Punky is six months old today! Happy half-birthday, my beautiful baby girl!
The main reason I wanted to start this blog was for it to partially serve as an electronic baby book, since I haven't been great at keeping up with the paper versions. There is no better time than today to write about the past six months and Punky's progress in her new world.
Right off the top, I have to say that overall she has been the best baby anyone could ever have, and I'm not just saying that because she's mine. Uh-huh.
From the day she was born, she hardly ever cries. Extreme hunger or tiredness brings on the tears but it is usually short-lived. The first twelve weeks or so were rough, as expected, with sleeping but most nights I could get a five-hour stretch somewhere along the way. Right around three months she started sleeping anywhere from seven to ten hours a night, with only a few rough nights here and there.
I had absolutely no intention of co-sleeping. I was against it all around. The first two months, she spent most of the night in her bassinet next to the bed, but when the need to nurse struck in the middle of the night, I began enjoying the convenience of laying her next to me in bed. While she was so tiny, I was too scared to keep her with me all night, but as she grew, we began co-sleeping every night and still are today even though I had to quit nursing at about four and a half months.
I've taken a lot of heat for it from my family. They all have this crazy idea that she will be ten years old and still sleeping in our bed. They never did it, they don't understand why I want to do it, and they've never researched it inside and out like I did once I realized it's what I wanted to do. On the other hand, his family has been very supportive, many have done it, and they understand completely the benefits to be gained from it. I'm not getting into the research here; you can look it up yourself. Suffice it to say that I enjoy having her there, she sleeps well, I sleep well, and nothing in the world beats waking up to your smiling baby cuddled up next to you...happy, safe, and loved...instead of waking up to a crying baby, left all alone, stuck in a wooden cage away from the most comforting things in her life: mom and dad.
So far she is developing right on track, even ahead of schedule on most things. At only fifteen weeks, she managed to pull herself to standing from a sitting position while only holding my hands. It totally blew my mind. She learned to raspberry around four months, and proceeded to give the nurse one after she stuck her with a needle at her four-month checkup. It was a priceless moment; no tears, just a single, solitary raspberry and a look of disgust.
From the time they put her on the scale to weigh her six months ago, she was able to roll right up on her side. She made her first belly-to-back roll at only three weeks old. Rolling was like second nature from the start, and by about four months she had mastered the art.
One of her favorite things is her jumperoo, brought by the Easter Bunny for her first Easter in April. It didn't take long for her to get the hang of it and jump like a crazy baby. She goes like hell in that thing. She would rather be standing than anything else, no matter by what means, so it really makes her happy.
She has started getting up on her hands and knees and rocking back and forth. Crawling is right around the corner; I thought she would have done it before today. Once she does, life will really get interesting. It's hard now with her just rolling all over the place. I can't imagine what it will be like when she crawls. I'll know soon enough.
At her four-month checkup, which was actually two weeks late, the doctor agreed she was showing all signs of being ready for solids, and so the adventure began. Since then, she hasn't met a food she doesn't like. She eats it all, with no fuss...and lots of mess. Carrots seems to be her favorite though, and she's not too excited with sweet potatoes. It took a while for her to enjoy fruit and stop making pucker faces with every spoonful.
At that last appointment, she was still only 11 lbs 9 oz. and 23-1/2 inches long. She was 7 lbs 4 oz 19 inches at birth, so she was still no where near doubling her birth weight. She is only in the 20-25th percentile for both height and weight. My little peanut. Today at six months, she is in a 0-3 month onesie. Most still fit her, along with 3-6 months, and a handful of small 6-9 month items. Now that she's been eating food, you can almost see her growing right before your eyes. I can't wait for her six-month checkup to see, but it's not until July 16th. I'm sure I am overestimating both measurements in my head, just as I did last time.
We had a couple of firsts today to mark her half birthday. We only started using the highchair about three weeks ago. I always feed her food first, then take her out and do her bottle on the rocking chair. I never just left the bottle on the highchair to see what she would do. Sure enough, without hesitation, she picked it right up with both hands and got the nipple right in her mouth. Even though she grabs the bottle sometimes when I feed her, and even holds it herself for a few seconds here and there, it still really surprised me to see her pick it up, all on her own, and totally do it herself. She is just growing up too fast.
Last Sunday, Grammy brought up Landon's old walker. She spent some time in it over the last week. She can make it go in the kitchen where there is no carpet, but it seemed she was moving with no real control over where she was going. Yesterday she ended up next to the garbage can (and stuck both hands right in, of course) but I chalked it up to luck. That changed today. I went out on the porch and watched her maneuver the walker straight down the hallway with determination to get to me. She knows what she's doing.
She had three poops today instead of her usual one. That is also technically a first, but I'll spare you further elaboration.
All in all, she has spoiled me by being such a good baby. On the rare occasion that she doesn't want to go to bed, or a cranky day in general, I have some trouble coping. I can't imagine having a colicky baby. Those poor parents, you have my deepest sympathy. You are much stronger than I. We did a little photo shoot with her today to capture her half birthday. I'll end with my favorite. 
