Oh-ho! That was some impressive math, there. I am so smart...ess emm ar-tee.
(Seriously, though...that was pretty much the extent of my math skills)
1) I love feeding my baby. There could be nothing more relaxing, or satisfying. I may never do anything important...may never write that poetry book, or unify the forces...but my baby is fed, and flourishing.
We lay down to eat...me on my back and propped with pillows, and him snuggled on his side and cradled in my left arm. Ever since we stopped breastfeeding, it has been this way. I watch his lips pull at the bottle, smooth his hair and tell him he is doing a good job. Kiss his forehead and wrangle his crazy hands. Sometimes he pushes the bottle out of his mouth so he can stuff his hand in there. (He's an addict. All about the hands.) Sometimes he gently tugs at the hair on the back of his head, or twirls the tuft of hair he has on top. Sometimes he pulls mine, or grasps the bottle, or arranges his fist just so, so that he tricks himself into thinking he is sucking his thumb.
It's wonderful. It's peaceful. It's ours.
2) I also love burping my baby.
When the bottle is finished, or he decides he is finished, I roll him onto his tummy and pat his diaper-bum. Back patting doesn't work, but pat the bum and out come the most adorable little belches. This little ritual has not changed much, either...except he now lifts his head to look me in the eye. Grins, burps, and then grins again with a flirty eyebrow wiggle...as if to say: "Ooooh...did you smell that one, mommy? Heheh!".
I tell him that I am collecting burps, and I need a few more REALLLLLY big ones to round out the collection. He always complies, and has the grace to look surprised when the huge ones happen. "Oh, no-no...that did NOT come out of me!....did it?"
3) Jude has a girlfriend. She is 6 months old and can sit all by herself, which seems to have made an impression. After making strange with both her and her mother, he was able to slump beside her as she perkily sat munching a toy. She taught and he observed. She chewed and he chatted. She patted him, and he looked confused.
Oh, young love. The poor boy still doesn't know what hit him. He just knows it was blond, brown-eyed and apple-cheeked.
4) So, the Olympics are a flop? I really need to actually sit down and watch some of it, or read the paper. It's like I live in a paper bag that smells of milk and that gel they put in diapers. A young man died trying to navigate the luge course (soooo awful)...and some equipment broke down (not the end of the world, fuck.) It is raining. (In Vancouver? NO SHIT!) The Canadians are dominating practice time. Letterman is upset because the Canadians are trying to win. Boo-hoo. Everyone else gets the upper hand on their home turf, and what are we supposed to do? I know we generally adopt the peacekeeper role, but seriously. We want gold. Who doesn't? I think Canadians as a nation NEED to start being assholes more often. If only for the sheer element of surprise.
So, it should be like this?
German skier: Ich möchte gewinnen.
Canadian skier: Oh yeah...sure. You go ahead. I'll wait until next time. No biggie. :)
What I have seen looked good. I mean, literally. The fog on the mountains. The sheer Canadian-ness of it all. The seemingly never ending parade of pink-cheeked athletes. It's nice (aside from that horrible luge incident and all the hoopla surrounding it...) and it feels like home.
5) He is not for the faint of heart, but if you can withstand black humor and black, hockey and Jesus being mashed together into one delightful phrase, go take a look at BHJ. I have linked to him before and will do it again.
His most recent post explores the blog world. Specifically, commenting on one blog so that people will come read yours. LOL. It's hysterical. I wish I'd thought of that. It's so underhand and self-serving, using one another like that. And little 'ol me just commenting because I like something.
It has potential. Hmmmm.
Excuse me while I go comment at Dooce.