Rolling and Eating

Garrett finally rolled from his back to his stomach! And...he is a piggie for food.

Okay, so...in September he rolled from his stomach to his back. And then he just decided that he was content to lay around and do nothing. I mean, he is a very calm baby so it's no wonder that he had no desire to do anything, but at his two month check-up the doctor said, "He'll be rolling by his next visit." Well, the four month check-up came and went and Garrett still did not care to move. "He'll be rolling by the six month for sure," the doctor informed us. Well, three days ago, at his six month, he still had not flopped from back to front. But since he can sit fairly well, the doctor said not to worry...he's just lazy.

But he finally rolled today. Six days after he reached the six month mark.

He cannot roll proficiently. But what my child can do, fabulously well, is chatter himself up one wall and down another. Einstein probably rolled young but he did not speak until he was five. Or at least, that's the rumor I've heard. And boy can that kid eat. I think when he grows up he might be a talk show host that enters those hot dog eating contests for fun. Despite all the different kinds of foods he's had though, he remains a lightweight. He's in the 45% for length and the 5% for weight. The doctor was glad (because Garrett is skinny) that he's been eating so well and basically told me to give him whatever I wanted to give him from now on (except the no brainers...like honey and cow's milk...and no meat until eight months) which has been splendidly fun and has made for a much happier child around dinner time. We plop him in the high chair and hand him cheerio after cheerio or carrot chunk or whatever. Dinner used to consist of me holding him and him clawing at my plate and trying to shovel fistfuls of salad into his mouth.

So so far he's had: rice cereal, oatmeat, green beans, squash, peas, carrots, sweet potatoes, garden vegetables, corn, potatoes, applesauce, pears, cheerios, sweet potato puff finger foodie things, and one saltine cracker. I think that's it except for the cookie dough that he ate when he was only three months old and he lunged at my finger and gulped down a taste when I was baking Halloween cookies. Because he is a food loving hog. I think he came out wanting table food.

Anyway. To recap. He rolled. He's skinny. He talks alot. He eats alot. That is Garrett today. He is 190 days old.

Reflections of Garrett

He's a really fantastic shade of green. Troy and I have decided that Periwinkle and Vibrant Yellow, when mixed together, make Shamrock Green. It's lighter than forest and just a slight bit deeper than a Granny Smith Apple. Which is probably a good thing. My son doesn't want to be referred to as Granny Smith, most likely.

Garrett is six months old today. It's not that I haven't experienced the phenomenon of flying time. Because I have. When I think back, high school flew by in a couple of clock ticks and college was a mere blink of the eye. But both of these circumstances require thinking back. After the fact I realize how quickly the time went. With Garrett, I feel the time whizzing past me. I look at him and he still feels small and helpless but he's so much less small and less helpless than he was six months ago.

I've forgotten so many details of my birth story. Just the other night I recalled how in the hours after my epidural and before his birth I had violent shakes. I couldn't stop shivering with uncontrolable convulsion. I felt cold and tired and ready to get my kid out of me. It was as though my body was trying to shake him from within. I kind of forgot all about those attractive mesh panties you wear once the child has emerged, the ones with the built in pouch for easy insertion of ice. Is that too much information? I forgot about taking a shower about an hour before my epidural and feeling like maybe I would claw the wall because maybe the tile would help me get out of my skin, which is what I really felt like doing. I forgot about all of this because I looked into the perfect eyes of my perfect son. He was small and he didn't move. Except to rip his arms out from being swaddled. He never did like his arms being confined. He weighs 14 pounds now. I guess in the grand scheme of life, 14 pounds is still considered small. But he sits in a high chair and wolfs down baby food with wild abandon. He clings to my side like a little monkey. He laughs. And it is the most delightful sound I think I've ever heard.

I am trying hard to stand in awe of every little thing he does. I am trying to understand that in a few blinks of my sometimes very tired eyes, he will be all grown up and some other woman in some other time will be his everything. He won't cry when I leave a room. He won't even remember to kick his legs happily and smile at me when he sees me for the first time in the morning. He certainly won't grin at me from the bathtub--at least, for both our sakes, I hope he won't. He'll be a man. He's on his way already. And after half a year, I feel nostalgic for July 20, 2006 at 7:30pm. I feel like it was oh so long ago. I feel, in a way, too young to have a six month old.

But all the time. All the while. Every single solitary day. I am blessed to stick him on my hip and carry around the most beautiful shade of green.

