Creme Brulee

Peter had his big check up today. We found out that at four months, he is in the 85% for height and the 38% for weight. Tall, skinny, Little Man. He's a lot like his uncles.

He had to have his shots, which weren't too traumatic while at the doctor's office, but he had a very dramatic experience reliving the scenario about five hours later. Out of the clear blue he looks at me, tucks out that lower lip (Scott knows this look well because it's the same face I make when I'm about to cry...), and lets out a waily shriek unlike any sound I've ever heard him make. 45 straight minutes of shrieking. I tried it all. The football hold. The tummy hold. Letting him stand on his own. Letting him sit in my lap... in the crook of my arm... on my chest... anywhere he wants! We tried a warm bath. We tried a bottle. We tried the binky. A nap. A swaddle. No swaddle. Bouncing. No bouncing. Fresh air. The car seat. The mobile. A book. A song. Silence. Nothing.

This kid never cries. I'm not an experienced cry-stopper.

Finally I found the right swaddle consistency... not too loose, not too tight... but just right Goldilocks.

I wrapped him up, laid him in his car seat, and rocked the chair with my foot while I took a badly needed rest on the couch and a glass of OJ for sustenance (my energy level's still pretty low these days). In the one minute it took to finish a glass of OJ, Little Man had tired himself out, and was asleep in his chair.

For safety, I kept rocking him throughout his nap... for two and a half hours! He skipped a feeding, but I didn't care. Sleeping... Eating... Sleeping.... Eating... I chose sleep for Peter. Besides, the doctor said he's growing just fine so I figure he can skip or postpone a meal.

Every fifteen seconds during that full 2 1/2 hours he'd let out a little sniffle. It was as if he was reliving the harsh experience and reminding me just how bad it was.

The rest of the night has been fine. He smiled a ton while I changed him, and it made me so happy to see that goofy little smile after such a rough episode that I started crying all over him. That probably sent a mixed message. We've had a touchy evening, and probably a long night ahead.

But don't worry. Even though Peter went down at 8:45, we decided we should stay up. Scott went to the store for some $500 root beer that he is overjoyed about, came home, accidentally dropped the root beer in the driveway, stuck out his sad lower lip, and went back for more. Then he did a stop by at my mom's for leftover dessert from her dinner party. So now it's 11:00 at night, we're sitting in bed eating chocolate creme brulee and lemon custard out of egg shells while we contemplate starting a movie. It might not sound that ridiculous to some, but when you know you're going to be up with the teething baby at midnight, you should probably go to bed at 8:45 when you have the chance.

But guess, what... I love it! And despite the complete turn-around in lifestyle, the sudden requirement to grow up, and taking all our cues from the newborn... we can't get enough of our little guy, and we can't wait get another.

This, right here, is the best part of life. I can't think of a single wonderful moment in my collection of all things perfect that even remotely compares to this.