Our son Henry is 14 weeks old today (read: just over 3 months), and although he's been smiling for several weeks now, I've been trying my damnedest to get him to laugh. I'm sure an innocent bystander who didn't know that I have a baby would think I was crazy with all my antics.
The other day I was walking around Rideau Centre, alone, with Henry in the stroller. He was looking around like mad - so many new things! - and I passed American Apparel, on the second floor. I looked up and saw a male mannequin dressed, I kid you not, in a neon pink wife-beater and tiny gold running shorts. I was in a just okay mood at the time, but this sent the endorphins skyrocketing. I completely lost my shit and started laughing hysterically in the middle of the mall. I even pointed at the mannequin, and described it to Henry as my walk slowed to a crawl. Then I noticed people staring at me so I wiped away my tears of hilarity and kept walking.
The point of the story is that Henry saw me laughing and started smiling like mad. He opened his mouth really wide and made a little huffing noise. I tried to get him to do it again, but alas, the moment had passed.
Parents (or those who know babies), I ask you: is it a laugh?
In my opinion, sadly, no. To me a laugh has to have audible tone, not just be a breathing, huffy noise. Which has not stopped me from trying to get him to duplicate the phenomenon. No, this is just the beginning, ladies and gentlemen.
I've tried dancing like a crazy person (or, to be honest, like a friend of mine who is not afraid to dance like a crazy person for her kids), I've tried blowing short raspberries in his face (moderate success), I've tried tickling (zero success with that so far), I've tried laughing at his farts to see if he'll think they're funny too (nope, he just gets red in the face and/or bug-eyed), and I've tried making faces, but that just scares him. I think I might have to try knock-knock jokes or channeling Eddie Izzard or something next.
So... yeah.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Clutter clearing my body and my closet
So while I've spent the past few weeks carefully crafting the telling of the birth of my son (I'm still not ready, literally or emotionally, to post it), my body, especially my belly, has very slowly been trying to get back to its pre-baby form.
When my husband got me a bag full of junk food as a Mother's Day gift (among other things, don't worry, he's not an idiot), it was because I'd spent the two days before that loudly announcing my ephemeral cravings for chips, cookies, nachos and salsa. But the morning of Mother's Day I resolved that I would give up junk food for a while and actively pursue abdominal firmness.
Then this windfall of sugar and salt fell into my lap, literally.
I would like to think that I scarfed all of that junk food - to wit, a bag of chips, a bag of nachos (I had help with that, though), a box of Oreos, a Coke and a grape Crush - in two days not because I am a disgusting pig, but because I'm in a hurry to begin my new diet without temptation. It looks horrifying when you read it, and it's even more horrifying when I think about what I've put into my body.
Yesterday I spent a few hours systematically going through my pre-pregnancy clothes, ruthlessly - though sometimes wistfully - sorting them as, "it fits", "it will hopefully fit soon", and "Jay-zus, my boobs are too big for this." It is the latter pile that really frustrated me, as it included one of my favorite dresses, nearly all of my lingerie, and about half of my shirts. I also threw out about half of my underwear (will never fit me again), three of my bras (too old and waaay too small), some stockings with runs in them, and socks with holes. I've now got an overflowing bag of gently used clothes that I'm going to first offer to my future sister-in-law, and then to Value Village.
While my shirt pile is much smaller than it was before, it leaves room for new, well-fitting shirts to come into my life. I learned long ago not to get too hung up on the number on the tag (for a while I used to remove the tags on my clothes, and then conveniently forget what size I was), so new pants will be in order too, to accommodate my post-baby saggy belly.
Sod's law says as soon as I buy pants that fit me properly, I'll probably lose the weight and belly fat that requires they be larger than normal, and then I'll need to get all new pants again, but I'm okay with that.
When my husband got me a bag full of junk food as a Mother's Day gift (among other things, don't worry, he's not an idiot), it was because I'd spent the two days before that loudly announcing my ephemeral cravings for chips, cookies, nachos and salsa. But the morning of Mother's Day I resolved that I would give up junk food for a while and actively pursue abdominal firmness.
Then this windfall of sugar and salt fell into my lap, literally.
I would like to think that I scarfed all of that junk food - to wit, a bag of chips, a bag of nachos (I had help with that, though), a box of Oreos, a Coke and a grape Crush - in two days not because I am a disgusting pig, but because I'm in a hurry to begin my new diet without temptation. It looks horrifying when you read it, and it's even more horrifying when I think about what I've put into my body.
Yesterday I spent a few hours systematically going through my pre-pregnancy clothes, ruthlessly - though sometimes wistfully - sorting them as, "it fits", "it will hopefully fit soon", and "Jay-zus, my boobs are too big for this." It is the latter pile that really frustrated me, as it included one of my favorite dresses, nearly all of my lingerie, and about half of my shirts. I also threw out about half of my underwear (will never fit me again), three of my bras (too old and waaay too small), some stockings with runs in them, and socks with holes. I've now got an overflowing bag of gently used clothes that I'm going to first offer to my future sister-in-law, and then to Value Village.
While my shirt pile is much smaller than it was before, it leaves room for new, well-fitting shirts to come into my life. I learned long ago not to get too hung up on the number on the tag (for a while I used to remove the tags on my clothes, and then conveniently forget what size I was), so new pants will be in order too, to accommodate my post-baby saggy belly.
Sod's law says as soon as I buy pants that fit me properly, I'll probably lose the weight and belly fat that requires they be larger than normal, and then I'll need to get all new pants again, but I'm okay with that.
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