The Great Misho Rewire of 2009

It's time. Mr. M needs to learn how to fall sleep. He sleeps okay, but not for very long, and not without alot of resistance. He still needs to lie on me for both morning and afternoon naps - I've now included "professional mattress" on my resume. He sleeps through the night about 50% of the time, so the other 50% he's dragging around kind of crabby and out of sorts. In full though, he never really gets more than 7 to 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep each night. I've started to notice bags under his eyes and his before bed behavior is getting a bit loopy. He looks rather drunk, laughing and crying in the same breath. Twirling around like a Sufi, slapping us on the head with his baby claws.

Suffice it to say, Mr. M is totally sleep deprived.

So we're launching into full reprogramming mode this week. We found a baby-friendly sleep method that we initiated last night. He took to it well. A few cries but was out, and out for 12 hours. He woke up more refreshed and alert than I've seen him, well, frankly, ever. So we're trying the same method for the nap. He's napping now - or rather exploring the nap possibility. If I can get him to sleep in his crib for both day naps I may get to that full length play I've been putting off - or more likely given my level of depth, able to clear the DVR of all the past shows I'm waiting to watch. Just wait Dog Whisperer, I'm a comin.

Here's a photo of the reprogramming launch last night.



He looks like he knows something is up.

We equipped him in Spidey pjs (thank you Molly!) for extra strength and superpower. Hopefully he doesn't web-shoot himself out of the crib. We'll look up and he'll be straddle-gripping the ceiling above our bed.

Wish us luck. I'm effectively hiding out in the back office for the time being. David is taking on the initial launch of this program. If I hear the least bit of distress, I'm more likely to break the code of silence and whisk him back into old habits.

It's very quiet upstairs. Too quiet.

Shelby

Inauguration Recap

I'm late on this. But like my ongoing relationship with trend and fashion, I'm always the last to put on the sparkly jumpsuit or stovepipe jeans.

Last week was amazing. My super crush Obama - whose hand I personally shook and I think involuntarily licked - was brought into office. Many families (especially Ethiopian adoptive families) took a memorial photo of their baby/child standing in front of the TV while President Obama took the oath of office or sang out his inauguration speech. This seemed like a fantastic idea to me so I did the same.

However, I did not realize the set up and baby balancing that would need to occur to get the perfect shot. I didn't realize the level of injury my child would have to endure to get that perfectly balanced photo of a young baby of African origin taking in the momentous occasion of the first AA pres of the US coming into office.

I propped Misho up in a standing position in front of the TV with my feet while I manipulated over 100 digital photos. I suspended him with wire and bungy cords from the ceiling. I delayed a change of poopy diaper because god damn it, Obama was speaking and his poo could wait. I told him him to look excited that someone of direct origin to a Kenyan/Ethiopian tribe was president. He looked at me blankly. Did his best to stand up straight, and farted. Really really loudly.

It was an appropriate response for a baby. I will tell it to his first date. I recorded the sounds of the inaugural fart for posterity. Someone is going to be embarassed in 2020.

Here's a photo of real emotion - me crying every two seconds during the whole parade. Me heart Obama.

One blog entry per day...

...or at least I'll try. I need some sort of assignment to keep my baby numb brain from falling into complete decay. Not that I'm not enjoying every last delicious second of my stay-at-home-mom-dom, but I don't want to become so disoriented that I end up inventing some sort of contraption for wiping up baby poo or writing a baby seal coming-of-age book ala Madonna or Jamie Lee Curtis.

So today's hot topic - the coagulation of medication for latent turbuculosis. Visual below.



I know that's why most people visit the Big Woo - medical information.

Misho has to take this gooey guck for the next year. He has latent TB mind you, not symptomatic TB that require scratchy wool blankets and sanitoriums in Arizona. We've had 5 bottles of this crap delivered to the house and each bottle ends up coagulating like 20 year old toothpaste. There is no way in hell I'm serving this goo to my innocent little TB (latent mind you) ridden baby.

When I first called the pharmacy about the issue, they said it must have been a "bad batch." A "bad batch?" I'm serving up a "bad batch" to my 10 month old son? Needless to say I've taken copious notes and kept every bottle in it's potent and gel like form in case the French-Pehlkes need to litigate. My husband litigates for a living so we're covered.

Anywho, I've stopped the medication once again until we can get a "good batch" that stays in what is supposed to be a syrupy form.

My lesson for the day: if a baby has to chew medication, don't give it to him.

Just cuz...

Bedlam

Photos of a a flu-ridden husband and a darling son.

I've turned into a word-lite, photo heavy blogger. But honestly, I can't juggle much more than the basic human need to pee plus the anxiety of oncoming infant poo and tears. I'm not a good lady-mother who can do it all.

With all do respect Claire Huxtable, you can kiss my ass.

I'm very good at watching my son for movements of genius or Jenny McCarthy level concern. I can focus on non-infant activities like email until Misho pelts me in the back of my head with babyspitballs launched from the pack and play.

I used to think I could handle things. Complex things. But Mr. M has taught me otherwise. I am of simple mind.

Poo.

Cutest Baby in the Universe

I am shameless. Egotistical (even though I have no reason to be). Brazen. Confident. I mean, come on...this photo melts me. I've officially entered the obnoxious stage of motherhood. My baby is cute. Way cute. Too cute. And smart, and ambidextrous, and working on the Middle East peace issue, and reading my palm every morning so I can be well prepared. It's grotesque how much I love this child. And unfortunately for all of you, it's being made public. What next? Baby beauty pageants? Could I stoop so low? It's possible. Love blinds you to common sense.

Laughing Buddha Baby

Full fledged infant hilarity. Please ignore the trash just to the right of this scene of familial bliss. We did eventually take it out.

Holidaze & the Like...

Howdy and hello - hope everyone had a great holiday season and fantastic Dick Clark's (soon to be pillow smothered by Ryan Seacrest) Rockin New Year's Eve!

The holidays appeared to be a delight for Misho-san. Wide eyes, confusion, laughter, screams, hangovers, strange hugs from family members etc. Lots of festivities and construction of foreign toys and the like - hence my disappearance from my normal weekly blog updates. Currently, I'm putzing through the endless holiday video footage for tidbits to post. David and I are kind of like Depression-era computer geniuses - we're really good at Casio and Lotus, but the gosh darn new fandangled things really confuse us.

In short, Mr. M is healthy, moving, shaking, and babbling up a storm. 2008 blessed us well.

More soon!

Shelby