Everyone in the family, including Hubby, wants me to get Sam’s hair cut. I am having an incredible aversion to this idea. I can’t quite explain it. I know that this is taking on some sort of symbolic significance for me. It’s the first time we will be losing a physical part of him and his beautiful baby-ness. It’s something he grew all by himself, and I just don’t want to get rid of it. Yes, I realize that we throw out his poo every day and technically he grew that too, but his hair has personality (although some of those poops have quite a bit of character as well…). And it’s not like his umbilical nubbin. That thing was gross and only represented his separation from me, of which I was already pretty well aware with my hormone tears every hour or so. He’s been working on this since he was born. That long tail on the back of his head is left over from his birth hair that never fell out, and it has been growing ever since. Yes, I know his hair gets a little ratty and fuzzy after he’s slept on it and rubbed it around on the bed. I know we have to spend a lot of time brushing his bangs off of his perpetually sweaty head. And I know he has fly away curls around his ears that stick out and make him look like he has wings like The Flash. But I love his little cherub curls, his floppy bangs, and that crazy Hare Krishna tail.

I’ve gone so far as to look into one place that does kid haircuts. By look into it I mean I found its location and promptly closed the computer. Do places even cut hair for kids this young? He’s not even one yet…maybe they don’t. Oh well. I know he has to look nice for his birthday party and his one year pictures. I know one day soon I will probably have to agree to let this happen; I don’t want his hair in his eyes bothering him. And I know when that day comes I will cry at the Kid Snippet place as I take pictures and tie the little ribbon around his Krishna tail. I guess it is just one of those things a mom has to do.

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It was a beautiful day in Chicago today. About 55 degrees and sunny. We had a lovely morning going to the park with friends and then out to a nice outdoor lunch. Everything was relaxing. As we walked home I even commented to hubby that I felt like our day was almost normal since Sam had been out so long and yet we had not had to modify what we wanted to do in order to keep him satisifed - the beauty of hanging out with other parents and their kids.

Sam woke up from his afternoon nap really cranky. Lots of crying very easily and whiny. I thought maybe he just didn’t want to wake up or had a little gas or something (he had babyfood with a little bit of onion in it today - first onions). About an hour or so later I finally took a really good look at him and wondered why one of his cheeks was so red. He was sunburned. It was on one cheek under his eye and on that side of his little button nose. It must have happened as we selfishly ate our lunch chatting it up with our buds, handing him some finger foods every so often when he seemed unhappy. He didn’t want finger foods; he wanted out of the sun!

I can’t believe we let this happen. I swore I would not let him get sunburned ever in his entire childhood. He is so fair, blonder than blonde, blue veins showing through his skin. Of course he got burned from just a little exposure. I feel horrible, possibly the most negligent that I have ever felt. I keep apologizing to him every time I look at his little pink face. I’m sorry, Sam.

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I’ve loved becoming a mom. There have been wonderful moments in each month since Sam was born, fun milestones and happy tears. But I think this past month has been the show stopper. Starting with his newfound mobility, Sam has become almost a different person….he’s become a person! He’s not my little baby any longer but instead he is a small, independent man. His mood is improved since he can finally go where he wants when he wants. And thank god, because at 9 ½ months when the doctor said he probably wouldn’t crawl I envisioned 4 more months of the pick me up whine. He would reach for something, sprawl on his stomach, and start yelling until we bent down and sat him back up. And it seemed like he was so close to crawling, and he was so frustrated that he couldn’t. Sure enough, the day before he turned 10 months he decided he wanted to empty his bookshelf so he just crawled on over and made his mess. That silly doctor, saying my baby couldn’t do it.

This skill seems to have caused an avalanche of new discoveries. He now can chase and terrorize our 2 cats, and with this he has found his main source of pleasure as well as his budding sense of humor. And the boy loves cars. Can we get any more stereotypical? It’s amazing. It’s not like he even knows what his toy car and truck are, but one day he just started going for things with wheels. Now he won’t go anywhere in the apartment without them, them or the rolling office chair, pushing them along wherever he moves. He even makes the “vroom vroom” sounds that daddy and I were making! He has no idea why he is making these sounds with these particular toys but apparently he agrees that it is fun. Just like throwing a ball, which he was recently taught by daddy. He has no idea why, but balls are for throwing at mommy and daddy, and the kid has got skills. Needless to say daddy often gets a dazed and dreamy look in his eye when we all play catch.

