Dear Miles,

Dear Miles,

My darling boy, I am running out of ways to start these letters to you. Every month, I begin by commenting on how big you are, and every month, I look back and realize how tiny you were before. This month is no different. So, please forgive the broken record, but you really are getting bigger every day. And smarter. And more mobile.

Over the course of this past month, you have indeed mastered the art of crawling. No longer is it a tentative attempt at movement from the couch to the table. Now, you crawl from one end of the apartment to the other, all day long. When we go to the office, I have to come and catch you before you crawl out of sight. And I have to be extra careful with that, because you move fast. More than once, I have put you down to fix a bottle, only to turn around and find you across the room from where I left you. In a matter of seconds.

The good news here is that you are so much happier now that you are mobile. You've always been a happy baby, but you used to become so frustrated when we walked away from you, even for a moment. Now, you simply go where you want to, and you are loving the freedom. You are laughing more readily, and more often. You love dashing after Daddy when he leaves the room. And when you catch him, you grab him and smile, as if to say, "Gotcha!"

And from the sound of it, it won't be long before you actually say such things. You've long made noises that sound like "Mama" and "Dada", and even use them in the correct context more often than not. In the past week, you've added the word "Hi!" which you use often to greet your favorite people, or simply to announce your presence. It won't be long before you're talking. And if I know you, you'll be walking soon, too.

I look back now at pictures of you as a newborn, and I can hardly believe that was you. You were so tiny, so helpless. You relied on us for everything. Already, you are beginning to find independence in little things. You now go where you want to go. You pull out the toys you want to play with. You crawl to us when you want comfort. You sign to us when you want "milk" (or sometimes "more milk") or when you need changed. In eight short months, you have grown so much, learned so much. And I know that you will continue to learn and grow just as fast in the next few months.

I love you, my little Miles-Monster. With all of my heart. I hope I show you that every single day.

I am so blessed, and so lucky, to be your mother.

Love,

Mommy

Randomivity

So I was wrong.* Apparently, I have one photo of Miles from the day of his Baptism. In his adorable little suit.

He is SO stinkin' cute that I almost want to dress him in suits everyday. If it weren't so warm, I probably would.

Oh, and if I could count on the fact that he wouldn't ruin it.

Also, might I point out that his hair is finally showing up in photographs. And that it now appears to have a slightly reddish tint in photographs. I'm honestly a little excited to find out what color it will be when he has a full head of hair. Until then, though, I will continue to speculate that it might be red. Ish.

So, I feel it's time for a random topic change. Because, ya' know, that's just how I am. And besides, I haven't quite had enough coffee to be coherent, yet.

Anyhow, speaking of warm weather,** I'm very excited about taking my boy swimming for the first time. Now, if only I could get the stars to align just right, I might be able to have everything in one place at one time on a warm enough day that I could take him swimming. And if I'm even luckier, he may even be in a good enough mood to go.

Seriously, I had forgotten what an undertaking it is to go swimming. I mean, you have to locate your towel and suit (and hope the suit still fits right, and didn't mysteriously shrink over the winter). You have to slather on the SPF 45 at least thirty minutes before going out. You have to have eaten at approximately the same time as you are putting on sunscreen, so as not to get those infamous Old-Wives-Tale cramps.*** And that's all before you leave the house.

And with a baby, it's even harder. First, you have to find the baby-sized swim suit. I thought this would be easier, given that I have a little boy, but apparently, swim shirts aren't just for girls anymore. And with a baby whose skin is fairer than mine, if that's possible, covering him up is just a wise decision.**** Then, you have to find the sunscreen. Only, with a tiny bit of research, I found that I really should be buying a specific type of sunblock. Reasons abound, but I get confused, and simply remember brand names that are supposed to be better for babies. But now that means that I have to go buy special sunblock for my baby. And swim diapers. Which, somehow, do not exist on the shelves of three different stores that I've been to this week. Once I have the baby dressed, diapered, and sunblocked (which, hopefully, will happen someday), I have to feed him. And get myself ready. And most importantly, I have to get him to the pool. Before he falls asleep from the exhaustion of getting ready to go swimming.

Excuse me, please. I'm about to have a Highly Dramatic Moment. You don't have to watch if you don't want to. Here goes. . .

Why?!? Why does it have to be so hard?!? I just want to take my baby swimming! I think he'll LOVE it, if we can ever make it. Ugh. Life sucks sometimes. :P

Okay. Moment over. You can look again. Sorry. I apparently have spent too much time around Maestro. I now have Angst.

And randomivity. I think it's time to go get more coffee.

Have an awesomely wonderful weekend!

*Yes, it happens on occasion. But I will deny it if you ask me later. :)

**I did - up there where I said it was "too warm" for him to wear suits everyday. :)

***Sure, we all know it's an old wives' tale, but who wants to risk it?

****Can you imagine an 8-month-old with sunburn? NO fun. :(

Welcome to the Church, Miles

So, I've run away and joined the circus.

Not really, but that's a far more interesting reason for not posting since Saturday than the truth, which is that I just haven't had a spare moment.

On second thought, I really have run away and joined the circus. It's called the Renaissance Festival. But that's beside the point entirely.

Because the point is: My baby is baptized!!!

