the cat shirt

Lucas has recently decided that cats, and everything related to cats, are awesome. He has a little animal book that has a picture of a cute kitten playing with yarn and he'll open it to that page and chuckle, he breaks into a fit of giggles if you meow at him, and he really digs when Old MacDonald has a cat on his farm.

And, of course, there is Puma. To Lucas, Puma is the best toy/pillow/playmate that ever walked on four legs. Those gray fluffy pantaloons are a constant temptation for Lucas's hands and, ickily enough, face. Sometimes Puma is in a good mood and sometimes not, but Lucas doesn't even care. The moment Lucas comes into the living room in the morning and sees the cat he lets out the most adorable breathy squeal and tries to lunge out of our arms. Anytime Puma tries to lie on the ottoman, Lucas makes a beeline for him, up on all fours and chortling the whole way. If Puma dares to enter the Realm of Lucas [otherwise known as the closed in section of our living room that is pleasantly cluttered with everything fun and colorful], he has an 85% chance of literally being tackled to the ground in a potentially life-threatening takedown. Lucas has improved his "petting" technique but hasn't quite grasped the meaning of gentle in all other aspects of cat handling. We will often find our 22-pound baby sprawled flat out on top of the cat, face buried in belly fur and chubby arms wrapped tightly around twitching ears and whiskers. Poor Puma. [Please don't report us to PETA.]

With this awesome cat obsession, coupled with his ever-developing ability to recognize things [it's so incredible to watch his little mind whirring!], we had a funny experience today while out shopping. I have a shirt with a very large picture of a cat smack dab on the front of it. I put it on today not thinking anything but "sweet, that doesn't have drool on it." Lucas, however, had other thoughts. Between the grins and giggles and groping hands, we quickly realized what was going on: Lucas had found another cat.

All through the store, anytime he got a glimpse of the cat on my shirt, he would happily paw at the kitty and gurgle excitedly. If he got particularly feisty, he would attempt to bring the cat/shirt/me close enough to bury his face in it. It was adorable... and not at all awkward. Walking through the grocery store while a tiny person gets a little handsy is what parenthood is all about, right? Boy, I love everything about this awesome little kid.

Moral of the story: Be aware of the placement of cats on your shirts and don't let your cat-loving boy ever learn about YouTube.

With the arrival of summer, Jason will be teaching his last class ever at UD. Five weeks of calculus and then it's on to Missouri. The next couple of months are a bit overwhelming to think about but also rather exciting. Life is plowing on full steam ahead and it's quite the adventure dreaming big dreams and watching everything unfold. I love our family of three so much.

To life! Love! And baby-proof cabinets!

Adoration.

whispers

Dear Lucas,

As I watch your daddy slowly sway you to sleep, my heart overflows. As I watch the two of you giggle at each other and exchange goodnight kisses, the stresses of the day seem insignificant. You insist on dancing and bebopping back and forth while he struggles to keep you in his arms and a straight face at the same time. It is an epic battle. It is often one of my very favorite parts of the day.

You eventually give in to a giant yawn [which is always the moment that gives us both a glimmer of hope that you actually plan on falling asleep sometime in the next ten minutes] and your wiggles die down. The room gradually becomes quiet as you settle into the crook of his arm and start to give in to the inevitable sleepies. A mere moment later, your daddy beckons for me to come look at you lying in your crib with your hands either behind your head or your arms flung out at funny angles. Your eyes flicker open and then slowly close again, your tiny fingers twitching one at a time.

Carefully, we creep out of your now darkened room, making sure to dodge all of your rattle-y and crinkle-y toys, and leave you to your peaceful dreams. I can't resist the urge to look back at you before closing the door, just to make sure you're still there, still peaceful, still safe, still ours. I love you so incredibly much. Goodnight, little one. I wish only the sweetest of dreams to you.

With all of my bursting heart,
Mamamamama-puhpuhpuh

clickbait [or "9 Baby-Related Things That Just Might Gross You Out - Number 6 Will Blow Your Mind!"]

I don't think I've ever mentioned here how much I ridicule/mock [on a good day] or despise/abhor [on a bad day] those ridiculous clickbait article/video headlines ["It's been nearly a DECADE since we've seen THIS!"] and never-ending lists of completely inane yet overly specific topics ["24 Times Britney Spears Was the Coolest Mom Ever"]. So I think it's time I just get it all out of my system. 

No, I will not click that picture to go to a list of pictures of people posting pictures of people doing weird things in pictures.

No, weather.com, I only want to know what the forecast is [just for amusement, of course, as I am already aware that your predictions are based solely on three shakes of an eight ball] and I do not care for you to auto-play "New Rule the DMV Doesn't Want You to Know."

No, if sharing the article on Facebook first is the only way for me to read the article, then I am just going to have to do without knowing whatever it is you think will make my jaw hit the floor.

No, I do not want to know about how a celebrity I don't know has accomplished something that I don't care to ever accomplish.

No, I do not want to read a list that promises to tell me 23 distinct facts but that is really just a narrative of 23 sentences that only loosely pertain to the original topic.

No, simply claiming that I will only believe it once I see it is not enough of a reason for me to click your video/picture/ebay auction item.

No, a 47-item list is too long. Especially since I know those last 29 items will be either redundant, weak, or stupid.

Okay, Whew. I'm feeling a little bit better now. I think the last thing to do, to fully rid myself of the despicable feelings that this topic broils in my belly, is to create my own horrid clickbait list thingimabob. Just completely desensitize myself to it. And then be done with it. 

Without further adieu...