We're All Here Arguing About Glow Tape

So see, last night, I went to bed around 11:15 and fell asleep somewhere in the vicinity of 12:45. During the day I am mighty content to sweep responsibility under the rug in the back of my mind and enjoy my last few days of Christmas break. In fact, I've decided I love teaching, with reason numero uno being the fact that, once again, I am blessed with the peaceful recognition that I am in possession of a two week break during the holidays. Don't even get me started on summer, the mere thought of it is enough to send me into a giddy tailspin. So, with that being said, I've been trying to really savor the last couple of days. But at night, when the world shuts down except for in really awesome places like New York City--and let's face it, Ramona is not the new New York City--my thoughts begin to attack each other. I toss onto my right side, check the baby monitor and then the clock, "Glow tape!" It pops into my mind like a mack truck slamming into the back of an unsuspecting minivan. "I need glow tape for the show," The Cute Little Director Lori shouts at me. Cute Little Director Lori is not, in all honesty, that nice of a person. She's stressed and high strung and, let's face it, out of control. But she does have on a really cute shirt from The Gap and a pair of jeans that make her look kind of thin. I stop to admire her jeans and just then Wife & Mommy Lori grabs Cute Little Director Lori's chin (you know, that look-at-me-while-I'm-talking-to-you chin grab that all mother's master) "Get a grip. You certainly can't get glow tape at 12:00 in the morning. Go to sleep. Enjoy your last two days and worry about glow tape on Monday." Cute Little Director Lori knows that Wife & Mommy Lori is correct. She tosses onto her left side, but not before scoffing at Wife & Mommy Lori's flannel pajama pants. "Those make you look kind of fat. And frumpy." She concentrates, "Sleep. Sleeeeeep. You're getting very slee--I still need some songs. Preferrably two. But one is a dramatic imperative." Wife & Mommy Lori taps her on the shoulder. "You need to sleep. You have a baby who is going to wake up in the morning and need you to be a fully functional human being." "Oh shut up Wife & Mommy, this is something I can think about while I am attempting to drift off to sleep. This is not glow tape!" Wife & Mommy Lori rolls her eyes and makes a mental note to dust something when she wakes up in the morning. Cute Little Director Lori starts racking her brain. She runs through soundtrack after soundtrack after soundtrack. She thinks of ways to completely restructure the show's agenda. She debates the theatrical integrity and implications of switching the order of the one-acts. She glances over and watches Wife & Mommy Lori sleeping peacefully. She kicks her. "Get up and vacuum something." She sees the look on Wife & Mommy Lori's face and realizes she's hit a nerve. Wife & Mommy Lori cracks. "I know! I need to clean this whole entire house. I need to come up with more ideas for the sketches for women's retreat, which, I think, are technically part of your job description but NO, you're too worried about your show. I need to make sure Garrett gets enough tummy time and I need to read to him more often to encourage early literacy and I need to sit with Troy on the couch and remember to ask him how his day was and THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH HOURS IN THE DAY!" "Geez," replies Cute Little Director Lori, "Chill out." She tosses onto her right side and just as she is about to doze off she remembers not to forget that somehow she needs to acquire several Shakespeare costumes, figure out how tickets work, finish all the other things she's started and amazon.com really needs to get on it and send her the scripts she ordered because she told her class she'd pick a play over the break but amazon didn't see fit to ship the scripts in a timely fashion. And as she somehow managed to fall into a deep sleep, a nightmare began. A nightmare involving a forty-five minute intermission because some detail had slipped through the cracks. A nightmare where tickets were little scraps of paper that someone ripped out of a notebook. A nightmare in which several actors were not where they were supposed to be and when...

And in the morning Wife & Mommy Lori woke up. She brought Garrett into bed with her and snuggled him into the crook between her bent knees and her chin. She breathed in his Johnson & Johnson's baby shampooed head. She forgot about all of the cleaning and all of the scrubbing that needed to be done. She decided that even tummy time and literacy could wait another hour. She glanced over at Cute Little Director Lori who was sleeping soundly. Apparently she'd decided to savor her last two days of Christmas break.

And Cute Little Director Lori, in the aftermath of her nightmare, knew one thing, that theatre has a way of working out. It is, almost, as constant as the sun rising. And she somehow pushed it all to the back of her mind. Yet, she couldn't manage to shake the tightening in her chest when she looked at the calendar and she couldn't help but break into a light sweat when, in her sleep, she heard Wife & Mommy Lori mutter, "Glow tape."

And from her vantage point at the computer, Writer Lori took a puff on her fake cigarette (for she knows smoking is both disgusting and bad for one's health) and a drink from her fifth cup of fake coffee (because she doesn't really like coffee) and blogged about it all...