fab five!

who's your baby?

I am constantly amazed that this big guy (the one is the dark blue) is my little baby cousin, Garrett. You know, the guy who is a sophomore in high school, a competent driver, a star on the football field, and a lady killer to boot. Don't get me wrong. All of these were predictable outcomes when we were staring into his little baby face not so long ago. It's just that I didn't think much about how he really would grow up (and up and up and up) and be holding my baby (like a football) someday.









I think that Jack is a lucky boy to have such a good role model in Garrett. Who else is going to teach Jack the rules of American football? Or how to throw a girl in the air (and catch her) while he's dancing. I'm not kidding...G's got some major tricks up his sleeve. Not only is Garrett funny and outgoing, athletic and smart, but he sure is good to his mother too.

life of the party.

This weekend, we made our first trip up to Dallas to visit the family. While it was a bit of a whirlwind (thanks Aunt Judy for staying up late to let us in at night) we had a great time and were glad to get to share in Zoey-girl's second birthday.


While the cousins weren't exactly immediate best buds, I think they'll grow to appreciate one another more and more every time we're together. By next year, I predict they will be partners in crime.
Now Jack has met most of the members of my family. Next up we'll tackle the British relations. (But as he cried from Waco to William Cannon, we'll need to work on his travel skills because Abergavenny is a whole lot further away.)

i'm the king of the swingers.

As the party was winding down, we stole away to the swings. These buckets looked like they were perfect for a first attempt at swinging (on a real swingset. we all know how the first real attempt at swinging went. ahem.)

Jack tolerated this quite a bit better. If he hadn't been exhausted, he might have even enjoyed himself. I enjoyed seeing my big boy looking so little in the swing. Time flies and I know soon so will he. In the meantime, Daddy and I are trying to enjoy this time when he prefers just a bit of gentle rocking.

mommy's little baby loves suppertime, sort of...

Here are an obnoxious number of pictures of Jack's
first attempt at solid food:

these are the cheeks that milk built.

first food: rice cerealthere is more to life than milk? i'm intrigued.

sceptical

dubious
disgusted
resigned
resolute
revolutionary

I tried to make it to six months without solids, but after more than a week of sleep regression (with J-baby waking up every hour and a half to eat), something had to change. Jack took his first few bites with skeptism. I think, though, that he has the Stafford appetite and willingness to try new things. By the end of his first meal, he was reaching for the spoon.

All the books tell you to watch for food allergies, and as I am a sufferer (strawberries, some yellow dyes, shark meat--long story for another time), I wanted to be vigilant about this. Jack ate a couple of "bites" and then started to sneeze and sneeze and sneeze. At first, I thought that it might be an allergy, albeit an odd one as mine present with hives. Then I realized it was just his way to efficiently get rid of the offending substance. Hilarious.

We haven't seen his sleep get significantly better just yet. I think that is because his schedule (and the number of ounces of milk he drinks at a time) are the same as they were three months ago. And he is about three times bigger.

I guess that with balancing the job and Jack, I sort of let what was working work until it didn't. We'll get sweetie baby sorted out before long. Once Daddy finishes school for the summer, we plan to get him eating in a way that makes more sense for a six-month-old. AND we'll get him sleeping in his own bed. In his own lovely little room. Maybe even through the whole night.

A girl can dream.

a bathtub full of baby

My mom was sure that Jack would be able to bathe in her bathroom sink on our recent visit. Jack, on the other hand, felt that it was all a little bit undignified. The rather cramped bath ended abruptly when he pulled at the faucet and got a surprise spray of cold water. (We're really learning a lot of lessons about what we need to keep out of little man's reach now.)

Tears before bedtime, indeed.

ducky, you're the one...

you make bathtime lots of fun.
oh, i'm awfully fond of you.

boy, boy crazy boy...

Jack is up to new tricks.

the big transformation

four months
17 lbs, 2 oz and 24 inches
90th (!) percentile for weight
25th percentile for height

This gorgeous guy had his four month well baby check up today and it was boys only as Daddy took little bitsy to the doctor all by himself. (I wonder if we can still call him little bitsy after this weigh-in.) While I was sorry to miss the appointment, I wasn't sorry to miss the round of shots. It hurts my heart to think about those.

For those who are counting, Jack is up about 5 pounds since his 2 month appointment and has grown a whopping fourth of an inch. So at 2 months he was tall and skinny like Daddy and now he's short and fat like me! The truth is I find this growth reassuring. He's definitely getting enough of what he needs to thrive.

We're going to wait a little while longer for solids, given that he seems to be getting plenty of calories.

In fact, one might even call him:

fantastic four!

