The Pacifier...

In the history of great inventions, I place it somewhere between the wheel and toilet paper. It's the only reason I'll never be able to practice ecological breastfeeding.

Before my milk came in, Charlotte agreed. Since then, it's been a battle. If I were less determined, you'd hear me saying "My baby just won't take one" by now. But, man, even though I don't mind comfort nursing, there are times that a pacifier really comes in handy.

As if I didn't need more inspiration, Charlotte's thumb has actually found it's way to her mouth a couple of times. Cute for now. Not so cute in five years.

Tomorrow I'm going to stock up on some different brands and see if we have more luck.

Babymooning

So here's what's up in my world. I'm sure I'll return to blogging one of these days.

The Indian

It is Well with My Soul

It has been a long week with Peter. He is not sick. He has gotten plenty of sleep. Yet he has been absolutely contentious from morning until night. I'm irritated and exhausted with the whole thing, and when he had three tantrums before 7:00 a.m. this morning, I was ready to shut myself in the bathroom and not come out.

Then I went to church, where we sang "It is Well with My Soul." Knowing that this hymn was written by a bereaved father after the death of his four daughters put my trial in perspective. If he can find the peace of God, then certainly so can I:

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well with my soul

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come
Let this blessed assurance control
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate
And hath shed His own blood for my soul

My sin, 0 the bliss of this glorious thought
My sin, not in part but in whole
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, 0 my soul!

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll
The trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend
Even so, it is well with my soul

Move Over, Jackson Pollock

You'd think, as a former art major, that I might have pulled out the paint for my own child before now. But the cobbler's son has no shoes.

I'm a nut for homemade Halloween costumes, though, so it was fun to involve Peter in the making of his Indian costume. Final product soon to be displayed.

A Mother's Weaning

It is my goal to get Peter out of his smocked jon-jons by his 3rd birthday, four months from now. It certainly doesn't help me that all his longalls from last winter still fit. As incentive, I've made Peter a slew of long sleeve t-shirts with smocked inserts and matching pants. Ironically, though, my favorite new ensemble for him is an applique top and pants that I made to go with a sailboat sweater I saw on ebay.

Here is GQ Junior:



Much as I like this, it still broke my heart seeing him off to school this morning. Tall as he is, he looked like a four-year-old when he turned his back. Sniff...

The Pleasure of Disagreement

We're starting a new phase.

"We're going to the park this morning," a statement that would usually be greeted with glee, is met with, "I don't want to go to the park."

Oh, really?

"Okay," I say, "We'll just stay home."

"I want to go to the park," he responds.

In the past 72 hours, we've had this same conversation about 20 times, just insert a new subject into the blank.