ChiKat

My son is no longer nursing. He's 14-months-old. I can't believe I nursed him for that long. It was so hard in the beginning, when he wasn’t on a schedule and I was his only source of nutrition. No matter what I was doing, when he fussed I would need to stop and find somewhere private to nurse him. It felt like he fussed every five minutes.

It was the hardest between months three to six, when he was a baby instead of a newborn, when it was easy to be convinced that he could take a bottle just as easily, when he wasn't sleeping well and demanded me all the time.

But we survived and started to figure out a schedule. Or rather, I figured out that I could put him on a schedule, that I could start deciding when he should nurse rather than waiting for him to fuss.

After that, it was still occasionally a hassle, but it also gave me great superpowers. If he bumped his head, fell down, was crabby, was sad…all those things I could magically fix just by nursing him. My son is incredibly active and squirming. He's not a cuddler (and neither am I). But during those nursing sessions, we curled around each other, skin to skin, and just marveled at each other. The nursing sessions created a bond between us that is magical and awe-inspiring. I'm so thankful I had the experience. I'm so thankful my husband supported me during the tough times, told me that I could stop is I wanted to, but knew I could keep going if I wanted to.

More than I ever thought I would, I am going to miss our nursing sessions. But I'm so proud of my boy, of his independence. He's brave and bold and intelligent.

I no longer have my nursing superpowers, but I get to keep that magical bond that I have with him. I am so blessed.

My son was born with black hair and blue eyes. My husband and I both have dark brown hair and brown eyes, so the black hair wasn't a surprise. The blue eyes were a bit of a surprise, but lots of kids are born with blue eyes that change to a darker color after a few months.

Rather than having those blue eyes turn brown, but son has gone the opposite way. His blue eyes are still the prettiest blue ever, and his hair has gone from jet black to light, light brown with streaks of blond in it.

BLOND.

Who does this child belong to?

Today I put my son down for his morning nap. Half an hour later, he started to fuss. He does that sometimes, but it was much too early for him to be awake, so I ignored his fussing. He stopped fussing, only to start again 15 minutes later. I ignored him again, and again he stopped fussing, only to start again. This time I went into his room to try to convince him to take a nap.

He was covered in vomit. The floor had puddles of vomit. The entire crib mattress was drenched. He was miserable, shaking and sobbing.

I immediately began drowning in guilt, but before I could thoroughly self-flagellate, he started vomiting again. What do you DO with a baby who is vomiting, who is covered in vomit, who is sitting in a pool of vomit? My immediate reaction was to scoop him up and hug him, but he was puking – would he really want me picking him up, moving him around, when the entire contents of his stomach were being projected out of his body? This is something I had not read about in my parenting books.

He soon stopped throwing up, and I was able to strip off his clothes and get him into the bathtub. Then I realized that, while the bathtub was easy to clean, it was also cold. The last thing I wanted was to give him a cold on top of his stomach bug. I couldn't leave him alone in the tub to get clothing, because it was too easy for him to slip and fall. So we went back to his room and I toweled him off and put dry clothes on him. Which he puked all over.

Five outfits later, I am starting to figure this out. When he starts to gag, I grab a dish towel and hold it under his chin, so when he starts to throw up, I can minimize the amount that is spewed across the floor. I don't move him, but I keep my arm around him so he doesn't get scared.

These are valuable parenting skills that I have earned today. I would like my Mommy Scout badge, the one for "how to handle vomit".

While I am waiting for my badge, I am also trying to move past the guilt of leaving him in the crib this morning. Having my mom tell me that she did that to me helped a lot. I don't even remember that! And I still love her! I think my son will be ok. More importantly, long-term memory doesn't develop until after three years of age.

I am sick. Ah choo. My little boy, however, has no tolerance for my plan to nap all day. I am trying to convince my dog to watch the boy for me, but that is not working either. It might have something to do with the fact that the boy's favorite game is to grab the dogs trail and laugh hysterically when the dog leaps up in surprise and dashes across the room, dragging the boy along for a ride.

That poor, poor dog.

In two weeks, we are celebrating my boy's one-year birthday. I cannot believe it. He is an entirely different creature now compared to a year ago. He toddles ahead of me, he plays tag, he is ticklish under his chin, he loves to eat crayons. He's a totally perfect, magical little boy. He's so not a baby anymore.

Which means he will have no problem being dragged across South America! Great!

Ok, he is still a little boy, but he is certainly no baby.

I have found that I love being a mom to a boy. I thought I would want a girl, but being a mom to a boy is so delightful. I went out to lunch the other day with one of my girl friends and her four-month-old boy, and we had a fabulous time spending the day with them. Sure, we tortured them by looking at several fancy dress shops, but they loved all the materials and the tags. I'm sure the saleslady loved the two-foot-high trail of drool that we left in our wake. Drool! It's the next big thing in fashion design!

When my little boy falls down, I tell him he's ok. After all, I think to myself, he's a rough-and-tumble boy. I don't know if I would have that same attitude if I had a girl. I don't want my son to be a Mommy's Boy, so I work hard to instill a sense of independence in him. I don't know if that can really be taught, but he certainly does love to explore and I try to encourage that. When he empties out my cabinets for the five millionth time, I remind myself he is engaging in independent play rather than being a pain in the behind. Even though we spend pretty much every single waking moment together, I try to make sure he does his own things and doesn't cling to me. I'm not sure I would be trying this hard with a girl. I can't remember anyone accusing girls of being "Mommy's Girls". It feels ok for a girl to cling to her mom. It isn't the same for a boy.

I'm so surprised I feel this way. If I do have a daughter down the road, I'll try extra hard to give her the same independence I've given my son. I'm a better mom based on all the things I've learned from my son.