Dear Jack--

Someday, when you can't wait to greet your daddy at the door for a game of touch rugby, I want to remember this time in your life--this period that is bittersweet in its brevity--in which the sun (or is it son?) rises and sets between you and me. Your little face is the first one I really see each morning and mine is often the last you see at night. That said, you hate to go to bed. You get this from me. Your daddy does not mind bedtime one single bit and on the rare occasion that he does fall asleep on the couch before he takes himself off to his room, it takes only a word or two and he shuffles away. You are not like this. You require more than a gentle nudge. You require lulling and singing and bouncing and shushing and still sometimes we find that the best thing is to let you tire yourself out (just a little) with tears before bedtime. Believe me, I understand the urge to fight it. I have been rebelling against bedtime for decades now. I have also been tired for about 25 years. So, I try to be patient with you because I know that even when you can't keep your eyes open, it's nice to feel like you are still in the thick of things, that you won't miss out on anything good, that you are safely within arm's reach of the action. For this reason, as we jiggle and rock and lay down beside you, I often find myself whispering in your ear that you are indeed safe and snug.

After all, we haven't given up swaddling you--even though you are probably getting too long and strong for this. It's just that your startle reflex still seems strong and it causes your little arms to fly over your head and wake you up at the sound of a loud laugh. And baby, there's plenty to laugh about in this house!

Actually, while you have a smile for just about everyone, you have been slow to laugh. We've gotten a couple of "heh heh"s out of you, but only after dancing around and shaking our heads like fools. Basically, you go in big for physical humor at the moment. On the other hand, you aren't really a fan of other people's laughter. Several times this month, a group of people has started to laugh around you and it makes you jump and cry. I am reminded of how it felt to say something in a crowd of grown-ups and have them burst out laughing when I meant to be serious. It can be hard to be a kid.

You're beginning to hold your own though--and some of my stuff along with it! You reached for some papers on my desk the other day and it was one more reminder of why your days at the office are numbered. (even though we really do love having you there. you have won the heart of even the most hardened baby-digusted. it's that cheeky little smile.) I'm excited that you'll spend the summer with Daddy and I'm excited to be able to type out a four line email in under an hour again, but I will miss you all day long. I just know it.

Anyway, you reach for things and grab them and bring them to your mouth. Often, you look like a puppy with a chew toy as you shake your head and a sad stuffed bunny writhes between your gums. (As an aside, I fear you may be an early teether.) You are ferocious in your determination to get what you want or to get going.

When things get really tough and you just won't settle, we take a walk outside. You watch for birds and cats and squirrels and suddenly you are quiet and contemplative. This makes me think that Daddy's prediction about you (before you were even born) could well come true. You may just be an eco warrior based in Australia. Well, if you are an eco warrior in Australia, little bunny, I will be peace that brings you home again. At least for Christmas!

love you always and always,
mommy

reading is fun-da-mental

jumping for the vertically challenged

My dad grew up in a small town. My mom grew up in a really big city, the kind that eats small towns for lunch. I was born in that same monstrous metroplex. This accident of birth may explain why my mom and I love sprawling malls and chlorinated pools. Meanwhile, my dad sort of secretly believes that the whole world knows that he is Roseby Wright's son and therefore should be afforded certain rights and privileges--the last room at a packed hotel, the freedom to pause rather than stop at an intersection. It's an attitude that amounts to: "civis campbellsvillus sum."

When I was a little girl, we spent at least a week each summer in Dad's hometown. We ate gigantic tomatoes and went calling on people and hugged on teeny-tiny great-aunts. I had a matching pair of them--Mae and Bootsie. They were my grandfather's older sisters and though they were in their seventies by the time I was born, they always seemed like perfect playmates. This was in part because of their propensity to get the giggles and in part because they were about my size. My grandfather, all 5'6'' of him, towered over them.

What can I say? We Wrights are a short people. So it should come as no surprise that once, we were sitting down to a meal at my grandparents' table and I wasn't really able to reach my plate properly. I needed a booster seat, but this was the 80s and people didn't have such things in their own homes. They didn't have bouncy seats either. It was the dark ages.

When my mother asked if we could use the phone book (a tried and true substitute in the big city) my grandparents looked baffled. Mom repeated the request until they acquiesced. The county phone book was about as wide as a standard bible and not a whole inch thick. Cue the giggles.

Jack has just about reached the age where he can start enjoying some slightly more "active" toys. He's just shy of four months and definitely more alert every day. He also reaches for things constantly and sometimes control his hands enough to grab and object and inevitably put it in his mouth.

One of my major sources of mother guilt is that when I am at work, we are always together and I get the chance to cuddle him and nurse him, but we don't do a lot of serious play. I think he gets bored by the end of the day and I know he gets tired of moving from one reclining position to another. So last night when we got home, we pulled out the jumperoo to give it a try and found a familiar problem. (Note the distance between feet and floor.)

Lucky for us, we remembered a familiar solution. It's just a good thing that our city is growing so fast!