It's giving me a stomachache

Anybody else worried that this hurricane is going to turn out in McCain's favor? He's managing to look awfully Presidential with it... (Plus they don't have to explain why Bush and Cheney aren't there.) Makes me a little tense, this.

Like I say, if it's free, it's for me!

BTW, Moveon.org is giving away Obama buttons free. (Even the shipping's free.) Their goal is to get a million buttons out and about as quickly as possible:

https://pol.moveon.org/obamabuttons/?rc=homepage

You can get free Obama/Biden bumper stickers too!

If anybody comes across any cute Obama baby tees, let a mama know.

How delicious is mama's baby food?

Oh.

Houston, we have our FIRST WORD!

After 9 months of discomfort, 12 hours of back labor, 20 minutes of pushing and 4 months of the blues, my beloved baby Willem's first word is:

Da-da

"Da-da"? Really kid, "da-da"? He's been gearing up for the past few weeks, calling anything and everything "da-da", but Thursday afternoon after a session of daddy kisses Will grabbed Matt's face and cooed "daaaa". Since then, nothing had been "da-da" except da-da. It's always done with such love, like no one is more wonderful or important than his "da".

A-hem.

He's so proud, seeking out Matt just so he can say it. It's crazy adorable (that tiny falsetto!) but I can't help being a touch miffed. MAMA! MA-MA! Are M's really that much harder than D's? Not any harder than getting up every 40 minutes for four long months, mister!

Still no crawling, just a whole lot of face plants. He's trying so hard... (God knows he's got the thighs for it. I've got to get a picture because seeing is still not believing. Huuuuge.) He's also started a new game we're calling Scary Monster. Will balls his fists up and roars, and Matt screams like a little girl. (That part's very important. If you don't scream then he scrunches up his face and roars until you cooperate. Granted, the "roar" is more like a cute little "arrrrr!" but he gets points for creativity.)

On a completely unrelated note, I came across an old Bobby McFerrin video the other day while hunting for new kiddie music. "Don't Worry, Be Happy" is significantly less annoying when you can watch 3 minutes of Bill Irwin clowning.

How about that Obama speech, huh?

Just a mini post today. Someone (I'm not saying who... but it was me) was up way too late watching history being made. The man is a genius and I'm ready to go Barak To The Future but at the risk of being laughed out of the blogosphere, I'm starting to feel a little sorry for Bush. How miserable must it be to hear people - even your fellow Republicans - doing everything they can to disassociate themselves from you? Constantly hearing what a waste your Presidency was, how ANYTHING is better than what we have now.... Believe me, I can find fault with the man but not all of this economic awfulness is his fault, just like the boom during the 90's wasn't all Clinton. (I really feel bad for his poor father who, by all accounts, is a pretty decent man. Did you see the hearing when Bush, Sr. started tearing up when talking how hard it is to be President? Heartbreaking.) I can't imagine what it feels like to have the entire world mocking you. Hell, I barely made it through Junior High.

Anybody else feeling weird about feeling weird?

That's what I get for being smug.

Remember that big to-do I made over the yesterday's 12 hour sleep? Well this morning he was up before before the rooster crowed and mama was p-u-r-t-u-r-b-e-d. Yesterday's big, fat nighttime sleep led to two seriously booshitty naps which led to a baby who was barely holding it together by 6 pm, so by 4:20 (oy!) he'd slept for 10 hours and was ready to start the day. I pulled him into bed and managed to squeak out another half hour with my patented hum/pat/jiggle combo but I think we're both still feeling a bit woozy. Poor kid - his body's really doing a number on him. I'd read that babies practice new skills in their sleep but I figured they meant mentally. I'll hear crying from the bedroom and find Will up on all fours, still half-asleep. It's bizarre - he'll be completely out and then all of a sudden his body will start to twitch and curl until he's pulled into a crawling position. The guy has no idea how he got there (or why he's awake) which makes for one confused and exhausted little kid. And for some reason whenever he gets really tired he feels an overwhelming need to kiss me. I'll be trying to rock him to sleep and he'll grab me and start rubbing his (wide open) mouth back and forth across my face. It's like being mauled by a small, affectionate drunk.

