Happy Birthday Chris

29 years ago today, in a hospital in Duluth, Minnesota, the world was blessed with the birth of Christopher Gregory Amys. And though we would not meet for many years after, my life was changed forever.

Hard to believe that this is his ninth birthday that we‘ve been together, with the first one spent drinking 21 pitchers of beer for $21 at One Eyed Jake’s in Iowa City. And while we’ll ring in 29 with slightly less debauchery, tonight we will toast to all of his many milestones and accomplishments we celebrated while he was 28. So Happy, Happy Birthday to the man who has made all of my dreams come true… and now you only have 365 days left of making fun of me for being in my 30s.

Like peas and carrots

We celebrated Memorial Day with an impromptu get-together at our house with some friends. Danny, Paige and Elliot came, as did Bobby, Chele and Chele’s famous crack-aroni, the most delectable, devilish homemade macaroni in Western North Carolina. A dish that is so cheesy and wonderful that if Chele wasn’t already my soul sister I would find an excuse to be her friend just to share the goodness of the crack-aroni. The weather was fantastic and we all had lots of laughs all while grilling meat, drinking beer and watching Elliot freak Ruby out in her Bumpo-chair.

It’s amazing how fast Elliot is maturing. It’s hard to believe that my itty-bitty Taylor-cakes will be that big and alert in three months. And although they seem so far apart in age now, in a short amount of time they will start to even-out and become the best of friends. Even though Paige and I have been forcing this BFF status while they were still swimming in our tummies, I’m confident we have many years of giggles and tea parties ahead of us.

It's all about the shoes

Check out Taylor styling her first pair of shoes that her Grandma Sue gave her. I had to pair them with her Ralph Lauren jumper, and now all we're missing are a baby set of pearls and a teeny-tiny tennis racket.

Our bullet in the chamber

So I mentioned last week that Taylor has fallen into the routine of having a total meltdown around dinner time every night. No changes there. Don’t get me wrong, she is an absolute angel during the day and I L-O-V-E my child… but five o’clock comes and you’d think I stuck her with pins. One comfort that always seems to work is to put her in the baby sling and wear her. Chris refers to it as the bullet in the chamber, our last resort. We’ll try rocking her, swinging her and singing to her, and if all else fails, put her in the sling.

Not that I mind her being in the sling. It’s comfortable, stylish and great to have her so close. But have you ever tried to cook dinner with a newborn strapped to your chest? Cutting veggies, boiling noodles and getting things in and out of the oven have become an interesting challenge. One bonus is that my thighs are getting super-toned from squatting down to get things out of the fridge. Plus I’ve learned to cut my prep-time down significantly. If I was on the Food Network, my show would be called 20-Minute Meals while wearing a baby and short-shorts. Take that, Rachel Ray.

Five o’clock baby blues

Taylor is five weeks old today and earlier this week we noticed a new routine she is forming. Kind of like the way Cinderella transformed from a princess to a pauper at the strike of midnight, our precious, zen-like newborn turns into a screaming monster about the time the nightly news comes on. And every time she starts wailing, I go through the checklist: Clean diaper? Check. Full tummy? Check. Burped? Check. Mommy putting her head in the oven? Getting close.

Sweet-baby Taylor at 4:58

Monster-baby Taylor at 5:02

When I told my mom about this timely transformation, she just laughed and referred to it as arsenic hour. My brother, sister and I were the same way. When I told Chris’s mom, Sue, about Taylor’s nightly freak-outs she said that both Chris and his brother acted out at that same time of night too. So why didn’t we read about this in any of the ten-million baby how-to books we combed through while pregnant?

Honestly, I’m starting to get used to the night by night melt down. Sometimes she’s comforted by being in the baby sling and me rocking back and forth, sometimes she’s comforted by being swaddled super tight and chilling in my arms, and sometimes she just screams bloody murder and nothing makes it better. But, to be fair, the longer she screams the better she sleeps. So it’s not all bad. And the five o’clock baby blues does seem to coincide with happy hour every night. Fluke? I think not.

So it begins

Taylor and I made a quick trip to The Fresh Market today to pick up a few odds and ends. I now know, of course, that any trip away from the house must be planned hours in advance to make sure she is fed, clean and agreeable. Gone are the good old days of jumping in the car, grabbing a few things and being back in time to see who’s eliminated on America’s Next Top Model. I now appreciate the wonderful convenience of drive-thrus and really wish they were a part of every destination other than the bank, the dry cleaner and Sonic.

