Almost everyone who Miles encounters has something to say like, "wow! he looks like a boy!" "He is such a little man." "What an old soul." "I am sorry to say, but he takes after his Dad." Perhaps it is the natural comb over, but I wouldn't be surprised if Mee-less (Eric's preferred pronunciation) starts sprouting a a 'stash. Well, I guess a soul patch would be more apropos. It makes me laugh when people are apologetic in Miles not looking a lot like me. Let's break this down:
1. Miles is a boy. I kind of prefer that he looks like Pappi. Androgyny isn't terrible in a baby, but there is something reassuring when people quickly tell that he is a boy.
2. I think Eric is the bees knees and the mercury in the cuteness thermometer cracked when I met him. So, if our baby looks like Eric, I am pretty confident we have quite a cute nugget on hand...lazy eye and all.
3. Perhaps his exceptional male body can explain why I experienced a category 5 testosterone hurricane at the Farmer's Market.
I think Miles's manly visage leaked out some residual testosterone on his way out of the canal, and it flowed through my veins with vengeance at the Farmer's Market meat counter. When I was pregnant, I knew my hormones bungee jumped from high to low, but since giving birth, I feel like I have been exuding tolerance and glee...until the meat counter. I cannot chalk it up to being pregnant, so I am just going to assume it is residual hormones. I didn't enter the market in a bad mood; I had spent a great morning (4am-8am) cooing and playing with Miles over warm milk (him) and Anise flavored lactation tea (me). I had one of my favorite breakfasts: banana with melted natural peanut butter. After Eric got up and put on his Dad hat, I knew going to the market awarded me a little "me time".
On to the surge: I approached the meat counter toward the breakfast sausage and ground meat end. There were only 2 other people at the counter, so I imagined securing my meat wouldn't take long. The worker approached, and I point to the couple who was there before me giving the unmistakable sign for "they were here first." I waited patiently as the guy picked out 6 long chicken necks. As if you couldn't guess, about 7 additional "parties" of people approached the counter, but down toward the chicken breast area at the other end. I was still at the ground turkey end, waiting patiently as the only other counter worker started helping all the newbies. I stood firm at the ground meat end knowing that if I moved down, I would just be creating problems: like when people lane change over and over on I-85. So, the chicken neck guy proceeded to get chicken feet, and some unidentifiable part of the chicken that required more cutting. Finally, my turn! I got my ground turkey, and then asked for some chicken breast and chicken thighs, which were located down at the end with the melee of people. I walked down to the other end, and the guy asked if I wanted boneless--I said "yes please!" And then it happened: Some young lady mumbled under her breath something sort of "at" me.
I looked at her and said: "Excuse me?"
Salty Carnivorous Lady: "You know...there is a LINE!!"
I pounced. A primeval verbal leap: "Thanks lady, but I was waiting over 5 minutes down at the other end, before you even GOT to the counter. Next time you police the meat counter, you better check yourself." What's worse is that I felt my head shaking back and forth and even waved my pointer finger. Better that than the "bird" I guess. (And "check yourself?!?!" What does that even mean?)
And then the guy at the counter backed me and said, "She was already there."
Well, the woman wouldn't even look me in the eye, didn't apologize, and just sort of crawled back into place at the counter. She was shocked. Perhaps she was puzzled by my ridiculous appearance: such vile venom oozing from a woman with a new mommy haircut, pearls, sweatpants and keen shoes. I was a hot mess, but I bet most of you new mommies can commiserate with the, "as long as the milking station is not exposed, I am completely presentable for public." I have no idea what came over me. I was fierce. I am relatively non-confrontational, and rarely do something so brash and slightly rude. Perhaps my iron was low and I was protective over the meat, or maybe the weeks of sleep deprivation bubbled into some unavoidable attitude.
So, Salty Carnivorous Lady: I am sorry.
Headline: Miles found his hands!
This week has been full of non-baby stress and deadlines. For some time, the sound of Miles sucking on his Nuk could put your heart back into a normal rhythm, but it has been replaced with a new amazing sound: Miles sucking on his fists. Yup, he found his fists and although cannot quite get the "thumb," likes to lick on his little sausage fingers.
No pictures or videos this time. Lo siento mucho. But, I am including a link to my new favorite commercial. Eric and I sing this to Miles now. "Oh those boys are much too much!"
-I am thankful for our reserve of babysitters. One of the troubles of relying on friends to sit is that if you go out with a lot of them, there is no one to watch the baby! Eric's school is the perfect place to find a reliable sitter. This Saturday night, Eric and I will be out with friends and we are hiring our first High School Sitter! She is a senior, and her mother is one of the childcare workers at Miles's ELC. As much as we love bringing Miles with us everywhere, sometimes it is nice to have a night out without the baby, and we also are trying hard to get him into a regular nighttime schedule and reduce the inconsistencies of our active schedules.