Everything from aliens to autism

What pops up when you google “pulsating fontanelle” at 8 am on a snowy Sunday morning?  At the time, I didn’t want to find out.  It could say “totally normal” or it could say “your baby’s head has transformed into a ticking time bomb and will explode in 10 minutes.”  I’ve spent hours on end staring at my beautiful boy and I never saw anything like this before.  I’m not sure if it’s because Ace woke me up out of a rare deep sleep to show me the odd development, but my first thought was (obviously) aliens.  Seriously, I’m not trying to be funny.  Aliens.  

Side note about me:

Years ago, after I told Ace about my extremely strange childhood aspirations and he found them intriguing and attractive rather than psychotic I must have subconsciously decided that the acceptance of the information I revealed would from then on be somewhat of a qualifying factor for lasting relationships.  

Here it is:

From the time I was about five years old up until the end of my childhood, I wanted to be abducted by aliens.  

Every night I would lay in my bed with my eyes squeezed shut trying to send telepathic messages into outer space asking the little green men to take me to the mother ship.  The idea of this extraterrestrial adventure filled me with fear and excitement.  As I got older I realized this desire basically sums up my personality.  The reaction to this story was a good way to gauge compatibility during the very brief time I dated other guys and it continues to help me tell if someone is a good friend match.  Although, “help” might not be the right word considering I can count my good friends on one hand, but we all know how the dating part ended up and I’m extremely thankful for that.  Please don’t think I walk around like, “Hi my name is Jenn and when I was little…”  Most people who know me aren’t aware of this personal fact (until now I guess), but if I’m going to put time and effort into a relationship it has to be with someone who gets me and my alien dreams.  

This (kind of) explains why my first thought was aliens.  For a few seconds I believed my telepathic messages were just reaching them now and they took my baby boy instead of me and implanted something in his brain.  

So instead of googling and coming up with something even more alarming than aliens, we called the pediatrician’s answering service.  I’m more afraid of googling baby health problems than I am of aliens.  Then, during the half hour it took for the doc to call us back, we caved and googled.  A throbbing soft spot on a five month old baby is “totally normal.”  

It’s always better to be safe than sorry when it comes to your baby.  We rely on the internet for everything, but the first step should always be to call the doctor so you don’t waste any time if there’s an emergency.  That brings me to the controversial topic that has us looking for a new pediatrician, even though our current doctor’s groggy voice was really very reassuring when he called back about Artie’s alien time bomb head this morning.  

Now that I threw any credibility I might have had out the window, I feel comfortable telling you about our stance on vaccines, which is why we’re looking for a new doctor for the baby.  

I still don’t know what to believe.  Even though there is no “proven research” that vaccines cause autism and other problems, knowing that there’s a huge amount of parents with autistic children who strongly believe otherwise made me think hard before blindly handing Artie over to be stuck with needle after needle.  

After some research I found Dr. Sear’s alternative vaccine schedule that would still allow Artie to be fully vaccinated, but possibly decrease the chances of a negative reaction.  Some people say there’s no proof that vaccines cause autism and some people say there’s no proof that this different schedule has benefits, but again I think it’s better to be safe than sorry.  He’s not in any danger by following the alternative schedule, but he could be if we went the traditional way.  I honestly have no idea what to believe, but after hours of reading I came up with the following analogy that helped me make a decision.  I think it might be worth sharing.

For decades there was “no evidence” that smoking caused lung cancer and was generally bad for health.  Cigarettes became popular in the general public in the 1920’s.  By the 1930’s there was a huge increase in lung cancer and although some people noticed the obvious connection, the cigarette industry’s money kept the connection quiet all the way up to the 70’s when it finally started to become accepted that there was a serious health risk.  

Obviously vaccines save lives and I’m not directly comparing them to cigarettes.  But here’s my thought process.  Women smoked during pregnancy for decades.  People still expose their children to secondhand smoke.  A lot of babies and kids are fine, but a lot aren’t.  Eventually the public became aware of the risk of smoking during pregnancy and secondhand smoke, but it took a long time.  Cigarettes never saved any lives and it still took decades for people to realize they were bad.  Vaccines actually DO save lives, so how long would it take until we find out anything negative about them?  

