Tough Decision

I hate making really tough decisions. I always go back and forth, weighing the pros and cons until my head is about to explode. Andrew and I are in the middle of making a tough decision right now, but I feel like it's mostly me making the decision since Andrew already knows what he'd do if I weren't here. But I think I finally know what has to be done.

Here's the deal. We have this baby, whom we love more than anything. It is our job to protect him and care for him above all else. We also have this cat, who can be...vicious. And we have to decide whether or not to keep the cat. This cat has never been aggressive toward Milo. She ignores him for the most part. But when he's crawling around, reaching out and grabbing her tail, will she remain so passive?

I took Gary (the cat) to the vet yesterday, and she was absolutely terrifying. The vet said she was the most aggressive cat he's ever seen, almost to the point that he'd describe her as feral. She hissed and swiped and bit. It took fifteen minutes for the vet to wrangle her enough for the vet tech to give her her shots. Andrew had told me Gary was bad at the vet, but this was the first time I'd witnessed it. I was honestly afraid of her, and I was so thankful that my MIL was watching Milo. For the first time, I felt that Gary was a real and true threat to my family.

But the thing is, 90 percent of the time she is sweet and cuddly. She purrs so much, drool just drips out of her mouth. She's like a puppy; she waits by the door when we get home. She loves to sit on our laps and snuggle next to us at night.

The other 10 percent of the time, however, is a completely different story. She swipes at us when startled or when she doesn't want to do what we want her to do. She hisses at our guests. She pees wherever she feels like it, often right in front of us, as if to say, hey, eff you guys, I'll do what I want and you can't stop me. She scratches on the furniture when she wants food or attention. She shreds the carpet when a door is closed to a room she wants to be in. This morning Andrew reached down to pick her up and she swiped at him, leaving a bleeding scratch on his lip.

Honestly, do I even have a choice? Something has to change. Do we make her an outdoor cat, hoping she'll work out her aggression and energy outside, but risking that she'll become even wilder when she's home? Do we try to find another home for her, somewhere where she can be outdoors with lots of land to run around on? Or do we go with Andrew's preferred choice and have her put to sleep? But I couldn't do that. We've had her for five years, and despite her many, many faults, I love her and feel responsible for her. She's my first pet, and the first pet Andrew and I got together.

But there's Milo. And I have to do what is best for him. And if there is even a chance that Gary would hurt him, then she has to go. I can't wait until it happens, then feel regret that I didn't take action sooner. We're planning to ask Andrew's aunt and uncle, who live out in rural Missouri, if they will take her. Take her back, actually, since it was they who found her in their barn when Gary was just a day or so old. (Robin, if you read this, whaddya say?)

In my heart I know Gary has to go. But I swear, I'm gonna miss that goddamn cat.

Just look in those kitten eyes. You can see the future staring right back at you.

Eventually Gary would conquer this sofa and shred it all to hell.
Look at that tongue!
Gary reeeaaally hated wearing that jack-o-lantern hat. For the life of me, I can't imagine why.

Maybe in the end, this decision isn't so difficult after all.

Okay, back to posting about my baby.

Milo giggles now. It is so stinking cute. He's been smiling for awhile, and occasionally smiling and working himself up into this wheezing, grunting sort of smile noise. But just yesterday it actually sounded like a giggle.

Of course I ran for the video camera. But when I turned it on, he was pretty straight-faced. Either I quit being funny or he doesn't like to perform for the camera. One of these days I'll catch that giggle. Until then I'll be over here, making an ass out of myself trying to get my baby to laugh.

Hey look! A post that isn't about my preshus baybee!

WARNING: This post has absolutely nothing to do with Milo! In fact, I probably won't even mention him! Or at least not after the title! Or this!

A couple of friends (one of them being this girl, and you know she'll have good stuff) and I are having a garage sale this weekend. I've been gathering stuff to sell for weeks, and finally last night started collecting it all from its various cat-free zones around the house and putting it in the garage. It was a dirty, dusty chore.

As I carried some things through the kitchen, I felt something on my chest. Something like a bug. I looked down, but could see no bug. But OMG, you guys, I was wearing a tank top, the kind with the built-in bra, and with these glorious breastfeeding boobs, the depths of my cleavage know no bounds. I felt something again. Positive that a bug had fallen into my shirt, I started hoping that it was at least something small, like a silverfish (we have tons of those lately).

