Happy weekend! (Momma has the day off today, hooray!)
The Dude had his six-month check-up at the doctor’s yesterday. He did great and, like everywhere else, was a huge hit with the staff.
First, the numbers. Zack weighs 16 pounds, 7 1/2 ounces and is 26 inches long. If you’re curious, his head has a circumference of 16 1/2 inches. (In December, he weighed 14 pounds, 3 ounces, was 25 3/4 inches long and his head was 16 inches around).
If Zack had to make an acceptance speech for his two-plus-pound increase, I’m sure it would be something like this:
“I’d like to thank my rice cereal and my especially yummy wheat cereal. Oh, and my Momma and Daddy for piling it into my mouth one or two times a day. And I’d like to thank my formula, for always being there for me, even when I spit you up or projectile vomit you across the floor. I guess we all know that most of it really IS staying inside my belly.”
Now is a good time to say that growth charts are STUPID. I mean, first of all, how do they even come up with this crap? To say that at a certain age your baby should weigh x pounds or be y inches from head to toes? And aside from charts specifically for babies with Down Syndrome, which infuriates me even more, they have charts for babies born prematurely. I’m sure there’s a growth chart for babies who have red hair somewhere, too. Oh, and don’t forget about those babies who are just plain SMALL. Or LARGE.
You know how I measure my baby’s growth? He’s happy. He has a nice lil belly but it’s not keeping him from functioning or being healthy. Oh, and his length? Well, I’ll let you know in 25 years when he’s 5-feet tall. Or 6-foot, 10-inches. I meeaaaaan, really.
Zack has a couple of little things we’re still watching (things I doubt he’d want me to share with all of you, no offense) but no major problems, hooray! The doctor seems really pleased with him and still can’t believe how great he’s doing, being all Super Baby-like and showing off all the time, even in the doctor’s office. (By the way, our doctor had a daughter with Down Syndrome, so he’s more knowledgeable than we are with all of these things sometimes)
Z-Man had to get a couple of shots, but after five seconds, the tears were over and all was well.
Duders and I have had a great day together so far, although it would probably be a great afternoon if one (or both) of us took a nap. I’m referencing you, Mr. Baby Who Just Threw All His Stuffed Animal Friends Out of the Swing in a Fit of One-Quarter Irish Rage.
I’ve finally given in to all of the attempts and pleas (mostly from my husband) to get me out of the house/away from the baby/ get some Me Time and am leaving in just a couple of hours to spend the weekend with my dear, dear, DEAR friend Jeannine and her boyfriend Jeff.
Heck, no hubby.
I am beyond excited to go and have had just enough time to really accept the idea that Zack will be just fine without me but also that I will be just fine without him without feeling guilty looking forward to some selfish Me Time.
But I still spent 20 minutes apologizing to Scott last night, who is handling this all so well and is being patient and totally understanding. I still think he’s going to lock the door behind me when I leave tonight, though, just to make sure I really leave. He may have the baby for a day (that’s all it really amounts to when you take into account The Dude’s early bedtime) but I think he’s looking forward to me having some Me Time too. I’ve been so stressed lately and in such a funk that before some other exciting events (visits from friends and family, a big case to cover for work, oh, and my birthday!), I know I need a clean slate.
It’s just that I can’t help but know I’ll be missing out on some great feats and accomplishments.
Missing some awesome smiles. And raspberries.
And some sweet kisses from both of my guys.
I’m really excited to, for just a few hours, not think about balancing it all — house, baby, marriage, work, ME — worrying if I might drop one of them (it’s usually that “me” part) and wondering if it’s OK to fail every now and then.
I can almost guarantee that the baby is fed, clean and giggling. And that the laundry is done or being done and the floor is as clean as possible with five animals. I do my 40-plus hours of work to the best of my ability every week and I never go to bed without telling my husband I love him — at least five times.
But sometimes. Hmm. Often times. I forget to tell myself that I love me. (Ooooh, that’s SO cheesy) I forget to read a book. Or finish the book. I forget to put my feet up and turn my mind OFF.
Sometimes, I just forget.
I’m excited about finding the Me that I’ve buried under all of my other “responsibilities” and I’m really, truly looking forward to that homecoming on Sunday.
I hope there will be kisses.
For now, I look forward to shared thoughts and giggles with a lady who knows that ME, that real and true me. And who always puts her in her place.
Oh, and there might be pirates.
Have a great weekend.