The Bunny Cometh (aka Scott's First Easter)

It's 9:14 p.m. and wow, am I tired.

Lesson #1: Easter is a lot of work when you are the parent and not the kid!

The holiday officially began around 3:30 a.m., when mommy and the big bunny had a consult about where to hide the eggs and Easter baskets. (The Easter Bunny didn't want to make his appearance until after Daddy went to sleep, so father and son could "hunt" together in the morning, and his plans were foiled when Daddy decided to stay up late and watch TV.)

Scott's baskets...fully loaded and ready to debut.

Creatively hidden in the jumperoo. (It was 3 a.m....cut the bunny some slack.)

Yawn. Anyhoo...

Scott woke up around 7 a.m., and Jim came bounding into the nursery about 30 seconds later. Father immediately strapped son to his chest in the Baby Bjorn and Easter egg hunting commenced. I personally think Daddy enjoyed this part of the day more than Tank, but whatever.

Oooh! An egg! That's what we're looking for, right?

That's my stuffed bunny daddy.

Yay for Easter!!

Uh, Daddy... finding eggs isn't that exciting. You don't need to blow out my eardrum.

After the baskets and all the eggs were rounded up, it was time to open our goodies. The bunny was very generous -- Scott got a little stuffed Elmo, a toy cell phone, a pool raft, a couple of books, plus a stuffed bunny and book from Grandma Kathy.

Cool! My own phone...but mommy, if you think this is going to keep me from playing with your Droid, you're crazy.

New books: Mr. Brown Can Moo. Can You??

Elmo!!!

Checking out the new pool float.

His favorite toy?
The boxes the actual toys came in and the fake stuffed grass in the baskets.

Best. Toy. Ever.

Ohh-kaaay then.

After a nap we were off to Grandma and Grandpa Richardson's house for Easter Brunch with the whole family.

Oh! and did I mention there were more baskets?
Scott's favorite toy this time around turned out to be a fresh new jar of his Gerber Puffs. (The kid weighs 20 pounds, so this really shouldn't come as a surprise.)

What do we have in here??

PUFFS!

After a massive lunch of green beans, ravioli, fruit, a couple of bites of mashed potatoes, (and yes, Puffs) it was time for the good stuff: a stuffed (blue) marshmallow bunny from grandma.

Sugar high!!!

A few more photos from a successful First Easter:

Posing with the bunny.

Post bunny...watching the fountain at the Westin Kierland.

Another picture with mommy. Okay, fine. If you insist.

Nice wheels, Grandpa. How about lending me the keys?

Don't worry about me and Daddy...we'll take good care of your new car.

Playing with Daddy...(mommy included this picture because she loves it.)

Ditto. :)

Family photo. Happy Easter!!

Scott feeds himself!

I am going to share a secret.
I was a little worried about my kid. He's been eating solids for a couple of months now, but had shown utterly no interest in actually picking up the food and putting it in his mouth. No...he was more than content to let mommy spoon feed him at every meal.

I couldn't really understand why. After all, EVERYTHING else seemed to go straight into his mouth - tablecloths, his feet, board books...you name it. And as a first time mommy, I really had no idea when he was supposed to develop this instinct. But I've wondered about it a lot.

Turns out, I needn't have worried. (Insert bragging voice: My kid is SOO SMART AND ADVANCED!!!)  

Tonight, we had our weekly Sunday dinner at Grandma and Grandpa Richardson's house. Scott was getting a little fussy before dinner, so Grandma asked if he could have some puffs (Gerber cracker things that dissolve in your -- or baby's -- mouth.)

I was unenthused. "He won't eat them," I told her.
Grandma gave me a look. I knew better than to argue with her. So out came the puffs.

Sure enough, Scott turned his head away, and chose instead to suck down the last couple of ounces of milk in his bottle.

We started dinner, and moved back into his comfort zone - pureed green beans, followed by a few bites of pureed apricots with mixed fruit.

But I had also prepared a special treat: Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. When I've given it to Scott previously, I've blended it into a pulp and fed it to him on a spoon. But he's now got two bottom teeth and two top teeth that are coming in simultaneously, so we decided to feed the macaroni to him in its pure, original form.

