a name and a blessing

(Richard, freshly shorn, for the big event)

Two Sundays ago, Cub was given a name and a blessing (on Grandpa Glen's birthday). It was a very special day for our little family. I love this picture below because if you look closely, you can see how we jammed 9 million people into our very tiny, sweaty, claustrophobic house.

2 months

Is growing eyelashes

Sleeps 6 hours straight at night, fairly inconsistently

Yodels

Loves Christmas tree lights

And ceiling fans

Snores

Almost holds his head up

Giggles (especially thinks cousin Sadie is hilarious)

Oh my sweet baby Cub. Time is going too fast.

thanksgiving

Today is my favorite day of the entire year. Even more than my birthday.

My heart might just explode with thanks this year.

(Photo by Cynthia Robins of Cynthia Robins Photography. Click here. Or here. Seriously. You need to book her ASAP.)

transition

(Cub's mountain view. Sometimes I think I should switch him rooms.)

It is almost 6pm. It is almost dark. If I was still working fulltime, I would be punching out, keys in hand, sprinting to the car. Friday punch outs were the best.

Instead I am sitting in a darkened nursery, listening to a snoring babe. There is baby laundry to be folded. Little baby socks to be spied and matched. Oh and that garbage really needs to go out. Dinner is boiling over on the stove. I can hear the 5 oclock news blaring - filling me in on what I missed today. No punch out in sight.

I am transitioning. Days are still sometimes nights. Early mornings. Late nights. Naps in between. My body is not yet mine again. Extra skin. Fading stretch marks. Receding hormones. My to-do list no longer includes booking travel to Japan or editing a thesis. Instead I check off errands, laundry and budgeting. Picking this up. Putting that down. And then picking that up again.

I am a different person doing different things but have never felt more comfortable. There are no sick or vacation days for the taking. No employee match being banked in my 401k. But I am working harder than I ever have before. It's strange and lovely all mixed together.

I'm getting the hang of it. And I kind of really love it.

for me

(The Cub has lost almost all of the hair on the top of his head except for a little mohawk.)

The Cub has taught me everything I know about motherhood. Which is not very much. For example, I am just now figuring out that he has different cries. Frantic = hungry, more of a holler = wants to be held (he sticks his bottom lip out) and the list goes on. I think he has a wise and sensitive soul.

Sometimes I feel bad for him because I still very much have my mother training wheels on. I wonder why he didn't go to a well-seasoned mom? On her third or fourth baby? Instead he is stuck with me - a mother doofus. I am still wondering what in the world is going on and who this baby belongs to. And why, oh why, is he inconsolable when I have work to do and dinner to make?

But that is one thing he has taught me. It is always better to stop and pick him up. The house can wait (even if it smells like diapers). But the Cub won't. Every time I pick him up - I swear he is bigger. He has more eyelashes. His cheeks are a little fatter. This nasty diaper house will still be there tomorrow. But that itsy bitsy little Cub of mine won't. And so I hold him tight.

Happily.