9 Baby-Related Things That Might Gross You Out - Number 6 Will Blow Your Mind!

1. Once your baby's arms grow long enough, he will insist on picking your nose while he munches away at the Milk Bar. You are no longer able to move your head far enough away. You are no longer skilled enough to manhandle his roaming extremity while maintaining a satisfactory feeding position. You will turn your head away to protect your nose and he will contentedly start clearing your now exposed ear of all of your unwanted and wanted earwax. You will not win this battle.
2. The answer to "Is this too much avocado on my son's pants for the pants to be wearable?" is always, always, always "It's not so bad. You can barely see it if you scrape at it a little."
3. A related question is, "Can you see the giant drool spots on my shirt or can I just cover it with the baby carrier when I go out?" The answer is basically the same as #2.
4. Pop quiz: When presented with a poopy diaper, where do you have to clean up the most? If you said the tush, you would be... incorrect. Studies have shown* that the baby's bottom is often the cleanest part of the baby inside the diaper. At the top of the messy list is Everything But the Butt. That's all. 
5. If you have ever wondered what would happen if your baby sneezes with a mouthful of sweet potato, wonder no more. What happens is exactly what you would expect. You will never stop finding sweet potato splatter. Ever.
6. While on the topic of food, let's discuss peas and their uncanny resemblance to lentils once they have... resurfaced. It is a fascinating process. You watch perfectly tasty green peas being gobbled up by your baby, and the next morning you are greeted with a diaper-ful of what appear to be perfect specimens of lentils. Which brings to mind the kopi luwak and its rather questionable process of harvesting coffee beans. With these two prime examples, I rather think we have an untapped world of possibilities in the culinary world.
7. One last note on diapers: Opening that 7 a.m. diaper is akin to an archaeologist's search for the Holy Grail - you never know what you're going to find, but you know it's going to be epic.
8. Bathwater desecration. Need I say more?
9. Drool. There is no end to it. But, really, everyone already knows this. What everyone does not know is how difficult it is to lean over your baby making those classic phbbttttt sounds while keeping your own drool in check. Some days you succeed. Other days... Well, let's just say it's good to have an understanding with your child about the two-way street that is drooling.

Life is grand. There is no question about it.

Tomorrow marks my first official Mamamomombabomb Day [known to most as Mother's Day, but I'll take what I can get] and 7th anniversary of being Jason's lady. Those are some pretty stellar things to celebrate. We may pop open a fizzy drink, read a little Pooh Bear, or even break out the vacuum and go a little crazy [clean carpet, whaaat!]. While we aren't really ones to make Grand Plans, I know the day will include tons of time with my two fellas. I'm looking forward to it. <3 Here's to many, many, many more!

Family pictures are tricky.

*based on a sample group of one 7.5-month old male of South Korean and Caucasian descent residing at a latitude of 39 degrees north

almost seven

I apparently haven't written a blog post since the one I wrote the week Lucas was born. Sharayah's been holding down the fort, but it looks like it's time for me to pull my weight. So here we go.

I guess lots of things have happened. Lucas is growing all the time. He's the coolest kid we know. His pictures are all over the face book, so you may have seen them. It seems like every week he learns some new thing. Right now he's on the verge of crawling. He can already make his way around pretty well by dragging himself along on his belly (which some might say is already crawling), but he also gets up on his hands and knees and tries to move forward with comical results. Once he's up on his hands and knees, he just sways forward and back in quick succession as though he's willing himself forward but he just can't seem to go anywhere. Usually he topples pretty quickly as soon as he manages to lift one of his limbs to move it forward. He's also sampling various foods. His facial expressions would imply that he hates everything we've given him, but he always tries to get more of it until we stop feeding him, so he apparently just has his yummy and yucky faces mixed up. He makes all kinds of great noises (his voice is like music) and he's learning more consonants. He started with a really guttural g, moved on to a normal g, and has since added m, b, and sometimes what sounds like h, w, and k. Today he said "mama" pretty clearly (although he also clearly didn't know what it meant). I'm still trying to teach him to make d sounds. He laughs at us all the time. I think he's starting to have his own little personality, and he seems to be happy almost always. We're very blessed with probably the best baby there's ever been. He's so great and we love him like crazy. Being a dad is definitely every bit of life-changing that I thought it would be.

Dissertation writing was brutal. I don't know why I didn't have any posts from October to December, but I know January and February were wholly dedicated to my dissertation. Even though all of the research was already done, and most of it was already written up in one of the papers I've been a part of, compiling it all into one self-contained, cohesive work was an absurd amount of work. We have Lucas on a lovely sleep schedule where he goes to bed around 7 or 7:30 and sleeps at least until midnight, sometimes a couple hours more. For those two months, as soon as he was down I worked on my dissertation until sometime between midnight and 3am. Add to that teaching and being a dad during the day, and you get a very exhausted me. I'm very happy with the result, but it totally beat me down. Still, in the end I persevered, and after a couple weeks I was pretty well recovered from the lack of sleep. I'll defend the dissertation at the end of the month, and then apparently I'll be a doctor, so feel free to message me asking for medical advice. That's how it works, right?

Another thing keeping me busy from November through February was applying to jobs. I don't know if I can really explain how applying for jobs in academia works, but I can tell you (based on things that various people said to me during that time) that probably anyone who hasn't done it has no idea what it's like. It's very different from the regular job market. You can't really pick a given area and have any real hope to get a job there, since most places don't have that many schools, and there are hundreds of people applying to pretty much every school. One school said in their very friendly "we did not choose to interview you" email that they had over 650 applicants. So there were at least 650 other math PhDs looking for jobs this year and way fewer than 650 universities that had openings in math. At any rate, I applied to over a hundred all over the country, eventually ended up with a few interviews, and finally got two job offers, one of which I accepted today. So, I have a job for the indefinite future. I will be the newest math professor (using professor informally, because it's an actual job rank that takes at least 10 years to reach) at Missouri Baptist University just west of St. Louis. I even got them to agree to give me a prime number for my salary (once we agreed on a salary [which, of course, was a boring round number], I asked if we could raise it to the next prime number, which happened to be very close, so they agreed). We'll be moving there sometime this summer. We're very excited to be moving on to this next stage in our lives.