Sunday morning, after Mass, in front of 31 (seriously) of our closest friends and family, our Priest poured water over the head of my precious little boy. He anointed him with the oils. He blessed him. Miles' godmother, Stacey, held his baptism candle, lit from the Easter candle on Pentecost. His godfather, Chris, put the white tabbard over his head. And dozens of pictures were taken.*

And the entire time, Miles was calm. Serene. Happy.

My little angel baby has now been welcomed into our Church, and has received the gift of the Holy Spirit. On the day the Church celebrates the gifts of the Holy Spirit. The day could not have been more perfect.**

*I don't have a single one, by the way. My camera died, and no one has sent me their copies, yet. (Hint, hint)

**Except, of course, if I had pictures of it. (HINT, HINT) :)

Bad Mommy

So, apparently, I am a Bad Mommy. But, then, that has been established by my kid's lack of socks.

This time, though, it's much worse than going without socks. This time, it's over something that could affect my child 'for a lifetime.' I don't know if I can even type the words, but here goes. . .

I rock my baby to sleep.

I know, I know. I'm setting him up to be an insomniac for the rest of his life, unable to fall asleep unless I'm holding him in my lap.* I mean, no mother in the history of the world has ever rocked her child to sleep. And the few stupid ones (like me) who did had children who turned into serial killers and prostitutes because of their insomnia issues caused by too much rocking.**

I may be exaggerating slightly, but I was called out yesterday on one of the Mommy Forums for rocking my baby to sleep. I was told that if I didn't let him cry it out, he'd "never learn to fall asleep on his own!" Never mind the fact that letting my child cry for even a few minutes only pisses him off beyond belief. In our house, there's no such thing as "crying it out."*** Too bad, say these Judgy Gertrudes of the Interwebz. Let him puke. It will teach him to self-soothe.

What?!?!?

My child falls asleep every night, content in the knowledge that Mommy (or Daddy) is right there, keeping him safe and warm. And I get a precious few moments to cuddle my little boy, who is growing too fast as it is. Gone already are the days when he would cuddle in my lap for hours on end. Now, he is far too busy crawling around, pulling toys all over the living room, pulling up on the couch, chasing the dog, and trying desperately to figure out how to walk. The only time he will sit still long enough to cuddle is if he's sick. Or very sleepy.

So, I rock him to sleep, drinking in the sweet, relaxed moments with my boy before they disappear forever. Breathing in the scent of his hair, feeling the warmth of his little body curled against mine, listening to his steady, even breathing, and watching his eyelashes flutter until they close for the night. I know these moments will be gone too soon, leaving me only with the memories of the scent of his hair, the warmth of his little body, and the flutter of his tiny eyelashes. Maybe I am selfish to keep rocking him, but I am not going to stop any time soon.

And if that makes me a Bad Mommy, I am entirely okay with that.

*Which will get awkward when he's taller than me. . . or perhaps before then? :)

** I mean, what else can you do if you're up all night? I guess your options are limited to murder or selling your body for money. Or working at Denny's. :)

***There is however "screaming your fool head off until you barf," which is what usually happens in these situations.

Friday Photos

Time to start the weekend right with some pictures of our Boy!

Using a bottle lid to bang on a pot.

Knight in training.

Watching the bubbles.

Discovering already the magic of an empty cardboard box.

Crawling!

Miles shows off his crawling skillz. :)

The Great Divide: Part 2 - Choosing Sides

On Monday, I talked about this problem I called "The Great Divide". The distance between Working Moms and Stay-at-Home Moms. Now, let me explain why I care so much about this issue.

The Great Divide widens every day. And I find myself caught between the two worlds. I am a working mom - I work outside of the home, and (at least for part of the year) I contribute financially to our income.* I leave the house most mornings and go to an office, where I spend my day at a computer, just like so many other working moms out there. But, I am also a stay-at-home mom - I am the primary caregiver for my son. I spend my time balancing housework with interacting with my son.

Like all new mothers, I look for ideas, support, and understanding from others who are experiencing the same things as me. But, it's harder than it should be. Because I don't feel like a working mom - I'm with my kid all day long. And I don't feel like a stay-at-home mom - I'm rarely at home, truth be told. Which is why I describe myself as a "full-time mom". But there are no forum boards, no blogs, no support network that I can find for "full-time moms".

That said, I have been lucky enough to be a part of a forum board for stay-at-home moms who have been kind enough to overlook the fact that I am also a working mom. I find a lot of advice and support on this board, but I still feel like the outsider in the group. Like I don't really fit in.

Unfortunately, if that's the case, I don't really "fit in" anywhere. I am an anomaly. A very lucky anomaly. Few have the opportunity to walk with a foot in each world, wearing both the working mom and the stay-at-home mom hats at the same time.**

I just wish that The Great Divide didn't exist. After all, we're all moms. We all deal with some of the same issues: colic, teething, illnesses, potty training, raising our children to be the best people they can be. We all struggle. We all have bad days. And we all love our children more than we ever knew was possible. Why, then, can't we support one another, regardless of where we spend our days?

Wouldn't that be a lesson worth teaching our children?

*Granted, I also help spend a lot of that on Festival, but that's beside the point. :)

**And I'm sure that, like anyone wearing two hats at the same time, I probably look a little like a goober sometimes. But that's not really the point. :)