I started digging around in my tank top, and what do you know, A GIANT GROSS SPIDER SCUTTLES OUT OF MY CLEAVAGE AND ON TO MY SHOULDER. I literally shrieked and jumped around, frantically brushing my arm, trying to remove the spider without smearing it on my skin. I yelled for Andrew. By the time he came in the spider was on my belly (on the shirt, THANK GOD) and he brushed it first to my leg, then to the floor, where it began to hurry away. Andrew lifted his foot as if to step on it and squash it, but he was not wearing shoes and hesitated, foot in midair. Unfortunately, I was wearing shoes. With only a moment's hesitation, I stomped on that eight-legged terror. And let me tell you, that was the grossest squished bug I've ever seen.

So I knew I wasn't a fan of spiders and all, but I had no idea that if one were to be on me that I would freak out so much. The shrieking, the hopping, the shaking, the feeling that it is STILL THERE EVEN NOW, HOURS LATER. *shudder*

But hey! You should totally come to our garage sale! I'm a sucker and a people-pleaser, so I will probably give you a good deal.

Three Months!

At three months, Milo is cuter than ever. And that is quite an accomplishment, because exuding this much Adorable (he's only one baby, after all) takes some effort.

At three months, Milo smiles when I pick him up from his crib in the morning.

At three months, Milo is a great nighttime sleeper. He goes to bed between 7:30 and 8:15, and then doesn't wake up until sometime between 3:00 and 4:30. He has slept all the way through the night twice, not waking until it's actually a decent time to get out of bed.

At three months, Milo eats somewhere around five and a half or six ounces each feeding. He typically eats six times a day. I have no idea if this is average or not. He is gaining weight and all that, so we must be in the right ballpark at least.

At three months, Milo talks a lot. He mostly says "Ah ah ah ah ah ah" and something that is sort of like "Uhhhgggbb," but there are lots of other sounds too. I spend a lot of time pointing to myself and saying "Mama" but so far it's not doing any good. All in good time, all in good time.

At three months, Milo obsessively sucks on his hands. It's hard to take good pictures of him without another adult there to entertain him because he always has his hands in his mouth.

At three months, Milo drools a lot. Not all the time, but when he feels like sucking on something (namely his hands, occasionally my fingers or Andrew's arm) the drool just won't stop. It dangles from his mouth in long, sticky strings. If he keeps this up, he'll be worse than Gary.

At three months, Milo kicks his legs when he gets excited.

At three months, Milo loves looking in the mirror. I like to play the Near-Far game, where I hold him close to the mirror and say "Neeeeeeearrr," then move back from the mirror and say "Faaaaarrr." I stole this from Sesame Street.

At three months, Milo almost giggles. When he is excited and smiling, he makes breathy noises that can almost be mistaken for giggles. It's super cute.

At three months, Milo is getting more hair. It sort of looks curly when it's wet, but there's so little of it that it's difficult to tell. And I still can't say for sure what color it will be in the end. Right now I'm going with reddish brown.

At three months, Milo prefers to nap in someone's arms. He sleeps for a lot longer when he's being held. If he naps elsewhere, we're lucky if he sleeps for twenty minutes.

At three months, Milo can grip things pretty well. He sometimes brings objects to his mouth, and sometimes he switches an object to the other hand. This might be accidental, because I still haven't seen him really reach out for an object.

At three months, Milo has not yet rolled over, though he has rotated a full 180 degrees while on his belly.

At three months, I'm really getting the hang of this. Rarely do I feel like I have no idea what to do with him. I think it helps that he is becoming more interested in the world around him.

At three months, I have at least one pair of pre-pregnancy pants that fit. I am too scared to try on any others. I still have a lot of weight to lose. I don't think I've lost a single pound in the last six weeks.

At three months, I love this little boy so much. I am wrapped around his tiny little finger. I let him drool on me and give me slobbery kisses. If that isn't love, I don't know what is.Half a second later that hand was in his mouth. I can't say I blame him, though. I can't resist chomping on that baby either. Nom nom nom.

He really is Super-Dad-Man. Sadly, he does not wear a cape.

