This boy, he is a moose.
He never, ever, ever stops eating.
True story: after my six-week postpartum visit, I thought, ok, this is just utterly ridiculous, I neeeeed to drop at least five baby pounds (which are actually breastfeeding pounds, as I gained an immense amount of weight AFTER he was born) before I go back to work so I don't have to buy a whole new wardrobe. Except, to make a really long story short, after a long and crabby week, I figured out that even though he SEEMED satisfied, this boy was HUNGRY. He wanted much more than I could make while eating a reasonable amount of food (or even a slightly-more-than-reasonable amount of food, because I tried that, too). So whatever, I"ll go shopping at some point before I go back to work and James the Giant Leech can continue to grow at an alarming rate.
He is a terrible sleeper. Try to hide your shock. The boy...wow. He still totally does not get that there is a day and a night, and nighttime is for sleeping. He is an obligate bed-sharer, because I asked our pediatrician which he thought was safer, belly sleeping or bed sharing, and bed sharing won that odd calculus. FINE. Sigh. Even at that, he wakes up at least every four hours, usually for several hours at a time, and fusses extensively from 5am until I have to face the day and get out of bed. He's been getting much fussier in the evenings, and I don't know if this is him trying to figure out bedtime or just behaving like a two month old baby, but I am so hoping he's figuring out a bedtime. Little dude is seriously high maintenance in the evenings and if he's gonna wake up for the day at 5, he needs to sleep at SOME point.
I am totally failing at tummy time with this boy. Oops. In my defense, it's seriously almost impossible, because Katie is convinced we are totally lying to her and she can continue to use him as a punching bag and it will not hurt him one single bit. Two separate times today, I pushed her away right as she was going to either kick him in the face or stomp on his stomach. Soooo, yeah, tummy time not really an option during her waking hours. And then she's in bed and, seriously, I am TIRED. I don't WANNA.
The other thing I am failing at: blogging this little boy's infancy. Seriously, seriously, I keep saying it but SERIOUSLY: three is a lot of kids. Three is especially a lot of kids when one of them is both hell-bent on twisting her baby brother's ears off his head and also oh yeah what the heck, decided now would be a good time to INSIST on potty training. (eff you, potty training. eff you forever.) I swear, though: this little boy is adorable and perfect and I spend as much time as humanly possible staring at his little face and kissing his pudding cheeks and playing with his hair and holding him close because the days are long but the years are short and so are the months so my sorry ass is going back to work in two weeks and that is BULLSHIT (US maternity leave fucking sucks. And I'm spoiled and get three months. US maternity leave fucking sucks.) The lack of blogging, though, is by no means an indication of how enamored I am with this child and his firsts and his little SELF. I used to think when people joked about documenting everything your first kid did and nothing your later kids did, that they meant the people decided it didn't matter. That's really just not true. You just have no more time. Every single time he grows or changes or does something new, I feel the same way I did when Gracie did it, except with an additional ache that I will never, ever watch another child of my own do that for the first time. And I don't really need to document it to remember, anyway.