My Bloody Valentine

I haven't been so true to my promise of one blog entry per day. Been living in a somewhat hormonally depleted fog, combined with rapid fire baby needs and knick nack paddy whacks. I'll keep trying though. I'm sure there are Big Woo fan clubs in Montana and Idaho holding out for true commitment.

Had a wonderful and pleasant Valentine's Day last Saturday. Mr. M looked me square in the eye, said "Mama" in a clear and endearing voice, clutched my jaw, and then...proceeded to bite my face. Our love is silent like a lamb. He's discovered his teeth. The gentle face sucking sessions are a thing of the past. Four teeth now protrude like ivory fangs ready to plunge into my fleshy bits at any moment. It's like living with Bat Boy.



Though, obviously Mr. M is a helluvalot cuter and not going to burn in hell.

Looks like I'm back on my way to work March 9th. Have a great new position at Rotary - working from home - best of both worlds. Will share the working mother guilt with you all later.

Time to enter into the next snow storm. 4 to 6 inches due tomorrow. Another diary entry for the "Encourage Husband to Move to Warmer Climate" file.

Misho is ready to disrobe and go. Or he's auditioning for an ensemble role in South Pacific.

The Lady's Baby

Misho has discovered his own delicious image. Mirrors and anything that reflects are now his best friend. He looks longly at himself as if to say - "Damn, I am one good looking babe." And to reinforce this, the general public seems to agree with him.

As my husband just said - "Come on. Is it narcissism if you actually are just tremendously good looking?"

It seems that our Mr. M is one hot item with the soon-to-be-very-drunk, 20-something young lady crowd. We went out to dinner tonight at the regular baby witching hour of 5pm and dozens of trixied-out babes kept hitting on our baby. One of them actually squealed. Like a "I've seen a Jonas Brother" kind of squeal.

David and I think we could start a racket of picking up chicks for babysitting. Go out. Dress up Mr. M in lapels and spats. Sit next to a crew of ladies drowning in Michelob Ultra, looking for whatever they're looking for. Divert their hormonal instincts for a brief moment, bring them home and there you go - they're playing googly eyes with M-man and we're off to finally see "Milk." Of course we'll ask for references or a quick check of their Facebook pages, but I'm sure they're all upstanding young ladies in tight clothing.

Another update - Mr. M has also discovered baby humor. He thinks it's tremendously funny to bite and hold onto the spoon when being fed. Here's a couple of images of the moment.





He laughs hysterically under his breath while clamping onto the spoon. Slaps himself on the knee, snarfs, the whole bit.

Funny and good looking. Mr. M is turning into quite the package; a package that I had absolutely no genetic contribution to and yet I boast. Because really, who wouldn't?

Rewire Success!

We hit a home run! Though as I write this of course he is protesting a bit on the morning nap. Actually a lot so I was just on the phone with my husband talking me down from the ledge. But up until this morning, the rewire took hold. He never cried (except briefly for the first night) when left in the crib. We've secured an evening ritual (brief nightcap, political recap of the day, vision boarding and the like) and oddly it all seemed to work. Right away. 11 to 12 hours not waking up each night. Down for naps with no problem. Freaked the bejesus out of me. I was actually scared to give an update since I thought that would surely jinx the success. But with this morning's brief setback, I feel safe enough to brag.

If he totally breaks down from here on out, I'm never posting good news again. It will all be angst and Morrisey moaning and desperate cries for help.

Here's my recent O'bamafication photo that really says it all...