Oh, interwebs.  I think about you often. I use you for your informational purposes.  I scour your sales, your giveaways, your coupons.  I laugh at your jokes, at your snark and cry at your sad tales of woe.  But do I contribute?  No.  Do I send you flowers?  No.  I am like the ultimate loser/user boyfriend.

I can change, baby.  Just give me a chance.

/apologies.

The kid is 11 months old now, as of yesterday.  If you can believe it, there’s still no crawling, no walking and no teeth.  Indeed the Mobility/Chompers Watch of 2008 just rolled into M/CW of 2009.  She’s on her way though and I have no doubt she will conquer these milestones in her own time.  I’m just getting a little antsy is all.  I mean, I even bought baby gates! (which are still sitting in their packaging by the front door).   We really thought she had a top tooth going at the beginning of December, but it’s faked us out again.  God knows how many times we’ve given her homeopathic teething tablets or doses of Tylenol b/c we were sure our wee one was suffering teething pains.  It’s possible she’s just a junkie looking for a fix.

In other news, she is communicating!  Signing “all done” and “more,” though we think she’s starting to get confused — that perhaps “more” really means “Cheerios.”  Also, “all done” bears a striking resemblance to “bye bye” which seems identical to “hi” but ain’t no way I’m going to try to train away the adorable two-handed wave.  Also, “more” to the untrained eye might look like she’s clapping, but it’s all about the context, baby.  She also dances when she’s standing, has favorite songs (and knows the difference between them) and matches pitch most of the time.  She growls too.  Plays peek-a-boo, though she doesn’t seem to care about the particulars of actually hiding.  Putting her hands on the sides of her head is, to her, the same as putting them over her face.  So she looks like she’s got a headache this big, but really, it’s peek-a-boo.   Spoken words?  We’ve got ’em.  “What’s that?” is a popular one — she’ll point at things and say “dut dat” and then look at us like we’re making it up.  As if that couldn’t possibly be called a door, what a silly made-up word, dad.  She says “mum-mum” for her favorite baby snack and is working on “book.”

She’s a tiny one still.  In 6-9 month clothes (3-6 month onesies!) and probably weighing in under 18 pounds still.  As big a head as ever and in need of a 2nd haircut.

Enough about the kid.  What about  me?

I got a new job! Really a dream job of sorts, with lots of responsibility, challenges and hours, but with people I enjoy and respect, people who value my opinion and at my lovely alma mater!  Also more $$.  It does take me away from Bee-Bee a little more, which is hard, but we believe this job is what God has for us right now, and while that’s a big downside, it’s the only one so far and that’s pretty darn good.

I’m trying to get a handle on things as a working wife and mother (not that I wasn’t one before this new job, but this job demands much more cognitive and creative brainspace, plus it’s a transition, regardless).  I’ve been at my job just over a week and there’s hardly any food in the house and we’re all almost out of clean laundry.  Bills are stacking up that just need to be paid and baby food needs to be made.  I need to research the next phase of the Bee’s babyhood and start working on our taxes.  And, oh yeah, we’re trying to move closer to my job, so that’s probably happening in 6 weeks.  And I have a 1-year-old birthday party to plan.

Anecdote:  Today, Taylor and baby met me to look at a couple of houses to rent and then we went out to lunch.  The Bee was a hot mess b/c she was hungry and, like her father, goes immediately from content to utter meltdown in the space of 15 seconds and will not stop until she is fed.  So I whipped out my nursing cover and got the kid to stop her public display of attention by feeding her.  (And yes, we are still breastfeeding!)  I hardly ever feel awkward about nursing in public as long as I have my nursing cover, but she had garnered a bit of attention with her screaming, so lots of people looked over as I sat there feeding her.  I don’t look around and I certainly don’t apologize, but just chatted with Taylor.  After she was done eating and was contentedly sitting in her high-chair, she looked around and bowled everyone over with her cuteness and waving.  Still, I was feeling like we’d been branded as “those people with the screamy baby who breastfeed in public and who are those hippies,” though I try regularly to squash that feeling.  It made my day when a nice 50-something lady spent a few minutes cooing over my child and whispered to me “I love it when I see other breastfeeding moms,” and winked at me.  It was kind, it was caring, it was affirming.  And made this still-new-at-this mom feel like she was doing at least something right.

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