Blogging or Showering? Well, duh.

So pretty much I've been dealing with a fuss pot the last couple of days and nights... And somehow blogging didn't get scratched off my to-do list. Well, neither did a shower but that's beside the point. Oh well... Gives my collection of houseflies something to do.

The night before last I was up with Corbin from about 11-3:30 am.  No, we weren't partying like rock stars. I was dealing with uncontrollable crying from an overly tired, hysterical baby. Oh, and Corbin was teething, too.

Did you know Tylenol, teething tablets, and gas drops are rendered ineffective by the wee morning hours? Somebody should really put that on the label.

Fuss Pot

 Anyhoo, the next day he was a scroogy butt and decided nothing I did was good enough. Except make bananas for lunch. He seriously enjoys some 'nanners.

1 Sweet Potato = 11 jars of baby food

Bananas

I did manage to get my Baby Bullet out for the first time yesterday! I am in love with the thing! I made four jars of baby food from one banana! I'm skipping cereal for now because it is pointless. He already knows how to eat off a spoon and cereal hurts his stomach. So far, bananas have been an absolute hit with no allergic reactions (yay).  Next week I am starting sweet potatoes. I love how the BB has a cookbook that gives you a list of which foods to try first. Not to mention it is almost as cute as Corbin Oliver, with all the smiley faces and what not. Actually, yesterday, I probably would've picked the Baby Bullet over C Man.
 
I'm kiiiiiidding...ish.

His initial reaction to sweet potatoes? You tell me :)

So yeah, I totally caved on waiting til 6 months to start baby food.

Last night was a little better. After his bath, Corbin rolled around on the floor naked for 15 minutes. It was hilarious. He was kicking his little short legs and shaking his little bubble butt, exposing his lil man bits... And we got it all on camera for future blackmail.

Can't roll back for that silly arm!

Today has been a better kind of day. Planting some mums... making some soup... planning my future Christmas projects on Pinterest... rocking my baby to sleep... It's the kind of day that makes up for the last two. The kind of day that makes me dread going back to work. The kind that makes me sad that Corbin is growing up so fast and eating baby food and rolling over already. The kind of uneventful day that I'll always want to remember but probably won't.

It's bittersweet.

My wish

I saw a fellow blogger at A Cup of Lindsey Jo write a grown-up list of things she wished for.  It got me thinking. So, I decided to be a lazy bones, and instead of trying to come up with my own idea for a blog today (and because I'm a lover of and sucker for lists), I will make a list of things I wish for.

Here goes.

1. More money. Wow, way to start off the list, Miss Greedy-Greed. No really. Staying home with Corbin means one income. Which means Josh has to work extra hard and extra long to make ends meet. I don't care that we've had to cut out luxuries such as eating out and cable tv. But I hate to see him stress and stare at the bank account on the computer screen and wonder how we will make it work. I hate finding his scratched out budgets with our income and outcomes not meeting up for the month. It makes me feel sad, and guilty and worrisome...which makes me feel bad because the Bible says we aren't supposed to worry (1 Peter 5:7 Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you).  See what Satan tries to do there?

2. Even more money. Shhhh quit judging. I would love to have enough money to be able to easily help out a friend in need. Buy someone's dinner randomly at the table behind me. Donate to a charity. Build a church a new building. Take a hobo to Olive Garden and buy him unlimited soup, salad, and breadsticks. Or lasagna.  Just being able to do something nice and not worry if I will be able to buy gas or formula.

3. The ability to cook like Rachel Ray. Every night.

4. Cats that didn't pee everywhere and could be allowed onto carpeted areas of the house.  Ya know, normal cats.

5. The ability to nurse my baby exclusively. It would solve sooo many problems.

6. A remote control that would pause special moments or make Corbin grow up in slo-mo.

7. A fancy digital camera so I can take pictures of my beautiful baby on something other than my cell phone. Ya know, the ones with real lenses and real flashes and stuff.

8. A clone of myself so I could be Mrs. Brown the teacher and a stay-at-home mom for Corbin at the same time.

9. A talent. I really don't excel at any one thing. Sometimes I fantasize about someone needing a guitar player, or singer, or sewer, or baker, or photographer, or painter, and then wowing them with my best kept secret that nobody knew about because I had been perfecting it all these years. Or someone saying, "Oh yeah that's Brittney. She's such an amazing _________."

Egotistical, I know.

10. To be a better Christian. I really feel like I'm the "grown child who's still living in their parents' basement waiting for my internet business to take off" equivalent of a Christian. I have all these desires and good intentions but life always seems to gets in the way. And with the way society puts a negative spin on Christianity, I'm almost too timid to speak up because I don't feel like fighting the "all Christians are narrow-minded, backwards, and starchy" argument for the bazillionth time. I love God and try to live right, but I need more.