So far, he's a happy, happy little boy, so it's working out pretty well for both of us.

My mother-in-law often buys diapers, wipes and clothes for my son. My mother also buys lots of clothes for him. The other day, after my husband and I were checking out the new bounty, he looked at me and said, "Do you ever feel like we're part of a targeted subsidization program to encourage us to produce more grandchildren? It's like tax cuts, but from Grandmas."

My long-term career goal is to write for non-profits focused on improving inner-city life.

Currently, I'm writing about recycling rates for plastic resins and designing templates for project planning. Which is to say, I'm not doing anything to improve inner-city life (unless you count the pretty flowers that I plant in the summertime).

But despite being far from non-profits, I've been pleased with my freelancing lately. I try to cram everything I need to accomplish in the day (shower, write, dishes, feed dog, world peace) into his naptime. Some days, having to race to get everything done totally drains me. But other days, like today, I'm totally satisfied when I am able to accomplish non-baby tasks and it re-charges my desire to stay at home with my son.

The day-to-day caring for a child can be totally overwhelming. My son is 10-months-old. He eats baby food now, but I have to spoon feed him. If I give him the spoon, he will eventually learn how to eat by himself, which is a good thing because I don't want to be spoon feeding a teenager. But letting him have the spoon means food gets everywhere. Not just on the boy, but on the dog, me, the floor and sometimes the ceiling. And it's mushy peas. The DOG doesn't even like it.

So some days, I am tired and don't feel like cheering my son on while he hurls food around the room in an attempt to feed himself. But other days, when I've completed a project and a client tells me I did a good job, I'm totally able to be the cheerleader and enjoy these monumental developmental milestones that are so amazing in retrospect, but so excruciatingly frustrating when you are in the trenches.

One of my big concerns about the South America trip is that I have been talking my husband into going on the trip. He loves the idea of the trip, too, but he is often in love with the *idea* of things and not the *actuality* of things.

I'm the one that usually plans trips and drags us out the door. Then he has a great time.

I think this trip will be the same, but if something goes wrong, I will feel like it was 100% my fault. We aren't making these decisions together. I am talking him into the decisions. So if something goes wrong, like the very likely chance that my son will get a headache from the high altitude, I will feel like it is my fault. If something serious goes wrong, like a bad reaction to the Yellow Fever vaccine, I will be buried under the guilt that I will pile on myself.

When we made medical decisions for our son before, like deciding about circumcision, we both believed very strongly in our opinions. I feel like we split the responsibility for the decision-making equally.

With this trip, my husband knows how much I want to see my brother, so I think he is letting me talk him into things that he isn't really comfortable with. That makes me feel the weight of responsibility even more.

At the same time, if I don't drag us out the door, I'm fairly convinced my husband wouldn't leave the condo until our son was 18.

On a day-to-day basis, my husband is much more daring and adventurous than me. He barrels down the mountain on his snowboard, zipping through the trees with no concern at all. I snow plow down at a snails pace.

But when it comes to our son, my husband is much more protective. I guess since I'm already so cautious, I don't feel the need to be MORE cautious just because I have a baby. My husband, on the other hand, has had to make some pretty big lifestyle changes to accommodate the pace of a baby. I think his pendulum swung from thrill-seeker to safety-net, but maybe it's still needs some fine-tuning because no matter how much I bundle that child up, my husband is always hovering with an extra blanket, an extra hat AND the suggestion that we just stay inside.

Ugh. My dog just threw up, which caused my son to burst into laughter. While I raced to get paper towels to clean up the puke, but son tried to beat me to the puke so he could play with it.

Gross.

We are thinking of going to South America to visit my brother. If we do, we will need to get a Yellow Fever vaccine. Children under six months aren't allowed to get the vaccine. It's not recommended for children under nine months. After that, apparently it becomes safe. My son would be getting the vaccine at twelve months.

It's very hard to be responsible for someone you love so much. I don't want to turn into a hermit, but my natural instinct is to say, "if it's not safe at nine months, how much safer is it three months later?"

It would be horrible if something bad happened to my son through some random act. If something bad happened based on my decision, I think I would blow my brains out.

In addition to the questions about the vaccine, there is the general safety issue. The area we would be visiting is considered by the State Department to be a "medium to high crime threat" country. We would need to avoid public buses and shared taxis because tourists are kidnapping targets. My brother tells me that when someone is kidnapped, they are taken somewhere and must hand over their ATM card and their pin. Then they are released. He assures me that the kidnappings are rare to begin with, and are even more-rarely life-threatening. But…still. Kidnapping.

My brother has lived in this country for several months. He loves it. He loves the people. He travels all over the place. He is so happy, and wants to share this amazing place with us. It would be an incredible, once-in-a-lifetime experience. To make it even more amazing, we would also go see Manchu Picchu. How fabulous would that be?!

I am so excited about the idea of seeing South America and the incredible Manchu Picchu. But not at the expense of my son's health or safety. I am trying to weigh the risks.

It is such a new experience to be this responsible for one tiny creature.

I was teary today, and spent a lot of time trying to cuddle with a squirmy little boy who would much rather bang pots than cuddle.

Alexa, whose blog I've been reading for years, lost one of her twins at 22 weeks. Alexa has been writing abut her "science babies" since she found out she was pregnant. It was so clear that she loved her babies and wanted them to be healthy and safe.

I remember the apprehension I felt before every doctor's appointment when I was pregnant. Your body does so much work creating a child, and you have so little control over it. You put so much pressure on yourself to do everything right when you are pregnant, pressure that is reinforced with every doctor's visit and every judgmental glance from others, but in the end you are powerless against the whims of Mother Nature/God/randomness.