1 Month

How is it possible that our boy is already 1 month old?

I can't quite believe it, but I've consulted the calendar multiple times and it seems that it's true.  As of yesterday, our little guy has graced us with his presence for 1 month exactly.

In honor of the occasion, I stole an idea off the internet.  We are going to take pictures every month on his "month birthday" with one balloon for each month.  (When I told Jeffrey this idea, he said, "This could get out of control." I think he was imagining 216 balloons on Carter's 18th birthday.  I told Jeffrey I'm not that crazy...but then I started thinking about how fun it would be to have a picture with 216 balloons!  We'll see what happens.)  So here's number one--one balloon, one month old.

Happy day, little man.

CVS and CPS

One month ago today, I became a mom, which means that one month ago today, I started worrying whether I am a good mom or a bad mom. 

It's only natural, I think, to have doubts about your ability to parent--especially if you have a great mom yourself (as I do).  There are so many ideals in your mind you want to live up to and suddenly every decision seems to be crucial and potentially life-threatening.  (Example:  Did I do enough "tummy time" with my baby today?  What if I didn't?!  Oh, great.  He'll probably never be able to lift his head.  Ever.)

Just kidding--he can totally already lift his head.  My baby is BRILLIANT!

I was faced with one such critical decision last week.

One of the few days that I decided to leave the house (AKA--put on real pants...with zippers and buttons and everything) I picked up a Redbox movie.  I watched said Redbox movie and then returned to CVS the next day to return it.  Here's where the problem begins:  As I pulled up to CVS, with sweet baby Carter peacefully sleeping in the backseat, I wondered to myself, "Am I supposed to unload this sleeping baby to return the Redbox movie, or can I leave him in the car?"

*Somewhere out there, someone is screaming at their computer screen:  "What?!?  You can't leave a baby in a car!!!"

I know that you're not supposed to leave babies in cars (in fact, you're not even supposed to leave dogs in cars), but shouldn't there be some sort of minimum distance for that sort of thing? 

I also know that you're not supposed to wake a sleeping baby....talk about a Catch 22.

I ended up deciding that if I could find a parking spot immediately in front of the Redbox kiosk AND there was no line, I would return the movie as quickly as possible and leave Carter in the car. 

The aforementioned criteria were met, so I parked, scampered out of the car (being careful to hold onto my keys because if I had locked those in the car with my baby...well, that would have just been a difficult conversation to have with a locksmith) and returned the movie as quickly as possible.  In total, I was probably away from Carter by 4 feet and for 20 seconds.  Even so, I kept expecting to hear sirens wail and a social worker tap me on the shoulder and ask me to please give my baby to a person who would love him more. 

By the time I got back to the car, I'd come to terms with my decision and (since no horrible consequences had occurred thus far) I'd begun to breathe normally again...

Until I saw the horrified face of the person who was waiting in the passenger seat of the car parked next to mine, staring in judgement at the occupied car seat in my corolla.

I'm pretty sure he was calling Child Protective Services as I peeled out of the parking lot, hoping he wasn't quick enough to write down my license plate number.

Does my Redbox rendevoux make me a bad mom?  I hope not.  Either way, Carter slept through the whole thing, so let's let him believe he got a good one for as long as possible.  Nobody say a word, ok?

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Oopsie Poopsie

I was going to impress everyone by writing a blog post about something besides Carter.  In fact, I've even taken the pictures already.  I was going to post about the new art project that I finished recently and hung in our newly redecorated master bedroom. 

Then my dog ate a diaper.  And suddenly I MUST talk about Carter again because, after all, it was his diaper. 

Carter and I went out to run some errands today and when we got back home, imagine our horror when we found the remnants of two diapers spread all over the living room rug and one side of the master bedroom.  (And when I say "remnants" I mean tiny, minced shreds of what was formerly known as a newborn sized diaper.)

Was it a clean diaper?  No--Dixie had drug two diapers out of the trash while we were gone.  Was it a wet diaper?  No--it was a lime green variant of poopy diaper.  Too bad our living room rug isn't lime green.  Then I could have just left it.

After giving Dixie a stern talking to in a harsh whisper (the baby was asleep) and cleaning up the diaper explosion (thank goodness we keep nitrile gloves at our house--for such a time as this), I sat down to consult the experts on whether I should be afraid my dog will die from eating a dirty diaper.  Of course, by "experts" I mean Google.

I joke, but I do use Google a lot to research things ("is it normal for a newborn's poop to be lime green?!"), but usually I try to be careful about choosing which links to believe.  Links that lead to random message boards = not so much.  Links that take you to a government sponsored page = believable.  Unfortunately, I found nothing but message boards on my "dog ate a diaper, now what?" search.

Here's where the story will get really sad if it goes wrong tonight:  the message board experts are split in their opinions right down the middle.  Half say to immediately take your dog to the vet because the diaper stuffing is expanding like Violet's gum in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and will kill her if it isn't surgically removed.  Half say to leave your dog alone because dogs eat stupid stuff all the time and usually just poop it out.

I decided to wait it out.  Mostly because taking a newborn and a diaper-breath dog to the vet sounded like the worst horror movie of this Halloween season.  I decided I'd just keep an eye on her and watch out for any signs of sickness, like lethargy, vomiting, or not eating.

Well, she's not vomiting, and it's not time to eat yet, so we're good there, but how in the world am I supposed to tell if this lazy dog is lethargic?

P. S.  If anything in this post doesn't make sense, it's because I'm typing it at a feverish pace before Carter's nap ends, and I keep having to go check on him every 15 minutes (because I'm crazy).  Do you see what I see?  This is me peeking in hundreds of times per day...

 

That's my sweet baby boy.  I love him too much!