement of the midwife.]

Many moons ago, I recall writing a pregnancy related post explaining that our growing family was not at all about Joe or me "going for a boy." It truly wasn't, and if I pause and think about it, I can still completely envision a happy family scenario of us with three little girls and what that would've been like. Already having two wonderful little girls, it wasn't a difficult scenario to picture when I was pregnant. For me, the boy thing was trickier to imagine. Oddly, it still is. I adore having a little boy, but I did not grow up with a brother, so I feel pretty clueless. I can't even explain it, because it's not entirely rational, and is in fact quite sexist, something I am generally highly opposed to! For example, I'll admit to thinking to myself, "Oh God, I hope he doesn't grow up to be a total dick," or to be the mean-asshole-jock in high school, in a way that I never seem to spend time thinking the equivalent about the girls, even though it's just as likely that they'll one day turn into the "mean girls" we've all encountered from time to time. And why does my brain think about how he may treat women one day, but not about how the girls may treat men in their lives? (Please forgive the heterosexuality assumption. I recognize it is nothing more than an assumption.) Is it because I am a woman? Because I have comforted girlfriends through breakups? Feel free to weigh in. Waylon is a BABY, for cryin' out loud, so none of these thoughts are justified, but I can only hope that they shape my parenting in some positive way.

A funny thing happened when Waylon was born. Both Joe and I were blown away by people's over the top reactions to the news that we had had a son. I know everyone was just happy for us, but the voluminous exclamations of, "You got your BOY!!!" did seem to imply that this was somehow a superior result. My sister and I later discussed how funny it is that for families shooting for two children, many people blindly assume that having one boy and one girl is the "perfect" outcome. To a certain extent, I guess I get it; maybe the parents each want a chance to raise a child of their own gender?

The reactions to Waylon's birth announcement were also extremely heavy on the "better go buy some more cars!" [Trains! Balls! Insert boy-item here!] Which, you know, is probably in the end going to be true. I'm not here to pretend that boys and girls are alike or that boys do not typically love fart noises, fashion sticks into guns, and gravitate toward cars, trains, and balls. Still, though, it was hilarious. I mean, he was a one day old baby after all.  I can now tell you for a fact that little boys (at least this particular little boy) do not emerge from the womb demanding all of these "boyish" things.


The Fast and the Furious came on while we were in the hospital, so naturally having never seen it before, Joe and I got sucked in. Besides, we figured it was probably Waylon's favorite movie.


Vin Diesel asks, "Waylon, what are you doing? The Fast and the Furious is on!"

Meanwhile...

Waylon, living his life a quarter mile at a time.

Now that he's 11 months old, we've gotten many questions about whether we've noticed any differences between having a girl or a boy, and really the answer is no, not yet. Other than anatomically. (You guys, he totally has a wiener. And balls. Thousands of diaper changes later, and I am still not used to that. How do men walk around with these things? Seriously, why could God not contain all their parts? See the beginning of this post - I told you I am clueless.) Anyway, I'm sure that by six months from now my answer may be different, but right now he is just as happy to play with the toy baby, purse, or Barbie as the car, ball, or train.


He does like construction vehicles at least as much as his sister, though.


Front row seats. It does not get any better than this.



He likes balls, too, Beavis.

The other interesting type of reaction to our news of having a boy came from my friends who are mothers of boys, specifically toddler or preschool aged boys. "Oh, yea!  I'm so excited you have a BOY!" Sounds innocuous enough, right? But the typed words leave out the tone of voice and the accompanying almost maniacal laughter. The subtext seemed to be not, "Oh, yea! You are going to love it so much!", but rather, "Oh yea! Now you will understand my pain! Now we can commiserate about the difficulty of living with male toddlers!" A well-intentioned "Welcome to the club!" sort of congratulations where you're left nervously wondering what the hell kind of club you've just been inducted into. So, I'm not sure exactly when Waylon is going to turn into Bamm-Bamm, but it sounds as though it is inevitable. Can anyone give me a heads up on that?

Some Stuff About Waylon at 6 Months

Ack! I am just under the wire because in a matter of days Waylon will be 7 months old. Forget the post I was going to do with lots of cute pictures of Waylon that haven't made the blog over time; maybe I will eventually get to that, and maybe I won't.

Instead, here are a few words from Joe and I that attempt to sum up Waylon at 6 months old, and three pictures that do the job.

• Running errands with Waylon is like running errands with a live Cabbage Patch doll.

• Joe's words upon returning from our conservatory outing were, "Could he be any more low key?" 

• He's totally "hip-able" now.  The perfect size and stability level for toting around on my left hip.  (Always the left.  Why do I have a baby-carrying side?  Does everyone have a natural baby-carrying side?  If I try to force the right, it does not work at all.)