There are a lot of factors in play in this debate.  I could go on and on, but this post is already extremely long.  The rate of autism continues to increase and there are still no answers as to why and no definitive cause.  A lot of babies are fine, but a lot aren’t.  If I lived in the 60’s and heard there was a chance cigarettes could harm my baby before it was an accepted fact, I would quit smoking and do whatever I could to protect him even if every expert in the world disagreed.  

When we asked the nurse and pediatrician about following the alternative schedule at the baby’s last appointment they made us feel completely crazy, but I know a lot of parents ask because a two page letter about this doctor’s philosophy on vaccines and autism is blatantly posted in every examination room.  The nurse defensively said, “Oh, so you don’t want your baby to be protected?” (even though we are fully vaccinating him, just spreading them out in a different way) and looked at me like I just told her I was abducted by aliens.  

No, I do want him to be protected…from everything from aliens to autism…that’s my point.

hey baby, turn that smile upside down

Driving a half hour to Target is a rare treat these days.  Last week Artie and I made the journey.  With my long list of essentials to buy in hand, we found a newer cart with perfectly aligned wheels and I plopped his seat inside.  Oh I was so excited…you have no idea.

I had to prove to myself that I could at least get through a purposeful Target trip with just me and the baby before he and I embark on a solo hour long train ride followed by a four hour flight to LA next month.  On the way there I told myself that the trip would be a success if we walked around the store for a while and purchased a couple things we needed.  No reason to set the unrealistic goal of getting everything on the list.  Good thing I aimed so low.

The first thing we did was return the baby headphones that didn’t really work out at the show last week.  As soon as the drums started he just looked at me, stuck his bottom lip out and let out a big scream lasting the whole ten seconds it took to run to the door and carry his little ears to safety.  He was perfectly content during the return, but as soon as I started pushing the cart, tears.  He wasn’t hungry, he wasn’t wet, he wasn’t tired.  He just wasn’t into Target.  The crazy part is that he never cries for no reason at home.  

You know how if you don’t have kids you wish the crying ones would just be quiet when you’re shopping or at a restaurant?  I found myself wishing the opposite on every parent and child who passed by as I unsuccessfully offered a pacifier, sang his favorite songs and jiggled the cart in the middle of the aisle.  It seemed like he was the only sad baby in the world at that moment.  Everywhere I looked there were babies a few months younger, babies a few months older, babies exactly his age and they were all happy and giggling bundles of joy.  I secretly hoped that they would turn those smiles upside down and start crying.  Their moms were taking their time deciding which brand of laundry detergent to purchase or which shade of lipstick would go best with their skin tone and I couldn’t even get the cart past the greeting card section at the front of the store.   

Artie just hates sitting in carts sometimes.  This wasn’t such a problem before he weighed 18 pounds, but carrying him around a store in the car seat is not an ideal situation for my arm.  At that point I had the choice of having the car seat on my arm or back in the car, and I refused to be defeated.  Mentally going over my list, (because there was no way I was going to fish it out of my bag at that moment) I tried to think of something that would only require one hand.  

The only thing I remembered that would give me any satisfaction to buy and not send us to the farthest corner of the store was some new clothes for Artie because he’s almost in 12-18 months and it would be very inconvenient for him to outgrow everything in his suitcase next month.  Although the thought crossed my mind to take the easy way out when I noticed the Wheat Thin display so close I could just reach out and grab a box from my current position at the store entrance.  They were on my list, but that would have been cheating and it would just be sad to drive 30 minutes for one box of parmesan flavored Wheat Thins even if they are Ace’s new favorite snack these days.

We started walking to the baby section when I passed by something cute for myself.  If you want to get an idea of how warped my mind is these days, just imagine me being lured to a rack full of bikinis at this moment.  Yes, I picked up a bikini.  I’m convinced this is the reason Artie began crying again at that moment.  He was saying, “Mom, remember me?  I came out of your belly five months ago, hence you are no longer a size 2.  You will embarrass me if you wear that.  Lose the last ten pounds and maybe I’ll reconsider.”  Thanks Artie, thanks.  

the look of disbelief he gave me when I picked up the bikini...right before the tears.