Grandma, who was in charge of tonight's dinner, dumped some macaroni on Scott's high chair tray. He looked at it, looked at her and looked at it again. He reached for it, but then decided it would be much more fun to gnaw on his empty spoon.

This went on for about 10 minutes. Then Scott picked up a piece of macaroni, and tried to put it on the spoon. Spoon went upside down in his mouth. Macaroni went on his shirt. Attempt #1 = FAIL.

It was around this time that I thought: "Okay, my baby is truly weird. What 7-month-old tries to put macaroni on a spoon? He's going to be the only kid in elementary school trying to eat his french fries with a knife and fork. Awesome."

But Grandma didn't give up. She dumped more puffs and more macaroni on the high chair tray.

And then it happened.

It was like something clicked in Scott's head. His pudgy little hand went for the macaroni and puffs, grabbed them, and made its way to his mouth.

All four of us - me, Jim, Grandma & Grandpa stopped eating and stared. When the food reached its destination, we all cheered and clapped like the Tanker had just won the Nobel Prize or something. (Hey: Positive reinforcement, its important.)

Mommy, seriously... can't you just feed me like you usually do?

Macaroni is slippery and so hard to grab!

At long last, success!!!

Oh, I got this. I am a total pro.

He giggled. And then did it again. And again. Within minutes, there was no stopping him. He topped off dinner with a couple of bites of gelato (a gift from daddy). He completely freaked out because it was so cold, but loved the taste, and was soon on a total sugar high.

Why is this stuff so freakin' cold! Brain freeze!

Hee hee. Post-dinner sugar high and squishes from grandma!

And tonight I am a very proud mommy. 'Cause I have a smart, advanced kid who figured out how to feed himself. Just like I knew he would.

Party animal!!

Scott attended his first kids' birthday party this weekend. Thanks to 6-year-old Kaiya Lozano and her super cool parents for putting our munchkin on the highly coveted invite list!

Kaiya's party was held at this indoor jungle gym called Makutu's Island in Chandler. The Tanker put on his best jungle/safari-themed jumper (completely appropriate and perfectly matched for the occasion) and off we went.

Once inside, Scott made the most of his opportunity and spent much time studying how the "big kids" handle themselves at such a prestigious social occasion. After all, he's got his own big day coming up later this year.

Signing Kaiya's birthday card with mommy.

Watching Kaiya blow out the candles on her cake.

While he couldn't enjoy the pizza and soda, he made do with bottled formula and green beans, and - he made it clear that he's already ready for his upcoming cake demolition by plunking his fingers into mommy's dessert. (Mommy, incidentally, had a great time getting the purple frosting off his fingers.)

Ooh! That looks good. I think I will stick my fingers in it and help myself.

After lunch it was time to go into Makutu's big play area. Scott was too little for the banana tree, jungle swings and slides, but loved the aquarium and banging his hands on the soft blocks in the baby area.

Soft squishy blocks are fun!

Checking out the fish.

The Tanker, also proved -- once again -- that he is a total chick magnet. Within 90 seconds of his arrival, he caught the attention of 15-month-old Mia, who immediately sat down next to him and tried to repeatedly hold his hand.

Another day, another girl. This one's pretty cute, though. And I like older women!

The only downside?? Freakin' parents who don't watch their kids! There were two random seven year olds bullying all the kids in the area clearly marked "3-year-olds and under." Where were their moms and dads? I never did figure that out...but if I had seen them, I would have given them a piece of my mind.  They stole Scott's blocks and started running and jumping aggressively in the room, eventually landing on and hurting Mia, whose mom promptly went postal on them and kicked them out.

Thanks Mia's mom!

All in all, I have to say Scott's first social event was quite the success...

The birthday girl wanted to "hold" Scott. I don't think she realized how heavy he was.

Thanking those who make date-night possible

You can't appreciate the awesome-ness that is "Date Night" until you have a kid. After all, when you're single, or even half of a footloose and fancy-free DINK (Dual-Income-No-Kid) couple, EVERY night is potentially date night.

