Books, etc.

I keep seeing all these blog posts where people have committed to reading 50 books in 2010, or even 75 books in 2010. I could get that done no problem, assuming "Meet the Gabba Gang" with Yo Gabba Gabba counts towards my total. If you count "Professor Wormbog and the Search for the Zipparump-a-Zoo" then I am well on my way to 100 books and it's only January.

(Off-topic note: I went on Amazon.com today to try and buy a copy of Professor Wormbog for a friend's child, only to discover it is out of print and worth $125.00. One hundred twenty five dollars, people. Clearly I should not let Gabe be touching our copy with his grimy applesauce hands, ever ever ever.)

So I rule at reading books. I kind of fail at blogging though. I kind of fail at a lot of things related to motherhood these days, including:

• Uploading/organizing Christmas and Hanukkah pictures. I have not done any of this. I haven't even looked at them to delete the bad ones. Instead, the approximately 658 pictures we took throughout the holidays are merely cluttering up every single one of our memory cards, thus ensuring that if Baby #2 decides to make an early arrival there will be absolutely no way to document the momentous event. MEMORY CARD FULL, you know. That's what we will tell her.
  
• Organizing Baby #2's room. This one is not strictly my fault, as we are waiting on some minor construction on the condo to be finished. It's scheduled to wrap up January 25th, which gives me five full days to assemble the baby's room. Don't say I don't plan ahead. Because clearly, I timed this one with excellent precision.
  
• Convincing Gabe to brush his teeth in any sort of effective manner. I live in constant terror that he's going to be the only two-year-old ever with cavities. The toothbrush spends approximately twelve seconds in his mouth, and then twelve minutes "cweaning walls. I cweaning." It's gross.
  

In better news, here are some things I am good at:

• Having heartburn.
  
• Growing a really gigantic baby. Seriously, at my 35 week appointment last Monday the ultrasound technician told me the baby was estimated to weigh in around 7 pounds, 3 ounces. Dr. M predicts a nine-pounder if I continue at this rate. (!!!) Then he laughed heartily about how her head was measuring huge and I was lucky I was scheduled for a repeat c-section. Ha ha.
  
• Throwing up. (Sorry. Pregnancy is not pretty, kids.)
• Frantically trying to wrap up projects at work since this Friday is my last day before maternity leave, several of which I am behind on because I have spent too much time at work staring out the window and daydreaming about/mooning over upcoming baby. (Not doing anything practical like ordering newborn sized diapers or onesies, mind you. Just mooning.)
  
• Laughing until I cry when Gabe says "Peace out, friends" and flashes a peace sign at his teachers and classmates as we leave daycare. (I have some stellar video of this action, but putting it into this post would of course involve me actually, you know, uploading some video, and clearly that's not going to happen tonight.)

OK. Must go to sleep now. Will try to do better. I probably won't, because of the newborn coming to live at my still-under-construction house, but I promise to try. Peace out, friends.

Houston, We Have a Problem

It turns out Gabe has a jealous streak. A serious jealous streak. When I arrived at school on Friday afternoon to pick him up, he was cheerfully playing with a drum and could barely be bothered to look up and say hi to me. So I sat down on the grass beside him and watched the drumming, amused at my musical son. After I had been sitting for about, oh, eighteen seconds, three other children from his class came and sat down on my lap. One sat right in the middle, and the other two perched on each of my knees. It was absolutely charming and I loved it. Of course, I have known these children since they were only a few months old, and it amuses me to no end that they are now walking, talking little people.

After a minute or two Gabe looked up from his drum-playing to see his friends sitting on my lap, and he was not amused. Not one little bit. He stood up, threw the drum to the ground, and ran the whole distance between us (approximately five feet) in just a few seconds, shouting, "No! Mine! Move!" and then trying to push his tiny friends off of my lap. "No! Mine! Move!" he cried, getting more and more frustrated.