It's been almost seven years since Sharayah and I got married. In that time she has ever-so-patiently waited for me to finish a Masters and now a PhD. She's endured the college life and the apartment living and the "where are we going to live five years from now" uncertainty for far too long. Finally, after almost seven years (I defend my dissertation mere weeks before our anniversary), I'm finishing up and we're putting down roots (although I'll still be at a college...). Here's to ten more sevens!

the hardest thing

Earlier this week we found a tooth bud, the tiniest of chompers, in my baby's mouth. Feeling that sharp little edge took my breath away, and, for a moment, Lucas was suddenly all grown up, moved out, and had a family of his own. And then came that gut-squeezing, throat-tightening, eye-burning sensation of unexpected, unwanted, uncontrollable tears.

I never knew how real of a phenomenon it was, when people would comment about how fast time flies when you have a kid and how you shouldn't blink because it all passes so quickly. I figured it was just something people would say. I didn't think it was actually going to be something I needed to be concerned about or something that would affect me even in the slightest. I guess I just never thought about it. But here I am, 27 weeks and 6 days later, and I realize... I blinked. I blinked and this tiny little person who used to fit inside of me is now 6-1/2 months old and just under 20 pounds hefty. I blinked and the scrawny arms and legs have morphed into chunky thighs, muscular calves, and sunflower-seed-sized biceps. I blinked and I find I am no longer able to place this little human in one place and expect him to stay there for 1.2 seconds. I blinked and suddenly there is awareness and laughter and curiosity and determination and affection and joy. I blinked and now there is a tooth.

What in the world am I supposed to do? This whole growing up thing is so hard to deal with emotionally, and it's seriously doing its best to rip my poor heart in two. I'm not ready. I'm not prepared. I can't take it. Yet I wouldn't have it any other way. It is such a conflict of emotion. It is similar [in idea, not intensity] to when I lay Lucas across my belly: He gets so excited and lunge-y as he tries to launch himself to the other side, but all the while he is leaving massive amounts of drool and slobber everywhere imaginable. The drool is gross and wet and cold and everywhere, but the giggles and fun are unbelievable. While Lucas is busy lunging and drooling and squealing, I am constantly trying to reconcile the warring feelings of intense adoration and "Ugh! Ick! Gross! Sooo wet!" It's weird. And hard. Sure, I could just not let him drool on me by not playing this game with him. Easy enough. But then I would miss out on all of the awesome parts of the game. The slobber and fun always win out.

I think what is making it especially hard is that I absolutely love, love, love this age. Lucas is getting mobile and more independent [though I use this word in its most conservative sense], and his ever increasing awareness and ability to express different emotions is a constant reminder of how he's not just this little baby but that he's a tiny person, an individual, with likes and dislikes and opinions and tolerance levels. And yet, while he is gaining new skills daily and developing into this bona fide miniature person, he is also still very much a baby, my baby. And that is how I want him to stay. I want to enjoy him in this baby-but-also-tiny-person stage forever.

I know it is ridiculous, but I already feel these baby days slipping away as he grows up more and more. Yes, I know it's ridiculous. I just am not sure I know how to handle the emotions that are squashing my heart more and more these days. Feeling that little tooth seemed to make my world start spinning a million miles an hour. I am trying so hard not to be that silly mom who bemoans the days gone by and blah blah blah. But the struggle is real, folks. Mom-hood is emotionally challenging, but oh so incredibly awesome.

In summary: I may blink 15 to 20 times in a minute. In an hour, I may blink 900 times. In a day, over 14,000 blinks probably occur during my awake time. In the span of  6 months, I have probably blinked close to 3 million times. So, in the most conservative of estimates, I have spent well over 100 hours blinking since Lucas was born, and that's not even counting sleep. No wonder time has flown.

I can't stop Lucas from growing up any more than I can stop blinking, so I need to find a way to make the time between every single blink count. It is only logical.

You can't stop the chub.

the art of pantslessness [and other short stories]

I am living the dream. Really.

Lucas is my little boy through and through. Either due to his hot-naturedness [unquestionably inherited from me] or his innate knowledge that pants should not be socially required [I take proud responsibility for this as well], the task of getting Lucas in his pants has become a 10-times-a-day exercise in patience, perseverance, and hilarity. This kid.

A simplified version of this process is as follows:

1. Introduce the pants. ["Ready to put on your pants? It's pants time!"]
2. In response to the look of disbelief you receive, admit you are putting on a false show of enthusiasm about the pants-ing. ["I know, I know, no one likes pants, but we have to try to wear them anyway or people won't want to be our friends."] Honesty is the best policy, right? 
3. Stretch the pants waist a few times to ensure adequate roly-poly-belly-fittage. ["You're not fat. You're just solid."]
4. Attempt to get both of his legs into the pants at the same time. It rarely works but is always worth a try. 
5. Share a good laugh at your ridiculous expectations. 
6. Give in to his adorable giggling face and outstretched arms and lean over him so he can grab at your cheeks and nose. 
7. Somehow get slobber in your ears, a sharp little finger in your eye, and kicked in the jaw by a pair of ninja feet. ["How in the world do you have a foot in your mouth and my mouth at the same time?!"]
8. Carefully extract every last strand of your hair from his little bear-trap hands before sitting back up. 
9. Realize you didn't extract every last strand of hair from his little bear-trap hands before sitting up. Yelp. 
10. Attempt to entrap the left leg by the pants.
11. Attempt to entrap the right leg by the pants. ["Wait, where'd your left leg go? How did you get it out of the pants again?!"]
12. Attempt to re-entrap the left leg by the pants. ["Wait, where'd your right leg go? How did you get it out of the pants again?!"]
13. Repeat steps 11 and 12 thrice.
14. Engage Ninja Speed and manage to get both feet into the pants. 
15. Discover the pants somehow got turned backwards. 
16. Engage Ninja Speed and manage to get both feet into their appropriate pant legs. 
17. Be a good sport in a wild game of "Now my feet are in the pants-. Oh wait, now they're not. Oh wait, now they are." Take solace in the fact that at least the pseudo-squats/curls may be toning the baby's squishy one-pack into a two-pack. 
18. Get a lucky break and happen to pull up on the pants at the same time that the chunky legs are thrust downwards. 
19. Ignore the fact that the pants are tugged up high enough to give Fred Mertz a run for his money and just revel in your newly pants-ed child.
20. ..."You're wet again? You've got to be kidding me."

In other news, Lucas is a daylight savings champ, for better or worse. He seamlessly transitioned his sleep schedule after... one day? Daylight savings this year was quite a bittersweet thing. On the one hand, there's the whole losing an hour of sleep thing. On the other hand, we figured if Lucas didn't find out about the time change, we could perhaps enjoy him sleeping until 7:30 instead of 6:30. Alas. No such luck. Somehow he got wind of this silly tradition of a day and retrained his internal clock. Sunday, he woke at 8, and come Monday pre-7:00 wake up was back in full swing. Well, it was nice while it lasted I suppose. Weirdly enough, this week has been filled with some gloriously epic napping. A 2.5-hour nap today? There are no words.

Next week we will be embarking on road trip numero dos with our little fellow. Down to Dayton, Tennessee, for a job interview for Jason. 'Tis an exciting time. I am interested/apprehensive to find out how traveling goes with an "I get bored sitting in one spot for extended periods of time" nearly-6-month-old. He now goes 2.5 hours between naps so I have a feeling this trip will include many, many rounds of Old McDonald Had a Farm and Itsy Bitsy Spider. I think we are up for the task. I think.

Speaking of Jason and jobs and school and all things mathy, a couple of weeks ago... *drum roll* He finished his first final draft of his 155-page dissertation! I could not be more proud of him. He is such an excellent mathman, and an even better man in general. A better role model for Lucas does not exist on this planet. I am 100% positive about this. End of story.

I truly think I love our little munchkin more and more each day. Some days, I don't even know what to do with myself. Watching him scan the room when he hears my voice or seeing his face seem to literally light up when I smile at him... It is indescribable. And as if he just knows how close I am to imploding with almost painful fuzzy feelings, he is starting to reach out his arms towards us, like he wants to be picked up/hugged by his favorite peoples in the world. You guys, I am one of his favorite peoples! I can't take it. I have completely fallen in love and I don't even care if I ever get up.

Life is epic and fulfilling beyond my wildest imaginations.

He's so pretty.

yahoo answers [in real life]

Conversations in the middle of the night can be equal parts of confusing and enlightening. And the enlightening generally only shines a great big spotlight on the fact that Jason and I, despite our combined intelligence levels, seem to have gaping holes in our General All-Purpose Knowledge database.

Case in point:
Me: How do you get the chocolate in a chocolate cake?
Jason: You use baking chocolate chunks.
Me: But then you just have... chocolate chunk cake.
Jason: What? No. You break up the baking chocolate.
Me: You would still just have chunks of chocolate in your cake. Maybe powdered chocolate is used? I want to know how you get a cake that is brown all over.
Jason: You use the chocolate chunks and just wait until everything is homogeneous.
Me: That doesn't make sense. When would the chocolate melt? The batter isn't hot.
Jason: What does batter even look like?

Objective Point Summary:
Me:

• -8 for not knowing how to get the chocolate into a cake
• +3 for imagining a chocolate chunk cake
• +2 for suspecting that it has to do with powdered cocoa
• -4 for describing a food that is "brown all over"
• +1 for knowing what batter is

Total points in Culinary Arts: -6. 

Jason:

• +3 for knowing about baking chocolate
• -1 for not understanding how tossing in chocolate chunks would not solve the chocolate cake conundrum
• +3 for doggedly believing in his original idea of chocolate chunks despite my scoffs and mockery
• +0.5 for using the word homogeneous after midnight
• -2 for still not understanding how tossing in chocolate chunks would not solve the chocolate cake conundrum
• -10 for not knowing about batter
• +4 for skillfully changing the topic to reveal an even more ludicrous knowledge gap
• -5 for going back to bed still not understanding how tossing in chocolate chunks would not solve the chocolate cake conundrum

Total points in Culinary Arts: -7.5

If you factor in our genders, you could technically argue that our scores come out even-steven. But we all know how sexist that would be, so... I win [if you consider the lesser negative score to be a win].

I think the real bottom line here is that someone needs to bake a chocolate cake for us. Nay, two chocolate cakes. One with baking chocolate chunks and one with whatever the correct method is. 

Because, no, we never did educate ourselves on the finer points of chocolate cake making. Instead, we went back to sleep. Like any otherwise-intelligent parents of a 19-week-old should.

The important part is not who is right but who has the more ridiculous arguments.

the new normal

I'll be honest. I had absolutely no idea what "normal" was without a baby. I clearly have no idea what "normal" is with a baby. So when it comes to things like, say, naps, I have no idea what I'm doing [and don't even get me started on this whole "sleeping through the night" business]. Ok, that's not true. I do know what I'm doing. I just don't know if any of it is normal and right and best and good.

