Birthday bash

Brody's very first birthday is coming up soon, and we're celebrating in style! Of course, all of our friends and family are invited, and, if you're reading this (and you live in Hampton Roads, Virginia), you've already been invited.

We hope to see you there!

Mom battles co-conspirators: baby and dog

My latest Daily Press column:

About four months into my marriage I told my husband that I needed a puppy or a baby.

"You’re great," I told him. "But I need something to take care of."

A few weeks later, we picked up our skinny, timid Weimaraner and named her Lady. My instincts took over instantly.

Family and friends were forbidden from giving her table food because it upset her stomach. We arranged baby sitters if we were going to be out for more than a few hours, and I let her snuggle in our bed despite my previous tirades against dogs in beds.

Two years later, we brought home another tiny bundle. This one wasn’t so skinny — he weighed almost 10 pounds — and his cries were anything but timid. Once again, my instincts took over.

I guarded my new baby’s food jealously, prohibiting everything but baby food and formula. The only arranged baby sitters were family, and the dog was kicked out of bed to make room for our baby.

My now-grown Lady was second string.

I anticipated that change and apologized to Lady in advance. I worried that we would have to give her up if the two didn’t get along. But I never imagined my two charges would work together against me.

That phenomenon occurred about the same time Brody began taking his meals in a highchair. He figured out that the sniffing beast under his chair would lick his fingers, and the sniffing beast discovered a whole new array of tasty treats.

To combat this dinner time conspiracy, I transformed into a contortionist of sorts, extending one leg to block the dog and reaching with the opposite arm to spoon feed the baby.
Apparently, I’m no match for this baby-dog duo.

Usually, I’m able to sneak most of Brody’s meat and vegetable mash into his mouth while Lady circles the table and Brody leans from side to side luring her with his sticky hands.

But there are times — more often than I’d like to admit — that the two outsmart me.

One particularly harried evening, the pair mastered their dinner dance so well — Lady had scored at least half-a-dozen drive-by lickings while Brody dumped out the entire contents of his baby food jar in an attempt to hand it to her — that I gave up dinner altogether.

"You feed him," I snapped at my husband as he walked through the front door. "I’m done with these two. It’s like they’re executing some carefully plotted strategy."

But, though the kinship was born at the table, it doesn’t end there.

All of our training efforts in baby-toy avoidance were lost once Brody was able to offer his toys. His bird-like call prompts Lady to come, and when he shoots out his fist full of stuffed animals, she gingerly accepts one and trots away. She even begrudgingly shares her bone during those mom’s-not-looking moments.

And for a few bizarre moments, I’ve caught Brody acting more like a dog than a human.

During his favorite imitation, he crawls around the house with a toy dangling from his mouth. And whenever the doorbell rings or a stranger walks in front of the house, Brody is right alongside Lady "arf-arfing."

On the positive side, my 8 tennis-ball-obsessed dog has found a new playtime partner, and the two of them occupy each other for hours. Brody has become quite the pitcher, even impressing a few older playmates with his launching skills.

Even so, I worry when I read stories about dog bites, and we’ve been working on petting Lady "nice" and "easy." But I think Brody has found himself a best friend.

Happy Anniversary

Happy Anniversary Sweetheart. I love you.

Your Husband Duane

PS. Scroll over the cookie Monster :)

The best three years of my life

Who said marriage isn't all bliss? Duane and I have been married for three years now, and it's been the best three years of my life.

We celebrated our anniversary (June 17) with dinner at Bonefish Grill (yummy!) and some music by The Fray at the Virginia Beach Amphitheater.

Small steps give first-time mom parenting confidence

Here is my latest Daily Press column:

When my little boy pointed his tiny index finger at his crib, I nearly wept with joy. Then I called my mom. And the next day, I gave the full report to my co-workers.

It’s taken 11 months, but Brody has learned to accept his bed.

He’s always been a reasonably good sleeper — as long as the setting is perfect. In his world, there’s nothing better than being nestled in his mother’s or grandmothers’ arms, and there’s no reason to accept anything less comfortable.

Since he is the firstborn — of the grandchildren, too — we all have the time to carry him like a miniature sultan from place to place. And all three caretakers (his two grandmas and me) cherish our afternoon snugglefests while Brody sleeps next to us.

"He’s only a baby, after all," we tell each other.

But as he neared the 1-year mark, those infant wails transformed into toddler tantrums. I had seen this day coming, and I was dreading it — the day of discipline.

I’ve always appreciated parenting theory, and my husband, Duane, and I would discuss techniques even before we were married. Children are not capable of deciding what is best for them, and parents should have the backbone to enforce the rules.

Fine, but he’s just sooo cute.

I began to worry about my discipline chops when I realized that I have no control over our 3-year-old Weimaraner, Lady. Sure, I watch "The Dog Whisperer." I just haven’t figured out how to be the pack leader.

Those doubts have flickered in and out of my mind since Brody was born and are likely one cause of my discipline procrastination.

But not everyone in my family is an enabler. Brody’s Uncle Shawn and Aunt Amanda — both in their early 20s — have made it clear that they won’t accept a spoiled nephew.