11. The 2012 Holiday Barbie. Just kidding...ish.

12. An ear-filter for negative people who rain on my parade or bring me down.

13. A mouth-filter for myself when I can't seem to keep negative words from jumping out of there.

14. An animal shelter on my own property, somewhere out in the country where I could take in all the cats and dogs that people wrongfully dump off. And a vet in the family to take care of them all.

15. Fat cells that forgot I ate pizza, cake, and ice cream this weekend.

Ok, there you have it.  I could probably go on and on and on. (In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little long-winded.) But I'll spare you the urge to unfollow my blog by wrapping this up, saying, I am so, so blessed. God has really had His hand over me. But I don't think there's a single person in the world who isn't in want of something. I just try to remember there is always someone who has it better than you and a lot who have it worse.

And now for some beautiful subject matter:

I wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy

So, allow me to tell you about my FABulous, wild weekend. Giiiirl, it was full of shopping, clubbin', fine dining, and partying. Ke$ha would be proud.

First, the shopping. That included a trip to Wal-Mart for cleaning products and toilet paper, a trip to PetSmart for fish tank filters, and a trip to Babies R Us (the happiest place on Earth) for baby spoons, bowls, and a Sophie the Giraffe. Yes, I caved on the Sophie thing. But Corbin wanted one. Really.

Let me tell you, for those who don't know what Sophie is, about this toy. Basically, it is a natural rubber squeaky toy in the shape of a giraffe. Supposedly it was invented in the 1960's in France and it is the rage all over Europe. Which makes it "cool." And if you don't own one, you most certainly get left out of the I-paid-$20-for-a-dog-toy-but-I'm-better-than-you-because-my-baby-is-happy-and-yours-is-crying club. But the real appeal is the long spindly legs, neck, nose, and ears are great for baby to chew on. And after buying every other teether known to Wal-Mart, I decided to give it a try. Worst case scenario, Sammy got an early Christmas present.

Bottom line: he really likes it. And that justifies my purchase.

Next, the clubbin'. Well, not really. But we did visit another church this Sunday. I kept hearing about this new church in town that everyone loved. I call it a "club" because everywhere I went in town, I saw people wearing bright orange t-shirts with the church name on them, and yet again, I felt very left out of the club.
So, we visited. And it was...different. Not bad different, just...different. The music was loud. Real loud. Like, I had to practically shout in Josh's ear to ask for the Sophie out of the diaper bag, and I wasn't even afraid anyone would hear the squeaking, loud. Surprisingly, Corbin slept through the whole thing. Which is hilarious since I can think too loud and he wakes up at home. Hmmmm...

The preaching/teaching was great. It was about finding your passion for God and not getting stuck in the mundane ins and outs of our daily routine. He talked about finding your purpose and feeding your spirit with Godly things. Very good message. It was refreshing.

Then we ate barbeque at the in-laws. That was the fine dining. No really, it was delish.

Then we headed out to party it up for the night...at our best friends' 6-year-old's birthday. It was fab. Captain America was the theme. The kids shot each other with Nerf guns. Then we told the dads to give them back to the 6-year-olds. Since bananas went so well, I decided to let Corbin eat cake, ice cream, and pizza. He loved it.

Not.

Now it's Monday again. I used to hate them, but now I look forward to the quiet routine and order. I'm too old for these wild weekends.

Someone pass the Bengay and prunes.

Exhausted

Nanner Nom Noms

I would be lying if I said I've never sat in front of the TV, shamelessly shoveling Cheetos into my face, while watching one of those Feed the Children infomercials. Without feeling a pinch of guilt. Well, not enough to make me stop sucking my orange fingers til they turned purple, anyway.

Recently, Corbin has started watching me eat. Like, really REALLY watching. He's also in that grab-everything-within-reach stage. If he's in my lap I have to be really careful because he would totally slip-n-slide his way into my chimichangas if I let him.

It started with drinking glasses. He has watched us so many times, he learned how to hold onto the glass and put his chubby little face to the rim and suck on it. Word to the wise: unless you sweeten your tea with baby drool (Maybe not a bad idea. Those sloppy kisses are mighty sweet.), I would highly suggest you finish your drink before allowing this. Gag.

Most recently, he has developed an affinity for forks and spoons. Today he sat motionless in his jumperoo (partially because he was fascinated, partially because he's still a shorty and can't reach the floor) while mommy ate her Lean Cuisine, all the while staring at me like he hadn't just downed a 6-ouncer two hours ago. He started smacking those little lips together like a toothless grandpa on tapioca day at the home. Seriously, between him and the dog, I might as well been eating in front of...well...a Feed the Children commercial.

