milo's first halloween

milo, the pea pod

milo's not sure halloween is his favorite holiday.

maybe next year when he's old enough for candy.

cutest pea pod ever.

mom had no way of knowing this costume would be WAY TOO HOT.

grandma took us to "boo at the zoo." milo liked the animals.

glimpses

Monday night I went to an Ingrid Michaelson concert in Boulder. If you can't tell from my playlist, I love Ingrid Michaelson.

The concert didn't start until 9. Um, hello, I'm usually in BED by 9:30! But this night was special.

I ditched the mama sweats that usually appear by 6 p.m. and put on real people clothes. (Ok, real people clothes-ish. I still can't zip any of my pants.) I left my hubby and my baby at home and headed to Boulder with my friend, Lorissa.

We ate dinner in Boulder. Nobody started crying as soon as I sat down to eat. I didn't have to eat with one hand and hold a baby with the other. I even drank a diet coke! And got a REFILL!

The concert was ridiculously fun. No one there knew I had a baby. Or that I was "Milo's mom." (Except I still have a bump. Can you call it a "baby bump" when you're no longer pregnant? I have a baby. And a bump. But I'm not sure it counts as a baby bump. People who don't know I have a baby at home just assume I eat too many break-and-bake cookies. Ok, lucky guess.)

Ingrid sang some of my favorites. I think she is such a talented song writer and hearing her live felt like someone was cracking me open a bit. I got a little teary-eyed when she sang "Maybe."

I stayed out way too late. I felt like a different person. Or maybe, I felt like my old self. I caught a glimpse of my former life. A life without a baby. I had a blast.

But also, I missed him.

When I got home, I tiptoed in his room and kissed his tiny head.

Glimpses are important. And fun. And needed every now and then.

"Maybe, in the future, I'm gonna come back." Maybe I'll wear pants that zip and stay out late. But, for now, being in the present with this baby is pretty darn wonderful.

milo's third month

happy 3 months, milo!

Happy day, Milo! You are three months old today.

I wrote your letter a day early this month, baby. Because this month I needed to.

Your third month was way fun up until a week ago when you became a mutant baby who doesn’t sleep.

(So far today you have slept 15 minutes and right now you are in your crib trying to get out of your swaddle. I can hear you wrestling and grunting. I’m trying not to go crazy. Except it might be too late. I did just put you in your crib and tell you that you had lost your swing privileges.)

Anyway, I’m writing this letter a day early because I need to remember what happened three months ago today.

Three months ago today we had been in the hospital over 24 hours and you were still not here.

(I interrupt this letter to say that you have officially busted out of your swaddle. I can hear you sucking on your fingers. You are a total stinker.)

We had been doing so well. Taking every moment in stride. Remembering to laugh. Remembering to breathe.

And then I broke.

I remember the moment in the tub where I broke. I felt like I couldn’t do it anymore. I was tired. Beyond exhausted. I was sad. I was frustrated. I felt like there was no possible way I could ever get you out.

But you know, baby, the story doesn’t end there.

Thanks to your dad, your Grandma, our amazing doula, and God, I found the strength to get you out. Or, I should probably say, we found the strength to get you out. You and me. We did it. It was long. And crazy difficult, but we did it. We proved how strong we are. How brave we are.

And when you were born, my life changed forever. Mostly for good.

Except you don’t seem to want to sleep.

So now, baby, I am trying to summon some of the courage I found earlier. I am sad. I am frustrated. But I want to be the mama you deserve so I am trying to summon the strength it takes to get out of bed five times every night and go to you.

I am also leaning on God’s grace and the support of others to make it through the days. So that when night comes again, I have the strength to go to you. Every time.

And I guess that’s the lesson this month, baby.

That when you need me, I will be there. I will go to you. No matter what.

(Or at least until you’re no longer nursing. Then I’ll send your dad.)

I love you,

Mama

P.S. I just checked on you. You are finally asleep. I suppose you’ve earned your swing privileges back.

better

The baby is asleep. I should be in bed. But I had to tell you how much I love this man.

He let me cry and feel sorry for myself (see previous post). Then he took me to lunch at our favorite pizza place. And he drove me to the mountains. And he took care of the baby so I could take a nap. He made me laugh. And he told me I am a good mom.

And then there's this stinker bottom.

I love him too.

We put him in THE HAT today. Seeing him in his hat reminded me that he is the baby I so desperately wanted. The baby I prayed for and carried and waited so long for.

I guess I won't sell him after all.

I'm making a choice: baby for sale

Ok, I know I said I wasn't going to freak out about Milo's sleeping schedule.

But, seriously.

He's been up every two hours for three nights now.

I think he hates me.

I'm making a choice: baby for sale.

P.S. David told Milo that our house is a "no-butthead zone." I love that man.

conspiracy theory

I wrote a post the other day. It was about how I only write about Milo and how maybe my old life was disappearing.

And then today, the old post was gone. G.O.N.E. It disappeared.

See, even the blog rejects anything non-Milo.

weird.