 

So leaving the bikinis behind, we finally made it to the baby clothes.  Maybe I was just in a daze at that point, but nothing looked cute enough.  I’m not sure if I have warm weather on my mind because I’ve been planning for the weeks we’re spending in LA or if I’m just crazy, but the only things I wanted to get for the baby were two pairs of shorts in the dead of winter.  Car seat in one hand, size 12-18 navy and blue shorts in the other, I headed to the checkout.  

I’d like to think I accomplished my goal in one way or another.   I’m not sure if I really did, but I still felt happy as we left the store.  Maybe that’s because we passed a crying baby…

sleep!

Right now I’m in bed, about to sleep longer than three hours at a time for the first time since September 9th.  Ace is downstairs with Artie because he’s insisting that my recent heart palpitations (not to mention the mood swings) have something to do with lack of sleep so he’s going to take care of him tonight.  He always helps as much as he can, but I usually resort to nursing the babe since it’s the quickest way to get him back down.  Our little guy was doing really well with six hour stretches for a while (even though the stretch started at 8 pm and we didn’t go to sleep until 11 pm), but now his teeth are coming in and making him crazy all night again.  And that makes me crazy all day.  

I decided to make sure I update every Monday, Wednesday and Friday…even if I’m just squeaking in for today at 11:30pm.  I should probably go get started on this thing called sleep if I can even remember how to do it correctly.  I’m going to miss my little love bug sleeping two feet away in his pack and play, but real rest will make me a better mom tomorrow.

Good night.

WAHM/WORM part one

I just got out of a desperation shower.  Johnsons head to toe baby wash instead of shampoo, random hotel conditioner, sleep aromatherapy body wash (so important in pregnancy, not so much now that I’m so tired I might fall asleep as I’m typing), no razor, cold water because I forgot that I just started the laundry, and a small hooded baby towel to dry off with.  I knew my sweet boy’s nap wasn’t going to last long enough to complete both a workout and a normal shower in my bathroom upstairs.  When that happens I just have to take what I can get; a painfully cold and quick cleaning in the gross downstairs bathroom without any of my stuff.  At least I don’t stink today.  

On days when I’m not even lucky enough to get a desperation shower and I do happen to stink, at least the only person who smells me all day can’t complain about it.  First of all, he can’t talk.  Second, my sweat is nothing compared to the smells he produces in his diaper on a daily basis.  

I’ve been a mom for five months and I’ve only gotten a little bit better at accomplishing basic things like showering and sweeping since we first brought Artie home.   If I can’t keep up with my house and my self, how am I supposed to get everything ready for tour?  We leave in one month!

Being off the road for such a long time had me convinced I was a SAHM (stay at home mom).  I just realized I’m a WAHM (work at home mom).  But maybe I’m really a WORM (work on road mom)?

Whatever acronym I may be, one thing I know is I really need to buckle down and get to work on planning for the tour.  I’ve been so wrapped up in thinking about baby proofing hotel rooms, Artie’s first flight, which old road case will be best to fit as many toys as possible, finding the right noise canceling baby headphones, etc that I just realized not only have we forgotten to order merch, but we don’t even have any designs finished.  And that’s only one thing on the list of  about a hundred that need to be done.

Even though Artie and I will be spending a lot of time at hotels rather than venues on this tour, I will still be tour managing.  It’s my job to make sure that we’re ready to leave for tour and to figure out and keep track of all of the details once we’re out there.  Of course Ace is able to do a lot of that too, but he already has kind of an important job.  He needs to focus on playing and writing, which is the way it should be since that’s why we’re out on tour in the first place.  