Now I've said it a thousand times, "I'm not starting solids until he's 6 months old because that's what 'they' recommend." "They" never got the stare-down while trying to enjoy some microwave enchiladas for under 400 calories. I already planned on starting him on bananas and avocado first, and we just-so-happened to have one lone banana that had turned a wee bit too freckled for my palate. But hey, you know what they say about beggers.

I cut about a 2" section and mashed it up with a little water until it was soupy. I slapped a bib on that sweet thing and we got busy.

The first taste, honestly, confused him more than anything. He sat there with a perplexed look on his face and contemplated the cream-of-Chiquita soup I had just plopped on his tongue. Then it happened. Those little receptors on his tongue jolted alive with the intensity of an Easy Bake Oven on propane gas, and the next thing I knew...

He was crying.

Um...not the reaction I hoped for.

I was just about to take the slop back into the kitchen when he spotted it: the spoon. His eyes got huge and he started tensing up with excitement. Apparently, he wanted his first time tasting real food to be on his own accord, so, I handed him the little blue spoon.  He immediately squealed with delight and put it in his mouth.

Great. My child is a control freak.

And then he finished that entire bowl of 'nanners by himself. Ok, and with a little help from me. But really, he was very passionate. He grunted. He cried. He screamed with excitement. It was like a Spanish telenova. Only in baby babble.

I don't know if I'll make food a regular thing or not until he hits 6 months old. But at least I know he will tear up some bananas. Feast your eyes on the sweetness:

"I'm ready!"

"Hmmm...interesting"

Smacking his lips together

MORE!!!

'Twas the night before 5 months

I thought I was going to cry the first time Corbin got his shots. He was 2 months old and lied starry-eyed, gazing at the ceiling of the exam room. Then, the first needle penetrated the flesh of my newborn babe. The look in his eyes was of shock, confusion, and pain.  Mommy, why are you doing this to me???

I wanted to punch the nurse. And I did so in my thoughts.

The second go-around came at 4 months old. This time, I looked away, then swooped in like his savior and smothered him in cuddles and kisses.

The nurse didn't get thought-punched.

But now we are at the ripe ole age of 5 months. Today, 5 months ago, I evicted the little parasitic angel from my uterus. I sure hope, for his sake, 5 months is better than 4 months. We entered 4 months with shots, sleep regression, and the beginning signs of teething. It's been no bueno y no divertito for mommy (for those who didn't take high school level Spanish, that should be "no good and no fun").

But last night, the eve of 5 months, 4 months decided to go out with a bang.

It started with naps. Corbin has always fought naps. As soon as he realizes you're trying to "make" him go to sleep (oh tiny, yawning, fussing, eye-rubbing baby, how horrible am I for offering you soft music and a blanket?), he starts the "alligator roll" and I-just-got-a-shot-in-my-thigh style crying. But yesterday was different. In a passive-aggressive protest to naps, he went right to sleep. Peaceful. Sound. Sleep. But as soon as I would even THINK of laying him down, he was wake. Wide awake. For the next 6 hours.

Faking Sleep?

Then came the park meltdown. This was going to be yesterday's blog, but just as I put an over-tired Corbin to bed and sat down to write, "it" happened. What is "it?" Last night was "it."

Not a happy camper

Just minutes after I settled down, feeling the success of conquering Corbin's sleep battle, Josh came bumbling through the front door, setting off our furry alarm system, which prompted Josh to yell at him to be quiet. By our bedroom door. Where Corbin was sleeping. I was sitting in the nursery, thought-punching my dear husband, when Corbin woke up crying.  Nay, screaming.

It would continue like that for the next 1.5 hours - Corbin screaming, and me frantically bouncing between treating gas and teeth pain.  For gas, we tried: burping, bicycling legs, gas drops, and tummy rubs. For teeth, we tried: teething tablets, ora-jel, tylenol, cold teethers, and frozen wash cloths. Major fail.

I called for backup. First my mom. No answer. Then my best friend. I think at the end she must've hung up with pity and a prayer because veteran moms know all-to-well the signs of a sleepless night ahead. And we were heading full speed in that direction.

Sadly/fortunately, the poor little guy (and mommy) eventually tuckered out, and we both passed out on my bed. Something about sleeping in mommy and daddy's bed always makes it better. My little guy woke up smiling and chatting away, and mommy woke up looking/feeling like death on a cracker. But today my baby is 5 months old, smiling, happy, and healthy, so I'm okay.

And, needless to say, I thought-punched 4 months in the jugular.

It's a good thing he's cute.

Yo mama's so dirty that...

