I was on Gavin duty all day today since Stacy didn't get home from work until after his bedtime. She had some meeting or something to go to. Usually she puts him to bed and lately it has been going super smooth, so I was a little worried about doing it myself. But he went to sleep with no problems. No tears, no fuss. He saves that up for nap times and for going back to sleep after his night feeding (or feedings, as he still sometimes does).
My sister Amanda stopped over today on her way to school. I took full advantage of her visit and had her feed Gavin so I could take a shower. Showers are the awesomest.
This weekend was my mom's birthday so Grandma Kathy is now 56. I realize that that isn't old when regular people are 56, but it seems old for my mom. I didn't really realize she was creeping into the late 50s, you know? For years I thought she was 54. I know it might seem callous no to know exactly how old my mother is, but it's really her fault for having so many kids. I'm the oldest of five (five! And my parents weren't even Catholic) and I can't keep track of how old my siblings are, either. My brother is four years younger than me, Amanda is 12 years younger, and Christine is in between there somewhere. As long as I remember how old I am (and that's sometimes a struggle in itself) I know how old my twin sister Laura is and I can figure out the rest of their ages using math. But I hate math.
Gavin smelled suspiciously like puke today but I couldn't find it. I mean, I know that sometimes it gets into their neck folds and stuff, but I wiped down his hands and face several times today. Also he had a bath last night. I think maybe it was just breast milk, pre-digested. Breast milk really grosses me out. I mean, I love my wife and nursing is beautiful etc. etc. but I wish babies subsisted on something more sterile and less prone to spoilage. Like Twinkies. But, you know, healthy Twinkies. I can't help but associate the smell of breast milk with the smell of puke. Both are pretty gross to me. And because I don't taste test his meals before I give them to him, I always worry that somehow one of the bottles in the fridge is going to be rancid or something and I'll try to make him guzzle it anyway. And then he'll get sick and it will be all my fault.
Speaking of getting sick, feeding him oatmeal today was a real challenge. His high chair (a new-to-us item given to us by my friend Susie who is now also my aunt's girlfriend. It's a small and weird world) is not ready for prime-time yet so I fed him while he was in his exersaucer, which you might imagine was semi-disasterous. I got cereal all over my pants and all over his face and on the floor and on his hands. Ugh.
And speaking of cereal (I am the segue master. Not to be confused with the Segway Master), over the weekend Stacy whipped up some homemade barley cereal for Gavin, which he hated. I am not sure why, but Stacy was hellbent on Gavin eating barley before he moved on to other solid foods. Making the cereal was a tremendous pain in the ass and she worked very hard. Sadly Gavin has not yet learned that sometimes faking gratitude is the polite thing to do.
I did not leave the house today. We are gearing up for a trip to Susie's in Ann Arbor where she'll let us shop at her house since she has a bunch of baby stuff she doesn't need. Not sure when we're going to do this, though. Maybe Wednesday? I'm going to try to time it around his naps with the hope that he will sleep in the car. I haven't really taken him anywhere myself for any duration of time besides Rosemary's. We've taken more substation trips to Stacy's dad's and my mom's, but Stacy was with us. There's something very reassuring knowing that his food source is right nearby. Let's face it, there are a lot of problems that can be solved with boobs.
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