Long day at work? Let's go to the bar down the street and have a happy hour cocktail. Don't feel like cooking? We can grab a bite to eat at one of our favorite neighborhood restaurants. Gloomy and rainy Saturday afternoon? Time to go see a movie!

That's was our life B.S. -- Before Scott.

Once you have a baby, everything changes. Sure, you can bring your kid to a bar or tote him to a five-star restaurant to celebrate a major milestone, but doing so probably won't win you any parenting awards or popularity contests with your fellow diners.

And let's face it -- date night IS important. We love our Tanker dearly -- in a way I could never begin to put into words...and yes, sometimes, its hard for me to leave him in the care of others, and not be around for his bedtime.

But Jim and I have also come to realize that those few evenings away from the Munchkin (we try to schedule one every 4-6 weeks) are critical to our sanity, well-being and the overall health of our relationship.

We've also learned that planning them... well, that's a major logistical operation that requires weeks of forethought.

Mommy and Daddy dressed up for a night on the town. I realize now that Scott doesn't appear overly excited by the idea.

We're fortunate - we have a LOT of family in the greater Phoenix area. And this blog is, in many ways, an ode to them. Because without a stable of able and willing babysitters, we'd never leave the house.

Scott has two doting grandparents that live within five minutes of him. They are first on speed dial when Jim and I need a couple of hours to ourselves. My folks have watched Scott in a pinch when he's sick and we've had "can't miss' meetings at work or just need a nap after two or three consecutive sleepless nights with a croupy baby, as well as on regularly scheduled Saturday nights.

We book them, whenever possible, 3-5 weeks in advance.

Scott loves hanging with Grandma and Grandpa when Mommy and Daddy go out for the night

But let's face it, my folks have lives too. Last weekend, Jim and I had a chef's wine pairing dinner that we had been looking forward to for weeks. Grandma and Grandpa Richardson were out of town, so I called my cousin and asked if she'd watch Scott. She and her fiance kindly said yes.

As it turned out, they had their work cut out for them. Scott developed a stomach bug and a fever, and threw up on his pajamas and security blanket while we were gone, but Katie handled the unexpected development like a champ. (And even said she'd babysit for us again!)

The Tanker hams it up with Katie & Ethan. He threw up on them later, but I am sure it wasn't personal.

It's only been six days since our last date night, but Jim and I have already lined up Mom and Dad for our next evening out in early May. 

You can never plan these things too early, you know.

Seven months old!

Happy Birthday Scott!

More than half a year gone by already. Boggles my mind just thinking about it. Our Little Tanker is thriving. He's sitting up on his own now, blowing bubbles, taking swimming lessons, reaching for toys, rolling and learning how to mimic mommy and daddy quite effectively.

He's still mostly in the "potted plant" stage, meaning he largely stays put, whenever we decide to plunk him down.

But there are signs those days are numbered. Jim said he rolled repeatedly across the floor the other day to try to maneuver himself closer to the cat. And if we sit him in his crib or his swing, he tries to grab the toys on the mobile and pull himself into a sitting position.

He's doing the same thing on the changing table too, whipping his body from side to side, attempting to grab the blanket hanging on the wall or focus his attention on whatever has caught his eye across the room.

And he's very grabby - nothing within reach is off-limits. Methinks its high time for mommy to begin babyproofing our house.

In the meantime, the winning pic from this month's photo shoot.

I am seven months old today!!!!

And the outtakes from our impromptu photo session:

Me and my furry BFF

Friends no more. This is my photo shoot, Mr. Bear, and I will wrestle you into submission.

Bear down!

I'm hungry, and mommy hasn't given me my bottle, so I guess you'll have to do.

Uh...mom, could you get this thing off me and give me a real lunch, please??

The so-called "work-life" balance

I've come to the conclusion it doesn't exist.

If it did exist, I wouldn't feel so damn guilty all the time. The last couple of weeks have been particularly tough. I've been reporting on the Fiesta Bowl scandal, and that's meant a lot of long days and late hours.

