best weston

^^ When I was pregnant with Weston, this is what my sister called my uterus. You know, as in, "Best Western" hotel (motel?) She's the witty type. Now that he's ex-utero we just call him, the boy himself, Best Weston. (We don't know any other Westons anyway.)

About 3 weeks ago I started pre-writing this post in my head. Do you [bloggers] do that? I wanted to commemorate Weston and all of the things I've learned of him thus far. I needn't have bothered with my brain rough drafting, since so much/everything has changed since then. That's how it goes with the infants. Every two hours you're updating your view of them.

Three weeks ago, perhaps even less, Weston was just the unhappiest little man. Nearly inconsolable really, unless he was in mother's arms. Then things started changing, as they are wont to do with fresh babies such as himself. He didn't scream when I put set him in the papasan whilst I made his sister breakfast. He stopped whimpering from his bouncy seat perch while I dressed myself and Jordan. He just started being content to be, even when Jordan was up in his grill squealing "aAAaaAAww! Buddy! Hi Wesson! Hi Wesson! Hi Wesson!"

his gummy grill being all kinds of invaded

I knew this day would come! It always does, but it never seems like it will when you're in the throes of newborn turmoil. My mom claims there wasn't a colicky one among us, her eight children, and we were sleeping angels from the get-go (she says as I wrangle the terrible two-ing toddler and the caterwauling newb and I can do nothing but grimace at her great fortune) but that is just not my lot in motherhood. I birth tiny difficult humans...who eventually morph into perfectly lovely loving lovebugs...and apparently continue to morph into beings that are thuh sweetest and most affectionate quickly followed by crazy and should-we-exorcise-her? and back again in fifteen minute intervals. (Ok so far this is just Jordan. The nature of the Jordan, or the nature of the toddler? That is the question.)

Anywho, a couple stats on the jolly not-lean giant: at 15 lbs, 1 oz, my good-natured monster is in the 90th percentile for weight;

believe it

at 24 1/4 inches he is in the 80th percentile for height;

pose like you're strong, they said

and at I can't remember how many inches, his head size is in the 40th percentile;

fat guy with a little head

he hates, hates, from the bottom of his very soul, HATES the car. Suggestions here? I've tried music, mobiles and brightly colored blankets. He won't take a binky so we're out of luck there;

fml.

and finally, we have reason to believe that his happy-go-luckiness is inextricably linked to my presence. The other day I put him down for his nap - which he very nearly NEVER wakes up from for at least 2 1/2 hours - and ran out to grab lunch for the family while Sean watched the kids. Not five minutes after I left Weston woke up and screamed until I got home. As if his spirit sensed my spirit leaving the building. I mean, it's flattering and all, but it makes dates, or even solo errands, real hard. And I'm a sucker for solo errands. It's like when you've been on a treadmill for a long time (you know, like 12 minutes) and you step off and your walking feels as if you're gliding very quickly (outofthegym). Or when your backpack was incredibly overloaded in high school - as mine always was - and you take it off and you feel like you're flying. Such are errands sans children.

These last weeks have been a pleasure. I do love waking up to uncoordinated, over-compensating smiles. It's fun too, to watch Wes scare himself with his own gas since he hasn't pieced together that he's the one making the startlingly loud blurts. And the cooing. I'm 115% positive if we could but bottle infant cooing we'd have captured world peace concentrate. It's too precious to ignore.

One more for extra-indulgent measure:

Sean: "he looks like he's three."

**Sidebar: this post took me 2 days and 3 sessions to complete. Frequent mom bloggers - ??? I don't understand you. Or maybe I just have the neediest of children. How do you do it?**

fave five

I'm joining Hallie today like I haven't done in oh-so-long. I managed to scrape up some favorites and thought I'd throw them at you, pop-fly style.

1// Pumpkin Spice Latte, I don't know you man. Starbucks, in signature Starbucksian fashion, rolled out their red holiday cups and flavors on November 1. After I rolled my eyes a few times whilst standing in line and had some internal uppity fit of conscience, I promptly ordered a Caramel Brulee latte because hi, I'm Jessie, and I'm with the Bandwagon.

FYI, this is the most wonderful concoction of coffee that has been beaten into caramely-sweet submission, that it may be thoroughly enjoyed by one, coffee-intolerant Jessie Pope, while simultaneously giving her the caffeine-sugar speedball she needs by 9 a.m.

2// Pretty Little Liars

Ok first off, this show is pretty dang good. Equal parts intrigue, thrills and teen drama - you know, all the good stuff. So I like it. But Sean - Sean loves it. (How's that Greyhound's carburetor taste under there Sean?) Our internet has been vying between spotty and nonexistent for about a week now, so we haven't been able to watch it very frequently. Sean kind of shuffles around the apartment whimpering "two can keep a secret if one of them is dead."

