flashback friday

A look at blog posts of yesteryear:

THURSDAY, APRIL 16, 2009

how to make baby butternut squash

We started Bug on solid food on his 5 month birthday, so I went ahead and prepared the squash a couple of days in advance. My friend Krista sent me this great resource for making your own baby food: Homemade Baby Food which is where I’ve gotten the bulk of my information. I’m actually finding that doing things like cloth diapering and making your own baby food seem to be trendy right now. I don’t know if it’s because the economy is down so frugality is more popular, if it’s because of the organic push of the last few years, or if it’s because going green is what all the cool kids are doing. I’m just grateful that there are so many great online resources. I don’t know very many people here in Winston from whom to get advice about this stuff, so it’s great that I can find so much great information online.

So in order to prove that making your own baby food is actually easy, I wanted to post step by step instructions as to how I did it. I started with butternut squash because I had squash soup that I wanted to make for Shawn and I, so I needed squash this week anyway. I would actually say that squash is probably one of the more difficult things to make. I made bananas a couple of days ago, and it took all of five minutes. I would imagine that any food that requires peeling involves extra work, but it was nonetheless crazy easy.

Step One: Ask Shawn what butternut squash looks like so you don’t look like an idiot in the produce section.

Step Two: Find butternut squash in the produce section, and feel like a bit of an idiot carrying it around.

Step Three: Bring it home and let it sit on the counter for a few days. Wonder if maybe you’re crazy for trying to do everything the hardest way possible.

Step Four: Cut the squash in half lengthwise after cutting off a strip of both ends to discard. Actually, start to cut the squash in half, then let Shawn take over because he doesn’t trust your clumsy self with a knife.

Step Five: Lay the squash – “meat”side down – in a baking dish with an inch or two of water.

Step Six: Put the squash in a 400 degree oven for 4o minutes.

Step Seven: Scoop out the now softened “meat”

What the squash looked like completely skinned.


Step Eight: After taking out however much squash needed to make soup, put the squash in a blender and hit the “puree” button.

Step Nine: Add a bit of water (about 1/4 cup in this instance), hit puree again. Amuse Bug while he temporarily freaks out about the noise. Repeat step nine until the food is the consistency you’d like it – very smooth for new eaters, not as smooth for older eaters. You could also add breast milk to the puree if you’d like. I liked doing that when I was introducing new foods, it gives the puree a familiar taste for the baby.

Step Ten: Spoon the squash into an ice cube tray designated as the new baby food holder. Nobody wants squash/banana flavored ice.

Step Eleven: Place cling wrap over the tray. As you’ll see in later pictures, we had a bit of freezer burn, so I’m going to try foil next time.

Step Twelve: Place tray in freezer for several hours. Right under the pierogies, if possible.

Step Thirteen: Label a freezer bag, pop out the cubes, and place them into the freezer bag. Put the bag in the freezer.

Step Fourteen: To defrost, just take one cube out and put it in a bowl. Let the bowl sit in warm water for a few minutes.

Step Fifteen: Feed Bug the squash:

…and there you have it! At Bug’s last appointment, he weighed 13 lbs 6 oz! He’s still not a fatty pants, but he’s growing at a great rate and seems to be doing really well. We’re off to Tennessee this weekend as Shawn does his first wedding ever. Have a great weekend!

flashback friday

A look at blog posts of yesteryear:

SATURDAY, APRIL 11, 2009

a letter to bug
Dear Bug,

Today, you are five months old. For five months we’ve been able to see you grow, develop, and learn with our own eyes. As I’m typing this, I’m watching you play in your Exersaucer. Where just a couple of weeks ago you had to stretch your toes to touch the bottom, your feet now rest flat and you’re enjoying kicking them up and suspending yourself in the seat.