I scooped him up in my arms rather awkwardly, not wanting to dislodge his friends (who showed absolutely no signs of moving and looked utterly unperturbed by his protests), and managed to hold him sort of against the side of my body as I explained that yes, I was indeed his mommy but there was room for everyone to sit and it's nice to share and we don't push our friends ever no we do not push.

I would write this off as an isolated incident, but it wasn't and it's not. He doesn't like me to hold other babies or toddlers or kids. Ever ever ever. In the past week he has been angry about my holding: (i) his cousin P; (ii) our friends' two-month-old son; (iii) our friends' one-year-old daughter; and (iv) Gabe's friend L who is three and who we regularly see for playdates. His protests are always some version of the aforementioned "No! Mine! Move!" (He will sometimes mix it up by locking eyes with me, pointing towards the offending child in my arms, and declaring "All done! All done!")

I think poor Gabe is in for a very rude awakening come February 1. And I have no idea what to do about it. And as much as I am thrilled and excited for baby number two, I feel so terribly guilty about how it is going to affect Gabe. I hope he can learn to love his sibling. People do this all the time, right? Someone please reassure me that I am not actually ruining his life by giving him a sibling.

OK, enough of that whining. Please feast your eyes on Gabey the Pooh! (Halloween was excellent. Gabe tasted his first bite of chocolate and ate an entire roll of Smarties candy. It may have been the greatest day of his life.)

Popularity

Gabe has become quite the ladies' man these days, at least as far as the preschool set is concerned. When I picked him up from school one day a couple of weeks ago, his teacher met me at the door. "I have a story for you," she said with a big smile on her face.

She told me about how she was playing outside with Gabe and some of the other children in his class when three of the preschool-aged girls from the Tigers class came by to say hello (as Gabe's teacher is their former teacher, and the big kids all seem to enjoy checking in on the little kids and their old classrooms). One of the preschool girls glanced at Gabe, then clasped her hands and declared, "Oh...he's mine." Then she gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Can I take him home?" she inquired politely.

"Oh, I don't know about that," replied the teacher. "I think we'll have to ask his mommy."

The little girl frowned. "I don't want to ask him mommy. I just want to take him home. He's mine now."

This went on for a while, with the teacher explaining she couldn't just take him, and the little girl insisting that she wanted to, and apparently the whole incident ended with all three of the little girls kissing Gabe goodbye and telling him they'd see him later.

And see him later they did. After coming by to check on him several more times in the following weeks, the ringleader brought her mommy by to meet Gabe last week. "Can we take him home?" she asked her mommy. "Please?"

I am told that when she was told no, Gabe had to go home with his own mommy and daddy who loved him very much, the little girl was quite put out. But she still frequently stops by to tell him hi and give him hugs and kisses.

Gabe, as you might imagine, eats this up. He will cheerfully sit in a circle of older women (well, four year olds, at least) and be petted and hugged and told how cute he is for twenty solid minutes, which is a long time when you're one and a half.

In fact, I have recently realized that he is happy to be admired (whether by family members, preschool girls, or complete strangers) no matter what the circumstances. This weekend we took him to a pumpkin patch to buy a pumpkin and test drive his Halloween costume, and he was very, very pleased by all the of the strangers who stopped to tell him how adorable he looked (and he really did look adorable in his dinosaur costume, make no mistake about that). He basically preened.

I have no witty conclusion to this story, other than to say he may be in for a rude awakening when the new baby arrives and he is forced to occasionally share the spotlight. Poor Gabe!

And on that note, I have to mention that the new baby had hiccups yesterday. It's the first time I've felt that odd, rhythmic movement during this pregnancy, and made me tear up a little bit. They were tears of joy and sudden remembrance. Until that moment I don't think I'd remembered just how miraculous those baby hiccups feel. And how could I have forgotten, when I was pregnant with Gabe so recently? What else have I forgotten, and what else might I forget? This most incredible time in my life is whizzing by much, much too quickly. So I sat in my desk chair with one hand on my tummy and thought to myself, "Remember this. Remember this. Remember this."