"You’re not going to let Brody act like you-know-who," Shawn says, referring to an atrociously misbehaved relation.

"Of course not," I offer weakly, trying to figure out exactly where "you-know-who’s" parents went wrong.

So, I took my first stab at it by giving Brody the firm instruction "No."

After a few tries, Brody understood that "No" also meant "Don’t touch those TV wires," and he easily complied.

No tears, no tantrums.

"I think I’m good at this," I told myself with a sigh of relief.

Then it was time to schedule a reasonable bedtime. It was high time this child was put on a toddler’s routine and a toddler’s early bedtime, my mom reminded me, daily.

We settled on 8:30 p.m. and set about the experiment.

Three nights into it, Brody was falling asleep in his bed on his own accord. No more rocking until his arms flailed to the side and his mouth dropped open. No more laps around the pool table or early bed times for mommy as Brody fell asleep in her bed.

And it was one night during the routine’s second week that Brody sat up from my lap and pointed to his bed.

Holding my breath, I laid him in the bed and watched him snuggle down into it.

"That’s right," I thought, giddy and breathless. "I’m the mom. I’ll say when you should go to bed, and you’re going to like it."

Now that I have a few parenting triumphs to my name, I’ve developed a bit more confidence. Most recently, we’ve learned that pointing and grunting does not mean mommy will tote you wherever you please, and screaming for a cookie (the dissolvable variety) does not result in a tasty treat.

All that’s left to cover is back talk, dating and driving a car.

STOP THE PRESSES!

Brody took his first real steps yesterday! He'll be cruising before we know it. Brace yourselves!

Young mom's baby reminds her of youth, then and now

Here is my latest Daily Press column:

Recently, I caught myself clucking at the office printer.

My father-in-law has a few chickens in a coup at his South Carolina house, and we’ve decided that "cluck" is the first animal sound my 11-month-old son should imitate. That and "woof woof" so he can play with our Weimaraner, Lady.

It seems, though, that I’m taking away more from these lessons than Brody, since he hasn’t deemed it necessary to cluck like a chicken, yet.

But regurgitated farm animal sounds aren’t the only evidence of my backslide into babyhood.

Since Brody first scooted across the room on all fours, I’ve rediscovered the thrill of crawling through the house in search of the wild wonders of domestic life.

On our side-by-side adventures, Brody and I maneuver to the top of the stairs and slip our way past the spilled water from the dog’s bowl. The magic of a flickering hall light keeps us occupied for no less than 10 minutes and a bucket of fishing crickets is not something to shirk from, but to dive into.

Laying cheek-to-cheek on the floor, we browse our favorite book about a sad bumble bee who can’t understand why humans run away from him and giggle when I take his pacifier and put it in my mouth.

And when I collapsed with laughter after my signature waddle/crawl/bunny hop, all done with a pacifier in my mouth and eyes rolling around in my head, I realized I had turned into a baby.
It’s not exactly that I’ve recaptured my youth — I’m only 24 — it’s that Brody reminds me to cherish it.

While I’m playing with my son, I see the world from his vantage point. And it’s a goofy, strange world. The space underneath the pool table is the perfect setting for a fort and the feet of the kitchen table are not only shaped like lion’s paws, they’re as big.

At times, I become so absorbed in my baby’s world, I forget that there’s an adult land waiting for me when the games are over.

As a child, I was always ready for the next step. Like most kids, I thought that bigger was better, and I was ready to grow up. It still irks me a little bit when someone reminds me that I look like a teenager. (I know, that’s almost as bad as Jessica Biel complaining that she’s too beautiful. Boo hoo).

But I wanted to play with the big boys in a big boys’ world.

That meant instead of dolls and Barbies, I asked for gifts of office supplies so I could realistically play the part of a lawyer or real estate agent. Interior decorator was another favorite role.

I sat for hours arranging my desk, neatly placing date stamps on important documents and making phone calls to other very important, very busy pretend lawyers.

I even considered law school as a way to live out my childhood games, but the reality of adult land prompted me to change course.

Now, the childish games that once bored me are exactly the amusements I seek.

Maybe it’s the sparkle in Brody’s eyes when he laughs at our peek-a-boo games — a sparkle my husband says only I can see because I’m his mother — that draws me into a child’s pretend world.

Or maybe it’s the fact that our contorted faces and high-pitched baby babble makes me laugh even harder than Brody.

Whatever it is, it goads me into playtime when laundry is stacked halfway to the ceiling and I should be thinking about a well-rounded dinner instead of another frozen pizza.

I may not remember having this much fun playing peek-a-boo when I was a kid, but there’s nothing else I’d rather do now.

Duane caught a big one!

Here are the photos of the prized Large Mouth Bass Duane caught in the cove behind the house in Elizabeth City, N.C.


If you look closely, you'll see that we had to have Wesley tow us in because our john boat motor died. Yes, I am holding the tow rope by hand.

That's a 22-incher, and we're guessing it weighed around 6 pounds, at least.

And at 22 inches, that fish was just about Brody's size! He wasn't sure what to think about that.

Memorial Day Weekend fun

Here is a montage of pool pics from our fun weekend in Elizabeth City, N.C.