You’ve had a big month, sweet boy, filled with lots of “firsts.” You rolled from your back to your tummy for the first time about a week ago. I think you would’ve done it sooner, but that cloth diaper gives your booty some extra weight to haul over! I was on the phone, making a Doctor’s appointment, when you did it. Bug, you were so proud of yourself and quickly looked up to see if I noticed what you just did. I wanted to exclaim and shout, “yay!” but I’m sure the receptionist would’ve thought I was crazy. You also got your first hair cut this month! You had some crazy old man whispies behind your ears that flared straight out no matter what we did. Daddy finally decided it was time to cut it, so he trimmed it with his beard trimmer (with the safety on) while I held you. I think it tickled a little when we cut some of the hairs in the back, but you did so great! Almost all of the brunette hair with which you were born is now gone, and you’re officially blond now. I was surprised by how bittersweet the trimming was – I got a little teary eyed as I was thinking about the hair that you grew in my womb. Nonetheless – you’re one cute little blondie.

Finally, you had your first taste of “real” food this month! I made butternut squash, and you seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. We’re now officially entering into the world of bibs, spoons, high chairs, and the airplane zoomy noise. I have a feeling this stage will be even more fun than the last.

Every day that you grow gives Daddy and I more glimpses into your personality. You have a very sweet heart that is sometimes tender and I even think compassionate, and you have a strength of will that is astounding. You now spend much of your day smiling and laughing, lighting up when Daddy and I make faces at you. You’re starting to recognize the faces of people you see on a regular basis, and you really enjoy watching other kids. I have several favorite memories from the past month. It’s hard to choose just a couple, but here goes:

– One day, you and I laid down on the bed, on our sides, facing each other. I was singing you songs, and you were amusing yourself with trying to get your fingers to my face. Right now, your favorite song in the world is “The Itsy Bitsy Spider.” No matter how angry and worked up you are, that song will calm you down – even if only temporarily. You seem to find it hilarious when the spider gets washed out, you’re in awe of the sun coming out, and at the end of the song you always look at me like, “Wow, Mommy. That old spider sure does have a lot ofperseverance.” In close second for your favorite song are, “The Wheels On The Bus,” and “Victory In Jesus” (you especially like to hear about the mansions He has built for you in glory). Anyway, I’m getting severely sidetracked. I was singing “The Wheels On The Bus,” and you were just cracking up when the bumps on the bus went up and down. Our faces were close to each other, and every time you laughed you reached out to my face to pull it close to yours. I’m pretty sure I sang that verse through five or six times because I was loving the sound of your giggle.

-You’ve started to imitate Daddy and I- very cool and very scary. You’re working on making raspberries, and I love watching you do it the same way we do it.

-On nights when Daddy is home, he gets you naked and I get the bath water ready on bath nights. One night you guys were taking longer than usual. When I went to check on you Daddy had you – butt naked – dancing on the changing table to “Bootylicious.” Daddy was singing, “I don’t think you’re ready for this, Mommy. I don’t think you’re ready for this, Mommy. I don’t think you’re read for this, ’cause my body’s toobootylicious for ya, Mom.” At least we’re giving you plenty of fodder for your therapist.

You’re a great kid, Bug and I have no doubt that God is working in you even now to reveal and execute His plan for you. Even at five months old, I can see Him molding you. I hope you know how much you’re loved, I hope you understand how much Daddy and I cherish you, and I hope you sense that you are safe and adored. We love you forever, sweet boy.

Love,

Mommy and Daddy

TUESDAY, APRIL 14, 2009

gross…i mean cute… eating pictures

flashback friday

A look at blog posts of yesteryear:

TUESDAY, APRIL 7, 2009

Coletrane and Me

I love our dog. He’s a royal pain in the tush sometimes, but I do ultimately love him. He was my napping partner in pregnancy, curling up on the end of the bed while I napped early in pregnancy, and curling up right next to me on the guest bed when I found myself on bedrest towards the end. He let me cry right into his furry neck when I was overwhelmed and scared at the possibility of having a pre term baby, and he diligently keeps me safe when Shawn is out of town (even if he is a little over zealous in what constitutes a threat…he was very concerned about a snowman across the street one afternoon).