• He's not even waving at the idea of sitting up.  Based on how quickly and compactly he folds in half if you try to prop him in a sitting position, I'm assuming his sport may one day be the second guy on the sled in two-man bobsled. 

• He's so much more patient and tolerant at this age than his sisters ever were.  Must be all that extra "love" he gets from Georgia and June. 

•  He's still taking three naps a day and doesn't have a very set schedule, but it's slowly becoming more predictable.

• Thanks to (not-oft-discussed here) sleep training that began in earnest in November, he's now usually sleeping from about 7:30 to 7:30.  OH YES THANK YOU GOD.  (And now of course I fear that he's going to get up to eat three times tonight just because I wrote that.) 

•  He's a voluminous puker. 

• He's pretty darn cute, wouldn't you agree? 

• Did we mention that he's easy going?  Or maybe he just really loves border terriers.  

Oh, one more thing.  It's quite easy to make him laugh.  I'm pretty convinced that baby laughter adds years to your life, so you can thank me later for this video, if you can get past my horrible hair, that is. 

All About Waylon

Because you can never have enough baby pictures, right?

[FYI, I started this post in draft form on 9/20 and it's been sitting there unpublished since then. The content was updated and is current as of sometime in October, but many of the pics are from when Waylon was only 7 days old.  Oh well.  Such is life right now.  ]

I realized that a lot of my recent posts have been more about life with Waylon rather than about Waylon himself. The little dude. The pone-pone. A-weem-a-way.  Waylony-way.  Way-way.  Waylonia.  (We're throwing nicknames at him left and right and just waiting to see what sticks.)

And I'm sorry if the written part of this post totally bores you, but I figure Waylon deserves to have his babyhood documented, too, just like his sisters.  (Well, maybe to a lesser degree.  I'm pretty sure back in 2007 I posted about Georgia scooching down in her crib - no joke.)  

So, what can I tell you about him?  Life with a newborn, a two year old, and a four year old is hard, but he is an easy baby.  Dare I say, docile.  We kind of knew that, but it took taking him to Austin for the weekend and leaving the girls back home with their grandparents to have it really hit home.  Funny how traveling with a two month old would've terrified me when Georgia was a baby, but with Waylon it truly felt like vacation to temporarily have only one child to look after.  I think he liked it, too - finally getting all of his parents' attention, and not being bombarded all day by his sisters.  We definitely got in some quality baby bonding on that trip.

He's very "readable", in that he really only fusses if tired or hungry, and it's fairly simple to tell which is the problem just by knowing when he last ate.  Maybe 10% of his readability comes from the fact that this is our third time doing this baby thing, so we've gained some insight from experience.  We really can't take credit for about 90% of it, though - it's all Waylon.  He doesn't cry unless we can't get to him in time, say, when he's in the crib but I'm tied up helping June on or off the toilet, or when he's trapped in his carseat while I'm sitting in the preschool pick-up line .  (Oh man, that's when he really tests those lungs!)  His "I'm tired" signal is mild fussing, his "I'm hungry" signal rapidly escalates to an all out yell in a matter of minutes until you can silence him with a boob.  Oh, that.  Yeah, he's doing okay with the bottles, not all out refusing them like June did, but he's got a strong preference for the real deal as he sees it.

I didn't dare blog about any of this until I was sure that the colic window had closed, but I think it's safe to say we've escaped that now.  Which is such a good thing, because let's face it, I couldn't handle colic because I'm a total baby wimp.  I've got the easiest one on the planet to deal with, yet I still have a list of complaints.  What are they?  Oh, I thought you'd never ask.

For starters, he loves falling asleep in baby carriers, but he's in the "I will only sleep while on you" phase of life.  Which is sweet, don't get me wrong.  Even in my most tired moments I still find myself leaning down to kiss the top of his head, or rub our cheeks together, because his cheek is quite possibly the softest thing in the universe, and well, Georgia and June aren't so into that anymore, so I know these moments won't last.  But still... a mama's back starts to hurt.  I get greedy and crave peeing by myself.  I guess I don't know how to explain it, but I assume it's a universal sentiment to sometimes want to put your baby down, right?