Papa and his little man in the pool.

This is Brody's way of shaking your hand. Once, he made my nose bleed.

Brody and momma (one of our few pics together).

Brody had a good time in the pool with cousins Stephanie, Chris, Tanner, Wesley and Rachel.

Happy Memorial Day Weekend!

The Paitsel clan is heading to N.C., so look for lots of fun in-the-sun pics next week!

Chaos is worth it for first-time mom

Here's my latest Daily Press column:

I had a brilliant idea at 3 a.m. one Monday morning.

"Every teenager should spend one night of his high school career with a teething baby," I thought as my 10-month-old son wailed, and then whimpered, himself to sleep for the fourth time that night.

For the abstinence message to really stick, they should take a midnight field trip once a year for each of the four high school years. Then, the memory of an inconsolable baby would cling to them like the powdery garbage smell of a bursting Diaper Genie.

For a follow up assignment, these pretend teenage moms could take the baby shopping. He might not cry the whole time, but forget about wearing a cutesy outfit with the new shoes they just bought. He’ll be sure to vomit all over them.

And tell them not to worry if they didn’t bring any burp cloths. Just try to mop it up with a few diapers, and smile weakly at the glaring sales associate. She should understand.

But the assignment isn’t over, yet.

Dare them to steal a moment or two with that boyfriend (Remember him?). See if they can get past "hello" before scooping the mobile monster out of the fireplace.

Throw dinner into the mix and ask them to balance a barely-walking baby who is clinging to their pants and a pan of biscuits. Advise them that one, or both, of those items will fall onto the floor.

And here’s a multiple choice question: Which of these things will keep the baby occupied during dinner? (A) A baby Bach CD, (B) An assortment of rattles, (C) A cookie (D) Three cookies, a frozen strawberry, seven rattles, a dog and a few celery sticks (if you keep dinner to a 30 minute maximum).

Extra credit?

Send them over when the baby has a fever and won’t stop vomiting his sweet potato and chicken dinner. They’ll need to stand inside of the shower so the dripping spew doesn’t ruin the carpet. There are bonus points for finding the on-call doctor’s phone number and administering the correct dosage of medicine.

It took me about 30 minutes to create this curriculum (all based on recent memory), and in my brain-addled state, I thought it was a pretty clever idea.

By then, my 10-month-old was calm and sleeping again, gaining a moment’s respite from the ravages of a sharp tooth prying its way to the surface. And in my sleepy eyes, that little ogre transformed back into my "love bug" — a nickname I’m sure he’ll despise in a few years.

Sure, spending a day with a 10-month-old would probably keep a teen girl (or boy) firmly in the abstinence camp for a few days. But, if she spent a few hours observing the mother, she’d find that against all reason and logic, that mother deeply loves her smelly rascal.

On second thought, maybe it would be easier just to show those lust-driven teens a labor and delivery home movie.

Happy Mommy's Day!

Here is my pre-Mother's Day Daily Press column:

Once he became mobile, it didn't take long for my 10-month-old son to get into a few messy situations.

Most recently, he darted into the pantry where we keep the trash can. Before I could shout "Bye!" to the person on the phone, his little hands were searching like an elephant trunk for garbage goodies, some of it sticking to the corners of his mouth as I snatched him from the dirty corner.

There's also the shoe-licking incident -- I can just see my mom cringe as she reads this -- and the times he's collected a mouthful of fur after tasting the dog's short-haired coat.

So far, I've forced myself to handle these situations with a calm "oh well" and, usually, a bath. Life is just going to get messier, after all.

That's what makes me nervous. If I can't keep my son out of the garbage can, how am I supposed to teach him to stay away from strangers or to choose the right friends?

Of course, that's a logical -- or, rather, illogical -- leap that only a new mother can make. But these daily messes, otherwise known as failures in a mother's mind, sucker punch the ego.

While some friends chat on Facebook about their 7-month-old's potty-training success, and others are busy teaching their infants multiple languages, I'm running like a maniac to keep my kid out of the grungy kitchen corner.

In my pregnant daydreams, I was the mom that would teach her baby sign language. We'd laugh and play -- only with educational toys -- and end the day snuggled up to a storybook, also educational.

That dream has played out on a few occasions, but most often I'm sprinting through life trying to fit everything into the schedule.

I'm saddened by that sometimes, but mostly I've gained a new level of appreciation and gratitude for my own mom.

At 24 years old, I haven’t been out from under my parent’s rule for very long. It was a traditional home, one where the parents ruled supreme and the kids worked subtly (we thought) to gain some ground.

As a bratty teenager, I made it a point to highlight my mom's flaws, but even then, I knew she was working day and night in my best interest.

Now, as I lie in bed evaluating parenting techniques and worrying about ear infections, I understand that parenting doesn't stop at car pools and ballet recitals. It never stops.

As an adult, I hang on my mom's reminder that I'm doing my best, and my best is just fine -- even if she does cringe at the possibility of a germy situation.

So, in honor of her, here's an early Mother's Day present to all moms: If your kid isn't surfing through garbage right now, you're doing better than I am. And, most of all, you're putting your whole heart into being a mom, and that's what your kids will remember.

Tooth update

We've got a second tooth!

Happy Birthday Michelle!

Duane and I had a wonderful time at Kings Dominion this weekend with my cousin Michelle (now a mature 22 years old) and her husband Brantley. We've always lived so far away from each other, I don't think we've ever spent our birthdays together - so I was VERY excited to celebrate with her this year.

Brody apologizes for the lag in posting

As you can see, it's been a hairy few weeks.

Two firsts: One good, one bad

After nearly 10 months of blaming every fussy episode, drooly face and ear pull to teething, Brody finally sprouted his first tooth!

Unfortunately, that tooth was accompanied by a double ear infection, another first for him. So the little guy is experiencing his first tooth, his first ear infection, and his first antiobiotic all in the same week. It's been a tough week.

He's feeling a little better as long as we keep the Motrin in him, and I expect he'll be back to his old self in a few days. :)

Brody's first plane ride

Brody took his first plane ride this weekend to visit my dear friends in Hillsdale, Michigan. He got to meet Andrea, Sharon, Crystal and, a new friend, Hillary. He loved them all dearly and flirted shamelessly. I can see already I'm going to have my hands full when the time comes.

Here's how I described our travels in my Daily Press column:
Baby knows how to take advantage of uncomfortable flight

Here’s a tip: If your baby cries loud enough on an airplane, you just might get bumped to first class.

To give my 9-month-old son a little bit of credit, he behaved well through the first two legs of our flight to Michigan. It was the flight home that irked him.

It was two months ago that I cavalierly made the decision to take our first flight. Since we were going to visit one of my college friends, my husband opted out of the Easter weekend vacation. I couldn’t bear to leave our firstborn for a whole four days, so I made arrangements for him to travel with me.

I was a little nervous about the journey, but I didn’t worry too much since we only had two hourlong flights to endure.

As we strolled toward our departure gate, I tried not to acknowledge too many of the pitying looks and knowing nods from other glassy-eyed parents. How hard could it really be?

But those pitiful glances turned into glares backed by four-letter words as we chose a seat at the gate. Waiting passengers eyed Brody carefully, trying to ascertain whether he would turn this connecting flight to Philadelphia into the journey from hell.

And when he cried for a few seconds as I prepared his bottle, a few nearby passengers shifted in their seats.

"This is going to be fine," I thought, trying to console myself. "This is obviously a group of ultra-sensitive business travelers."

We boarded the plane, and my prayers were answered — a woman sat down next to us and immediately cooed at Brody.

We spent the remainder of that hour singing with an Elmo hand puppet and reading through a nursery rhyme book. One traveler even thanked us for the quiet flight as we deplaned.

And aside from a baby food episode that left my pants covered in applesauce, the second, and final, flight of the day also ended without the wails of a frustrated baby.

Admittedly, there’s a bit of a trade-off to keep an active 9-month-old baby quiet on an airplane. The passengers immediately beside, behind and in front of you endure endlessly repeated nursery songs, baby babble and, yes, some physical attacks.

I considered it a triumph, though, that the gentlemen in front of us only got slapped on the head once, and our patient seat-mate smiled when Brody smacked her with the safety brochure. Apparently, a physical assault is preferable to an assault on the eardrums.

So when we headed back to the airport four days later, I had a little more confidence. Brody and I were now experienced travelers.

This time, though, after 20 minutes of trying to keep my Tasmanian devil contained inside the tiny parameters of our seat, he decided this just wasn’t going to do. The wails started.

And, how embarrassing, here came the flight attendant.

As she picked him up, Brody’s eyes widened and he quieted. After a few seconds of looking out at the passengers seated around us, I saw him give a sheepish little wave, as if to say "Yes, I am the little boy making all the noise. My bad."

Keeping my head ducked, I maneuvered out of my seat and snatched the noisy little boy to soothe him in the stewardess’ holding area at the front of the plane.

After 30 minutes of standing, rocking and singing, I was looking helplessly for somewhere to sit down. That’s when we hit the jackpot. The flight attendant offered us an open row in first class to relax and play. My high-falutin’ Brody was now content.

As we both sat back infinitely more comfortable, I wondered for a split second whether Brody had been strategizing for this all along.

Sharon also memorialized her time with Brody on her blog. Check it out here.

You just can't have too many naked baby pictures

I try to refrain from taking zillions of baby-at-bathtime photos, but you just can't resist sometimes - especially when it's Daddy giving the bath. Here's one from tonight:

We live with a dinosaur!

This is another photo from the Mom&Me magazine shoot. No story to go along with this one, it's just a great picture.

A famous family

Some family members tease me about having a "famous" family member because my picture is in the paper a lot, and I've started appearing in short shopping segments on the local news. (I've only had one person recognize me so far, so "famous" is a bit of a stretch).

BUT, I'm bound and determined to make my family members famous! Brody has been in the paper a few times, and now his picture is in the paper bi-weekly with my column and on our Daily Press website to promote our Kids Picture Gallery.

He'll also be in this month's issue of the local Mom&Me magazine. I write the cover stories for that mag, and this month the topic is childcare. So, naturally, I highlight two of the most important women in mine and Brody's lives. Moms/Grandmas!

They had their own photo shoot, and here are two of the pictures. They turned out beautifully!

(Photos by Judy Lowery, Daily Press)

My first golfing experience

Brody recently met his great-aunt Jody and second cousin Lani (who calls herself Aunt Lani). Unfortunately, he was pretty cranky the whole weekend they were here (who knows why), but we did have fun on this putt putt outing at Portsmouth City Park.

We didn't get a picture of it, but Brody and momma chased a few geese with the stroller. The geese were surprisingly nonchalant about it.

And we all praised the Lord

Wonderful news today! Duane's cousin Megan became saved, joined a church and was baptised! We all went to her church this morning to see her baptism, and it was such an awe-inspiring moment. The preacher gave a great sermon on Salvation, and it was great to attend church with the whole Paitsel/Thomas clan.













Of course, Brody had to look his absolute best for this exciting moment. And, boy, was he pleased with himself!

An earlier Daily Press column

Here's a Daily Press column from about a month ago. Since this column, Brody has been out and about and loving it. He's even started swimming classes at the YMCA (which we both love!).

(This is the image that runs with the column every week.)

Even infants don't need to be babied

I've recently discovered that my 8-month-old son, Brody, is just like me in one specific way — he's a go-and-doer.

Recently, snow, wind and fears of the evil flu bug have kept my chunky baby boy sequestered at home for a little more than two weeks. It didn't take him long to mount an organized and persistent protest.

Admittedly, I'm a little embarrassed that it's taken me this long to figure out that boredom is the primary source of his fussiness. Brody has shown signs of "high intelligence" — according to a few sympathetic friends — since the day we brought him home from the hospital.

He howled when we strapped him into his car seat for the first time, a howl that didn't stop until my husband took him across the hospital threshold. And when he was just weeks old, bouts of crying could be immediately shushed by opening the back door and letting the sun shine on him. We started calling him our little outdoorsman, because fresh air seemed to be the miracle cure for our perpetually cranky child.

At barely 2 months old, Brody nicely weathered his East Coast family tour, making stops in Tennessee, South Carolina and North Carolina. It was only after we made the mistake of staying in one place too long that Brody's cranky side made an appearance.

"Oh, he's spoiled," says my grandmother, often.

That's partly true.

But I remember how frustrating it was when my mom would admonish me to be more like my little brother, Shawn.

"Shawn knows how to play by himself," my mom would say as I persistently requested playtime ideas. "You should learn to use your imagination like him."

Even now, I can't take a 15-minute drive without searching through my cell phone address book for someone to call.

But, as the old cliche goes, I have, in fact, turned into my mother.

This became even more clear last week as I interviewed potential baby sitters and reflected on the cocoon I've been weaving for the past eight months.

Petrified by coughs, sniffles and general ickiness, I've taught family members and friends to make a stop at the kitchen sink for a thorough hand washing before handling the goods. Trips to the grocery store are sanitized with cart covers and pacifier holders. My mother-in-law even covered her face with a surgical mask when she came home with the Christmas crud.

When he was born at the end of June, it was too hot to stay outside for any length of time. And then it was much too cold. Or windy, or raining, or flu season.

When I have no choice but to take him out of the house, I am always surprised by his good behavior. He carries on full baby-babble conversations while waiting in checkout lines and dutifully smiles at white-haired grandmothers whose children live in different states.

He watches, interested as I explain the contents on the cereal aisle and point out the screaming toddler a few feet away."That is not how good little boys act," I whisper to him encouragingly, a technique borrowed from my mom. "I would never do that," his round, brown eyes relate.

So when a family friend wanted to take Brody shopping, I encouraged her. It was getting warmer, after all. And when Brody's behavior issues vanished after a few days of regular outings, I knocked myself in the head with exasperation. How could I be so blind?

In my effort to protect him, I did what I always said I would never do — I babied him. I babied an 8-month-old little boy so much, he couldn't stand to be stuck in his house for one more day.

So, as I let him roll around in the grass and dirt over the weekend, and packed him up to head to the store at 7:30 p.m. one night, I worked hard not to cringe. I even laughed when he almost stuffed a ladybug in his mouth.

And as we embarked on our new adventures, I made a silent promise. "Brody, flu season, or not, I will never lock you up in this house again."

Back from my sabbatical

So it's been about a month since I've posted anything, and I've caught some slack for it. Here's my official apology.

And here's my latest column: (I have two other columns to post from weeks past).

My husband recently announced that his co-worker’s daughter — who is two weeks younger than our 9-month-old son — was not yet crawling.

"But she has a tooth!" he added.

He immediately rubbed his index finger along Brody’s top and bottom gums, searching for any sign of enamel struggling to poke through.

Feeling a bit assaulted, Brody pushed his daddy’s hand away as Duane declared, "No teeth yet!"
And so the comparisons continue.

Brody may be a little short, but he’s showing signs of early walking. He doesn’t have any teeth — though we’ve blamed his crankiness on teething pain for months — but he’s learning to make new sounds every day. And since his birth, we’ve proudly announced that his 9 pounds, 12 ounces made him the biggest baby in the nursery.

I like to think of these comparisons as "baby de-briefings," and it’s an activity I share with first-time dad, co-columnist and desk mate Mark St. John Erickson nearly every day. I can tick off most of 7-month-old Owen’s statistics as well as my own son’s.

But when a co-worker quietly referred to our stat swapping as a competition, it threw me off balance.

Surely, I’m not the "Toddlers & Tiaras"-style buxom blond who buys backless formal gowns and fake teeth for her 7-year-old pageant princess. And I haven’t had the chance to yell, "Hustle up, son!" at Brody as he chases a soccer ball toward the goal.

But I suspect the first step toward membership in the shoutin’, growlin’, yell-at-the-ref parents’ club can come much earlier than that.

Just minutes after birth, doctors award the very first score comparing your child’s physical appearance and response to that of other newborn babies. And that first tinge of pride swells when the doctor scribbles a 9 — 10 being perfect — on your new baby’s chart.

For my husband and me, the accolades continued as a steady stream of family and friends filtered through our hospital room for four days, counting fingers and toes, gushing over Brody’s enormous jowls and stroking his dark mop of hair.

And as nervous as we were to be new parents, Duane and I knew we were miles ahead of the cursing couple two rooms away.

We had more to gush about when the pediatrician placed Brody in the 90th percentile for height and weight. This was definitely the right path to his future success.

When Brody started rocking on his hands and knees, our excitement over his development surpassed any focus on growth. It took weeks of fits and starts, inches at a time, before he scooted across his bedroom floor so fast it took my breath away.

And now, as we watch him grab, stand up and step from one piece of furniture to the next, we’re sure that he’s months ahead of his peers in the pursuit of walking.

These milestones and his happy smiles are the only signs we have that we’re not failing dreadfully at the mystic art of parenting. But there’s also a whisper of fear behind them. Now that we’re largely past the risk of SIDS, we see autism, attention deficit disorder and developmental delays hovering as question marks every time Brody stumbles off course. There’s also some comfort, however, in knowing that someone else’s baby took that same step backward.

But is it obsessive competition? No. Parents of similarly aged babies are likely the only ones who can really understand your feeling of triumph at an inch added to height or the fact that your baby fell over and didn’t cry this time.

And only they can join you in wondering exactly who would win a baby wrestling match — (Answer: Brody may have the edge with his Buddha-sized belly, but lanky little Owen has mastered his commando-style escape plan).

A prayer request

My grandpa - Don Stanley - has been in the hospital with what we think is a severe bladder infection. He's had a hard time the past few days, and we'd really like to ask you to pray for him.

Love you guys!

Hungry?

Eat a Snickers! HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY FROM DUANE, NICOLE, BRODY AND LADY!

Please stay little...

Here's my latest Daily Press column:

"He’ll be heading off to college before you know it," a church friend reminded me last week.

It’s a popular piece of advice handed down from experienced parents to new ones. And every time I hear it, I feel that interior tug-of-war I suspect will hang around from now on.

My son Brody was never really "little" by industry standards. He made his debut at a chunky 9-pounds-12-ounces, and he stayed voraciously hungry.

In fact, since we’ve gotten over what column readers will remember as the "bad apple incident," he’s only turned his nose up — or, more in his fashion, screamed at — green beans.

So it was hard for me, a working mom, to keep up with his nursing demands. But we did it for 7 months. Well, more like 6 months.

I hung on to nursing him once a day that last month just to maintain his "nursing baby" status. And I hated the fact that when we skipped it one morning, he didn’t even notice.

But I was ready for him to have a little independence, theoretically.

The same goes for our new trick — "up." My mother-in-law and I coaxed Brody to reach out to us from the beginning. And I love the feeling I get when my wide-eyed little boy stretches his arms to the sky and coos — and then shrieks when you don’t move quickly enough — to be picked up.

Yes, column readers, Brody is spoiled. There, I’ve admitted it. But I’m not ready for time-outs and spankings. I know that his frustrated grunts and bursts of temper will have to be met with sternness eventually, and I’ve been warning him that the free ride is teetering dangerously close to the end.

And then I see my pre-teen cousin roll her eyes at her parents, and her older brother lock himself in his bedroom to talk on the phone. It’s been a while since they wanted "up."
I even tried to volunteer a parenting public service act by reminding that pre-teen cousin of her baby days.

"You were little like Brody once, and your mom took care of you and loves you just like I love Brody," I told her as she watched Brody and I play peek-a-boo one evening.

She walked away.

So, for a few more months, I’ll enjoy the time I have to spoil my little boy with reckless abandon. I’ll rush over to him when he cries to be picked up and put off the dishes to play with his green, caterpillar-shaped Alphabet Pal. And while I help him learn how to crawl, I’ll cross my fingers in the hope that he’ll still want to cuddle quietly in my lap.

God-willing, Brody will head off to college some day. But, for now, I’m going to close my eyes and pretend that’s not going to happen.

(I'll add a picture to this post later tonight).

Brody meets Isabelle

Brody met his adorable 20-month-old cousin Isabelle and her mom (my cousin) Michelle this weekend - they got along great! Here are some pics:

My profile looks really weird in this second picture, but Isabelle is so cute, I had to post it anyway.