But about two or three weeks after we brought J. Bug home, I found myself hating our dog. Loathing him. I could barely walk for about a month after birth, so my Mom and then Shawn’s parents took primary care of Cole while they were here. Shawn was able to take care of him most of the time after that, but once I could walk and I was home by myself most of the day with Bug and Cole, I almost couldn’t stand the sight of him. One time he started pooping in the house, and Bug was screaming his head off. I was so frustrated that I just opened our back door and let Cole loose in our fenceless backyard. I ashamedly admit that I was half hoping that he’d just run off. To my dismay, he ran to the back of the yard, did his business, and came right back inside. Cole has an uncanny ability to decide to be particulary mischevious when my hands are full with J. Bug. He would bark just as soon as I got Bug down for a nap, or he would start chewing on something he shouldn’t while I was breastfeeding and couldn’t chase him down. Even when Cole would shake – jangling his ears and dog tag- right outside J. Bug’s bedroom door, threatening to wake him – I would get so mad at him I’d clench my teeth, shake my fist at him, grab him by the collar, and drag him to his crate. I just couldn’t handle him.
I knew my frustration with him was most likely projected frustration with Bug. After all, I couldn’t really get upset at a helpless infant for not sleeping, but I COULD blame Cole. I couldn’t take my sense of being overwhelmed and frustration at getting so little sleep out on J. Bug – but I could take it out on Cole. I couldn’t yell at Bug when he was crying…and crying…and crying…but I could yell at Cole. Shawn noticed my increasingly short temper with Cole, and bought me the book “Marley and Me” for Christmas. It’s an easy read, and I read it out loud while I was nursing Bug, so I worked through it pretty quickly. The story details the couple’s marriage and then purchase of Marley…a hyperactive lab who was dubbed the world’s worst dog. The wife (Jenny) was put on bedrest with their second child because of a risk of preterm labor (sound familiar?), and dealt with some postpartum depression after the birth. About three months after Bug was born, I read this excerpt from the book:
Complicating the sleep-deprived chaos that was our lives, our new baby had us terribly worried. Already underweight, Conor was unable to keep nourishment down. Jenny was on a single-minded quest to nurse him to robust health, and he seemed equally intent on foiling her. She would offer him her breast, and he would oblige her, sucking hungrily. Then, in one quick heave, he would throw it all up. She would nurse him again; he would eat ravenously, then empy his stomach yet again. Projectile vomiting became an hourly occurence in our lives. The doctors diagnosed reflux…Conor would eventually outgrow the condition and catch up on his weight, but for four long months we were consumed with worry over him. Jenny was a basket case of fear and stress and frustration, all exacerbated by lack of sleep, as she nursed him nearly nonstop and then watched helpess as he tossed her milk back at her. “I feel so inadequate,” she would say. “Moms are supposed to be able to give their babies everything they need.” Her fuse was as short as I had seen it, and the smallest infractions – a cupboard door left open, crumbs on the counter – would set her off.
The good news was that Jenny never once took out her anxiety on either baby. In fact, she nurtured both of them with almost obsessive care and patience. She poured every ounce of herself into them. The bad news was that she directed her frustration and anger at me and even more at Marley. She had lost all patience with him. He was squarely in her crosshairs and could do no right. Each transgression – and there continued to be many – pushed Jenny a little closer to the edge. Oblivious, Marley stayed the course with his antics and misdeeds and boundless jubilence…When he crashed through our small home, the bull in our china closest, I followed behind him, straightening throw rugs, righting coffee tables, and wiping up the spittle he flung on the walls. Before Jenny discovered them, I would race to vacuum up the wood chips in the garage where he had gouged the door once again. I stayed up late in the night patching and sanding so by morning when Jenny awoke the lastest damage would be covered over. “For God’s sake, Marley, do you have a death wish?” I said to him one night as he stood at my side, tail wagging, licking my ear as I knelt and repaired the most recent destruction. “You’ve got to stop this.”
It was into this volatile environment that I walked one evening. I opened the front door to find Jenny beating Marley with her fists. She was crying uncontrollably and flailing wildly at him, more like she was pounding a kettledrum than imposing a beating, landing glancing blows on his back and shoulders and neck. “Why? Why do you do this?” she screamed at him. “Why do you wreck everything?” Marley stood with his head down and legs splayed as though leaning into a hurricane. He didn’t try to flee or dodge the blows; he just stood there and took each one without whimper or complaint. “Hey! Hey! Hey!” I shouted, grabbing her wrists. “Come on. Stop. Stop!” She was sobbing and gasping for breath. “Stop,” I repeated. I stepped between her and Marley and shoved my face directly in front of hers. It was like a stranger was staring back at me. I did not recognize the look in her eyes. “Get him out of here,” she said, her voice flat and tinged with a quiet burn. “Get him out of here now.”
