Wonderboy Battles The Gas (Another B-Movie I’d totally watch.)

Man. Sorry for yesterday’s “post”. I really had nothing to say.

Even though I was talking Jonas up like crazy and realized I could’ve written an entire post about him. But really? I just didn’t feel like writing.

But I do today!


Jonas is fat. I mean straight up cute baby fat. The cheeks. The legs. The wrists. The head. Boy has a big head. His sister had a big head but she wasn’t ANYTHING compared to this kid. As Matt says, “He’s my kid all the way.”

(Matt has a big head.)

Jonas recently adopted the aspirator as his favorite toy.

Jonas recently adopted the aspirator as his favorite toy.

It’s weird thinking that Jonas used to be dangerously close to being underweight when he was a bitty bitty baby but then I remember him crying all the time and realizing he wasn’t just gassy: he was STARVING.

Mom of the Year: Marcoda.

This is all hind-sight of course. Seeing the boy eat now I can only imagine how chunkified he would’ve been if we’d been feeding him 6 ounce bottles at 3 months like he probably wanted. Jonas loves his bottle. At bedtime, when he hears us shaking it up, he stops whatever he’s doing and turns his head to find it . We have to prepare it when he’s not in the kitchen or he will freak out. “Where is it? I hear it! Give it to me!” Then he giggles and grins and kicks his feet when he actually sees the bottle. We lay him in the crib, he reaches for the bottle, pushes it greedily into his mouth and drinks himself to sleep.

At least that’s what he used to do. Now, he reaches for it, pushes it greedily into his mouth, sucks twice, then pushes it away.

“The hell?”

We give it back. He pushes it away. We give him the pacifier. He vehemently pushes that away and starts the new routine of “fuss fuss, hold me, don’t hold me that way, bounce me, stop bouncing me, nuzzle into your elbow, push away from your elbow, lay back in crib, give me bottle, drink self to sleep, wake up four more times before you go to bed and repeat at least once during the night.”

What happened? I used to rave about how easy it was to put him to sleep. “Put him in the crib, give him a bottle and his blankie and out he goes.” Perhaps he started to think we had it too easy?

Perhaps it’s this bitch cold he’s been dealing with along with the bitch teeth he’s working on. That would be bad enough. However, The Gas showed up out of nowhere the other night and demanded her stuff back and she wasn’t going to leave until she got it. “I already gave you your stuff!” Jonas screamed, “Get out! You don’t live here anymore!” Stubborn wench wouldn’t leave. Oh the obscenities he screamed at her. She only smiled and dug her feet in more. We tried to reason with both of them: we took turns soothing and holding and Jonas took turns seeking comfort from us and eventually we helped Jonas onto his tummy. We don’t like to think of it as “groveling” just more of a “whatever it takes to make The Gas go away.”

Then he got pissed at us for putting him in such a demeaning position and screamed at all of us and the floor words one should never say in front of your mother let alone to her.

But then we noticed something:

He started pushing himself backwards trying to run away from The Gas. At one point he got so pissed off that he was up on his hands and knees.

Crawling is so close. I give it less than a month and he’ll be everywhere. As it is he keeps trying to lift himself up and out of his car seat by grabbing onto the handle and pulling up.

We are so going to be screwed soon.

And SO thrilled!! Dude’s going to be crawling! WHOO!

Back to The Gas. I put an ice cube in his food net thing and he sucked on that in between curses aimed at The Gas and between that and his tummy time The Gas got what she wanted (she was thirsty, maybe?) and left. Daddy swayed and sang his “Jonas. Jonas, Don’t You Cry Now” song that we’ve all adopted and the little man nuzzled up against him and fell asleep then slept through the night in his crib.

I feel for the little guy. I really do. It’s so hard seeing your poor baby cry and squirm and not know what to do to make him happy again. The cries get so hoarse and pathetic that I have to laugh at how cute he is. Sad, yes, but so cute. He’s just that much cuter when he’s not screaming and sleeping nicely in the crib. Or cuddled up next to me in bed between the hours of 4 and 6am.

That’s pretty cute too.

Also also cute. (Note the large heads on both kids.)

Also also cute. (Note the large heads on both kids.)


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