I never wondered whether Andrew would be a great dad. He's been doing this kind of stuff for years. (He bonded with the guy that is now his former college roommate over singing Jesus Christ Superstar in the dorm showers. True story.) I knew Andrew would be silly and fun and playful, but also tender and sweet and loving.

And he is all those things and more. He is always willing to do whatever it takes to soothe a fussy baby. He changes all those pesky middle-of-the-night diapers. He wets our reusable wipes, even though it makes the skin on his hands dry out. He stays up late with me when I decide to pump before bed in order to build up my backup milk supply. He mows the grass and washes the dishes. He takes Milo with him to Home Depot or Costco or wherever so I can take a 20-minute parenting break. He makes me feel beautiful, even though my post-baby body is not what I want it to be. He fills up the water bottle that sits by my nursing spot every night and every morning. And he always asks if there is anything else he can do.

No, Andrew. There isn't anything else you can do. You're already being the best dad. Milo clearly adores you (and I do, too).

It is an awesome thing, seeing your husband turn into a father. I wouldn't have guessed it was possible, but I love him even more. Happy First Father's Day, Andrew.

He did it again!

Milo didn't wake up until a little after 7:00 this morning. Our almost-three-month-old slept through the night twice in a row. Will this trend continue? My money's on no, but wouldn't it be nice if I were wrong?

Ten Hours

Ten hours. Ten! Hours! Ten ten ten! If I say it enough, I might start to believe it.

Milo slept for ten hours in a row last night. He (and we) slept through the night for the first time. It's pretty awesome, not getting out of bed until it is light outside. Poor little baby, though—he was quite hungry. Not to worry, Milo. After not being emptied for that many hours, these boobs have plenty of breakfast for you.

Nom nom nom.*

*Check out Super-Dad-Man for more baby/meat-related humor.

Our Little Mer-baby

Andrew needed no rehearsal. He just knows all the words. Impressive, no?

Isn't it neat? from Megan Langford on Vimeo.

5AM and the excitement continues

Milo woke up for the first time at 5:10. It may be a fluke, because I don't think he fell asleep until a little after 9:00. I'm not sure how to feel about this wake-up time. On one hand, awesome. This is inching toward sleeping through the night. On the other hand, great (note the tone of sarcasm here). He might just think he's had enough sleep and decide to stay up.

I will finish feeding him in another fifteen minutes and attempt to put him back in bed. Hoping for another two and a half hours of sleep . . .

He likes to keep me guessing.

I woke up at 4:23am and freaked out. Milo had not yet woken up to eat, and he was asleep by 8:10pm. My heart raced; I was sure something must be wrong. I shook Andrew awake, and he rushed in to Milo's room to check on him.

I sat up, straining to hear something, anything, on the baby monitor. Waiting to hear the panic I felt reflected in Andrew's voice as he called out that something was wrong. But I only heard silence. And then the soft click of the bedroom door shutting. Andrew's footsteps padding back to our room.

Milo was still sleeping. He was absolutely fine.

I, on the other hand, was in quite a state. I don't think I'd ever felt more awake at that hour of the night before. I tried to sleep, but I just lay there. Milo woke up about fifteen minutes later, ready to eat.

Now I'm only concerned because Milo hasn't pooped in nine hours. Not so much looking forward to THAT diaper change.

Sleep is for the weak. And I am so very, very weak.

I read that it's common for babies to regress in their sleeping habits around three months of age. Aaaaaand, you can see where I'm going with this, right?

Milo is back to waking up every three to four hours at night, which means we're back to getting up twice with him. For awhile there we were only getting up once, around 4:00, which wasn't so bad. But getting up at midnight AND 4:00 is . . . bad. Unfortunately, this seems to be the new pattern, despite my fervently hoping it was just one bad night. Then hoping it was just two bad nights. But three bad nights in a row? Nope, now it is just a thing.

Tell me, when did YOUR babies sleep through the night consistently? How much more of this are we going to have to endure?

I also took some names

I have news for you, Internet. My old jeans fit! Can you believe that?! Something that fit* BEFORE getting pregnant now fits** AFTER being pregnant! And they barely even give me a muffin top!***

*quite loose

**sort of snug

***I don't care, they zip up! And I'm just SURE they'll loosen up after a couple wearings. They're still tight from the dryer! Am I right, ladies? You know how it is.