I can’t say that I was entirely surprised when I found myself showing signs of postpartum depression. Shawn and I had talked a lot about how we would handle it if it did become an issue, and I talked to a few friends at length who dealt with it. We knew that it was temporary, mostly hormonal, and not something that was anyone’s “fault.” Still, I was surprised by the intensity of it, and my helplessness to change it or move past it. I was overwhelmed and didn’t know how to deal with the stress, so I shut down. The feelings of being overwhelmed were honestly too much for me to handle, so I shut down ALL emotions so that I didn’t have to deal with the stressful ones. I was flat, mostly monotone, and emotionless. Even Shawn asking what I wanted for dinner was too much. I felt like I was making a million decisions every ten minutes, unsure if any single one was the right one. I felt like I was forever trying to guess at the right thing, always fearful that my guess was wrong. Trying to decide what to have for dinner on top of that? Forget it. Mundane decisions were enough to break me down because I was already feeling the load of guessing and deciding and guessing again, and deciding something different. I distinctly remember being almost scared to be in crowds – especially church. I did my best to fake being happy and confident, but I knew someone would notice. I hated making small talk – my mind felt like a huge fuzzy mess – making small talk was way beyond what I could handle.
My brain was foggy, my eyes were empty, my voice was flat, and my emotions were nonexistent. Sometimes I would crack, though. I quietly cried myself to sleep after being up with Bug in the wee hours of the night for two or three weeks. After a few particularly trying nights, I’d wake Shawn up, hand J. Bug to him, and heave huge sobs of inadequacy, doubt, frustration, anxiety, and sadness. Poor Shawn didn’t know who to deal with first – his screaming infant or sobbing wife. I was helpless to change the way I was dealing with my new stress, but for the life of me, I couldn’t make myself feel emotion, smile, or get excited about much. Bug was a couple weeks late at smiling, and I deeply worried that he was stunted because I didn’t smile enough at him. The first time he smiled at me was on his changing table, and I rested my head on the edge of the changing mat and cried. I was so relieved. It’s a frustrating feeling – to want to be happy, but to feel incapable. I suppose I thought that to allow any emotion in would mean that I’d have to deal with the emotions of being overwhelmed, and well…I didn’t have the luxury of time for a breakdown.
I felt like I was last on the list, and I resented Cole a little bit for even being before me on that list. When I could sit J. Bug down for a minute or two, Cole needed tending. Forget grabbing a quick shower, eating lunch, or even changing out of my pjs…Cole had to poop, needed food, needed water, or was barking like a maniac. I never wailed on Cole like Jenny did Marley, but I did take most of my frustrations out on him. The puppy never seemd to mind. He took my anger, screams, and mutters of “stupid dog” in stride. The only thing he seemed to do differently was to desire to be by my side (and underfoot) more, which only served to add to my frustration. No amount of yelling, pushing, or ignoring was enough to stop that dang dog from loving me uncoditionally.
I wish I knew exactly how it was that I came through postpartum depression. To be honest, I wish I knew that it’s completely in the past. I still feel overwhelmed, but I try to handle those feelings a little differently. I run two or three times a week, and use that time to problem solve, to zone out, to vent frustration, and to just get away. I focus on eating healthfully and try to get as many fruits and veggies in my diet as I can. I do my best to talk openly with Shawn and my Mom when I find myself feeling helplessly overwhelmed again, and I head to the coffee shop or grab a bath when time allows. I started noticing that my ability to handle the stress was directly linked to how much sleep I was getting, so I let Shawn get up with Bug if I know he’s not waking up out of hunger. Beyond that, my advice to anyone finding themselves in the middle of postpartum depression that isn’t severe (if you have the desire to hurt yourself, your baby, or anyone else, please see a doctor now) would be to do your best to keep healthy, get rest, talk openly about it, take as much as possible off of your plate, and then wait it out. The hormones will balance eventually and you’ll soon find yourself realizing that you’ve gone an entire week without a meltdown.
Shawn’s not here as I write this, so I won’t even attempt to describe what it’s like from his perspective. I know it’s not easy, though. I know he sometimes feels like he can’t ever do enough to give me relief and I can’t imagine how much this has worn on him for the past four and a half months. He’s a great man, though, and a wonderful husband, and there’s nobody else with whom I’d rather be taking this journey. If you’re a husband reading this though, I can describe a few of the things Shawn’s done that have helped. Perhaps most importantly, Shawn’s listened and held me when I’ve cried. It’s huge when he doesn’t try to ask me why I’m doing so much and adding to my stress, but just listens to me. He’s not complained about having to get up with Bug occasionally in the night, and he’s glad to take the baby from me when when I’m at my wits end.
Coletrane and I are slowly making up. He’s still as obnoxious as ever – barking way too often, chewing on Bug’s pacifiers, and pooping in the house – but my attitude towards him is starting to change again. He’s barking because he’s trying to protect J. Bug and I, he chews on Bug’s pacifier because he doesn’t know that it’s not his toy, and he poops in the house because, well – he’s the world’s worst dog. And I’m starting to love him for that.

