It’s wild that January is almost over. Captain Laser Pants has a business trip to San Diego in a week and I am freaking out for a hundred reasons. I don’t want January 31st to come. One one hand I’m so proud of him for such a great career advancement, and on the other, I’m jealous and feel left in the dust. But that’s another post for another time.
Tomorrow 2.0 will be nine months old. He’s starting to wear 18 months clothing. He weighs over 21 lbs. He crawls, waves, shakes his head “no”, occasionally says ” hi”, and loves to walk with help from mom or dad. He still doesn’t sleep more than a few hours at once and my nerves are fried because of it. We’ve poured over baby sleep books, websites, tried advice and old wives tales, and nothing is “working”. We’ve even tried formula, which he dramatically coughs at and begins to scream like a banshee (no exaggerating here, he sounds like a demon from hell when he screams). It’s difficult not to compare kids, but mini Gwinn was delightful at this age (with a mane of glorious hair), sleeping 14 hours a night, talking, and never perpetually grouchy. Ugh. I just want him to be older, like, NOW. I haven’t even touched on the guilt I have for not being able to successfully divide my time and attention. It feels like mini Gwinn is getting the shaft, all the while still remaining a precious big brother and sweet little guy.
I turned 30, quietly, a couple weeks ago (partially because ten people remembered, six of whom were family). CLP took a step in the right direction in that he accomplished the act of remembering the date, but that was the extent of celebration. My mom and dad visited and brought a delicious lemon blueberry cake, a scrapbook she made of my life, and a gift card. Rather than raising my expectations of him, I’m just doing things for myself. We talked about it, it’s passed, no point in being upset (I’m almost totally over it).
I saw a therapist for postpartum depression, but she was the female version of Harry Carey. I’ll have to keep looking, but that’s a step in the right direction, I suppose.
Does anyone have any tips for cutting a three year old’s hair without traumatizing him?