Me, I'm only just getting started on this Breaking Bad business. What? I'm only 5 years late. I'm squirmy about violence and I've walked in on my siblings or Sean watching some rather horrifying scenes that have scared me off entirely. But after much peer pressure and a healthy dose of curiosity, I've begun the Breaking journey during afternoon breastfeeding sessions. Jordan's napping during those ones, and I don't think she'd be much interested in the intellectual properties of Jesse Pinkman and his ebonics, nor the complex (and disturbing) character development of Walter White at any rate. She's on a Thomas the Tank Engine jag anyhow, so it's all shunting trucks and hauling freight for this toddler. 

It turns out, I managed to walk in on nearly all the most gruesome scenes clear through season two (um, ATM episode? Tortoise episode?) so I had already seen the worst of it already.

3// Hard Cider

I've been trying my hand at several different brands of cider. Target actually carries a few kinds, and the past several weeks has seen me inconspicuously slipping a 6-pack in our cart, only to have my 2 year old blurt to all nearby shoppers "Mommy beer? That your beer mommy?" Anyway, the best one so far is

Angry Orchard's Cinnful Apple

which apparently is seasonal and I will be SO SAD when it's not around. It is delicious and has a mild spiciness that just rocks the casbah.

4// Persimmons

I eat these like candy. I'm so sad their season is such a short one. I've been stocking up at Trader Joe's and farmer's markets because they are just. too. good. Does anyone have any good recipes you do with persimmons? I feel that these bad boys could really be utilized in a bread or some delicious baked good.

5// Morning Weston

By far this boy's best time of day is in the 6 a.m. hour. He is at his most.. inquisitive? (read: clueless), and definitely at his smiliest in the bright and early. He just kind of coos something cute while I play with his bulldog jowls and we have a grand old time. I can't say this waking hour is ideal, since the boy is still down with bad self at any given hour of the night, but he makes it pleasant at the very least. Thanks buddy.

That's it for me! Swing by Hallie and the gals' for more.

milestones, or something

My inner monologue since my last post has been something along the lines of "the pillows lining my under-eyes have gotten so that if I smile they threaten to block out my pupils completely, but at least some pillows are being put to use around here." or "I recently discovered chocolate milk + Bailey's and it's changed my mornings delicate after-dinner drinking, but I need to be make sure I'm heavy-handed with the Bailey's rather than the milk because Weston doesn't like lactose."

And also, this morning I sported the baggiest sweatshirt I have with the comfiest sweats I own and my faux-fur lined slippers...to Target. For all intents and purposes, I was in my jam-jams. I supplemented this showstopping look with sopping shower hair run through with some gel that promised beachy waves, and nary a stroke of make-up on my face canvas. Public meltdowns (compliments of mainly the toddler but occasionally the infant) have accustomed me to stares from fellow shoppers, so it was actually a welcome change of pace to get side glances caused by my outfit rather than my young. Further, I answered the door in this getup and chatted up the magazine subscription solicitors for a good fifteen minutes. Social interaction much?

Anyway, I can't say that these, my recent happenings, have made for good blog fodder. But during my blogging sabbatical I missed a couple of milestones, so I'm here to impart them for posterity.

1// Blogaversary (blogiversary? blogoversary? not a real word so why do I care about correct spelling?)

October 26 marked my one year of blogging. Here's my first post, replete with tiny thumbnail pics of my tiny thumbnail Jordan. What a difference a year makes:

2// I didn't do a Halloween post to show you the costuming and gallivanting! Because lazy. Here's last year when Jo went as Little Red Riding Hood and Weston went as Not Even Conceived Yet. And below are this year when a theme is (hopefully) apparent:

 "tit-a-teating" (yes, I'm aware. totally inappropriate.)

 Toto is the basket's only occupant. Dorkthy already downed the first few houses' candies.

 "this is so not Kansas"

"If I only had a brain" and his heartless mother Tin Man

I feel I should also mention, because it's part of "recent," that this guy

he slays me. He can (and often does) cry for interminable periods; he can be the neediest, pansiest little mama's boy; he can request to be nursed for what seems like it must be hours and hours. Then he slips me his James Franco-esque squint-eye smile, like so

and all is forgiven. He is my 15 pound bucket of colic, with a side of the sweetest personality this side of the no-sleep zone. Oh you read that right. The fat, fat, fat child is clear through his wardrobe up to 6 months. He only wears 6-9 monthers or above, and it's increasingly hard to feed him on the papasan chair because he stretches from one side to the next. Jordan was so dainty until she was at least a year (when her stomach discovered its ability to rival Charles Laughton's), so raising Sasquatch is a little unnerving. And I love it.

Jordan in all of this? Smack dab in the middle, being a shockingly excellent sister. She constantly wants to "pay Wesson" (play with Weston), or "song on, dancey Wesson" - a form of entertainment involving many many uncoordinated toddler dance moves performed before the very very perplexed infant while he sits in his bouncy musical chair. She is also very savvy regarding my wits-end levels, as evidenced by her encouraging Wes to "knock i'off" in the car, where he is at his screamingest worst.

There's the mishmosh that is my brain. I'd say you asked for it, but you did not. Thanks for stopping along the way anyway. Now go and marvel that it is November - NOVEMBER. I'm still stuck in summer so I'm a little in awe that I can get peppermint mochas at Starbucks right now. (ooooo... peppermint mochas.)