I hear the dulcet tones of my little angel..

How about that Hillary speech, huh?

Apparently being 8 months old takes a lot out of a baby because my son, the one who didn't close his eyes for the first four months of his life, slept until 6:45 am. I hauled myself up at the usual time (4:58 am) to get his bottle ready and appease the hungry cats, and then I waited...

6:15. Still sleeping.

I did the dishes. (Still sleeping.) Changed the cat litter. (Still sleeping.) Made coffee, fed the cats, made the bed, grappled with my contacts, checked out Hillary's speech, and fixed some toast. (Still sleeping.) I checked on him to make sure he was still breathing. (STILL SLEEPING!) I danced around - quietly - drunk with excitement. 12 hours! 12 hours! I really wanted to go back to sleep but I was afraid that as soon as my head hit the pillow it would serve as an instantaneous baby-waking device so instead I just wandered around the apartment grinning a lot. And then my husband said something so shocking, so evil and insane, I began to question his place in my life.

"I think we should get him up."

Matt's opinion is that nobody needs more than 12 hours of sleep. I believe that unless there's a fire you let sleeping babies lie. Eventually we compromised and opened Will's door (I may have emptied the diaper pail a little louder than necessary) and he popped right up, happy as a clam. (Who wouldn't be after 12 hours of sleep?) I keep reminding myself that this is just temporary and to enjoy it while it lasts. TRUST ME, I will.

Speaking of enjoying while it lasts, let me just take a moment to mourn the clothes that Will will never wear. I spent the morning digging out Fall weather gear and came across some baby stuff that I'd tucked away until Will was big enough. Unfortunately he seems to have skipped right past the 6-12 monthers and gone straight to 12-18, which means I'm rolling around in a heap of adorable, unworn stuff. Do I keep it in case have another and take up precious storage space or pass it on, knowing that the chances are slim that there'll be more? (But what if?) If we had a basement that'd be one thing but we live in the kind of place where if I buy a new article of clothing something must be donated in its place. Seriously. Space is at a premium, peeps. BUT THERE ARE BUNNY SLIPPERS! Ittybitty socks! Perhaps a few dresses! (I wasn't sure what I was having but if you think that stopped the shop, you don't know me a'tall.) I've tried to narrow it down to just a few favorites but it's hard - the "just-in-cases" keep calling me.

Maybe I'll take pictures and post a tribute to time marching on...

How about that Michelle Obama, huh?

Sorry about the non-posting. Someone - and I'm not saying who - has suddenly started taking booshitty half-hour naps which is barely enough time to cruise Facebook, much less craft some genius. (BTW, what gives with the private profiles, Facebookers? How am I supposed to stalk if you keep thwarting like that?) The poor guy's got another tooth popping through (#3. Mama's little hillbilly!) and he's dying, dying, dyyyyyying to crawl. Between the extra special neediness (stranger anxiety, realizing the world is a big place for a small fry, tooth pain) and the extra short naps, carving out "me" time is elusive these days. Combine that with some super fun self-doubt (I can't write, can't act, are those liver spots on my hands?) and you've got a recipe for hardcore wingeing. (That's the British version of "whining" for you unpretentious types.)

That said, the boy sure is great. And large. Man, this kid is big! I can't leave the house without someone commenting on the giantness of him.

"He's 8 months? Really? Woooooow!"

"Oooh, I can tell your mama's just starving you!"

Or my personal fave:

"He sure is healthy!"

Apparently I have given birth to Paul Bunyon. (If anybody has a lead on a stuffed blue ox, I'm in.) I think the kid's got a perfectly normal, adorable amount of pre-walking chub but it seems that New Yorkers like their babies lean. I'm never quite sure how to respond to people when they say things like that. They're always cooing and patting and loving him up so I don't think they mean ill, but "uh, thanks?" always feels like the wrong answer. It's like when I was pregnant and people would stop to tell me how huge I was. Thanking them for commenting on my heft just didn't fit the bill.

I have no idea where I was going with this. (The convention coverage is distracting.) How do you carve out "me" time, babywranglers?