Thankfully, naps tend to fall into that "do whatever works" category of life decisions, so I try not to put too much thought into it [Should I force more/fewer naps? Should I attempt more/less total sleep time? Should I try earlier/later bedtime? Should I just eat my hat and call it a day?]. Lucas has recently [the last 3 weeks?] developed a routine that is working for us, even if it is not entirely ideal at times. He decided that napping for more than 30 minutes at a time was not for big kids like him. He decided that he only wanted to be awake for 90 minutes at a time. He decided that 7:30 is a good bedtime.

Bedtime cuddles with dad and Gerald.

All in all, there's really not much to complain about. He wakes up between 7 and 8 and then spends the rest of the day in 2-hour cycles of 90 minutes eating and playing and 30 minutes sleeping. If the day is without anything out of the ordinary, he will get in 5 naps. He will go down for his naps in his crib with [generally] minimal effort. He seamlessly differentiates between nap time and bedtime, so once he's put down for the night, he knows not to pop awake after 30 minutes.

However. You would be surprised how fast a 30-minute nap goes by. You think to yourself, "I'm just going to sit down on the couch for a few minutes before tackling the laundry..." and the next thing you know, you hear the waking sounds of your tiny, 4-month-old, 30-minute-timer human and you still haven't moved from the couch. It would feel like magic, except the exciting magical feeling is absent. Instead, you feel the slight tingles of annoyance that you yet again wasted another nap time accomplishing nothing. Ah, but just wait 90 more minutes and you get another go at it!

So, like I said, I have no idea how "normal" this type of cycle is, and it surely isn't as ideal as, say, three 1-hour naps, but it is working for us. We know what to expect [until the little mister decides to change it up for us] and when to expect it. We know when the sleepy fussies are coming and what to do to alleviate them. It's nice. It is almost peaceful having such a predictable routine. Routine was exactly what we had been missing for three months, and it has been lovely regaining a sense of time. Things feel normal. And right. And good.

By far, he is the trendiest thing I wear.

Such a demanding nap schedule does tend to minimize our previously active social life and outings. [Ha! See that joke I just made? Being a mom clearly has not impacted my witty sense of humor.] But seriously, we never got out much pre-Lucas, so nothing much has changed. Our weekly visit to Costco and Target still happens - it just requires a bit more planning than before ["Okay, while he's napping, we need to get dressed and ready to go so we can get out the door when he wakes up. We only have 90 minutes to complete our mission, er, shopping trip! Go, man, go!"]. Have no fears though, we are Costco Pros. We can check off all of the items on our shopping list and hit all of the samples [read: Lunch Round 1] before it's time for the next nap time. And now, one of us gets to wear this seriously adorable fashion accessory wherever we go. Win.

Guys, jean hats are cool. Really.

Today, he discovered his feet. To be more precise, he discovered his right foot. And all the toes of said foot. The look of fascination and deep concentration that came over his face was priceless. His hand would squeeze his foot, and the toes would wiggle. So his tiny, grubby, drool-covered hand would squeeze the foot again. And more wiggles would ensue. I tried to introduce his left hand to his left foot and all of the friendly toes on that side, but he wanted nothing to do with it. The right foot was the interesting foot. It was adorable. Everything he does is adorable. Seriously. I can't even stand it sometimes.


Other Lucas mentionables:

• He has been giggling for a while. But in the past couple of days, he is discovering his laugh. A-Dough-Bowl. It makes me hop up and down like a crazed person. The funniest things trigger the laugh, and once we find a trigger, we don't stop doing it until it stops working. I now completely understand The One With Ross's Inappropriate Song.
• The drool is getting out of hand. And by out of hand, I mean all over his hands. And my hands. And every single thing in our apartment. Its presence is only rivaled in quantity by my hairs [due to this whole post-baby thing?], which are thickly strewn about everywhere and can be found in the most unlikely of places. The winning hair so far was found securely twisted into the lid of the apple juice jug. Touché, strand of hair. Touché. 
• With the advent of learning how to roll onto his side, Lucas's diaper changes have become progressively more challenging. Raising a baby is a lot like playing a video game: As soon as you satisfactorily beat a level [three and a half stars on Semi-stationary Diaper Change with Periodic Kicking About], you get moved onto the next level [Legs Curled Up to Stomach Alternating with Legs Flung Over Side of Changing Pad, difficulty 6.5/10]. Life is one big game for Lucas. He has a good life.

In other news, it is the new year. I expect many top notch things this year. We will see how it all turns out. I am excited. Life is grand, if not busy and sleepy.

With the new normal for this Vermette household allowing for more predictable spurts of baby-less time, perhaps we will soon bring our blogging back up to speed. Jason has been incredibly busy, but hopefully once he finishes up with his dissertation [mid February?], he will be able to greet the non-math world once again and maybe write a post or two. I look forward to that day. Also, something in this paragraph made me desperately want a meal at Olive Garden. Weird.

By the by, Star Trek? Jason and I have come to an agreement: I will watch it with him. He will allow me to mock it in any way I see fit. I see many fit ways. It is a good arrangement. Though, for Pete's sake, build some kind of console that doesn't explode in your face at first fire. And seat belts. Install seat belts. And no, AI, no matter how conversant, is not alive. SO THERE IS NO ETHICAL DILEMMA. That's all.

Welp, sleep calls. And I am sure that typing that statement will somehow magically transmit a message to sleeping Lucas that it is time to wake up for his first feed/change of the night. Wish us luck.

Welcome, 2015.

milk army

Having a tiny person apparently interferes with blogging time. I have zero regrets, however.