Oh, I hope I do. Maybe writing this will help freeze that feeling in my mind. I hope it does.

An Ode to Three (Four) Day Weekends

Oh, what a great weekend we had. It was the kind of delicious, leisurely weekend that makes it almost physically painful to return to routine on Tuesday morning.

Last week I had to go away on a business trip, which, frankly, was horrible. I mean, the trip itself was fine, but three whole days without this?? Torture! Deprivation!

So to celebrate my return home, I worked from home on Friday and after getting some contracts done I just played and played and played with my fantastic son. We went to the park, we read dozens of books, we played tickle torture until we laughed so hard we could barely breathe. And then the real fun began!

On Saturday we took him to the first home football game of the season! He loved tailgating with GrandBob, Uncle Ross and Auntie Katie, loved eating junk food, LOVED the marching band. Every time the band played - even for just ten seconds in between plays - he would turn his face up to me and cry, "More! More!" He made it through the entire first half without complaint, and we would have stayed even longer had it not been so hot. I think Gabe was actually a little sad to leave the stadium, he enjoyed the experience so much. The whole day made me happy.

And on Sunday things got even better still. My parents belong to a charitable organization that puts on a very elaborate equestrian competition each year, with all of the money benefiting Childrens Hospital. If Gabe loved the marching band on Saturday, then he had fits of ecstasy over the horses at the competition on Sunday. "Neigh! Neigh!" he shouted over and over again, his finger pointing, his head whipping right and left as quickly as possible to make sure he got a glimpse of every single horse. He even got to pet two beautiful horses (including one who was the great-grandson of Secretariat!) and he and GrandBob got to ride on a tractor. When you are sixteen months old, I am not sure life gets any better than this. He finally fell asleep in my arms in a heap of absolute exhaustion around 2:30 p.m., and we managed to get him into the car and all the way back home before he woke up from his nap. And when he did wake up, he was MAD. "Neigh! Gammy! Bob!" he demanded, angry to be at home and away from the horse show. "Neigh! Gammy! Bob!"

On Monday, we celebrated Labor Day with a barbecue at Matt's parents' house, and Gabe got to go swimming in the pool with Cousin Parker. He was also allowed to eat vast quantities of Earth's Best Vanilla Cookies (affectionately known in our house as "ELMO COOKIES YAY!") and Pirate's Booty, and I am sad to report that's pretty much all he ate all weekend. Apparently when we deviate from his routine with too many fun activities, he refuses to eat any food containing any semblance of nutritional value. This stresses me out to no end but so far does not seem to have an adverse affect on the child. Although I am debating taking him back to the baby store near us where they have a weigh station so that I can weigh him and make sure he hasn't actually dropped any pounds in the past couple of weeks. Wow, I have gotten paranoid in my old age.

So in sum, GREAT WEEKEND. I think this is best captured by Gabe's reaction when it was time to take him to daycare this morning (and he is loving the Toddler room, by the way). As we reached his classroom I opened the door and began waiving to all of his friends, saying good morning. I looked back and he was still standing in the doorway. He caught my eye, raised his eyebrows, and shook his head no. He was not interested in going to school. It took a blueberry muffin and two turns on the slide to warm him up to the idea.

So for all of you who had a rough day back at work, rest assured that even toddlers get the end-of-long-weekend blues.

Four Quick Things

1. Gabe is totally patriotic. Check out his getup from the Fourth of July (extreme closeup edition):


2. Does marinara sauce count as a vegetable? If so, then Gabe ate a vegetable tonight! Celebration! Party time!


3. Gabe moves from the Infant Room to the Toddler Room in three weeks. Sob! (I have no picture to illustrate this one. Just picture me with sad, sad tears as Gabe toddles off into the sunset to go play with the more exiting Toddler Room toys, or something.)