It’s looking like I may only be a weekend blogger. I had hoped for more of a daily basis, but baby has had other ideas. Even with my mom here most of the week, I still didn’t have any time. Anyway…
It’s a week today since we found out about his job loss. Although I handled it with grace at first, the last two days I have been extremely snarky and I think that is the underlying cause…mixed with a touch of PMS to fuel the fire. Life just isn’t fair sometimes.
As I said before, I would give anything to be able to stay home with Punky. He has the opportunity now, and he’s definitely not happy about it. He can’t take off whenever he wants. He can’t spend countless hours dicking around in his shed on his never-ending list of projects that must be done. God forbid a sunny day comes along and he has to be inside with the baby. I can already see that, as this situation continues, we will be fighting more and more. He will continue to get more frustrated and aggravated with having to play SAHD all day long, while I get more frustrated and aggravated knowing he gets to play SAHD all day long. It is definitely a lose/lose situation as far as our relationship goes.
I am hoping that Punky will get some benefit from a more steady routine and schedule now that it won’t have to change on a weekly basis. Of course, if she has to listen to her parents screaming at each other daily, I’m sure any benefit gained will be null and void. We really need to try to keep her out of earshot; I don’t want her exposed to that. I remember how scared I felt as a kid when the rents would fight. It was a terrible feeling.
So, another weekend, another trip to Wal-Mart, another six loads of laundry, another hour(s) doing our checkbooks, another fast shave of the legs… It is truly sad how routine and predictable life has become. Every night after work it’s the same thing: drive home, change clothes, feed baby dinner, eat dinner myself, play with baby, straighten up what needs to be, set up coffee maker for the next morning, wash bottles, bathe baby, play with baby some more, get baby ready for bed, set alarm, give baby nighttime bottle, rock baby to sleep. BAM! Eleven o’clock already. Go to bed. Rinse and repeat.
I was never spontaneous by any means. Whenever I do something spontaneously, it backfires in one way or another. I’m a planner by nature, even for a living. I like some routine built into my daily life. It provides structure, balance, reliability, reassurance…but you do need a few pockets of time available to break the monotony and flavor your day with a little something different. I am actually getting bored. With the routine, of course, not the baby! I know it’s only temporary, and as Punky continues to grow and change, our lives will grow and change right along with her. I’m excited for the next stage but sad at the same time. If she is to be my only one, I hate to see her grow up.
Well, since this has already been a pot-luck post with me jumping from thought to thought, I may as well throw this in: I have issues with minivans and I can’t control myself.
More than half of my thirty-five minute drive to work is on a narrow two-lane curvy country road with no cell phone reception. Even so, I guess partly because of the low population in this rural “hickville” area, the speed limit on this road is 55 mph. Not bad. I can go a comfortable 60 in good weather, always watching for deer of course. There are some farms along the road and my smooth travels are sometimes interrupted by a tractor going 5 mph down the center of the road. And with a meat plant about halfway in between, I get stuck behind truck traffic once in a while. Also, I find the occasional joy rider that slows me down from time to time. There are few opportunities to pass, so I take advantage of it when I can. Otherwise, I may get a bit irked if I’m in a hurry, but I’m leaps away from road rage. Until I get behind a minivan.
Somewhere over the course of the past year and a half while making that drive to and from work, I have made mental note after mental note that when I get behind a minivan we go way too slow. Damn soccer moms with the “My kid’s an honor student at Jo Shmo Middle School!” bumper stickers and faded window paint from last month’s big game “We’re # 1! Go Panthers!.” You know the type. Is there a connection between being proud of your kid and feeling the need to drive 20 mph below the posted speed limit during rush hour?
Yeah, I know I said it’s a country road, but people are still rushing either to get to work on time or home to their families afterward. Now, every time I end up behind a minivan, regardless of its driver, its condition, or the speed it is traveling, I am instantly annoyed and immediately think I will never reach my destination if I stay behind them. I need to pass them, as soon as possible, and will go to the ends of the earth to make my move. If I’m not able to pass, my blood starts boiling, the curses fly, and I experience true road rage.
I feel like one of those little yappy dogs that see a mailman, freak out, and charge to bite his ankles. That is my current relationship with minivans. Stay out of my way or I’ll rip those silly bumper stickers right off your ass. Grrr…
Last night we had our first “date night” since Punky was born on December 28th. Mom came up yesterday afternoon, even though we didn’t technically need her to watch the baby this week since Friday’s news. I asked her to still come for a few days, so he can deal with all of the paperwork and such that goes along with a job loss. I think it will be a hard transition and it won’t take long for him to get frustrated with staying home.
Anyway, we decided to take advantage of her being there and go out to dinner alone. I’d been carrying around a gift certificate from Christmas, just waiting to find time to use it. Last night we finally made time.