To summarize the past 2-1/2 months [wow, how has it already been that long and, also, how in the world has it only been 2-1/2 months?!], there have been hours upon hours of diaper changes and nursing and dark room pacing and Away in a Manger humming. It has flown by and also crawled by. Each day is a lot like the last and often it is hard to keep track of what day of the month it is or even what day of the week it is. Days and dates don't matter much anymore as Lucas doesn't care for such things. Every day is a weekend filled with diapers and milk and naps. Lucas has quite the easy life, even if he isn't aware of it.

It is still a bit weird to me how each day feels completely filled but then at the end of the day I can't think of anything significant that I've accomplished, other than keeping a tiny person alive and semi-satisfied with life. Ah. Life is exactly how I have always imagined it.

Growing a person inside of me was neat. It was pretty crazy feeling this thing get bigger and bigger as each week passed. But, for all I knew, it could have just as well been the consumption of an odd burrito at week 17. And at week 22, it could have just been a schizophrenic goldfish. And at week 27, it could have just been a disturbingly large tumor. And at week 34, it could have just been an angry alien that had somehow been implanted inside of my stomach... Ok, fine, I knew it really wasn't any of those things. I knew it was a baby growing inside of me, but the ridiculous part of me insisted that I couldn't really know until he decided to poke his head out [literally].

But what is possibly even neater than growing a person inside of me is growing a person outside of me. Seriously. It is fascinating. This boy o' mine just had his 2-month checkup and he was a shade over 2 feet and weighed nearly 15.5 pounds. Now, here's the simple math: He was born a little over 7.5 pounds, so he is twice as fat now [I use the fat description in the absolute most loving/adoring/proud way, promise]. And the only thing this boy has consumed to make 7.5 pounds more of person is milk. And I am the milk factory. I eat things. I make milk. He drinks the milk. And he grows more person. He gets fatter. He gets longer. He gets more little-person-like. All from milk. This shouldn't seem weird or surprising, but it is endlessly fascinating to me. My brain equates it to a groundbreaking perpetual motion machine or some miraculous scientific discovery. We could make an entire army from MILK. People, a milk army. I have the proof, the prototype - he is slurping away the remnants of his last milk infusion [from his fists no less] at my feet at this very moment.

Each week brings something new with this kid. I would venture to say something new happens each day, but like I mentioned earlier, most weeks feel like one giant day and it is hard to differentiate between Things That Occurred Today and Things That Seemed to Have Occurred Today. The past week and a half or so has brought on voluntary smiling and giggling. It is pretty much the best thing in the world. I don't mean a lucky smile that you happen to catch on his face or a small upturned mouth kind of smile. I mean a giant, mouth wide open, eyes crinkling, head thrown back kind of smile that I can cause almost on demand [as long as he isn't cranky]. It makes my insides feel like exploding and all I can think about is how much I love, love, love being a mom.

I won't deny it - life is definitely still all about Lucas these days. But we do have other exciting things going on as well that shouldn't be overlooked. For instance, Jason has applied for nearly 60 faculty positions at schools in an entertaining geographic distribution. And the annual Christmas tree chopping adventure will be happening soon. The tiniest of lumberjacks will be accompanying us this year but, sadly, infant-sized hatchets are either not manufactured or greatly frowned upon in the US as we cannot find one. Thanksgiving was delicious as usual, and my mashed potatoes were appropriately mushroom-gravy-ed up. We had our first snow of the season, though it didn't last very long and was not epic enough to warrant bringing Lucas out. And lastly, tonight we are partying it up hard with some Red Robin as today marked Jason's last teaching day of the semester. Woop! He is such an amazing husband and daddy, I can't even begin to give him enough credit and gratitude. He is, hands down, the greatest thing on two legs.

Life is grand and sleepy and pee-filled. I couldn't ask for more. God is good.

Love. Exploding. Everywhere.

literary bookends

The difference between the beginning of September and the beginning of October is like night and day.

I am no longer being rolled out of bed. Instead, I am now constantly [and unsuccessfully] trying to engage my seemingly non-existent abdominal muscles. I am no longer making the hard decision of "Should I or should I not drink this entire bottle of water before bedtime?" Instead, I am now enjoying not having to frequent every gross public restroom I see and endlessly amazed at my bladder's new capacity [so.much.room!]. I am no longer staring at my stomach wondering, wondering, what in the world a tiny Sharayson will look like and how in the world can something so tiny have such ferocious little kicks. Instead, I am now staring [constantly, all the time, 24/7] at this "ohmygosh, he's a real person" person and wondering, wondering, how in the world he ever fit inside of me, much less came out.

Ultimately, I am no longer pregnant. Instead, I am now a mom - a mom to an absolutely beautiful, Asian-eyed little boy. Unspeakable joy.

Sometimes you just need to take a moment and think about the goodness of God. The past 9 months have contained so many reasons to be extremely grateful, humbled, and awed. There were so many things, so many moments, so many fears/worries, that could have completely altered the course of this pregnancy, but every single thing worked out for good. God is in control became my mantra. Trust Me was the answer I received to every prayer I prayed. And while I know it would seem much more significant if I had had to remain strong through a pregnancy filled with scary diagnoses, unwanted interventions, or even just a persistent stream of annoying pregnancy side effects, I do not discount my inner journey in the least. I feel hugely accomplished and undeservedly blessed.

I still greatly, greatly dislike all things medical. Deciding to finally try to get pregnant [and not the actual state of being pregnant or actually having a baby] will probably forever remain in the Top 3 Scariest Things I Have Ever or Will Ever Do [the other 2 spots on this list are currently vacant]. But purely through the grace and mercy of God, I was given a picture perfect pregnancy and have a ridiculously precious little boy to prove it. The goodness of God is overwhelming. He obliterated every single fear and rendered every single worry pointless.