4. Gabe very much enjoys playing the ukulele these days.

From Lime to Full-Grown Cocker Spaniel

We have a framed picture of Gabe's twelve-week ultrasound that sits on our bookcase. Here, I'll show you:

The bottom of the two pictures is a shot of his miniature spine. If you look closely you can see it clearly; it looks like a tiny string of pearls. As amazing as that spine is, though, the top picture is the one that gets me every time. His little body is so perfectly formed at just twelve weeks old. I glanced at that framed picture this morning as we were playing in the living room and for a moment it took my breath away. I cannot believe my Gabe has gone from that bobbleheaded creature, so very tiny and growing in my body, to this big, strong almost-toddler wrecking havoc in my living room.


OK, admittedly he looks a little ridiculous here because his hair was spiked up for Crazy Hair Day at school last Wednesday. But all ridiculousness aside, it is simply amazing to me how fast a child can grow from little twelve-week-old fetus about the size of lime, to a seven-and-a-half pound newborn mewling in his mama's arms, to a twenty-pound one-year-old bruiser terrorizing the cats and demanding more graham crackers.

We had a great day today. We played at home, and we even had company - we watched Cousin Parker for an hour or so, which was excellent fun! Then we had lunch with friends and went to the park. We watched the ducks in the duck pond, played on the swings, rode on the seesaw, and played in the sand. It was perfect. I am so blessed.

Things I Have Noticed Recently

1. The cats have recently gone from "slightly chubby" to "borderline obese." I think this may have something to do with the fact that a Certain Baby Who Shall Not Be Named has discovered the unending fun of throwing food off of the highchair and onto the floor, where the cats wait in near-breathless anticipation to swallow the castoffs. Although a Certain Baby continues to be quite picky about what food he will (grudgingly) consume, the cats have no standards whatsoever. Half-chewed grilled cheese sandwich pieces, graham cracker bits, mashed-up peas...they eat it all. With relish. Phoebe has become particularly fond of waffles.

2. Our condo is fully staged and beautiful, although no one has bought it yet. Please buy it. It has been three whole days since it went on the market, so you should buy it. Seriously, it's awesome here, and we found a house we want to buy in Studio City. (Our commute would go from 45-plus minutes to approximately 9 minutes, for those of you who are counting.) But don't do it for me. Do it for the children. Well, the one child, anyhow. The one child who is tired of riding in the carseat all the freaking time. (At the very least, check out the awesome job my mom and the stagers have done: www.1021nineteenthst.com.)

3. Gabe is Featured Artist at the Children's Center right now, which is SPECTACULAR. He actually seems to enjoy painting these days, and will cheerfully paint anything and everything, including paper, the table, his tummy, his nose, and other children. This is a big improvement from his previous reaction to art projects, namely whimpering and crying when his pudgy fingers touch the cold, horrible, slimy paint. Here's his display:

Gabriel, Featured Artist Extraordinaire

(Sorry for the poor picture quality; this was taken with my iPhone as Gabe pulled to a stand by digging his dragon-like fingernails into the flesh right above my kneecaps. Ow.)

4. If you ask Gabe how big he is, he will now stretch his arms straight above his head to indicate that he is "SOOOOOO BIGGGG!" This may be my favorite trick to date.

Soooooo Biggggg!

5. Keeping the house perfectly clean for potential buyers is very exhausting and challenging when an eleven-month-old baby lives at your house. Take it from me: eleven-month-old babies have zero respect for vaccuum marks on the carpeting and perfectly fluffed throw pillows on the couch.

6. This post is kind of lame, but I am tired, so good night!

Best Laid Plans

I had this great idea that I would take a vacation day from work today, send Gabe to school as usual, and spend the better part of the day packing up all of our junk to put into storage this weekend (see earlier post re: oh-my-stars-i'm-having-a-nervous-breakdown-getting-ready-for-the-professional-stagers-ack!). Then I would go grab Gabe in the late afternoon and whiz down the traffic-less freeway towards home, accompanied by unicorns and shooting stars, to play with my baby in my perfectly clean and organized home.