camp-errific’:

I realized that my last post may have left you with the impression of a very rustic camp – what with the creek playing and lack of bathing and all. I want to assure you that our experience was quite the opposite. The staff cabin was wonderful and so much more than we deserved. Each room had two queen beds, dressers, and its own bathroom. Not to mention there was a common area with a living room and full kitchen. I didn’t take many photos of our accommodations, but you can see a little here:

[You can also see that Bear had fun taking every water bottle out of the package and laying it on our bed.]

We didn’t spend a lot of time in our room though. After all, there was dirt with which to play!

Shawn was heading up a leader meeting, so I kept the boys busy playin’ in the dirt and pickin’ flowers.

We spent a good 45 minutes playing in this here dirt, and I have to admit…I was pretty proud of myself. The fact that my sons amused themselves with just dirt and rocks made me feel very pioneer-ish:

Until Bear picked up his rock-cellphone and made a call.

Then quickly put down his cell phone to have a little snack on bark:

The good thing about camp, though is that there is never a shortage of dirt. And my boys LOVE them some dirt. There’s also never a shortage of Jr. High kids who are happy to spend a few minutes with my loves:

[This is actually Sarah, one of my Texas small group girls]

Likewise, we had plenty of friends to hang out with:

But when you mix dirt [or in this case, sand] AND friends, well…you have magic:

I had an hour and a half long conversation with a friend while we watched our kids play. Do you know the last time I had an hour and a half long conversation while watching my kids? 