We got pregnant right when we decided to try for it. No abnormal blood work. All fingers, toes, and important organs seen and accounted for on the anatomy scan. No gestational diabetes. No group B strep. No induction, C-section, or hospital intervention. Due date turned out to be spot on, 40 weeks on the nose. No IVs, antibiotics, or needles involved. No drawn out labor. No tearing, no stitches. Perfectly healthy and alert baby, all natural and 100% USDA certified Organic. Yes, I know God made my body to be able to do this whole Grow a Person thing, but it is an entirely different thing to actually experience my body doing this whole Grow a Person thing and doing it like a pro.

God is beyond good and I have two chubby cheeks to repeatedly kiss to prove it.

So. Jason took care of the factual telling of the grand event in his last post, which pleases me quite a bit as now I don't have to worry about remembering all of the little details of the timeline and such and can just focus my memories on the probably-less-accurate-but-more-noteworthy-to-my-experience details. I will attempt to stem the rambling and rabbit-holey-ness of my mentionables by bullet-pointing [success rate: 17%?].

• If I loved Jason an 11 before, I now love him a 19, and counting. Like the Duggars. [I have never seen the show so I have no idea why I used that reference... maybe since I saw it whilst browsing on Netflix?] He is a Man among men. There are no words to adequately describe his love or selflessness. None. I have never been more happy to have lost a rock-skipping bet all those years ago...
• If I ever ask a pregnant someone if she's had any contractions and if she replies, "Not that I know of," I now know the response I will not give:  "Oh, you'd know it if you had any." Because there's always that off chance that she is as naive, uninformed, and clueless as I was and truly will not know if she has experienced a labor contraction. Sigh. For some reason, I was expecting contractions to be sharp pains radiating across my tightening stomach/uterus. I did not expect them to just be [by the active labor stage] super, super, super intense aches across my lower back. It was weird. I had been all prepared to give myself the "these pains are normal and are not doing some kind of irreparable damage to my insides" spiel, but I never had to actually give myself the talking to since the pains I was expecting never actually happened. I don't know if it makes any sense but since contractions ended up being achy [like waking up from a nap and realizing you've slept in a pretzel-like position for three hours. but x10] instead of sharp pains [like a knife wound or a broken bone or punching through a window pane (all of which, I admit, I have never experienced, so I could also be wrong about my perceptions of them as well)], contractions were much less scary or intimidating than I feel like they could have been. Pains can be an indication that something is actively hurting you while aches are just a passing sensation. At least, that's how my brain categorized things, and it made the contractions much, much easier to handle mentally. Possible drawback to backache contractions: I was never fully convinced [until Lucas had basically arrived] that the contractions were actually accomplishing anything. The visual of a contracting uterus squeezing the baby on down did not really fit with what I was feeling so it was hard for my brain to accept that the same results were happening with the backaches.
• Another couple came in to the Birth Center a little while after we arrived. The news that their baby had arrived while I was finally getting to the pushing stage did not make me a happy camper. I remember vaguely hearing the midwife mention it and feeling a brief thundercloud moment and momentary episode of Life's Not Fair followed by a surge of "I don't care if you don't think it's pushing time yet, I'm getting this baby out of me now" rebellion. Interesting side note: This unintentionally infuriating couple had a water birth. Jason and I had been considering doing a water birth but finally decided I might not like being in warm water for any length of time [I am a Grumpy Gus when I feel overheated, which happens at a much lower temperature than normal people] and chose to pass on the experience. Well, as it turned out, this couple's first choice was [obviously] to have a water birth and if we had chosen to try it ourselves, they wouldn't have been able to since the water birth room is a First Come First Served situation and we had arrived first. So, you're welcome, Unintentionally Infuriating Couple. Consider the water birth suite my Welcome to Parenthood gift to you.
• Pushing a human into the breathing world is absolutely exhausting. The last time I had this level of world-slowing, you-could-not-pay-me-to-keep-my-eyes-open sleepiness was the semester I took History of Quantitative Thought at ORU. So, Dr. Vickery and Babylonian mathematics apparently equals labor? ...moving on. I know a huge part of my tiredness was just sleepiness from having been up, more or less, since 4am the day before. But the real exhaustion set in once the pushing started. I had no idea how tiring it would be to get something the short distance from my stomach to the outside world. Whew. Luckily, and also interestingly [to me], once pushing started, the contractions no longer ached or hurt in any way. At all. It was quite handy and unexpected. Annoyingly though, contractions started spacing out during the pushing phase and I felt super impatient having to wait for each one.
• The moment Jason told me he may have just seen part of Lucas's head, it was like a switch was flipped in my brain. Instead of intermittent thoughts of "Is this pushing even doing anything? Clearly this could go on for hours - let's just take a nap break and pick this thing back up in an hour or so," I immediately felt as if the work was over, the deed was done, Lucas was out of the oven. The feelings of accomplishment that are known to come when it's all said and done started at the moment Jason's breathless voice announced the possible sighting of Lucas. I have no idea how much time passed between the initial sighting and the actual birth, but it didn't even matter anymore. In my head, it was all over, done, accomplished - Lucas was practically in my arms. It made that last bit of pushing and waiting and pushing and waiting a bowl of peas [that is, easy peasy].
• As soon as I had Lucas in my arms, my sleepiness and exhaustion disappeared completely. I know, I know, this shouldn't have surprised me. But it did. Because I had never before felt this level of exhaustion, ever. And for it to just suddenly up and disappear at the drop of a hat [and by "hat" I mean "Lucas" and by "drop" I mean "NO, I DID NOT DROP MY BABY!"]... it is just another thing to add to my ever lengthening list of Things That Astound Me, somewhere between How Are These Toes So Tiny and My Soup Has Alphabets In It. So perhaps the way to trick your body into thinking it has had hours upon hours of sleep is to birth a person..? Hm, seems counterintuitive.
• Other odd discoveries that probably shouldn't have been odd to discover or that possibly are only odd-ened by my sleep-deprived memory of them:
• When your water breaks? It's warm. Like chicken noodle soup that has been left on the counter for fifteen minutes. But messier. And without the poultry involvement.
• You most certainly can fall asleep in between contractions. But when the contractions are about a minute or so apart, it's less like falling asleep and more like blacking out for 10 seconds. Surprisingly enjoyable.
• The umbilical cord resembles a fat rice noodle. Speaking of, I seriously want some sushi. Please. Also, I felt a slight sense of winning-ness that I convinced Jason to cut the cord. Even if it did take him two tries. 
• Placenta talk. [Close your eyes and skip the next few sentences if you are easily weirded/grossed out by placenta-y topics. Fair warning. Look away now. Now.] 
• You know what would make a kinda-creepy-but-also-kinda-friendly-looking video game character? A placenta. It's so blobular. And gigantic. And epically "Whoa, that's super cool... and gross." How do you patent a potential video game character..? 
• "Delivering" the placenta was actually... pleasant? I suppose after an entire person has been pushed out of you, having a large, blobby, pleasingly smooth and slippery bag of gloopiness come out was actually rather soothing. TMI? Psh. My blog, my choice of gross topics. Ok, fine. I'm done. 
• Why, no, I do not have any epic plans in store for my placenta. Why, yes, you may do whatever you wish with it. I can always grow another one if I ever change my mind.
• I successfully resisted the urge to knead and toss the placenta like a giant mound of pizza dough. I now slightly regret the lost opportunity. 
• It may sound silly, but I spent quite a bit of time thinking about what I wanted to wear during and after labor and delivery. I wanted something convenient, comfortable, and as "modest" as possible and something that I wouldn't mind getting gross. You know what the ideal labor and delivery outfit turned out to be? A pair of I-Don't-Even-Care's and a matching Mrrgl-Dorf top. It was an unbelievably insignificant detail. 
• The shortness of breath that came after delivery was super weird. I hadn't known to expect it at all, so it was a complete surprise. I would have thought that all of the new space in my torso would produce the opposite of shortness of breath [which would be... longness of breath? many a breaths? smorgasbord of breaths?] as my lungs could theoretically expand to their normal capacity once again [though oddly enough, I never really experienced any major change in my ability to breath while I was pregnant... just moments here or there]. But just the short walk to the bathroom [to take a ridiculously refreshing shower] a couple hours after Lucas arrived made me hilariously out of breath. My chest felt hollow and concave and I needed to take several breaks from rinsing my hair to just sit [there was a shower chair!] and catch my breath. I found it immensely entertaining.
• The answer is 15 pounds. The question is, "How much weight will I lose after I give birth to Lucas?" Only 10 more to go.
• I attempted to flex my abdominal muscles once we got home that day. What a laugh. No matter how much I "flexed" and how deep I poked into my belly, there was just nothing there. At all. It felt like digging for gold in a bowlful of jello. I guess that is what happens when you stop using your muscles for months upon months. Luckily, at 3.5 weeks postpartum, I feel like I have finally stopped looking 5 months pregnant and I can now feel a smidgen of something when I flex my abdomen. It is either the beginning of my resurrected muscles or the massive amounts of food that I cannot stop inhaling [seriously, it's ridiculous how often my body screams for food now]. Either way, it's a win?