It’s no coincidence that the three parking violations the band has had in the past year happened to occur at times when I was not with them.  Not to mention what happened  a few weeks ago when Artie and I stayed home for the holiday shows.  I booked the hotels, emailed the info to the guys, and they started driving five hours to Massachusetts where they were staying the next night rather than two hours to Connecticut where the hotel for that night was.  Somehow I had a mystical vision that this was happening so I called Ace and asked how far they had to go until they got to the hotel.  When he said, “three hours,” I said, “ok, well then you’re there.”  This is no discredit to my hubby at all, because this is why we’re married.  Not the whole reason of course, but you know what I mean, we each have our roles.

The only thing is, I’m afraid that my mom role is going to overshadow my work role.  I definitely prefer working at home or on the road to working in an office away from Artie, but when real work needs to get done it can be difficult.  I just want to cuddle and play with him all day.  I don’t know how the WAHMs do it.

This post is already really long and I should probably be using this time to get some work done rather than writing about how I don’t have time for work, so I will continue with WORM Part II next time.

diaper addiction

What better segue into cheerier posts than telling you all about my obsession with cloth diapers?  

Yes, cloth diapers.  Pieces of fabric that you wrap around a baby’s butt in order to catch poop and pee then wash and use again.  Awesome, right?

A few short years ago, my free time on the internet was spent browsing pretty clothes and shoes.  I became especially addicted to this British shoe blog, shoewawa.com and in turn all of their affiliated blogs like The Bag Lady.  I wish it was possible to make a conscious decision when it comes to addictions.  If I could, I would choose to be addicted to something much more productive like the Italian Rosetta Stone I told you about before that’s still sitting in a corner collecting dust.  I think part of the appeal in these group of blogs was that they featured really great things, but all from the UK so it was less possible to purchase and spend tons of money.  Although I do admit to having spent way too much on overseas shipping because of them more than once.  Then there’s the whole problem of the illusion of a great deal before you convert the currency…I’m easily excited about “bargains” and I was never good at math.

Since I’m still not back to my pre-preg size and there is no place in my life for heels right now, naturally these blogs are of little interest to me at the moment.  When we decided to use cloth diapers for Artie I had no idea that they would be the thing to thrill me the way Loeffler Randall boots once did.

I usually open my macbook during commercial breaks while Ace and I watch tv every night.  Whenever Modern Family or Shark Tank or Jersey Shore starts back up and I’m still glued to my keyboard Ace asks, “Diapers?”  Five times out of ten I guiltily answer, “Yes” as I reluctantly close whatever review I’m reading on diaperpin.com.  The other five times I’m usually lying.  

I realized I had a problem after we returned from our trip to New York before Christmas.  We had just spent a wonderful couple of days shopping and taking Artie to see Santa, but when I discovered that I had left a bag of 8 dirty Bumgenius diapers at the Holiday Inn my whole day was ruined.  I spent two days mourning the loss of my diapers and leaving frantic messages on the housekeeping voicemail until I finally got ahold of the head of housekeeper on Christmas Eve.  She was confused and probably at least a little grossed out when she realized what was in the laundry bag that had been found in my room, but she agreed to ship them out as soon as possible.  A good thing for both of us, I’m sure.

I could try to make myself sound a little less crazy by giving the excuse that I was only so upset because these diapers cost about $20 each and it would have been a bad thing financially to lose nearly half my stash, but that’s not entirely true.  I just really love cloth diapers.

Is it the idea of saving precious natural resources?  The comfort in knowing that my baby’s bottom is wrapped in natural fibers rather than plastic?  The high degree of absorbency that makes leaks so much more rare than with sposies?  Or maybe the fact that we’re saving $3000, not to mention the savings when we can reuse them for our future children?  Maybe it’s the sadness and guilt of knowing that I’m probably going to have to give in and use disposables when we’re out on tour that has me engulfed in the cloth diaper internet world.  There is no good reason for it.  

Ace just asked, “Are you looking at diapers?”

I answered honestly, “No.”  

I’m just writing about them.

our first bumgenius diaper photo shoot. artie was three weeks old.

 

window blues

Well, it’s been an awful week.   Hundreds of people came out to say “see you later” to Timmy P this weekend.  There was so much love and support at the service and the gathering afterward where friends played songs and shared stories.  The love and support from the “strangers” who replied to the posts on this blog and the tweets we sent has been so amazing and was very special to Timmy, his family and his friends.  I want to thank all of you for helping us show Timmy how much he is loved.