Never. Ever, ever, ever, ever. I can barely string two sentences together before there’s a potty emergency/boo-boo/time-out/thirst/hunger/fight/squeal/etc.

It was pretty awesome.

I did NOT have any lengthy discussion in the cafeteria, though. Most of my “conversations” were yelling things over the noise and mayhem. Things like, “DO YOU WANT BISCUITS OR CHEERIOS?” or “QUIT THROWING YOUR SPOON AT HER!” and “STOP EATING THE BUTTER!”

Except I didn’t say that last one. By that point I’d given up hope and just sighed quietly.

My boys also got lots of quality time with the leaders, which was always sweet to see. Here’s Bug and one of our interns [Ben] listening intently to Daddy:

I should clarify. Bug’s daddy. Not Ben’s daddy. Just in case there was any confusion. 

Bug also conned a leader into playing ball with him:

I’d like to tell you this is the last post of camp photos, but I just can’t. Instead, I’ll tell you that I have a story to share in my next post. The story of the terrible, awful, no good scorpion who almost killed us all. 

Yep. Get excited.

camp-tastic!

Our adventures at camp last month were…well…an adventure. Camp is kind of one of my “thangs,” and has always been one of my favorite areas of ministry service. I attended as a kid, was on Jr. Faculty as a teenager, and spent a summer in the Pocono Mountains as a camp counselor. Until I gave birth to Bug I happily volunteered each summer at Shawn’s week of camp, but life just got crazy after that. I always entertained the idea of bringing the boys and attending camp again, but alas it has never been meant to be.

I was busting at the seams with excitement when Shawn and I decided that the boys and I would join Shawn [in the staff cabin] this year! The Jr. High camp is near Houston – about a five hour drive. In a stereotypical ministry-family move, we loaded up our boys in the 15 passenger van hauling a trailer packed with sound equipment and other necessary camp supplies. We headed out the day before the campers so Shawn and the camp band could set things up a little early.

 

The boys were excited. Or at least, they started out excited. Due to an unforeseen tire problem, we began our trip a good three hours later than planned. So the excitement waned a little:

We spent a lot of time in the play place at Chick Fil A, and a lot of time in the parking lot. I spent a lot of time trying to keep spirits high and tantrum-free. The boys were amazingly good and fell asleep shortly after their regular bedtime while watching Cars on Shawn’s iPad. Good thing, since we hit traffic, got turned around, and ended up arriving a good five hours later than planned.

Whatevs. All in a day’s work when it comes to ministry.

Camp is kind of a dream place for toddlers, though. It’s loud, it’s dirty, it’s non-stop, and there is puh-lenty of new stuff to check out. Like the rocking chairs outside the dining hall:

And the doors. Oh, the doors! These door handles double as a pull-up bar:

And then there’s the creek:

There were several other staff kids who came to camp, too – so the boys had plenty of friends:

The cafeteria is also a fun world of wonder. Bear especially liked eating the butter. Yep, straight butter. I’m sorry that I’m not sorry.

And then there’s the fun game of counting butter packets, and inspecting a basket with Mr. Matthew [who is one of my boys’ most favorite people on the planet.]

There’s also riding a child sized 4-wheeler. Bug got to drive one time, but he ran into a van. So he mostly remained an eager passenger on the back.

Bear and I sat on the steps and watched the fun:

If you’re not a life-long church camp-er, there may be an unspoken rule about which you are unaware. I’m about to break the code and speak of this unspoken rule, so are you ready? 

At camp, you’re a loser if you bathe every day.

Showering every day is for people who clearly aren’t used to the camp experience. Why shower when you can just wipe the sweat off with a wet wipe, am I right? When I worked in the Pocono Mountains camp, I showered literally once a week. We also had no electricity in our cabins, and I heard a black bear snortelling outside my window one night, so it’s mostly because I was too scared to walk up to the shower by myself.

However, even with the access to a daily shower, one must retrain oneself and bathe – at most – every other day. If one begins to get funky or smell gross, one may just spend some time in the pool.