I'm pretty sure I could just keep adding on more and more random facts and thoughts and first time mom birthing revelations, but this post is quickly getting out of hand in length and relevance so I should quit while I'm barely behind. I'm sure if anything of memorable import comes to mind, I'll jot it down in another post, along with piles upon piles of New Motherhood Awesome Moments [like the completely involuntary but still heart-stoppingly adorable smiles that Lucas's mouth will drift into while he's sleeping... gah].

So far, being Lucas's mom has been an awe-inspiring, bodily fluid filled, giggly and grumpily sleep deprived, and unbelievably humbling experience. Every day I look at him and wonder how in the world Jason and I made this tiny perfect person from scratch. And then I remember... We didn't really, we were just the instruments that God used, and then it all makes sense. He is the ultimate creator, and I am so incredibly blessed that He has entrusted us with His newest and most wonderful creation of all. 

Dear Lucas,

I cannot even describe how much I love you. Every sigh you sigh, every breath you breathe, every diaper you dirty... It feels miraculous. You are perfect in every way. You have somehow gotten your tiny little hands securely around my heart, and you're squeezing, constantly squeezing, until sometimes I feel as though I cannot breathe and I don't even care. 

All I want is to make you happy. I know this won't always be possible, so let's try this instead: All I want is for you to know that you are loved beyond measure. I may not always be able to give you immediate happiness, but know that this is not a reflection of how much I love you. You are my baby boy and nothing, absolutely nothing, can make me stop loving you. It is an impossibility. You have stolen my heart - aorta, left ventricle, and tricuspid valve [which is more accurate than "hook, line, and sinker"].

I cannot decide if you are the wonderful epilogue to our previously excellent life or the beautiful prologue to the rest of our forever. I feel as though you are somehow both and so, so, so much more. We are so excited to share our lives with you, little guy. We are entering the beautiful times of autumn-y goodness, with Thanksgiving and Christmas and winter wonderland right around the corner. You have arrived at just the right time to share in our favorite time of year [you continue to show impeccable timing, which is quite pleasing]. Adventures await us!

I love you and your ever growing belly.

PS. I am a big fan of our blog's name change. Two thumbs up.