Weekend away

Sawyer quietly turned 8 months last week. I forgot to remember. Last weekend he had his first overnight stay with his grandparents while Scott and I attended the Virginia Press Association awards in Norfolk. We were gone for a total of 48 hours. I barely missed him. Does that make me a crappy parent? I mean, I was anxious to get home, but I knew he was fine and that my parents were spoiling him to death. The worst part was realizing that he barely missed me. He didn't even smile or reach out his arms when I arrived. He just chomped on his nuk and stared at me with those big gray eyes. My parents spent the weekend watching baby tv, documenting his every escapade for the retelling, and moving large stacks of magazines. Did I mention that WSP has the same adoration for newsprint as his parents and grandparents? He bee-lines across the room for any magazine, newspaper, publication and immediately eats it. I had to scrape a kodak ad off the roof of his mouth on one occasion when I didn't move fast enough. All the electronic buttons within reach at my parent's house were also a thrill. If he had his way with them, my parents would never be able to turn their dvd player on again. Upon my return, my dad demonstrated how he could move his leg back and forth in front of the electronics to prevent Sawyer from reaching any of the buttons. Hmm. Sounds like fun. I, personally, have no aversion to the word "no." Sawyer also learned that its fun to dive back and forth between adults' arms - a game that I am sure we will play for hours on end when we travel to California. If they had a video camera, my dad said he would have shot footage of Sawyer walking around the room holding onto furniture. We're taking bets on when he starts really walking. My parents think it's going to be a month or two. I'm guessing he will be closer to a year. His hips still wobble like he's playing with a hula hoop. He also mastered eating Cheerios this weekend. I am always amazed how things like that happen overnight. We've put them in front of him for months but he always just dropped them on the floor. Now they actually make it into his mouth and he gums them before swallowing. No gagging. Next challenge - sippy cups. So far he just bites the nozzle a few times and cries. At the end of the weekend, my parents were amazed at how "quickly you forget" what it's like to have a baby in the house. They had both clearly bonded with their grandson, which was a joy for me to see. They said they would be happy to do it again – when Sawyer is 3.

Baby go-go

The farthest Sawyer has traveled under his own power is the width of our house. The fartherst he's traveled with us is to the beach (about a 5-hour car ride) when he was two weeks old. Soon we'll be taking a five-hour plane ride across the country. Since I'm not allowed to stick him below in a pet crate, I'm looking for travel advice from experienced parents . . . or non-experienced parents who have humourous suggestions. Gimmie what you got.

Un-EDITED sap

sawyer is a hungry little dude these days. i just love how he opens his mouth so wide with every bite. he's like a little bird, which reminds of his newborn days when he would open and close his mouth - gawking at me like a baby chicken. how quickly he's become this exploring baby boy: who crawls the span of the house (down the hall into the bedroom) looking for us; who pulls himself up and tries to climb everything, including his parents; who seems to suddenly understand that he's a part of this world. i am thrilled by each new talent, but also recognize that these are signs that he will soon stop being a baby. before i know it he will be graduating high school. that's what people who've been through it always tell me and i take it as an omen. APPRECIATE THIS. yet, i already can't wait until he gets the whole finger food concept. i gave him some Cheerios yesterday and he actually gummed them before swallowing - and he didn't gag as they went down the hatch, so i take this as a good sign. scott filmed the 'marley' scene.

Choo Choo

It was a lovely morning. Sawyer woke up at 6:45 a.m. Nursed and ate his cereal. Played (see photo). Got tired. I put him down at 9 a.m. with a full warm bottle which he polished off and when I returned to check on him at 9:15 he was out cold. He had found his own pacifier and was sucking on that. I took the bottle, shut off the light and tip toed off to the computer. Everything was going exactly as planned. The sitter and I have been working hard to coordinate schedules and to get Sawyer to start taking longer, better naps twice a day. So far in his short life he has been a pretty terrible napper. I am lucky to get 45 minutes out of him twice a day. Meanwhile, all the other babies at daycare take two, two-hour naps. It would be fine with me if Sawyer took short naps and then was a happy camper. But he seems to be living in a constant state of sleep deprivation as evidenced by his recent increased crankiness during waking hours. So I am going Nazi on him. We have already been very strict about the 7 pm-7 am sleep time at night. Now I am setting a strict nap schedule and STICKING TO IT. I shout that over his cries from downstairs. The major problem is that he wakes up and gets himself into a bind that he can't escape without help. When he was learning to crawl and stuck in reverse he would back his legs between the slats of the crib and then wail. Now that he's pulling up he gets into standing or kneeling position and then can't get down. That's what he's done right now. At 9:45 a.m. he woke up. Got stuck. Cried. I went in there, made sure his pacifier was within reach and told him that he needed to figure out how to get down by himself. He screamed TORTURE as I walked out the door. Now, I could have just put him down on his back and stuck the pacifier in his mouth and he would have gone right back to sleep like we've done a hundred times. But then we would be doing that a hundred more times, right? Twenty minutes later, he is still stuck and still crying. Five more minutes go by and I can't take it anymore. I will show him how to get down. Oh, he looks so pathetic, hanging there. Clinging for dear life. Hiccuping between cries. I sit him down. I put the pacifier in his mouth. I give him his blankie with the stuffed animal head. He tilts over, hiccuping, and passes out. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I am going to be a Nazi.

Just Because

Poor Perros

One of the dangers in rural living is the WILD creatures lurking at night. Monday night our other babies tangled with the unknown. We had let the dogs out only minutes before and started a movie when Scott said PAUSE IT! He ran to the back door and the hair raising sound of dogs fighting hit me like a knife. Sliding uncontrollably sock footed across our newly polished floors, Scott dove for the flashlight as I screamed YOU HAVE TO GO OUT THERE. YOU HAVE TO STOP THEM. The sound of yelps, snarls, cries and splashing drifted up the hill from the creek. Silent moments and panting sounds made me fear the worst, and then the battle would begin again. Through the woods below I could see the beam of Scott's flashlight bouncing. The fear in his voice was audible as he called the dogs to COME. Eventually they did. Covered from head to toe in black mud, both were bloody and exhausted. We washed them down in our Brand New Shower, let them shake onto our Freshly Painted Walls, tended to their wounds and took them to the vet the next day. The vet gave them rabies boosters and antibiotics but said it was best to leave the wounds open to prevent infection. Deflated and traumatized, the dogs are now living like royalty, licking their wounds and lounging on our furniture. Duncan appeared at first to have been hurt the worst, with two large puncture wounds in his thigh that bled profusely; but Tucker now seems worse for the wear -- a large gash in her foot is making it hard for her to walk. We have no idea what they tangled with: a stray dog, a coyote, a raccoon, an otter, a possum? All these possibilities have been presented by my helpful coworkers who told every horror story in the book: Coons that will lead an animal to water and then jump on its head and try to drown it, aggressive otters, nasty possums. But surely that wouldn't have happened to our two large dogs. Even one stray dog would have been outnumbered by our two-pack. It will remain a mystery, but I can't help but wonder: If our dogs are this torn up, what kind of shape is the other animal in?

The Hawk

Scott will probably divorce me over this, but I've always wanted to do this to lil' dude's hair. It grows in a mohawk naturally, so why not live it up? (Or spike it up as the case may be).

Uh-oh!

Walked into Sawyer's room Wednesday and this is what I discovered.