So our house is now in a constant state of chaos. Playing cards, CDs, poker chips, toys, and torn books strewn throughout as cats run back and forth desperately searching for a place to hide from the monstrous creature squealing in delight. It’s awesome.

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Will my 2 pairs of pants that fit make it through the winter? I refuse to buy any more winter clothes because I am confident that next year I will need a different size, a smaller size…but not quite my pre-baby size, probably never again my pre-baby size. My one pair of jeans and one pair of cords have to make it through until it warms up. And as I look out at the lotto billboard (yes, here in my apartment we check the temp by looking out the window at a highway billboard), it is still 37 degrees. In the windy city I am concerned with how much longer we are expected to deal with this winter. But I am not buying more clothes.

And I say I have 2 pairs of pants that fit but in fact that is not true. None of my pants fit me correctly because I seem to be somewhere between sizes. My size 16’s were right in the beginning of this season and now they literally fall off when I move. I don’t even unbutton them anymore. And yet the clothes I’ve gotten for the summer at Kohls (I love Kohls and am not ashamed to admit that is where I buy all my clothes…ok maybe I am) in size 14 are totally too tight. Sitting on the floor with the baby will result in serious abdominal cramping if inches are not lost before it warms up.

How is this possible? Well, I’ve given it a lot of thought and I blame my shelf gut. I had a cesarean birth and this has resulted in a huge mound of flesh placed right above my incision scar. I honestly don’t think that this shelf gut will ever totally disappear even with all the ab work in the world. It just feels strange, not like normal skin at all; it is totally solid. Furthermore, it makes my clothing size totally different depending on where the pants fall. Above the shelf: size 16. Below the shelf: 14. So the issue is movement. Once those 16’s slip a little I am that mom, the one sitting on the floor at the Barnes and Noble showing everyone behind her the mama panties (maybe your mama panties are cute, mine are not. And really no panties are cute sticking out of your pants when sprawled on the floor. Are the girls who wear thongs that stick out doing that on purpose because it is supposed to be sexy? Is it sexy?). I am the mom who, when it is time to stand up and march around in baby’s music class, has to hike up her pants before others have to witness first hand the lovely stretch marked shelf. Maybe this is not a “mom type” and I am the only one who is “that mom.” So now you’ll know me when you see me. That’s me, the one whose one pair of jeans are falling off as I walk to my car in the Target parking lot. How ya doin?

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When I first learned what a blog was from my uber-hip, super fashionable coworker, I believe my exact words were, “That is so stupid. Why would anyone want to post their own journal entries online for others to read?” It made no sense to me. But I did wonder about this subculture which was clearly up and coming if this guy liked it.

On Friendster a few weeks ago I perused the rantings of a former high school acquaintance. I was intrigued and thought that if I had any interest in any of the topics this guy was writing about it would be damn entertaining. My interest was piqued even as I continued to rave to my husband that blogging was stupid. His response: “Then why do you keep talking to me about it?!” Then 2 days ago it happened. I’m sitting in the doctor’s office with my pink eyed son, and I see in the rack the April babytalk issue. According to the cover it contained, “the coolest mama-blogs (and how to start your own).” I shoved it in the diaper bag just before the doc walked in. Are those magazines for us to take? There were 4 copies… I figure I needed it; It was a sign for me.

For the past 48 hours every free minute I have had has been spent reading mama blogs, feeling the connection, nodding in understanding, and feeling some envy that this has all happened without my being involved. It’s like taking a walk with the babe and enjoying the day until you walk by the house that has a play group letting out. Fashionable, cute haired, lost the baby weight moms hugging eachother bye bye. How does this happen and where have I been?

I feel it. I feel the need. As a new mom there are so many thoughts, ideas, concerns, musings that go unsaid. Sometimes there is no time to say them. Sometimes the only one there to listen is an 11 month old who will spit at you in response, or crawl away while you’re in mid-sentence. Sometimes they are just too private, at least, for anyone you actually know to read them. And so they accumulate. And you think, “I don’t have time to journal right now and talking to myself on paper is not what I need.” But somehow this, the possibility that someone out there might read it…it’s different. It’s something of my own, and as any mom of an infant knows, having something of one’s own is key.

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