It totally counts.

What’s that? You say you know now why my kids are all boys? Well. Hmph. I’ll take that as a compliment.

So naturally I strictly adhered to the aforementioned unspoken rule. I showered once myself and bathed our boys one single time during our four day stay. Shawn, however showered each morning.

Sucker.

If you do bathe every day, everyone will secretly make fun of you behind your back. Dude, I’m telling you. Swim once a day and wipe those pits with a wet wipe. You’re good.

frivolous friday

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 1, 2009

can you resist

…just eating up those cheeks?! If so, then you are a better person than I. My theory is that God put a magnet inside them, and my lips are absolutely powerless to resist. No sense fighting it – those cheeks are made for kisses!

Our friend Jenn from Photographic Memories took some more shots of Bug this past weekend. He was much more polite this time – refraining himself from peeing on her props and even giving her a few smiles. If you live in the Winston area, I would highly recommend Jenn. Check out the pricing on her website – that’s a killer deal! Once she has all of the images edited, I’ll pass along the link to the online album and those of you who also cannot help but swallow Bug’s cheeks whole (ahem…grandparents!) can feel free to print, frame, or make into a poster size to hang above your couch. 😉 For now, though, I thought I’d pass along a few of the pictures that Jen has emailed to me. There will be more coming soon!


SATURDAY, APRIL 4, 2009

a post while bug naps

Happy Saturday to you! I hope you’re finding time to rest and if you live in Winston-Salem, to enjoy this ridiculously nice weather. I’m in the process of washing cloth diapers and am excited to dry them on the line today (I’ve been drying them in the dryer…which I think makes them hold the smell more, or on the back of our kitchen chairs…which doesn’t exactly do wonders for our decor), and I’m thinking I might take Bug for a walk in the park a little bit later today. Shawn left yesterday to drive to Atlanta with a bunch of Jr. High students for CIY:Believe, so I got to bed a little earlier last night and am buzzing from that extra hour and a half of sleep (or it could be because I’ve had two cups of half-caff coffee as compared to my usual one…and I think I accidentally made it a little more caff than half this time).
I took Bug to the Doctor yesterday because our home scale was showing that he was steadily decreasing in weight and it actually weighed him at 12 pounds yesterday (compared to the 13 pounds it weighed him at about a week ago). I was concerned, but relatively un-freaked. It looks like our scale isn’t weighing him all that well – he weighed in at 12 lbs 12oz at the Doctor’s office. The Doc said he had gained about a half an ounce a day, which is well within normal range. Hooray! I had also noticed that he seemed quite reflux-ey lately and didn’t seem to be eating as well, so I talked to the Doctor about his medicine. I wasn’t sure if reflux medicine can just begin to lose its affect like that, but was assured that it can. She gave us a nine day sample of Prevacid to try. I think that’s the medicine that finally did the trick for my nephew, Asher. Hopefully Jude will grow out of this whole mess soon!

If you’ll allow me a brief aside, I need to let you know that as long as I’ve been writing this blog, I’ve pondered whether the “D” in “doctor” is capitalized or not. You may have noticed that I go back and forth between capitalizing and not…any grammar freaks out there know the protocol? You might wonder if I’ve also pondered the grammatical stability of my run on sentences that seem to abound. You may rest assured that I indeed do not. I’m a big fan of both run on sentences and incomplete sentences in my blog writing, as that’s how I talk. In runons. And incomplete sentences.

I think Bug is starting to stir from his nap, so I’ll add a few more pictures from Jenn. Enjoy them and then get out there and enjoy the beautiful sunny Saturday!

I would say this is the look he has on his face most of the time – inquisitive and adorable.

I’m pretty sure I’ll never get tired of seeing him in that hat. My little elf. 🙂

Shawn was super excited about Bug’s first Pittsburgh hat. Looks like Bug is, too!