It feels odd to get back to writing about our tour preparations because I can’t really think a complete thought without thinking about Timmy and all of his friends and family.  I don’t expect that to change any time soon, and I just hope that these thoughts, feelings and memories will make me a better person by reminding me that all of the little problems we have aren’t so important.

This morning I put on Band of Horses and danced with my naked baby.  We made it through the first eight tracks of Cease to Begin before he peed on me.  It felt great.  Not the pee, but listening to those songs and really feeling it.  I realized I hardly ever listen to music anymore and it made me so sad.  

Artie still prefers his favorite radio station (1200 am “all static, all the time”) to be on when we’re in the car.  At home the ipod is usually charging to gear up for a night of more white noise.  Other times throughout the day we’re usually playing with toys that either sing cute little kid songs or play classical music.  I was in the habit of putting on Christmas songs in the mornings and slow dancing with the baby in front of the tree during the holidays.  For a while in November we had Phoenix or Passion Pit dance parties while I dressed Artie for the day, but other than that I’ve been losing touch with that part of me.  

It’s weird because I think about music all the time and it’s always around me, but since it’s such a big part of my life and work I guess I’ve been taking it for granted.  Dancing to those songs with Artie, really listening to the lyrics, and seeing how music was such an important connecting factor between Timmy and all of his friends this past weekend reminded me of why we do what we do in a different way.  I’m going to start putting music on while I feed Artie his avocados and we’ll listen to a song during diaper changes.  Music is just as important as a full tummy and a clean bottom.

if you would shine your love down here, i promise we’ll reflect it right back at you.

 

Timmy P. He will be so very missed.

 

The world lost an amazingly unique, funny, beautiful person on January 19th.  

I can’t put Timmy Passarella into words.  I hope that everyone who was touched by him will take a bit of his irreplaceable personality and fuse it together with their own so that anyone who never met him can experience a fraction of what all of his friends have been so lucky to have in their lives.  

As I dressed Artie to go visit Timmy last Sunday I was going through his closet and decided I would dress him in his most Timmy-ish outfit.  It happened to be a shirt and shoes that my sister got for him, which just made sense since Timmy was a best friend to her and she loves his style.  

Ash and Timmy

 

When he saw the baby he noticed the shirt right away.  Even with all that he was going through at the time, Timmy was smiling as much as possible and he kept saying how funny it was because he actually has the same exact shirt.  

That’s why it looked so familiar and Timmy-ish to me.  I now remember him wearing the shirt when we went out for his 22nd birthday two years ago.  All of my pictures from that night are stuck on an old laptop that won’t turn on, but we had so much fun that I can close my eyes and be right back there again.  

Timmy wasn’t the type of person to go to a club, but that’s where we ended up on his birthday.  I had wanted to meet up with some friends who were moving out of Philly and he and his friends had no other plans, so they were excited to come along.  Until we got there.  He was so freaked out because it wasn’t his kind of place, and it really wasn’t mine or Ace’s either, but my job at the time had reeled me into that kind of thing.  Somehow he warmed up to the idea and finally came inside.  We told him that we would leave right away if he didn’t want to be there.  He ended up going crazy on the dance floor all night and we had such a great time.  I’m thankful for that night and nights like it that we spent with him, even though there weren’t enough of them.  That’s how I’ll always remember him, dancing like a goofball and smiling that amazingly huge and bright smile.

If it hadn’t been for Artie and his Timmy outfit, I don’t know if we would have been as lucky as we were to see that smile last Sunday.  Before we left, he asked if Artie can do a fist-bump yet.  Sometimes I wonder why Artie still keeps his hands in fists like a newborn so often, but maybe he’s been waiting to meet Timmy so he could do his first little fist-bump with him.  

Artie in his Timmy P shirt.

 

 

Timmy P will be in our hearts forever.  

