Kicking & Screaming

I just listened to Max scream for an hour. He was crying so hard that his voice was cracking and I can still hear his sobs subsiding from the other room as his diaphragm regulates his breathing. What, you might ask, was he so upset about that he would spend an hour screaming bloody murder? What could possibly be worth leading the neighbors to think that, indeed, we might be child abusers? Nap time. NAP TIME. I want to return to an age where a nap was the worst possible thing someone could do to me (instead of the best words in the English language)...

Good to be Home

Chicago was a blast. Really, a very cool city with some amazing food. But, I must say, it's really good to be home. And in a new home, at that. It's messy and full of boxes and other randomness right now (and not looking like it will anytime soon be less so), but it has so much potential, and it is ours.

And then, of course, there is Max. My sweet boy seemed so much different when I came home last night. Bigger with rounder cheeks. And oh, what he is doing now...My baby boy is getting so very big & strong & smart. He and his dad had such a great time without me that I was a little worried my little one might have forgotten me-until I got The Grin. You guys know the one. It makes my heart melt.

Max is almost crawling. He can get about one knee/arm combo before he lunges and goes back to his commando crawling, which he has got down. He is all over the place. Clint bought one of those semi-permanent fence/pens to put in his room so that we can get some things done around here without having to worry about what he has gotten himself into under our very noses.

And last night he pulled himself up in his cradle! Clint and I were lying on the bed, heads toward his cradle, talking about my trip, when Clint looked over and said "look at him!' And there was Max, holding on to the rails of his cradle, standing with the Biggest Grin You Ever Did See on his face. So very proud of himself. He couldn't figure out how to do it a second time which, to be perfectly honest, is just fine with me. Slow down!

And he talks and babbles more and more. Some of my favorite times are when he randomly starts 'talking' to me or even to himself in the car. This evening he was saying 'mmammammammammammamma' with very exagerated mouth motions (emphasis on the mmm...imagine trying to eat your lower lip) and food in his mouth, and I just couldn't help but crack up every time he started back up. He didn't want to stop. It was a riot. And he has really started figuring out that his tongue will move in different ways. He seems to always have it hanging out of his mouth or rolling around in his lips. In addition to putting everything in his mouth, he has decided that he likes to lick. Especially faces. And noses? Oh, noses are the best.

Then there is his little personality. He is still such a happy boy, but becoming more aware of what he likes & doesn't like. Such as toys he wants to play with and that you should not ever, under any circumstance even think of taking away. He knows when you think it. Or, of course, the ever-dreaded bed time. Why sleep when you could be playing? Even when you are so tired that can no longer hold your little body up and so cranky even the toys can't amuse you anymore... And dogs. We heart dogs. Any kind, big or small. As longs as they have fur and tongues and will run around and be excitable.

There is so much more that lack of sleep will not let me remember. So, instead, I will leave you with a picture or two from our trip to see family a few weeks ago.

Really? It's October?

I can't beleive it's October!?! This year is just flying by (and I hear it only gets worse as you get older...). I haven't posted much recently because we have been so busy with the house and working. Last weekend we made a long-overdue trip to see Clint's family in the Houston area.  We had a great time and managed to only take about 200 pictures.  I will post some of those, along with a lengthy update about Max, probably after I get back from Chicago on the 17th.  I have so much I want to share about my almost-6th-Month-Old, it's really hard not to do it Right This Instant, but if I don't start packing the house, we will never get moved and that will be a really bad (and expensive) thing.  Until then I will leave you to contemplate the fact that there are only 81 shopping days left until Christmas...

On Being A Mother

A friend sent this to me, and I thought it was worth sharing...

We are sitting at lunch when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family". "We're taking a survey," she says, half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral.

"I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations...."

But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die. I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.

I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of her discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is alright.

I want my daughter to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years - not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.

I want her to know that a caesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving. I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children's future.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or a cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.

My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say. Then I reach across the table, squeeze my daughter's hand and offer a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings.

This blessed gift from God . . .that of being a Mother.

Too Close

Max has been slowly, but surely, working on crawling. He's gotten to where he can get his knees up underneath him, and he can kinda scooch short distances. He turns around a lot, and is very determined to get somewhere. Anywhere. But most of the time, he's still on his elbows, or in a face plant. Just recently has he been starting to get the idea that he's got to get up on his hands.

But then, there was tonight. After the nightly diaper change and pajama wrangle (it is difficult to clothe someone intent on constantly rolling and wiggling), he got up on his hands and knees...and then began to ROCK. Back and forth. Like babies do right before they crawl. He only rocked about 3 times before he fell, but it was pretty cool.

New Friends

Max has a couple of new friends (and several more on the way)!

Miss Ada Love Myrick was born on Aug. 16th (yeah, we're a little behind) at 2:33 AM. She was 7 lbs, 14 oz and 21 in. long.

Isn't she darling? We haven't met her, yet, but we can't wait!!!

And, more recently, Chris and Jenny had their second little girl, Soren Litten Margrave. Soren was born September 5th at 12:02 AM. She weighed in at 6 lbs, 10 oz and was 18.5 in long.

Another pretty girl joins the Margrave clan!

I can't wait to meet these lovelies and hold an infant-sized baby, since Max was never this small!

We're still waiting on at least 5 more new friends from all parts of our lives, and one cousin!!! It's a baby bonanza...

His Father's Son

In the last blog I mentioned that Max is into everything that he can get his little hands on, especially as he becomes ever so slightly more mobile. I know this may take some of you by surprise, but he gets this from his father. (I swear, I was an angel child...)

I give you Exhibit A:

This is Clint, circa 1984, in his walker which he has tipped over while pulling on the vacuum cleaner.

And here, Exhibits B and C:

Last night, Max decide that the jumper alone just wasn't doing it for him. He wanted to play with the jumper AND the playmat. I'm thinking this wasn't quite what he was going for: