On Tuesday, while on my way out to Dixon to visit a client -- I love calling my previous employer my client -- I cruised by a coffee shop. I had the files I’d be delivering stashed away in a Baby Einstein CD case clipped to Luke’s diaper bag. I was armed with teething toys, drool cloths, and diapers, with my ever-present co-worker (read: boss) fidgeting in his car seat.
It was holly jolly Christmas around here. At least it was mellow and pleasant. We attended a few parties and visited with family. I took every opportunity to drink spiced apple cider before it goes out of season, and I got myself a kiss under the mistletoe.
Luke is now officially two months old. He can smile. He entertains us with witty sayings such as, "A goo ba goooo um." He has a proceeding hair line, chubby little arms, and feet that I absolutely must kiss whenever I see them. He enjoys eating, watching the rotating animals in his mobile march in endless circles, eating, staring at Christmas lights, eating, and he prefers to be elevated and moving at all times. If you bounce him contrary to the beat in any music that might be playing in the background, he notices and complains. That's my boy.
Song for Binky
by Luke Atticus DeArmond
transcribed by Shannon Byrne DeArmond
My dearest friend
But prone to roam
Close to my heart
With a mind of its own
Slipping sliding hiding
Why do you stray?
Oh fickle friend
That would not stay
Oh Binky, Binky
My friend or foe?
Filling my heart
With untold woe
Crocodile tears I shed everyday
All for the Binky that would not stay
Many people have asked how the cats are taking our new family arrangement, especially Meeko.
Ben, for his part, barely seems to know that there is another person on the house. Aside from the fact that we are frequently holding something that makes us less efficient head scratchers, I'm not sure that he notices or cares. We could be holding a large sausage. In fact, a sausage would be more interesting. It might be salty.
Yesterday my son was sitting on my lap and I bent down and kissed him on the nape of his neck. "That's where the angel lives," I whispered to him. And then I paused. My grandmother used to tell me that. I had forgotten all about it until it popped out of my mouth. I never really understood it, but that's what she said. I had an angel that lived in the nape of my neck. I wonder where that came from. Is it from some story or legend that my grandmother read, or just some bit from family lore or her own imagination? Do I even remember it right?
Yesterday was my first day home alone with Luke. I was concerned initially. Nothing makes you admire the eight-armed octopus more than when your two measly arms are caught up holding an infant. We did well though. By noon I had us both dressed and I had even brushed my teeth and my hair and put on pants. I note this as a major accomplishment.
In the hospital, they put a security tag on a leg band around each baby's ankle that looks quite a bit like the kind you'd see on a pair of jeans in a department store. And there are matching wristbands for mom and baby that the nurses compare often. Mothers are encouraged to compare them often too, to avoid any mix-up, I suppose. This is probably some insurance-mandated security. I understand the sentiment and as a new mother I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a touch nervous in some respects. (I confess I don't like seeing anyone else hold him.
I'm back from outer space.
Well, not completely back, but visiting, anyway. Getting to the computer to write a blog has not only been difficult, but not high on my priority list in this last week. My apologies. Hello good friends.
Please welcome Luke Atticus DeArmond to the world. Our little family is slowly getting used to being three instead of two, and I'm slowing getting used to being one person on the inside and two on the outside, instead of the other way around.