listing loquacious: 6 Monthiversary

I'm such a great mom. Because the first post I have on my blog about my new baby is for his 6 monthiversary. Actually, I think that makes me a good mom, but a terrible blogger.

Whatever.

6 months ago I went to the hospital to have a baby. (And rightly so, judging by this picture. At least my booty looked small!)

I had decided previously that I'd have an epidural not because they're fun and I enjoy the funky sensation in my spine for months afterward, but because I was tired.

Frankly, I really would have preferred to just sleep and let my body do what it knows best. I mean, quadriplegic women have babies, right? And how much pushing can they really do? Why can't I do that? *pout* So I was induced in the morning, and I got the epidural when I felt like it, which was before things got really uncomfortable. (So different from Alex's natural birth.) Between pushing--which I did because I was supposed to, not because I wanted to--I chatted and joked with the doctor and my husband. I've never done that. Usually I'm in the zone and nothing exists unless I can hear you or you're touching me (and I might not want you touching me). But this time I had an "Okay, let's get this over with" attitude. So weird.

Anyway, when all was said & done, all those begrudging pushes gave us this:

8lbs of Weston Matthew

The nurses loved his apricot halo of hair, and the charge nurse insisted that she be called back in when he was bathed, because she just had "...to see that hair when it was dry!" Funny. From Day 1 Weston's been a really super chill baby. Even in the hospital he didn't cry much. I remember lying there feeding or snuggling with my little guy in the middle of the night, feeling so bad for the mother of the screaming baby next door. I kinda' wanted to go over and offer to hold the baby or swaddle 'em up real tight or something. Poor baby. Poor Mom!

So for 6 months our family has reveled in a really chill baby. I think that either the Lord knew that this time of my life is a bit crazy and a happy, relaxed baby would be a blessing; or that Wes just knows that as #5 he doesn't get all of my attention. Or both. While we were living in MIL's basement, Grandpa would boast to his clients that "This baby never cries! I've never heard him cry, ever!" So when Little Man got fussy, I'd be sure to hand him to Grandpa. (It helps that as Grandpa's age increases, his hearing doesn't.)

This kid is a charmer and a flirt. A little eye contact is usually all it takes for him to break into a great big grin. It's so big that he often has to turn away or put his chubby fists up to his mouth. This boy has grown women giggling.

We call him Little Man, but really he isn't. Well he used to be.

Lookit that teeny tiny little bundle tucked happily in my hospital gown!

And technically he is a small human. But a couple of weeks ago I stepped onto the scale with both of us, then just me. I did the calculations in my head, but the number didn't come out right. So I did it again. Same numbers, same mental math. Then I used a dry-erase marker on the bathroom mirror (they wipe right off with a little square of tp, so they're the best for love notes, to-do lists, phone messages--whatever!) to do the math. Sure enough, Mr. Weston weighed in at a whopping 20.6 lbs...at 5 1/2 months!

We call him Ginormo Boy.

And the funny things is that he's not fat. I mean, he's a baby and he's got some chunk on his thighs and cottage cheese on his butt and everything, but he's not FAT. Just solid! He's very proportionate...for an 8-month old. I moved him into 6-9mo clothes at 4 1/2 months. Crazy. I can't even touch my fingers around his ribcage. I also call him Bohunk. And Lug. But mostly I call him Cutie Guy.