Sans Arlo

I know I vent a lot about the struggles of motherhood and what not, but lately I've been taken aback at how listless and strange I feel when the little boy is not around. Geoff and I are truly blessed to have grandparents who live only 5 minutes away and who do not hesitate( and very often ask) to watch little A for us. Just last week we were in NC for a mini-vacation without the dude-- and while it was very freeing not to have to worry about diapers, feeding times, general fussiness and the like, the void( and I'm going to get really cheesy and cliched here for a second, so if you can't handle it i suggest you stop reading this entry) I felt and feel when he's not around is incredibly large( insert you're "that's what she said" jokes here). It's like a piece of me is gone-- and why shouldn't it feel like that? I carried the boy in my tummy for 9 months, so anytime apart feels odd and makes me somewhat forlorn. If you've never read Shel Silverstein's " A Missing Piece", I suggest you do, because it makes what I'm trying so very hard to say make a little more sense. I was away Saturday in Louisville for an annual gathering of friends from college-- or " The Summit" as we call it( my dad had a "summit" with his college friends so we borrowed the name) and I absolutely love getting together just to act silly and be generally goofy. I got to see a couple of older friends from high school as well which made the trip even more special. But even though I love having time to myself, I am always anxious to get back to Geoff and Arlo as quickly as possible. Not that I worry that they aren't okay or being taken care of... but because I love them more than I ever thought possible to love anyone besides my parents.  It is good to get away-- especially by yourself for a bit--- because you gain a tremendous amount of perspective on your "new" life. For me, it confirms the fact that my heart, love and soul are truly linked with my son's and my husband's.

Seven

I can't believe Arlo will be seven months on Friday. I remember(kind of) those percocet filled sleep-deprived first weeks that felt to me like YEARS. I remember thinking " this kid will NEVER GET OLDER"-- but my how time has flown. I stopped reading about baby junk-- development and what not-- around 3 months because everything I read was different, telling me different things, etc.. and for shits and giggles I picked up the book my friend Tori continuously asks me NOT to pick up just to see where Arlo is on the timeline( the book is the " What to expect within the first year" ( sorry, Tori) this evening. Apparently, my kid should be sitting without support-- which he can for about a minute or two until he topples over like a drunk chick after too many jello shots at a frat party. He should also be able to, and I quote, " feed self cracker". What in the HELL does this mean? He's not a parrot. I had no idea I was supposed to even be feeding him crackers let alone teaching him how to feed himself. He doesn't even have teeth, for goodness sakes. Feed self cracker. You go feed yourself a cracker you idiotic book. He should also be making a " wet razzing sound".  He does make noise, but does not say " RAZZ RAZZ" while spitting all over creation, so I'm not sure where we're at on this one. Then it goes on to talk about how to raise a gifted baby. HE IS SEVEN MONTHS OLD. Mensa won't be knocking down our doors anytime soon.
So the moral to this story is.... STOP READING. ( I never thought I'd hear myself say that)