Our only other complaint is that he still goes to bed way too late, sometimes requiring 2-3 hours of bouncing just to soothe him off to slumberland, thus leaving us with no evening to ourselves to speak of.  (No, his bedtime is not just mistimed.  Trust me, I've re-skimmed the Weissbluth.)  So, I hit the sack exhausted each night, worrying about my to-do list that seems to never get touched and feeling frustrated that this whole childcare gig is truly an around the clock job.  Rationally I know that Joe and I are just being impatient, though, because the girls were like this, too, requiring several weeks (or was it months?) worth of this bouncing and shushing stuff until they got past it.  I'm sure his natural bedtime will shift somewhere closer to 7:00 soon, but right now we're often not off duty until 10:30 or 11.  While that may not sound like any big thing to adults without children, (or adults with grown children who have long since forgotten the baby years), trust me when I say that performing the delicate dance of setting the baby down in slow motion and holding your breath while hoping that he doesn't awaken again the second his head makes contact with a mattress, can become maddening by the time you're on round four of it for the evening after a tiring day.  Is "enragening" a word?  Well, it should be.  I'd like to believe it wouldn't bother me if it weren't for the whole "I have two other children to watch after all day" aspect of things.  Poor guy; it's not really Waylon's fault.  He's just being a baby.   

Sidebar:  I have to ask, what do people mean when they talk about "rocking" the baby to sleep?  Sitting in a rocker in the nursery, rocking back and forth for hours?  That sounds pretty nice to me, because none of our three children have had any interest in falling asleep that way.  Sitting would be awesome, but Waylon insists on more constant motion, being walked all over the house, preferably next to the loudest white noise we've got, which happens to be the microwave exhaust fan.  So we take shifts bouncing him around the kitchen in the dark, pondering the depth of the meaning of the fact that the button is labeled "Exhaust."  And how does co-sleeping even work?  It's not that I'm opposed to the idea of it, it's just that there is nothing about me lying down next to my babies that has ever seemed to make them want to sleep.  Am I doing it all wrong?   

...Aaaaand we're back.

Then he falls asleep and often does not get up again until morning.  <-- See, with that one sentence, I know I just lost all of your sympathy.  I can tell you without a doubt, though, that I would gladly trade a quick nighttime feeding for his looooong bedtime routine.  

Well, enough of my griping, because the one thing that's for certain is that everything's going to change.  Just as soon as you think you've got a baby's so-called schedule figured out, they switch it up on you.  I am longing for the day that he takes naps at predictable times for predictable durations, but I'm also relishing the fact that right now, with no set schedule, he's 100% portable and flexible.  So, I feel no guilt strapping him into a carseat to go pick Georgia up from school, which is nice.  I know that won't last.

Waylon's growing and healthy, and we love this happy little dude to pieces.  Before we get on with the pictures, here are his stats and other details, which no one cares about with the possible exception of Future Kate, who may one day wonder about these things and want a record of them:

Birth:
8 lbs., 15 oz.
21 inches

Four Day Doctor's Appointment:
8 lbs., 9.5 oz.

Two Week Doctor's Appointment:
9 lbs., 14 oz.
22.5 inches
15 1/2 inch head circumference

One-Month Doctor's Appointment:
11 lbs., 13 oz. (90-95%)
23 3/4 inches (>95%)
16 1/4 inch head circumference (95%)

Two-Month Doctor's Appointment:
13 lbs., 4 oz. (75-90%)
24 3/4 inches (>95%)
16 1/2 inch head circumference (90%)

• His hair may be thinning on the sides, but so far he has not lost that full head of hair he was born with.  Also, it's curly when wet.  (The hair plus his size tends to make strangers guess that he's far older than his actual age.)
• He's kind of bad at tummy time and nearly failed the test at his two month appointment.  Oops.  More workouts for him, I guess. 
• His biggest project right now is finding his fingers.  Go, Waylon, go!  (Since he never took an interest in the pacifiers we offered, I'm all for him figuring out the self soothing.)
• He's cooing and laughing now.  Isn't it so nice when a baby develops the ability to make happy sounds? 
• He's puking up a storm and giving Baby June, former spit up champion of the world, a run for her money at this point.  Three kids and three spitters I've had now.  Ugh.  Not the biggest problem in the grand scheme of things, but man, it wears on you.  

(First 8 fancy photos are courtesy of Elaine Melko.)

































Little babies like black and white. But do they notice subliminal messages?


This is what happens when you wake up and panic that your baby's babyhood is flying by without enough mother-son photos so you take matters into your own hands.








Do not try this at home. I'm sure it violates every safety rule, but Waylon has spent quite a bit of time parked right there on the counter, comfortably close to his favorite exhaust fan.


See, it's rather curly when wet:



Him falling asleep while eating and then staying asleep is a rarity, but I love the aerial view of this scene and how it captures my baby blanket, a breast pump, and the Weissbluth book on the nightstand. That's a fairly representative snapshot of my life right now.


Miracle Blanket = miracle worker



Waylon's 1st wedding

(With Kelly and Baby Miles)


Thank you, Aunt Margaret & Uncle Fred, for babysitting while we were in Austin!


First "swim".

Apparently that tired him out.