Also this weekend: I disappointed cousin Allison with reports that I could not get Robert Pattinson's (actor from "Twilight") autograph even though I have interviewed his stunt double. I'm sorry Allison!!!

Leave Brody and Duane alone for one minute.....

And he has Brody hooked up to the computer!

Does anyone else think Brody looks like he's asking for help in this second picture?

(Sorry for the long delay between posts Brody fans - we've been busy this week!) But there are lots of new pictures to come, and I'll be finishing up my latest Daily Press column tomorrow afternoon).

The little love bugs

My two little love bugs are getting along really well - this morning Lady was helping teach Brody how to crawl. He is so interested in her bone, and everytime she chews on it he gets tickled. The two of them were so cute playing together this morning.

Pool shark

Here's some cute pictures of Duane teaching Brody how to play pool:

"Daaaadddd, I KNOW how to do it!"

"HOAH! I win!"
"You wanna go again, big boy?"

Trying to get some free stuff

Since a big part of my job consists of searching the Internet for deals and shopping in brick and mortar stores, I've become somewhat of a shopaholic. One site that I go to virtually every day is Hey! It's Free. Everything I've seen on that site has been a valid freebie, and there's some great stuff out there. I sent away for a religion book, got a Betty Crocker calendar and learned that Krispy Kreme was giving away free doughnuts on Election Day - that one was yummy.

So if you have some time, check out that freebie site, and see if there's anything you can use. But, remember, I check the site often, so I'll know if you get me a freebie present ;)

Thanks for all of the comments!

Duane and I LOVE the comments! Thanks for posting, and please continue - we check them every day when we can. :)

Short update: Brody tried sweet potatoes for dinner tonight. His new taste dance was livelier than ever. (He shuts his eyes and shudders whenever he tastes something new)

Brody goes to work

Brody is a star now that he appears in the newspaper every other Sunday (in my First-time Mom column). So, the editors thought it would be a good idea to have a mom-son photo shoot and include our picture with the column (I'll post that picture, soon!).

What I didn't expect is that Brody would get more work done than I do at my desk. :)

It's a typical day in the neighborhood

Here's a pretty typical Paitsel evening: Dad and Mom get home in the evening and spend time eating dinner, winding down and playing with little B-man. Last night, Duane got in a game of pool, and Brody learned a few tricks from the master.

Meanwhile, Lady checks to see if we've left any dinner crumbs on the table.

Now, it's Ariel's turn at the pool table. Brody watches in interest.

Brody takes a bath - this time he didn't mind his hair being washed! (I guess that whale tasted so good, he didn't care about the water being dumped on his head).

Brody's journey into the world of food

We've been pretty busy this weekend, with Aunt M (Amanda) visiting Friday-today and Nanny (Becky) visiting Monday-today, and we've had a great time (all except a brief situation with dog poop).

Brody also had a big weekend, as he was introduced to solid foods for the first time. Here's my most recent Daily Press article about it.

"It was weeks before I would talk about it. I kept hanging on to this superstitious feeling that as soon as I told someone, he would quit doing it. And he did.

It took my 7-month-old son 189 days (six-and-a-half months) to sleep through the night. As a working mom, I was pleading with him to get a good night’s sleep, so I could too.

Browsing mommy forums gave me some comfort, since many moms were begging the online community for help lulling their 9-month-olds into a deep sleep. Mine was only 6-months-old, so I figured we were doing OK.

And then magic happened.

He slept through the night once, and my husband, Duane, and I woke up grinning.

He slept through the night twice, and we rewarded him with kisses until he pushed away.

He slept through the night three times, and we raised our eyebrows wondering what it meant.

This continued for two weeks, and we began to proudly announce that our baby was a "good baby."

And then he ate an apple.

At our last pediatrician appointment, the doctor armed me with information about how to introduce solid food, and the strong encouragement that home-cooked foods are better than pre-made baby foods.

Since I’m a "super mom," I immediately put jarred baby foods on my list of Things That Lazy Moms Use, and decided that fresh fruits and veggies were the only option.

I had to rush back to work after the appointment, so the only fruit I had in stock that evening were apples. Being a smart super mom, I cut the apple into small pieces and blended it into healthy, non-jarred applesauce.

The doctor’s directions never suggested that fruits would need to be cooked before blending, and I forgot to peel the only apple I had. Oh well, peels have fiber, I thought.

That ended our affair with uninterrupted nights.

Apparently, apples should be boiled and peeled for first-time eaters, or they cause tummy aches. Big, bad tummy aches.

One point subtracted from super mom.

Of course, the next day I consulted the Internet for directions on how to cook baby food, and I found the quick-and-easy banana. Yep, that would be our next stop.

Bananas were easier on the stomach, but we still spent a restless night, and I finally allowed him to cuddle in bed with us at 3:30 a.m.

I also crossed jarred baby foods off of my "lazy" list and promptly bought peaches, applesauce and pears.

Still, it’s been some time now, and we’re back to the old newborn routine.

