Pavlov's got nuthin' on me.

I've learned over the last 7 1/2 months that babies are capable of an extraordinary array of noises. My son coos at the cats and his stuffed animals, blows raspberries until his bib is saturated with drool, whines and whinges whenever his need/want is not immediately gratified, complains in his car seat, ooooh's at random happenings, moans in his sleep, genuinely cries when he knocks his head against something (which, given how distressingly uncoordinated his parents are, happens often), and grunts determinedly when...well...you know. And these are just the noises produced by his mouth. Ahem.

But I think the most rewarding noise for us, and I'm assuming most new parents, is my son's laugh. Its amazingly wonderful to hear. And there's not just one kind! There's a different sound when he giggles at himself in the mirror, shrieks when playing "chase" down the hall, burbles when Daddy makes funny noises while trying to feed him yet another spoon of mushy baby food, and most recently belly-laughed upon discovering that he can snort though his nose.

Its also amazing the lengths to which we go in order to produce a laugh. Ten years ago when I met my husband, I would never have imagined him dancing and singing a silly tune while poking my giggling son's tummy. But now, my husband who claims he can't sing and who utterly refuses to dance will perform both actions as long as they provoke a baby-laugh. I find myself making the silliest of sounds (mostly variants of doo doo doo or Scooby dooby doo or ooh ooh ooh in a deeply-pitched tone - for some reason my son finds this particularly amusing) in parking lots, in shopping malls, in coffee shops and almost all public locations where the two of us wind up together. And lets not forget the one-man-band I become in the middle of the afternoon when its just the two of us; the baby and me, that is.

Baby-laughs are a powerful positive reinforcer. Perhaps I should record them and when I return to work, play them for any student who manages to complete their homework, show up to class on time, or does some other behavior I'd like to see continue. I could attach a speaker to the roof of the car and play the sound clips for drivers who wave when I let them in, who actually stop at the intersection when the light is yellow allowing me to complete my turn, and who wait patiently for me to finish buckling the baby into his car seat while waiting (vulture-like) for my parking spot. Perhaps I could even use the clip to persuade my husband to clean the bathroom sink after he brushes his teeth! Buh-bye little blue globs (sorry, hon)! Oh, the possibilities!

Cardboard Hell

Sitting at the computer at night is fast becoming a healthy way to collect my thoughts. Switch off the TV, put down the laundry, and just take a moment to breathe and reflect upon the day. Its also how I've started to avoid looking around the apartment and escape the rapidly escalating list of things to do.

We're in the midst of packing up for what will hopefully be our last move for the next 15 years at least. We've found a decent sized home that works for us, is across from a park, is close to transit and my workplace, and doesn't require a complete gut of kitchen and bath (which is more than I can say for most homes we looked at in our price range). I should be excited! Yay, more space than our bursting-at-the-seams apartment! Instead, I look at the chaos that is my living room and cringe. Half-finished boxes, piles of packing paper, partially empty cupboards, and permanent markers are strewn about all indicating areas where we'd been fitting our worldly goods into a 3-D jigsaw puzzle, much like playing Jenga in reverse. My shower is stacked with boxes of goods that are now out of their rightful locations, tucked behind cabinet doors. And everything seems half-done. That, I think, is what is truly bothering me the most. The half-finished state I see everywhere I turn.

I know we can't complete any room right now. Realistically we still have 3 more weekends of packing prior to the move and we can't decommission any room right now. I suppose we could complete the kitchen, eat out for the next 4 weeks and pretend we're on holiday but our local eateries are limited at best. One bathroom is mostly done, but the other remains rather essential. And everything else, well...we just can't finish for now because most of everything we have out is stuff we use on a regular basis. So our home is a mess. It looks like a packing fairy buzzed in, engaged in a packing bender, became inebriated and vomited up a mass of partially packed stuff in every room of my home. I wish that darn fairy would come back and finish up the rest of the job.

Oh, and have you ever tried packing with a baby in tow? I swear, I almost put my son in a box today and sealed it up. If you ever want to feel like you're making progress on a mental to do list, packing up a home while taking care of a teething baby is not something I would recommend.

4 more weeks. Sigh...

Why do they call it "sleeping like a baby?"

I'm sitting at the computer, the baby's asleep (finally) and my husband is out picking up a few essentials. I'm sitting here, scowl on my face, shoulders bunched, and I'm mad.

Why is it that the people we love become such targets for our anger and yet we'll rationalize the poor behavior of complete strangers without a second thought? My husband can make me so irrationally irritated over the smallest things. I will blame him for events completely out of his control, knowing while I do so that I'm being unreasonable. And yet, I still get mad. The baby was almost asleep for the night, nursing contentedly and then the cat meows for my husband's attention. A quick "shush" apparently being insufficient for her liking, she then chirrups out an entire chorus of noises which I can only assume translate into a "Look at me, Dad, look at me!!!" somewhat like an undermedicated 5 year old at the playground. The baby, of course, is completely distracted and stops nursing, eyes wide open, body twisting and searching for this new, non-sleep related noise. And what does his irked (albeit somewhat sleep deprived) mommy do? Why, she blames the daddy, of course!

So I'm sitting here, after getting the baby to bed forty minutes later than normal, knowing that I have no reason to be angry and should I attempt to look at my mood in a rational manner will cease having any justification to be in such a state (though I suppose that one could argue by writing this post, I am making an attempt to look at my anger in a semi-detached way). And yet, I'm still mad. Anything my husband does is irritating, anything he says makes no sense, and his very movements seem engineered to drive me nuts. I don't want to hear anything he has to say, and I have no desire to spend my words on him. In fact, I want to throttle him for deciding to rearrange the kitchen cupboards to make baby food storage more convenient, now, after the baby's finally asleep (have I mentioned that we have an open-plan apartment?).

And yet I know, really, he hasn't done anything wrong. And I know, really, that he's put up with a lot of cr*p from me. And I know, really, that I put up with a lot more cr*p from total strangers without batting an eyelash. And I know, really, that he is my partner, my love, my very best friend, my co-conspirator, my companion. And I know, really, that I won't be mad for much longer. And I know that what I really need to do is go to bed and sleep.