sueeeus

Guess who is ten months old today?

Yep.  My little guy.

Just this week he figured out how to pull himself to a stand.  Then he got so excited about it, because it was, you know, way cool, so he waved his arms in excitement, as he does…   …and went timber, straight back like a falling tree.  My, that was scary, for both of us.  It’s a good thing babies are so resilient and also so close to the ground.   Gravity might otherwise not be so kind.

He is stunningly gorgeous, too.  And I’m not just saying that because I’m his mother.  Well, yes, actually I am.  But look at him!

Today we spent the day together, just the two of us.  Gadget and BB went to show off the boat, the boat that I want very little or nothing to do with, even though I paid for the blessed thing for goodness sake, but Gadget in his manipulative wonder managed to get me to go for it, and I really need to develop a backbone or something when it comes to dealing with marital strife see Gadget’s family up north, and my back was hurting and I was exhausted from a crazy work week, so I stayed home.  I just didn’t want to go.  We went last weekend, and that’s about all I can take for a month or two. So LB and I had a nice day together doing laundry and buying milk.  That little boy is very good at helping fold clothes.

He is also a master at scooting backwards.  He’s as fast as lightning and it makes me laugh, the way he scoots so fast.  It’s sort of like a frog hopping backwards.  I laugh and laugh, and I swear he knows it tickles me so he does it more, to put on a show.  His forward crawl is sort of like a sidestroke.  The ‘commando’ crawl, like GI Joe.  He gets up on his hands and knees to scope the scene, then plops into commando position to make his advance.  He gets to his feet from the kneeling position.  He sort of rolls back on his toes and straightens his legs, like a dancer.  Then he bounces and flails because he thinks it’s so cool to be standing, but of course he forgets and then falls.  Hopefully he’ll figure that out soon.  Dinglefuzz.

The other thing he does with amazing accuracy is turn on the DVD player.  No kidding.   He goes directly for the power button or the open/close button, and he’ll take the DVD out of the tray.  Little stinker!  We have a barricade of pillows in front of the TV stand, but he literally dives onto them, and then starts hurling pillows away with all his might, to get at those electronics.

And how are things on the feeding front?  He has five teeth, and several more on the verge of breaking through.  I still have him on stage two foods because he chokes and gags with the tiniest of fragments in his mouth.  I’m looking forward to him actually attempting to chew, but he’s not ready yet.  He’s not too thrilled with the frozen breast milk, either.  He takes it fine during the night when he’s mostly asleep, but in the day he fights it, so I mix it with rice cereal and feed it to him that way.  And as for weaning, I am nearly there.  I am down to one pump in two days, so the end is in sight.  My mood and emotions are all over the map, though, but that is probably to be expected.  It IS good to be getting my boobs back, I have to say.  There is much less pain, all around.  My belly pain is finally subsiding too.

Still hoping for a full night’s sleep, but it looks as though that is a pipe dream at best.

Still smitten beyond words with this little bundle of wonder, though.  He’s the bestest.

Dolls have never been my thing.  My mother, aunt and grandmother are all gaga over dolls, and have all sorts of collectibles.  My MIL,  Gadget’s daughter and her mother are likewise all gaga over dolls. Their homes are bursting with dolls.

My son, BB, is freaked out over dolls.  I have one doll, and her home is atop a small bookcase in my bedroom.  BB doesn’t want to be in the room alone with her.  And he’s never even seen Chucky.  Lord have mercy on us all if ever he does.

I have this doll because she is a namesake.  When my mother was a child, she had two dolls.  One was named Susan, and the other a lovely musical S-name.   Her first two daughters were named for these dolls, and eventually, she gave the Susan doll to me.

Yesterday we visited Gadget’s family for the day.  His aunt and uncle were visiting from Mississippi or thereabouts, and it was a rare opportunity to see them, as they are advanced in years and their health is declining.  At one point, Gadget’s brother disappeared for a few moments to the back room, and returned with a tiny newborn baby cradled in his arms.  My heart skipped a beat, trying to process the information.  Where in the heck did that baby come from, why was it left alone until now, who was taking care of it, and so on.  A million questions spun through my mind.  And then, I realized it was a doll.

Which freaked me out a bit more, because it looked so real.  It looked like a dead baby.  Seriously.

As the story unfolds, an acquaintance of the aunt makes these dolls for a living, and they go for around $800.  They are commissioned, usually, and made to look like people’s existing (or dearly departed) babies.  I missed the tale of why she gave one to the aunt, but I did hear the tale of how the doll-maker left one of these dolls in the back seat of her car while running errands one day.  The doll was in a bassinett, dressed in baby clothes, and the car windows were rolled up on a hot summer day.  People noticed and started tapping the glass to wake the baby.  The lady didn’t return, the baby didn’t respond, more people showed up, and finally the police were called, and they broke the car window to retrieve the baby.  At which time they discovered it was a doll.  Thank God.  When the maker finally returned, the police apologized for breaking her window, but said, “for GOD’s sake, cover that thing up if you’re going to leave it anywhere.”

Anyhow, dolls creep me out.  They always have.  I don’t know why.  And this doll, especially, was enough to stir me.  The details are incredible, down to the wrinkles in the hands and feet.  But it’s just too much.  I can picture one of these dolls sending some poor barren woman with unhealthy baby obsessions over the deep edge.  And that woman could have been me (prior to my miracle boys).