I’ve realized that how I regulate his naps and bedtime, or whether he gets an evening bath, or if he goes to grandma’s house has no bearing on whether he’ll sleep through the night. You can’t predict it, and if you try, it will drive you crazy.

But I can’t shake the feeling that this is tied to his journey into the world of food. And in my sleep-deprived state, I’ve considered keeping him on a milk-only diet. So if you see a 20-year-old walking around with a baba in a few decades, say hello — his name is Brody."

Extra note about this column - Brody has been doing better with sleeping, since his first apple-ache episode, and it's likely that by the time this runs in the newspaper, he'll have regained his "good baby" status.

Cute baby contest

I've been waiting for this moment since last January when I was about 5 months pregnant. Yes, that's right - it's time for the Regis and Kelly cute baby contest! This year the winner gets $125,000 towards a college fund and their picture on the cover of Parenting magazine. Runners up get money towards college and a year's worth of Gerber baby food (also an AMAZING prize). And, seriously, look at this picture. Brody's got this.

DJ is in heaven

DJ had a MERRY Christmas this year - wife, momma and mom-in-law contributed to a gaming computer fund, and he has happily spent the past few weeks researching and purchasing parts for this AWESOME computer.

(Note: Here's the conversation between Duane and Shawn about Duane's new computer:
Shawn: "Sweet! I've never played a game on max settings before!"
Duane: "Me either!" )

Just this past weekend, Duane got all of the parts to his computer and spent many hours putting it together (and running in to give me reports on the computer's "overclocking status," whatever the heck that means).

Here he is in heaven:

And here Brody is helping Daddy:

Our lives are being shared in more ways than one

This Sunday my first parenting column will be published in the Daily Press. I'm sharing the column with my colleague Mark Erickson, and we'll each write two columns a month. Here's a peek at the first:

"A family friend stayed with us over the holidays, and she said something that keeps replaying in my mind.

"Boy, that sure isn’t the Duane I grew up with."

This was after watching Duane, my husband, chase me and our 6-month-old son Brody around the living room while acting like a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

This is our favorite game, because no matter what mood our hard-to-please Brody is in, the shortened arms, clawed hands and whooshing growl of a Daddy T-Rex always makes him laugh. Heck, it makes me laugh.

So, I asked her what she meant, because Daddy T-Rex is the Duane that I know.

"Oh, he’s just never been the type to really play with little ones like that."

I paused. Had we already become unrecognizable to our child-free friends?

For a pair in our mid-twenties, Duane and I have always been on the tame side. I like to go out more than he does, but a night out with a group of his buddies usually satisfies our bar hopping needs for a few months. We spend a lot of time with the large extended family that lives in town and watching a movie on our home big-screen is much better than the sticky seats at the theater.

In that sense, our lives haven’t changed much. But we definitely exhibit the tell-tale signs of first-time parents.

This season, Duane watched his beloved Dallas Cowboys (before they hosed up their playoff chances) standing up with the little guy strapped to him in a BabyBjornÖ . He spends many weekends and evenings as a single parent while I work odd reporting hours. And he shoves down his frozen dinner as quickly as possible so he can take over while my meal is still lukewarm.

As for movies, we haven’t watched one all the way through in months. And while Brody gets more hugs and kisses than a reunited Italian family, hugs between mommy and daddy are more rare.

Church is a weekly trade-off, because Brody would be the only baby in the volunteer nursery, and I don’t want him to interrupt the service. Same goes for eating at restaurants, although we haven’t stopped supporting the fast food industry.

And the "What to Expect" books never predicted that I would no longer watch my favorite TV show, "Law and Order: Special Victims Unit," because it brings on the panicked worry that someone terrible may target my baby.

Watching that family friend also reminded me of spontaneous schedules, free time and a pre-baby body.

But there are vestiges of the old Nicole still there. Like the times Brody isn’t in the car with me and I crank up Kanye West’s latest single, or when I hang out in the bathroom for just a few extra minutes so I can read my book.

So, yeah, I felt sorry for myself for a few minutes. Things have changed more than I expected.
Then Brody did his newest trick. He stretched his arms out and reached for me. His mom. I’m the one who gets to see his smiles everyday, and the one who’s coaching him through tummy time. I make sure he’s being read to before bed, and that his bottles are sterilized properly. If I’m going to be completely honest, I haven’t loved every minute, but I’ve loved most of them.

And although my conversations with friends have changed from gossip about reality shows to the fact that Brody has been having problems with constipation, they should still recognize me. I just have a new name — Mommy T-Rex."

(Thanks Sarah for the material) ;)

Happy New Year!

We had an unusual New Year's Eve and Day because I (Nicole) came down with a nasty stomach bug on Tuesday night. I stayed in bed all day while Becky and Duane watched Brody for me. Thankfully the bug only stayed around for about 24 hours, and I was back to my old self on Thursday.

The Paitsels were quarantined from the Stanleys, however, because Shawn is getting ready to sign up for the National Guard in West Virginia this Thursday and we didn't want him (or Mom and Dad who also have to travel) to come down with it on their trip. We think we're in the safe zone now (no one else has gotten sick, thankfully), and we're having a good luck dinner with Shawn tomorrow night. We'll all miss him so MUCH!