Last week, I missed Scott's bedtime twice. I got home after the munchkin was already asleep. No feeding him dinner, no story, no night-time bottle, no goodnight kiss. This, mind you, comes after seeing him for maybe 45 minutes in the morning, with at least half of that being during my commute to work. Not exactly quality bonding time.

I don't know that Scott was even aware that I was gone during those late nights; after all, his daddy was with him, and gave him hugs and kisses and rocked him before he went to sleep. But I can tell you I was acutely aware of my absence.

I cried at the office, as I looked at the clock and thought about what I was missing.

Yesterday, my husband told me Scott rolled over, repeatedly, across the floor, for the first time. I wasn't there. I am hoping he'll grant mommy a repeat performance this weekend. 

So more and more often, I find myself trying to "steal" moments. I go in his nursery and rub his back and watch him sleep in his crib. I work from home for an hour in the morning some days, just so I can look at him playing in his bouncy chair. When I can, I stop by daycare for 15 minutes on my lunch hour, just so I can see him smile.

But I still feel like it isn't enough. That I am not there enough. That I am letting him down.

A quick visit to Scott's "school" makes any day better.

I'd like to think he's reading one of my stories, but it's probably the comics...or obits.

At the same time, I feel frustrated that I am not doing more at work. Because quite simply, I love my job. You can't be a reporter if you don't feel a calling for it. Every journalist - and I am certainly no exception - wants to be a part of the big story. And when you cover the Governor's Office, there's a lot of big stories.

That passion for the job is the reason I handed my son to my husband on a Saturday morning in January and drove 80-miles an hour to the state Capitol to hear the Governor's remarks on the horrible Tucson shooting that gravely wounded Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords. It's the reason, later that week, that I missed putting Scott to bed for the first time, and instead drove to Tucson to cover the memorial at the McKale Center.

It's the reason I've worked late most every night during the last week on our Fiesta Bowl coverage.

But there have also been times I haven't been able to give my all at the office. When my colleagues have had to pick up stories in my absence because I've been at home with a feverish Scott, or running him up to the pediatrician because he's sick with yet another daycare-induced illness.

And the frustration I feel is palpable. I've shed some tears over that too. Am I a bad employee because some days I simply can't be there, working in the office? Is there more I could be doing on the job-front?

Most of my friends work. Their children are older, and they tell me it doesn't get easier. As the kids grow, they become more aware, and now some of them tell their mommies that they don't want them to go to the office because they'll miss them.

I am already dreading that day.

At the same time, I know I am not ready to change much about my current situation. I have friends who stay at home with their kids, and I certainly understand and respect that choice. And yes, sometimes I am a bit envious too. There are days when I want nothing more than to play and cuddle with my sweet baby from sun-up until sundown.

But I can't change that I love my work, and I've worked hard to build the career I have. My professional life is a huge part of who I am, and I hope one day to share with Scott why mommy's job is important.

So for the foreseeable future, the work-life juggle continues. And that's how I choose to term it. In my mind, there's no such thing as a work-life balance.

Pardon My French: But Teething is HELL

There. I've said it.
Teething is hell. Miserable, utter, total hell.

I am sort of surprised by the vehemence of my reaction to this routine right of passage, especially since we've been through three rounds of vaccinations and seven or eight weeks of non-stop illness with The Tanker.

I thought both were bad.

For the record, I wasn't wrong. They were bad. It's just that this is So. Much. Worse.

Here's the difference: shots hurt but for just a short time. You get them and there is immediately an end in sight. You give the little guy some Tylenol, and a few hours later, it's over. Done. Finito.

And when your kid is sick, he wants to cuddle, and you can tap into those great maternal reserves and coo at him and console him and rock him and watch cartoons with him, and a couple of days later, it too, is over. You get a break before the next round of illness begins.

That is so not the case with teething. It sneaks up on you ...usually without any warning. Your baby is the happy, adoring, loving child you're used to one minute, and then BAM! The rivulets of drool appear. And then, within a couple of hours, you're locked up in the house with a screeching demon child who won't nap, who doesn't want to cuddle, who doesn't want to play. A child who has somehow, all on his own, developed a so-piercing-it-can-penetrate-through-all-the-walls-of-the-house-and-burrow-into-your-inner-ear wail that simply won't stop.