We got into the car seat, on the road, out of the car, attached the stroller and into the store without any major disasters, but I knew I was pressing my luck. There is no longer any lingering in the produce aisle, chatting with the butcher or debating between exotic salsas, my shopping experience is now to get in-and-out as fast as possible. We went through check-out, paid and, since she hadn’t exploded yet, we ran out to the car and I got her clicked back in record time. After throwing the stroller in back and jumping in the driver seat, I spot the check-out girl standing on the passenger side. Holding my groceries. She gave me a look like I had one too many mimosas for breakfast, and I laughed and said, Well at least I remembered the baby.

Mini-me, you complete me

Studying Taylor after she was born, I could see some of my features and traits in her. Same nose, same feet, same mood swings when hungry. My parents also said that she looks a lot like I did as a newborn, and they scanned and sent me a few baby pictures to prove it… and, I must say, the similarities are quite obvious.

Let’s just hope that Taylor won’t channel the same awkwardness her mama did during her teenage years with big bangs and red Becca Thatcher glasses.

One month old

Hard to believe that Taylor is one month old today. Everyone told us to enjoy the first few weeks with her because they go fast… it is unbelievable how true that is. We can already see her maturing - She’s barely fitting into the newborn onesies, she’s trying to hold her head up and she is starting to focus on us and follow objects with her eyes. Last week she didn’t even notice the mobile on the swing of happiness, and now she is totally enamored by it. I also got a few smiles out of her this morning, which I’m pretty sure were REAL smiles and not gas.

I also must brag-on Chris and I for making such a smooth transition to parenthood. Chris is a machine - With golf season in full-swing, he’s working 8-12 hours days, six days a week, and still manages to calm my melt-downs, take care of Taylor and play with Ruby. He is by far the most driven person I know. I definitely tried to take on the role of Super-mom during the first few weeks, but out of pure exhaustion, I’ve forced myself to take at least every third day to stay home, heat up left-overs for dinner and just hold her and kiss her cheeks. These moments are flying by, and soon I won’t have an excuse for staying in my sweats all day.

Free at last

When my parents were in town I decided to celebrate with two glasses of wine one night, meaning Taylor had to get her eats from a bottle for the first time. Chris and I were nervous she wasn’t going to like it, to which she proved us wrong by sucking the entire bottle down at a mach-turbo speed. It was pretty amazing to watch her take down 20 minutes of pumping in less than 2 minutes.

It is nice to know that Chris is able to feed her now. Which means I can leave the house without her for more that two hours at a time… and, of course, that Mommy can finally have a margarita.

Bing Bing and Papa Don

About three years ago during one of our trips back to Iowa, my Dad declared to Chris and I that he was ready to be a grandfather. Not a big shock to us. In fact, it was rather obvious that both my parents and Chris’s parents had been chomping at the bit for us to have kids for quite a while. And now that we’ve produced something for them to spoil rotten, which is quite apparent from Taylor’s bursting closet, Chris and I have conceded that we have officially been notched down a few places on the totem poll.

My parents made the trip from Iowa to Asheville this week to meet Taylor, and we were lucky that my Granddaddy and Aunt Jane drove up from Birmingham to join us. We had a lot of laughs, a lot of wine and a lot of Taylor being held by her grandparents. In fact, she got really used to constantly being cooed and coddled, and right now I’m typing at a slow pace because she’s in my arms and will have a complete come-apart if I put her down… and I’m flashing forward to her as a toddler whining, But Grandma and Grandpa let me do it.

Swing of happiness

Because we have such generous friends and family, we have gathered quite the collection of baby swings, jumpers, bouncers and the like for Taylor. We tried putting her in one while she was having a come-apart a couple weeks ago, but she wasn’t having it. She did seem to like her car seat, so we would buckle her in and try to get as much done as possible before she realized we weren’t moving to the car.

Earlier this week, my dear friend LeAnn mentioned that she had a hand-me-down swing for Taylor that her daughter, Rell, had outgrown. We decided to give it a whirl and, lucky us, Taylor totally digs it. In fact, that night we strapped her in the swing and Chris and I both ate dinner at the SAME TIME. Yea for the swing of happiness!