Week 1 (In Words and Pictures)

Week 1 with a new baby, whether it's your first or subsequent child, is a pretty surreal experience, in my humble opinion. First off, moms, I don't know about you, but for at least a week after giving birth, I constantly look down at this little person, (well, actually, not so little person, seeing as how he was born just an ounce shy of nine pounds), and marvel to myself, "I cannot believe this person was INSIDE OF ME a day ago," three days ago, a week ago, etc. Am I the only one who finds this freakin' dumbfounding? Yes, I know, I was there for the whole pregnancy thing, but it still blows my mind.

Also, I feel like I go into a cocoon world known as: our own house. Inside, I feel safe and important. I am honored and pampered for having just gone through the physical demands of childbirth. Kind people bring us food. I am forgiven for my appearance when showers don't happen but spit-up does. I am pretty critical to keeping at least 3 people alive. But outside? And I don't mean literally "outdoors", but rather, back into regular society -- I feel totally out of place. I am a nobody, wishing I were wearing a sign around my neck that reads, "I just gave birth," as if that would make the seas part in front of me. Also, I tend to feel like people should be gushing over the baby (whether he's with me or not) as if I'm the first woman to have ever had a child, or perhaps as if he's the key to the continuance of the human race or something, I don't know. Pretty ridiculous, but I'm just being honest.

Then, you've got the hormone swings, onset of sleep deprivation, and, well, the anti-cocoon feeling. Which is to say, I'll be cruising along just fine, and then suddenly I'll snap due to feeling housebound and exclaim, "I have GOT to get out of here." So, in Week 1, I think I made it to Target, Walgreens, and the GAP Outlet to run quick errands, where, by the way, I lost my car keys and instead of just thinking of hailing a cab, I was on the verge of tears. There have been several bouts of tears since Waylon was born; sometimes spontaneous tears of overwhelming emotion and joy, and sometimes tears of frustration.

Joe has been amazing through everything. While I can think of nothing more stupid than a couple having a baby to bring them closer together (you do hear about people trying that, you know), I have to say that I think in our case it does bring out the best in us. We dig deeper for patience with each other (and the girls), and we cut each other more slack. I feel like Joe was watching me like a pot about to boil over all week, paying attention to everything from my food and water intake to whether I'd had a chance to leave the building or shower, and knowing all the right times to say, "You go take a nap, I'll handle it." We quickly fell into a pattern of me covering almost all nighttime duties (since I'm nursing, it just makes sense that way to me), and him then helping me make up for lost sleep by shouldering a bit more of the daytime parenting. [He went back to work today.] : (

But enough about us (for now). Let's talk about the children.

June: enamored with her little brother. Generally going with the flow.

Georgia: enamored with her little brother. But totally off kilter from the disturbance to her world caused by having a new little brother. Pushing all of our buttons. (<--UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE CENTURY.) But maybe she's adjusting? Her behavior has been improving the last couple of days.
Waylon: oh my gosh, where do I begin? You forget how incredibly soft newborns are until you have one. I just want to pet him. We have kissed him approximately 7 million times already, and I nibble on his cheek constantly and try to stifle the urge to eat him up. After nursing, he likes to pass out with his head up on your chest or shoulder, and it's the most calming, wholly satisfying feeling you can imagine. The little puffs of his breath against my ear or cheek seem to mean that all is right in the world, and suddenly quitting our jobs, living off savings until it runs out, and having like 10 children sounds like a good idea. Sure, we'd be out of money by Memorial Day or something, but whatever - details, details. Love is all you need, kumbaya, etc. That is the sentiment. In short, I am prone to bursting into tears a la Holly Hunter in Raising Arizona when she proclaims, "I just love him so much!" Especially if a sentimental song comes on the stereo. Oh Lord, then it's all over.

So yeah, it was a rough week, but we are so happy. So very, very happy.


First Cubs game. Oh no. (BTW, can I just give a blanket "please excuse the appearance of our downstairs" that applies to all pictures until the renovations are complete, say, 6 months from now? Thanks.)








For the record, I am not asking her to pose for these things. If I asked her to pose or smile or anything, she'd run away. This is just what she does to him all day long.


Boy, do I look tired. Oh well. Tired but happy.


You kidding me? Georgia's birthday again?








My sister and brother in law generously gave us a newborn photography session as a baby gift. Georgia was SO excited to get to be the photographer's assistant by holding up this muslin blanket to diffuse the light that I couldn't resist snapping a photo of the work in progress. (I haven't seen the results yet, except for this sneak peak on the photog's blog.)


First bottle with Dad in the dark. (We're hoping to avoid the bottle refusal that we went through with June.)


Re-learning my Moby Wrap skills. Waylon's in there, in case you couldn't tell.


Photo credit:  Elaine Melko.  (Snapped on my camera, so edited by moi.)