Then this happened:

For those of you who can't tell, that would be the Stinkeye Pinkeye, a/k/a the disease that will get you evicted from daycare in fourteen seconds FLAT. When I picked up Gabe from the Children's Center yesterday afternoon, they literally could not hand him to me fast enough. After (gently) shoving him into my arms, one of his teachers frantically began using hand sanitizing gel as she backed up ten feet away from us and gestured in the general direction of his eyes.

"We had to wipe his eyes twice. You should take him to the doctor. Like, right now."

At this point Gabe rubbed his eyes briskly with his little fists, then smiled up at me and began patting my face because he was just so happy to see me. (I tried to see beyond the contagious plague on his fingertips and focus on the fact that my favorite baby was giving me big smiles. Of course there is no doubt in my mind that I am going to wake up with my eyelids crusted shut tomorrow morning.)

Thank goodness my lovely father-in-law is an eye doctor, and he promptly called in a lovely prescription for lovely, lovely, anti-Stinkeye eyedrops. Although putting eyedrops in the eyes of an almost-ten-month-old baby is, shall we say...challenging. But that is a subject for another post, because I am just too freaking exhausted to describe holding his arms down with my body while attempting to gently, gently pry open his poor goopy blue (red) eyes long enough to drop a single eyedrop in each one.

Oh good grief, I just scrolled up and looked at the picture of his pathetic little self again. Let's face it, there's nowhere good that further discussion of Stinkeye Pinkeye can go, so here, distract yourselves with this picture of a baby with no comunicable disases, which was taken during a happier time (e.g. last weekend):


P.S. My house looks like a complete disaster, thanks for asking.

P.P.S. Gabe got another tooth yesterday, bringing him up to a grand total of TWO!

P.P.P.S. He slept through the night twice this week (FIRST TIME EVER since that one time he did it when he was three months old and still sleeping in the swing), but I dare not say more for fear of jinxing it. (pleasepleaseplease let it happen again tonight!!!)

My Day (Aren't You Giddy With Anticipation?)

1. Jerk awake from sleep to the sound of baby crying. Check clock. Is 4:03 a.m.
   
2. Drag self out of bed and into baby's room for standard 4:00 a.m. feeding.
   
3. Kiss baby, lay baby back down in bed.
   
4. Crawl back into bed, then check fancy video baby monitor. Baby appears to be sleeping again, tummy full. Excellent, excellent.
   
5. Resume sleeping.
   
6. Jerk awake to the sound of alarm clock. Check clock. Is 7:01 a.m.
   
7. Force self awake. Accept mug of coffee proffered by lovely, lovely husband.
   
8. Fortified by caffeine, commence morning routine of feeding baby, showering, dressing baby, preparing bottles/lunch for baby, getting ready for work, etc.
   
9. Am hungry, but realize there is no time to eat.
   
10. Kiss baby and husband goodbye and get in car (as lovely husband is dropping off baby at daycare as usual).
    
11. Sit on 405 freeway.
12. Sit on 101 freeway.
    
13. Merge onto 134 freeway and discover there is no traffic on 134. Accelerate to 70mph. Whee!
14. Exit ramp for my exit is backed up. Boo.
    
15. Arrive at work at approx. 9:07. Commence drafting contract while returning emails and voicemails simultaneously. Am excellent multitasking-type person.
    
16. Still hungry at approximately 10:19. Run across the street to Starbucks and grab low-fat muffin (but who am I kidding? Allegedly "low-fat" muffin undoubtedly contains 867 calories and 52 grams of fat) and black coffee. Mmmmm, Starbucks.
17. Return to desk and continue work while picking gross dried apricots out of "low-fat" muffin.
    
18. Send out three contracts for signature. Hooray for me!
    
19. Send out a draft contract to my business contact. Am such an effective lawyer. Pat self on back.
    
20. Is now 12:23. Must run to Studio lot to pick up a copy of 101 Dalmatians for my sister-in-law like I promised her I would do.
    