And you want to conjure up all that good maternal sympathy. But you can't. Because on the surface your kid looks fine, and so you just want him to be quiet and take a nap.

Oh, you get on some level that teething hurts, but you can't see it, and he can't explain it and nothing you do makes it better, anyway, so please, for the love of God, child...would you please just go to sleep?

Yes, that was our weekend. Scott is cutting his second tooth. And for some reason, its so much worse than the first one. The drool started Saturday afternoon, and I could see it there, the hard whiteness, right under the gum. By 2 a.m. Saturday, he was a whiny mess with a fever, and by early afternoon Sunday, my sweet baby was a holy terror who refused to nap.

I took him for a walk. I rocked him. We gave him infant Motrin, tried Baby Orajel and even resorted to dipping my pinky finger into some Jack Daniels and rubbing it on his sore gums. None of it worked for more than 20 minutes.

So for the first time since he was born, I plunked Scott in his carseat and drove him around greater Phoenix. For almost two hours. We went to Carefree and back, got on the Loop 101, drove through Scottsdale, south to Tempe, back over to downtown Phoenix and up north to our house.

For my efforts, I was rewarded with a 38-minute nap and a $45 Costco gas charge on my American Express card. Oh - and a big toothless grin from Scott, who apparently decided that running me ragged was a great deal of fun.

Thanks for driving me around all afternoon so I could nap, mommy. Wait, why do you look so tired??

We spent Sunday night listening to him howl every 45 minutes. Then finally, mercifully, he conked out in his swing around 2 a.m.

The demon tooth has broken through the gum now, so we're really hoping that he'll turn back into our adorable little munchkin soon. Until, you know, his top two teeth start coming in.

Teething is hell. Intermittent hell that last about two years, or so my sister kindly told me this morning.

Meet the next Michael Phelps

We live in Arizona. We have a pool.
We have to live in our pool to survive the Arizona's summers.

Therefore, we decided we would put Scott into swimming classes as soon as possible so he could get used to the water. We didn't know what to expect, but after attending our first class this morning, I am sure we made the right decision.

Jim and I had an utter blast hanging out in the pool with Scott. And Tank did really well for his first water session.

The Little Snappers 1 class, held at the nearby Hubbard Family Swim School, had five kids in it, and I was amazed at how much they teach them at such a young age.

I got in the water with Scott, and the first goal was to simply get him comfortable and acclimated to being in the pool. We just moved back and forth and swished side to side. Then we turned him on his back and got him splashing.

Scott was tired (it was past his naptime) and a little overwhelmed at all the activity, but he started smiling when we moved on to the next exercise -- kicking while swimming on his stomach. Mommy walked backward and sang and blew bubbles which was also very entertaining.

Then, the big time: going under water. We sang, and we counted to three and then we dunked. Scott came up sputtering and looked at me like I was crazy. He whimpered a bit, but stuck with it, going under the water two more times.

Entering the pool with mommy.

Splash, splash splash!!!

Working on our kicks.

One, two, three! Let's get ready to go underwater!

Submerge!

Uh...mommy. Uncool. Not entirely sure I am a fan of that.

Next, it was daddy's turn in the pool. Father and son worked on swimming through the water toward the pool's edge, reaching for toys, standing on the wall, and strengthening legs and lower back by kicking in a boat.

Instructor Lizzie helps Scott kick toward the wall.

Standing and playing with daddy.

Ooh, a ducky! And a pirate!

I can't tell who is having more fun here - Tank or his daddy.

Chillin' in the "boat."

The boat, by the way, was a huge hit. Daddy may have to buy a cruising yacht for our pool this summer.

We ended the 30 minute lesson by helping Scott float on his back. The swim instructor said that eventually Scott will be able to do it on his own.

After a short drive home, Scott was rewarded for his efforts with a nice warm bottle of milk. All that exertion took a lot out of him. He was snoring in daddy's arms before he even finished his lunch.

Can't wait until we are back in the pool next week.