Tuesday, September 30, 2008

For the Record...

Apparently a mini-feud broke out amongst my family members, so I need to let the records indicate that was not a picture of Sam. Sorry, Abby. You lose.

How Not to Comfort My Son

Being sleepy and crabby, I brought Sam into his room, sat on the rocker, and offered him his beloved blankie. Upon receipt of the blankie, Sam pulled it up to his face, rubbed his cheek...and threw it on the floor. This was unusual as Sam loves his little 1/4 of a diaper cloth and enjoys rubbing it all over his face. When I bent down to pick up the offending article I discovered I had not given Sam his blankie. In fact, I had given him an old dirty sock. Sorry Sam.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Sam's Secret Life Part 3

Over the past year I've reported on Sam's various secret activities as they have been made known to me. Early on I found he was part of a fight club. Not long ago I figured out he was a spy. And just this past week I learned he was a part-time model. I believe this is the result of my watching "Zoolander" every other week while he was gestating.

Numerous friends have approached me saying they saw Sam's picture in the paper. So I picked up a paper and sure enough, there he was on page 13 of the West Windsor-Plainsboro MarketPlace.

I just hope he had the smarts to open up a good 401K.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Maybe Sam isn't at the root of our sleep deprivation

Sam is sleeping better--almost through the night but not quite. Despite his strides in sleeping, John and I are still finding ourselves a bit sleep deprived. And I think I finally know why. Last night around 11 pm we found ourselves in the midst of a moral quandary.

John: Ugh, I’ve got a mosquito bite on my leg. Right on my….what do you call it again?
Me: Call what?
John: That fleshy part on the back of the bottom of your leg?
Me: Your calf?
John: Yeah, my calf. I’ve got mosquito bites on my calf. I’ll bet that part tastes good. If I ever had to eat myself I would start with my calf. It’s a good mixture of muscle and fat.
Me: Yeah, start with your calf first before eating other parts of your body. Start low and work your way up—
John: No, I’m not going to eat myself, I meant if someone else ever had to eat me they should start with my calves.
Me: So like, I should start with your calf?
John: If I was you and you was me.
Me: You can eat me, too.
John: I don’t think I would want to eat you.
Me: Well, if you had to. If I was already dead and you had to eat me to survive, you could.
John: I don’t want to.
Me: I want you to eat me if it means you’ll survive.
John: But I don’t think I could bring myself to eat you. I wouldn’t feel right about it.
Me: Okay, how about if it was in order for Sam to survive. Would you let Sam eat me?
John: I can’t let Sam eat his mother.
Me: He already does.
John: That’s totally different. You drink milk, you don't drink cow.
Me: I’m just saying, if I’m already dead and you need to eat something in order to survive, eat me.
John: Oh. Like hufu.

And, getting this important bit of dialogue out of our systems, we finally fell asleep.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Advice Needed

Being as Sam breaks out in hives if his skin touches anything that is not 100% cotton, I'm on a quest to find a cotton snowsuit/baby bunting for the upcoming winter. I've tried ebay, Gap, Old Navy, Gymboree, The Children's Place, Land's End, and LL Bean in search of cotton snowsuits. Any have any bright ideas on where I might look next?

My Kid is a Spy

Yesterday Sam got a hold of John's cell phone and frantically began pushing buttons. I realized he placed a call, so I took the phone away and hit the "speaker" button just in time to hear, "...the New Jersey Homeland Security Office. Please choose from one..."

Sam called Homeland Security. He's a spy. I just know it.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

An Awkward Position

The past few weeks have been filled with lots of travel. Sam's a decent traveler--actually taking a flight from Los Angeles to Philadelphia without crying. The lack of crying, however, did not exempt him from being a bit of a pistol.

At one point he took his pacifier and threw it into the crotch of the man sleeping next to me. The weight of the pacifier was just enough to wake the man up. He looked at the pacifier and moved his hand to pick it up before hesitating. I could tell he was wondering whether or not he should touch a germ-filled baby popper.

He withdrew his hand from the pacifier and thrust his pelvis in my direction. So I gingerly picked it up and popped it back in Sam's mouth. It was one of our finer moments.