Upon conclusion, I was a little dismayed to see that our first date night post-partum was exactly how I’ve seen it portrayed many times on TV. Most of the conversation (the little bit there was) revolved around the baby, and if not her than his other two sons.
He spent the first half of our dinner staring past me trying to figure out if a guy in the next section was someone he worked with years ago.
We spent the last twenty minutes or so watching another couple with a baby girl about Punky’s age, and comparing everything about her to our own little princess. Of course Punky won all categories; there was really no comparison at all.
In between we exchanged some comments about how absolutely delicious the food was, and sampled each other’s choices. As we left the restaurant, we complained how we ate entirely too much.
Then we drove home, mostly in silence, with the occasional spurt of small talk about a passing car, our full stomachs, the speed limit on a section of road, or his need to pee.
We were home at 8:15.
We didn’t make an much of an effort to look good for one another; I think we both managed a quick shower. We didn’t dress up. No fancy cologne or perfume in the air. No romantic music on the drive to and fro. No flirtatious gestures or remarks. No stimulating conversation. No wine or spirits with dinner. No footsie under the table. No expectation of a sexual encounter to follow.
It was simply dinner. And surprisingly, that's okay with me. But the other stuff could’ve been nice, too.
Looks like I started blogging just in time. I already have something to whine...write about, and I definitely need an outlet to vent.
Even when you somewhat anticipate a curve ball it can still catch you off guard and smack you in the face. I've been smacked. Thanks to the wonderful economy, we knew for months his job was hanging by a thread. It finally broke this morning. He is officially unemployed. Sigh.
My immediate reaction to the news was an anxiety attack. Calm, cool, and collected is hardly my style. I was surprised though by how quickly I regained the ability to breathe. Maybe it's a side-effect of this "mom" thing. I need to be calm for her. Think positive. Be rational. She is depending on me to know what to do. Moms always know what to do. Hmmm.
On my drive to work this morning, my mind raced to put everything into perspective. How bad is it? How bad can it get?
Will we starve to death? I doubt it.
Will we freeze come winter? Unlikely.
Will we lose our home? Probably not.
Will our little girl be taken care of? Surely.
Will our current lifestyle change? Definitely.
So, maybe it won't be as bad as my initial reaction made it seem. Don't get me wrong, it totally blows and money will get extremely tight. I will be devoting this weekend to developing a new budget and counting our pennies (I hope not literally). Although I feel a bit better now that the shock and panic have passed, I am still full of worry. That's always been my nature and it's certainly not going to change now. Things will work out. They always do. Right?
One last feeling I need to express: jealousy. He gets to be a stay-at-home dad, at least for a while. It tears me up inside every morning when I kiss Punky goodbye and head for the door. I feel like I am missing so much of her life being absent 50+ hours a week. I know it's out of necessity; I need to work to provide the best life I can. I just miss her. Constantly. I'd give anything to stay home with her while she's so little, and I think it's sad that this wonderful country of ours doesn't do more to help moms be financially able to afford it. Just one year would be great. We need to take notes from other countries when it comes to family and what is needed to successfully form one and keep it together. It's hard when you can't spend time together because you can't pay the bills if you do. Sorry...ramble.
Anyway, stay-at-home dad, I hope you appreciate it as much as I would if given the same opportunity.
I really don't have a good answer to either. I woke up a few days ago and had a thought. Maybe I'll jump on the bandwagon and start a blog, so here goes nothing.
I used to love writing, especially in my teens. It was a way to get all my feelings under control. Then life happened and the pen and paper got pushed aside. Twenty years later it's a different game entirely. Blogging is all the rage. Who needs paper journals anymore? You can bear your soul electronically and as an added bonus the whole world can laugh at you. I mean, with you.
I have no idea what will come of this, where it's headed, or even when I'll find time to do it. At age 36, I think I have firmly landed in middle age and the realization that my life may be half over is starting to sink in a bit. May as well embrace it; I can fight it, but it's a fight one can never truly win. Life is a one-way ticket.
As little as a few months ago, I would have never had these thoughts. I never felt like I even grew up entirely. The day I finally woke up and felt like an adult was the morning after my daughter was born this past December. I felt like a different person the minute I opened my eyes. I heard the old saying "motherhood changes you" but I didn't realize the change would be instant. I knew I was no longer the person I had been, and I couldn't quite grasp who I had suddenly become. A mom.
Almost six moths later, I'm still fairly clueless. Maybe writing will help me figure it out. If nothing else, someday this will be a great way for my sweet baby girl to really learn about her mom. At the end of my pregnancy I began keeping a journal for her to read when she is older. Once she was born, the entries dwindled as I adjusted to our new life together. I still try at least once a week to record some of her life, her milestones, precious memories...maybe this blog will be a way for me to accomplish that task.
Maybe putting it out here for the world to read will give me the added pressure I need to stick with it and make time to do it. Maybe it won't. I can't promise anything right now, but I feel a bit better now knowing this outlet exists. I have taken the first step. It's like a new window has opened, and whenever I want to breathe the fresh air I just need to type. If only I was a better typist...