21. Arrive at Studio lot. Damn, no copies of 101 Dalmatians in stock. Purchase "101 Dalmatians 2: Patch's London Adventure" as wholly inadequate substitute.
22. Grab salad at Studio commissary. Am paragon of virtue, food-wise.
    
23. Return to desk at 1:17 and begin eating salad while replying to emails and feeling guilty re: lack of original 101 Dalmatians DVD.
24. Conference call from 2:00-2:30. No fun. Everyone cranky. Force self to pay attention and not check favorite websites.
    
25. Receive comments to draft contract from business team. Revise draft and send out to vendor for signature. Such a good lawyer today!
    
26. Conference call from 3:00-3:30. Less crankiness on this one.
    
27. Check gmail account and www.icanhascheezburger.com because am lazy and ineffective sometimes.
    
28. Also check favorite blogs, www.flotsamblog.com, and www.amalah.com. Ooooh, new update on Flotsam! Hooray!
29. Send out one more contract for signature. Return some more emails. Is almost 4:00!
30. 4:02. Time to sneak out. Check hallways for signs of boss. Boss is nowhere in sight. Scurry to elevators as quietly as possible.
    
31. Where is elevator? Damn it.
32. Ahh, elevator arrives. Excellent, have escaped without notice!
33. In lobby, encounter co-workers returning from afternoon Starbucks run. Busted.
    
34. Oh well.
    
35. Locate car in parking garage.
    
36. Drive to daycare to collect baby. Is raining. Oof.
    
37. Baby!!!!!!!!!!!
38. Many squeezes and kisses. Baby applauds for me and buries his head in my shoulder/neck area.
    
39. Am happy.
    
40. Put baby into carseat and take him out to car. Grateful for excellent parking spot right near door, as the rain is really coming down now.
    
41. Sit on freeway on-ramp. Inauspicious beginning to drive home.
    
42. Sit on 134.
    
43. Sit on 101.
    
44. Sit on 405 (all the while thanking God or whatever higher power is in charge of baby naps that baby fell asleep on 134/101 transition and remains asleep now. Snoring slightly, actually.)
45. Arrive at home!
46. Baby still sleeping. Huh.
    
47. Will sit in car and wait for him to wake up.
    
48. Check BlackBerry, return work emails.
    
49. Baby still sleeping. Double huh.
    
50. Baby awake! Hooray!
51. Gather baby in carseat (with blanket carefully draped over same to prevent any raindrops from touching his precious skin), daycare bag full of empty bottles and lunch containers, mail from mailbox, and oversize (but very stylish) purse and run for the front door, as rain continues to pour down.
    
52. Discover I am excellent at running in the rain in high heels. Yay for me!
53. Am drenched. Baby is amused. Claps hands.
    
54. Remove baby from carseat and play on the floor for a while. Baby loves clicking butterfly toy and old cell phone with battery removed.
    
55. Try to return a few more work emails while amusing baby with floppy dog toy. Baby spies BlackBerry and demands to play with it.
    
56. Baby flings BlackBerry to the ground. The back comes off and battery skitters under the coffee table.
    
57. Reassemble BlackBerry.
58. Baby demands BlackBerry again.
    
59. Baby flings BlackBerry to the ground again.
    
60. Enough of that game.
    
61. Carry baby to the highchair and present him with his menu options. Baby rejects lentils and rice combo dinner (judging from volume of rejection, baby suspects lentils might contain poison) and instead selects Cheerios and applesauce. Surprise, surprise.
    
62. Feed baby. Much babbling and smearing of applesauce occurs.
    
63. Attempt to wipe off baby. Leave disgusting Cheerio/applesauce mixture mashed into highchair tray for later.
    
64. Realize baby has just spit some Cheerio on my soft, soft (read: expensive) cashmere sweater. Feel that baby is perhaps slightly disrespectful of cashmere, and that I am perhaps stupid for not changing clothes before feeding baby.
    
