Back in the Saddle Again

When I was growing up, we had this obnoxiously wonderful song playing in the background frequently...

That's me.

"Back in the saddle again... toting my old '54..." (Well, not really. I don't think anyone wants me "toting" a gun of any kind. My general disposition does not inspire "gun trust.")

I'm slipping into the patterns of motherhood, slowly but surely. I am constantly amazed of my glaring imperfections at the advent of every new life adventure. When I was 6, I was pretty sure I'd be perfect at age 14. After all, my babysitter was perfect.

14 came and went... no perfection. Then my new "perfection" age was 17. Then 23. Then 27.

I'm 27 now. My next "perfection" age is 30. But my faith is beginning to wain. So, somewhere in my early 20s, I switched to new "perfection" milestones... probably, I'd be perfect when I finished my undergrad. Nope. Maybe after grad school I'd have my life more organized. Nope. Probably, after I got married, some magic maturity pill would be swallowed. I think my husband can attest to the fact that that has not happened.

Motherhood was my next "phase." Well... folks... I'm still me. Still sinful. Still not wanting to match socks. Still leaving coffee cups (half finished) all over the house.

In part, I'm very confused. All the mothers I knew, (especially my own), were practically perfect in every way.

But as I fumble my way through night feedings, packing diaper bags, and scrubbing formula out of baby's soggy onesie, I'm finding myself less and less bothered by my imperfections. Oh, don't get me wrong, I would love to be perfect. Absolutely love it.

But I'm learning that that's not where my happiness lies...

Oops, but that's another blog post.

For now, suffice to say the following... We are busy.

I'm working longer hours at work as we switch to a new system of electronic medical records. Scott is counseling, working, or serving almost every night of the week. And babykins is working hard at wooing every lady who takes care of him... He's very blessed to be able to spend 3 days a week with Oma Blake and 2 days with Miss Whitney.

I hate having our house on the market. Cleaning is no longer fun. We are planning on moving (where? we don't know for sure... but I will keep you apprised) at the end of Scott's seminary degree. His last day of contract at the church is June 30th. (81 days, but who's counting?)

Babykins is growing like a weed. We're shooting for 25% at his doctor's appointment next week. He's currently on super-expensive formula (Nutramigen) and people have be amazing about collecting coupons, and generously gifting us with cases of powdered baby gold. He's rolling over, cooing like crazy, and has started this adorable baby belly laughter that makes me so happy. Grant loves to be read to (please use silly voices), but his favorite activity is "talking." (I'd say he was meant for this family...) He loves looking at someone's face for minutes on end and watching you talk to him. He gets so excited about this that he starts wiggling like an upside-down cockroach. (Not flattering, but true.) He has also recently discovered his fingers. Apparently just one finger isn't enough for him...

Yes, he is wearing Calvin Klein. Designer duds for our stylin' boy.

And with that cuteness, I will leave you.

Rest assured, I will try to blog more frequently in the days ahead. It's very hard to string words together when you're existing on 5 hours of sleep and a 50-60 hour work week...