Thirteen weeks...

Couple of fun random ones...

Daddy thinks it's really funny to prop him up in a sitting position until he tips over. No worries, always on soft pillows or cushions, and always while Mike is watching closely. And apparently Milo thinks it's pretty funny too...

And how long do you think this will last, Sally letting him get this close to her? You can't tell here, but her tail is totally poofed out and the hair on her back is raised, yet she keeps checking

him out, she even sat over his feet as he kicked

her. Maybe she inherently knows that he'll be the bane of her existence in a few short months :)

Like father, like son: watching the Vikings in his PJs. They're actually looking really good, thanks to APeterson, the Favre, and a few other boys.

The first

season in a good many, and I'm glad;

worried that the Vikes were going to break Mike's heart, again.

Mommy meltdown...

I don't know if I'm hormonal or tired or anxious about going back to work or what, but yesterday was my first official mommy meltdown. I've had a couple of other minor stressful moments or times when I just didn't really feel in control, but yesterday I lost it. I'm sitting on the couch, feeding Milo, seeing the half basket of laundry that I did on Tuesday and still haven't put away, the dirty glass sitting on the table, the beer bottle over on the trunk, the stack of mail that just seems to keep building, then the cat threw up on the carpet right in front of me. And I just started to cry. I'm home all the time, but our apartment is never clean, I'm really only taking care of one infant, but he seems to suck all of my time. I love him dearly and wouldn't trade these days for anything, but I wonder how any mom gets anything really done during the day as he seems to demand most of my time. I'm getting better at the 5-10 minute tasks while he naps or sits in his baby catapult, but he's been a little crabby this week, and I feel like somehow I'm failing him because he's not the happy baby he's been. I'm sure he's fine, and I'm fine, just had a moment.

Mike came home, poured me a glass of wine, and whisked Milo out to Chaska to see Nana Steph. I worked on our bedroom disaster for a little bit, went to see a movie (why do I love seeing movies by myself; am I a hermit at heart?), and then met a couple of friends for happy hour at our new local spot. And today is a new day. Milo and I went to the post office and talked to Auntie Kate. And now he's oogling his baby gym and cooing happily. Maybe we've both turned a corner.

Two month appointment...

Poor Milo. Went to see the doctor yesterday for his two month appointment, and things started out just fine. Apparently he's in the 50th percentile for his height/length, and the 80th percentile for his weight. I don't think the nurse was able to get a fully accurate measurement of his length, he was just waking up and arching his back and stretching, but needless to say, he's turning into a little portly fellow. Doctor checked his eyes and ears, his back and head, his heart and lungs, and everything looks just great.

Then the nurse came back with three rather large needles. Let the immunizations commence. As the first plunged into his little leg, he paused for a moment, then the pain set in, and Milo let forth a scream like none I've heard from him. He's usually such a mellow little man. And then with the second and third, continued bafflement and resonant yells. Why would his mom let this happen? What is happening? He just seemed beside himself at the injustice of it all. As soon as possible, the nurse handed him over, we cuddled for a few minutes, mom cried in utter helplessness and longing to make it go away, and he calmed down. I got him into his carseat, and we headed out.

For the rest of the morning and early afternoon, he slept, long and hard; woke once, ate, went back to sleep. Then about 4pm, he woke again, moved one of his legs, and let go again. Poor man; mom ignorantly thought the worst was over, hadn't stopped to get any baby tylenol, and now was powerless to stop the aching in his swollen legs. Fortunately, Nana Steph called mid-screaming and offered to stop by with the blessed drugs on her way home from work. I managed to get him to calm by the time she got there. By the time Mike got home from work, I thought we were through the worst, but later in the evening, about an hour after he ate, I tried for a second dose of the tylenol. He took it, let a little dribble out, sat and worked on it for a couple of minutes, then vomited every liquid from his little belly, managing to drench both him and me, but miss everything else. After some more crying, he took a warm bath, and we rocked and rocked and lullabyed, and rocked some more. And today he seems reasonable back to his normal, happy self. Whew. This parenting learning curve is steep and sometimes breaks my heart, but so far we're both surviving unscathed.