65. Play with baby some more. Many tummy kisses and giggles and banging on the little red piano are involved.
    
66. Am happy.
    
67. Cuddle up with baby in big chair and give him bottle, then offer baby selection of bedtime stories.
    
68. Baby selects "Hippos Go Berserk," "Each Peach Pear Plum," and "The Going To Bed Book." Excellent choices all.
    
69. Read books, smooch baby's fat cheeks, and lay baby down in crib. Baby is tired, rubbing eyes.
    
70. Turn out lights.
    
71. Grab aforementioned fancy video baby monitor and head to kitchen to do the Big Bottle Wash. Wash all bottles and baby food containers used today, plus scrub previously mentioned Cheerio/applesauce mush (which has now solidified into a hard crust) from highchair tray.
72. Check monitor. Baby appears to be fast asleep. Hooray!
    
73. Realize have forgotten one dirty bottle on bedside table. Damn.
    
74. Check work emails. Return work emails. BlackBerry trackball not working quite properly, perhaps as result of BlackBerry being flung to the ground several times. Hmm.
    
75. Husband arrives home bearing take out Chinese food! Best Husband Ever!!!
76. Smooch husband then greedily grab Chinese food bag from his hand.
    
77. Eat delicious shrimps and mixed vegetables. Mmmmmmm.
    
78. Also drink wine. Mmmmmm.
    
79. Watch American Idol saved on TiVo. Feel strong feelings of love for: (a) husband; (b) baby, who is still asleep; (c) Chinese food; (d) Simon Cowell; (e) cats (one of whom is sitting on feet keeping them warm); and (f) TiVo.
80. Prepare bottle things for 4:00 a.m. feeding; put all supplies on bedside table.
    
81. Brush teeth, remove contacts, etc.
    
82. Give husband big hug and smooch.
    
83. Go to bed.
    
84. Whew.
    

All Grown Up

My sweet little baby revealed his first tooth this morning.

Then, while I was blow drying my hair and getting ready for work, he crawled so very fast across the bedroom floor - away from the super fun and not at all annoying electronic toys with lights and music! - to sit between my feet in the bathroom.

And later, at daycare today, he crawled up the stairs of the little climbing structure, and applauded for himself when he reached the top.

He's full of tricks these days, my little baby. Oh, and growing so big and strong, so quickly. My heart. My heart.

Plague

I am sick again. How is this possible? Didn't I just have the flu about three weeks ago? Actually now that I stop to think about it, it seems like I have been sick off and on for, oh, I don't know, about three and a half months.

In totally unrelated news, Gabe started daycare about three and a half months ago! Isn't that funny? What an amazing coincidence! No chance those two events could have anything to do with each other, is there? Ho, ho! It's so amusing!

The silver lining to the constant low-level illness (and this is a big silver lining, Dear Readers), is that while Matt and I have been trading the same cold back and forth literally for months now, complete with coughing, aching, runny noses, etc., Gabe is doing great. He has been sick exactly one time. It lasted about forty-eight hours; he had a low-grade fever and general fussiness. (And can I just say: thank goodness his illness was brief and mild. That forty-eight hours nearly broke my heart. I am such a freaking wimp.) Plus Gabe might not have even been sick for real that one time. His doctor opined (yes, of course I rushed him to the doctor like a typical overreacting first-time mom) that he was probably teething. Who knew teeth could cause a fever? Babies are so weird.

Anyhow, the moral of the story is that Gabe is immune to all of the plague germs carried by the fourteen other snotty-nosed babies at daycare, while Matt and I succumb to each and every virus we encounter during the twenty minutes of drop-off and pick-up. I think Gabe is sneaking out of his crib at night and stealing vitamins from the bathroom or something.

OK, I have to go cough and blow my nose and feel sorry for myself now. Distract yourselves with this picture of the chubby chubkins nom nom squishy cheeks. Mmmmm, delicious!