Please think positive thoughts for our friend…

Yesterday Ace, Artie and I went to visit our friend Timmy and because of that, the whole world feels like it shifted.  I walked into our kitchen when we got home and felt like I hadn’t been there in years.  I can’t explain it.

Timmy’s the kind of guy you wish everyone could be like.  He’s funny, easy-going, naturally cool and nerdy at the same time, he has a great sense of style and taste in music and he’s just all around awesome.  He’s one of my sister’s very best friends and Ace and I have had periods of extreme closeness with him as well.  They played music together for a while and had a lot of fun doing it.  I wish those periods of time lasted longer, but “important” things sometimes get in the way of friendship.  

Almost ten years ago I was a senior in high school showing the new kids around.  I saw this kid Timmy wearing a June Spirit shirt and immediately said something that was probably a little mean.  That was Ace’s old band and they had just kicked him out because they thought he couldn’t sing.  We didn’t exactly become friends right away, but we must have talked from time to time and I always thought he was cool…regardless of his loyalty to The June Spirit.

I don’t know when he first found out he had cancer, but I know he was having a hard time with it about a year after we met when he came with my mom, my sister and I to one of Ace’s shows in Philly.   Since then it’s been back and forth.  He’s had really great times and really bad times.  Now is a really bad time.

I’m not exactly a praying type of person.  My beliefs are a little scattered, but they are there.  Whatever you believe, please put all of your energy into believing Timmy can pull out of this.  

Timmy, we love you.  You’re awesome.

I’m a licensed mom

Sometimes a momentary lapse in judgement occurs and I instinctually ignore traffic laws and road hazards if they interfere with keeping Artie happy.  I was more concerned about my little boy staying asleep in the back seat than the police car’s flashing lights and siren when I pulled out in front of him.  Luckily it was no big deal.  He was just abusing his power by going the wrong way down a one way street and he really had no place important to go.  For a second before the faux emergency came to an end I was in a panic because I had left the house with only the diaper bag, not my wallet containing my license.  

Again, I put the baby before the law.  Maybe in some kind of necessary survival situation not coming to a complete stop at an intersection would be acceptable, but fear of interrupting a nap doesn’t exactly qualify for that.  Even if I’m losing my mind spending six or more hours a day trying to help Artie relax and sleep while his teeth torture him and this is the one time we have some peace…on second thought, yes this is about survival. 

I’m not normally paranoid over police cars, but ever since the day of Artie’s one month doctor visit that has changed.  I happened to be obeying all traffic laws on this particular rainy Saturday morning when the lights and sirens came after me.  The female officer waddled up to my window, asked for my license, didn’t answer when I asked why I was pulled over, and started to walk back to her car leaving me with a very unhappy Artie.  When I made a move to get in the back seat to comfort my baby she told me I had to stay where I was, as if the pacifier I was reaching for was a deadly weapon.  

After the rage inside me built for several long minutes while I was forced to let my baby scream in fear that this crazy cop would have me in handcuffs if I helped him, she returned with my license calling me Jessica and asking who Jennifer is and why I have her license.  She quizzed me and finally accepted that I was myself.  I guess she was looking for Jessica (Maybe some chick who also drives a Pontiac vibe that her boyfriend cheated on her with?  That’s the explanation I hoped for at the time…) when she ran my plates and saw my license was expired.  Seven months expired, but I had good reasons…at least I thought so.

I was out of the state for most of those seven months and when I returned I was on bed rest because of my blood pressure until Artie was born.  When she asked where “out of state” was I should have just lied and told her that I was visiting relatives.  ”Well I was in Australia for a while, then I traveled to almost every state in the continental U.S. three separate times for about five months in a row hitting a new city every day up until I was 8 months pregnant and then my baby came early because I was on the verge of preeclampsia” was the true story, but for some reason she didn’t seem to believe it.  Weird.

Sure, I had a few weeks at home when I could have made the trip to the DMV, but who wants to take a driver’s license picture when they’re fifty pounds heavier than usual?  The ticket and court appearance must mean that temporary chubbiness and perpetual travel are not in fact good reasons for driving with an expired license.  