If motherhood has taught me anything, it has taught me to be dirty. Not dirrrrty like xtina dirty. Dirty like pick-my-son's-nose-and-wipe-it-on-my-jeans dirty. I think it stems from not having the time and energy to be as pristine as I used to be.

For example, showers have become an every-other-day occurrence. When I'm home alone with Corbin during the day, sometimes I'll wear a t-shirt with a little bit of spit up/drool/formula/what-is-that? on it until I can't take it any longer. Why so nasty? Because if I change shirts every time that happens, I'll be changing shirts 73 times a day and THAT adds up to a lot of laundry. Plus, I run out of shirts.

I remember when Corbin was first born and doing his laundry was "fun." I didn't mind changing his outfit 73 times a day because everything was oh-so-tiny and cute. "Uh-oh - he dribbled a little milk on his collar. Better change him." "Ya know, he's been wearing that onesie for a couple hours now, I really think he could use a fresh one." Now I find myself taking a wipe to that little smudge of poo because I JUST put that outfit on him. There are, of course, exceptions. I won't let him sit in a dirty diaper. Granted, I don't sit and wait with anticipation for that little yellow line to turn blue anymore, but I do make sure he's fresh. Fresher than me, anyway.

just chillin on mama's pillow

So this leads me to today. Or rather, this morning. I put Corbin in bed with me after his 5:30 feeding. This has become a guilty pleasure of mine. Yes, I know I'm creating bad habits, blah blah blah. But this is my story so shush and listen. Anyway, when we got up around 8:30 am, I noticed something wet on the sheets. Now, I'm no stranger to getting a little formula on the sheets when I needed a burp cloth at 3:00 am (do not judge lest ye be judged!), or a little boob leakage now and then. But this morning I guess ole C man was feeling a wee bit full and decided to pee through his diaper and leak onto my bed. Do you know what the sad part was? I actually considered leaving it.

Before you throw a bar of soap at me, hear me out. I just washed the sheets less than a week ago. Washing them again would force me to take them off the bed, remove my laundry from the dryer, put last night's load into the dryer, wash and dry the sheets, and put them back on the bed. Sounds simple, but when limited "free" time makes you choose between eating, cleaning, personal hygiene, and pumping, the last thing you want to do is remake the bed. And after all, it was just baby pee. Baby pee is practically water, right? Riiiiight.

Being a mother means making sacrifices. And since the pee was on my side of the bed, I made the executive decision to postpone my breakfast and wash the sheets.

So, while I'm willing to put a lil boogy on my jeans or let C Man tough out a dirty onesie for half a day, I draw the line when it comes to tinkle where I lay my head.

Just so you don't think I'm lying about actually washing the sheets, here is photographic evidence that the removal of the sheets did in fact occur:

In the Beginning...

This is my husband (Josh) and me.  Well, sort of.  This is us pre-baby.  I just wanted to start off with a good first impression of what we used to look like. We met in 2005 at a summer job working in a hardware store.  I was 18, he was a wee 17.  Call me a cougar.

This would be our wedding day.  After 3.5 years of him begging me to be his girlfriend, I finally caved and we got married in 2008.  Ambitious, I know.

And this is us in our baby-faced adorableness.  Ahhh.

This is just me being awesome.

This is us faking how much we're in love.  No seriously, we really do love each other. So much that...

Bam.  Always practice safe sex, kiddos.  After 7 (yes, 7) pregnancy tests, and a growing belly, I convinced myself that I really was pregnant.  After 9 long months of morning all day sickness, swollen ankles, back pain, heart burn, varicose veins, low amniotic fluid, twice-weekly doctor appointments, and pre-eclampsia, I finally had the little booger evicted 3 weeks early.  The things I do for love. Then the best day of my life occurred...

...and baby makes three.  We welcomed Corbin Oliver Brown into the world April 20, 2012.

6 lbs 12.5 oz, 19 inches long. Perfect in every way.  I seriously felt my heart grow 3 sizes that day.  Like the Grinch.  Only I never tortured my dog.  Speaking of dogs...

This is our first born, Sammy.  We had him out of wedlock.  Sorry Lord, please forgive me.

And this is our family now.  Well, 2 months ago, anyway.  Corbin was 3 months old in this picture.  It was 200 degrees outside.  Please excuse my husband's rosy complexion.

This is the reason I am starting this blog.  This little smiling, squealing, giggling, happy boy.  This little boy has taught me I'm capable of loving beyond the confines of my heart.  I have been blessed with such an amazing opportunity to stay home with him for a whole year.  Before, I was an elementary teacher.  I was also a workaholic whose life revolved around me.  Now, I can't remember my life before him.  That's called baby brain.  Here's a photo to give you a glimpse of who I was prebaby...

And that, folks, pretty much brings you up to date.  Happy reading!