Anytime we get Kole down to his skeevies, Ken will poke his belly button and say, "What's this? Huh? What's this?" The first time he did it I answered, "That's his belly button." Ken corrected me: "Ahh... that's where the Indians shot you."

I hope you enjoy the above posted picture of Kole in all his chubby dignity. I thought the bigger the photo the easier to observe the bullet wound.

Bubbas

I just watched Juno for like the 58th time. Anytime I see someone have a baby on a movie or TV or anything. I cry. Even when I know they did a crappy job portraying a birth. I think Juno does a decent job. But, without fail, when that new born comes out and is crying and so fresh. I cry. Every. Time. Any movie. Tears of joy.

I miss Kole being that small. This small.

Roost Reigners

Ken is only home on the weekends. So me and Kole have full reign of the roost. We pretty much do whatever we want. We can sit around all the livelong day and eat Oreos, watch old episodes of Friends, play Sudoku, and never get dressed. And the truth is we do. Sure we slip a walk in here and there. Occasionally we go visiting to some locals. But mostly it’s just me and Kole hanging out.
Our days start with the morning feeding- and a reading out of the book I am reading, A Prayer for Owen Meany. It’s a John Irving. I like it. Don’t worry I skip the bad words. I do talk to him like he’s my age though. Yup. Me and Kole. Just a couple of 26 year olds hanging out. He’s only 3 months old but he’s got an incredible sense of vocabulary. He’s a bit of a Chatty Cathy really. After he’s done eating he cuts my reading off and tells me about his dream. For like 20 minutes. Just on and on. We play on the floor for a bit. Koley Canoli cuts the small talk and tries to roll over. After a half hour he’s pooped and begs to be put down for a nap. He naps, I shower. (Sometimes I nap.) He gets up and we start from the top. Except this time I read one of his books. The Cat in the Hat Comes Back, or The Digging-est Dog, or a segment from O, The Oprah Magazine. Okay, that last one is another one of mine- but my likes are his likes and vice versa. Our days play out on top of each other. We take a walk around 3 or 4. Come in for some hot chocolate. His day winds up at about 8:30. A final feeding, a relaxing lavender bath, full body pjs and the little boy is out for the night by 9. I tend to the house. And then read some more of Owen Meany. Do I feel guilty for reading secretly when Kole doesn’t know? Yeah, a little. I realize he’s not getting the full story- but I do try to fill in the any major plot changes for him the next morning. I don’t want the poor little guy left in the dark just because he can’t stay up as late as me. I hit the sack about 10:30 and we meet in the morning around 8 for another day in Paradise.
Now, when Ken comes home the roost is… up-roosted. Pretty much the only thing that stays the same is Kole wakes up. Ken does the diaper changing. Nice change for mama. Tough change for Kolester. Literally. Dad is a little rougher than mom. When I finally manage to pry Kole away from Ken and put him down for a nap it lasts like 30 minutes…. maybe 35… and Ken sneaks in there and wakes him up. Right under my nose! I’d be in the shower or reading out back and all the sudden Kole’s up. And Ken is wondering why the little baby is crying. Uh… he’s crying because he’s tired. Because he was asleep and you woke him up. Sort of like when I get woken up. I’m a crank. My baby inherited that. So- back to the day. There are no naps. We still take our walk to try to get the baby to go to sleep. Great idea, Dad. Ken thinks the faster you walk the higher your chances are that the baby will fall asleep. It really just makes me exhausted. Kole gets fussier and fussier and fussier as afternoon turns into evening. He fights hard until 8. At 8 I feed him one more time, give him his bath, and put him to bed. He’s out in under 3 minutes. The house is quiet. Ken and I snuggle on the couch.
After 20 minutes, Ken suggests waking up Kole to play with him.
Oh Dad.

Nursing Bras.

A bra is intended to support a woman's body. To lift and separate. To add cleavage and self-esteem. My mom says that you don't need to diet. You just need to go tanning and get a new bra. That's the power a bra should possess. It should make you feel like more of a woman. It should add pep to your step and your confidence.
For these reasons I don't believe a nursing bra should be classified as a bra. It offers no support. It is basically like wearing a T-shirt that you can unfold. Lame-y. And is it just me or do you need the biggest boost of all after you bear a child? Sure you have a chest unlike any you've ever had but when you finally get the opportunity to dress up and go out- you put on your "bra" and it's Sag City! They hang down to your flabby belly button!
Now, I have given the old nursing bra a try. More than one. But yesterday was the last of it. Ken and I were taking Kole-son on a walk and Ken looks over and says, "You could put on a bra when we leave the house."

Yeah. I was wearing the trusty nursing bra. Apparently you can't tell.