I was so used to the pregnancy and my new baby getting me off the hook for things that I was shocked when she wrote out the ticket.  My expired license had haunted me in almost every venue we played that summer, but when the security guys saw my belly they always let me sit in the bar area (usually the only place to sit down in these places).  Usually being pregnant or carrying a newborn around is like a golden ticket for special treatment, but not today.  Even when I explained that lately I don’t normally drive, but my husband was out of town and my baby had to go to the doctor (also both true statements) she didn’t care.  Like my driver’s license, my golden ticket had officially expired and was replaced with a traffic ticket demanding $125, a court appearance, and a state fine of $100 a year for the next three years.  

That experience should have taught me that my baby is not an excuse for being irresponsible in every other area of my life, but after I cut off that cop car today I realized I’m just as bad as ever.  Artie is four months old.  I need to get it together and be a normal person again, at least when it comes to the law.  And maybe paying bills and making dinner once in a while.  Taking a shower before noon and wearing a robe until just before Ace gets home can be goals for the future…like I’m thinking around Artie’s first birthday at the latest.  

For now I’ll stick to coming to a complete stop at intersections and updating this blog every Monday, Wednesday and Friday with the possibility of a little something new on the days in between once I get it figured out.  I’m going to be a lot more dedicated to updating since so many people have been so dedicated to reading and this is something I enjoy so much.  Tourtot is back in full swing, spread the word!

Boys get warts.

I’m finally going to have to admit that I’m sleep deprived and possibly losing my mind.  Artie is teething so he’s been waking up about every hour all night long for the past week or so.  It doesn’t take long to get him back to sleep, but it must be taking a toll on my brain.  Just now I was rocking him to sleep for his nap and as I stared at his chubby little fingers clamped onto my shirt wondering how to ease him out of this extreme grip so I could lay him down (in his car seat…but that’s another story), a bunch of crazy thoughts passed through my brain and I realized how tired I must be.

There are times when I so badly want him to stay asleep on the transfer from my arms that I curse myself for not keeping a pair of scissors near by so I can just cut off whatever he may be gripping, whether it’s my hair, my sweater or my finger.  This was one of those times, but again I was scissor-less so I contemplated carefully taking my shirt off so he could cling to it for his nap and I could creep out of his room without him ever knowing.

In the middle of these thoughts, a conversation that Ace and I had a few days ago randomly popped into my head and I accidentally burst out laughing.  I’m not even sure if it’s that funny, which is how I know I’m officially crazy.

Ace announced, “Look at this, I think Artie has his first wart.”

“What?!  Why does our four month old baby have a wart?” I said.  And why is Ace acting like this is something normal or maybe even something to be proud of as if it were his first tooth?  He pointed to a little bit of skin sticking up on his scalp.

“Kids get warts,” said Ace.  ”Didn’t you get warts when you were little?”

“Um, no?”

“Well I guess just boys get warts then.”

“I don’t think that’s a wart.  It looks like a bit of dry skin.  And why do boys get warts?” I asked, still really confused and concerned.

“They play in the dirt?  Frogs?  I don’t know, but I got a lot of warts when I was little.”

Now I’m thinking, what’s going on while I’m at the gym or the grocery store?  Is Ace carrying Artie outside in the Baby Bjorn in 30 degree weather digging holes in the frozen ground and catching frogs in iced over swamps?

“He hasn’t been in any dirt or around any frogs that I know of…” I said as I flaked the “wart” away with my fingernail.

So there I was, thinking about running out of the baby’s room topless in order to get him to stay asleep, yet my own uncontrollable, extremely delayed, hysterical laughter over this wart conversation ended up waking him up.  I must have been too tired to laugh when the conversation was going on, and now I was too tired not to laugh when I thought back on it.

As strange as it is, I’m enjoying these delirious moments.  One day I’ll have my sanity back.  I’ll start leaving the house more often than once every five days when we make the “big” trip around the corner to Walmart where Artie cries if the cart stops rolling so I grab toothpaste and tinfoil off the shelves while still in motion.  I know that day is coming soon, so for now I’m going to make the most of having a good excuse to be a little crazy.