Hello world. Sorry I’ve been out of touch for a while. My social calendar has been insane lately, what with the holidays and all. December was a total blur. My mom went back to work temporarily, and these two really nice ladies came and hung out with me, Mimi and Grammy. Having them around is like having your own personal entertainer; they are waaaay more fun than my mom and dad. Anyways, that whole mom-at-work thing wasn’t really workin out for me, and I’m really glad she’s been home since the new year hit.

Speaking of the new year, I’ve noticed that people tend to set goals for the new year, so I thought I should follow suit. Like my dad, I have chosen three words to describe the goals I hope to have achieved by the time 2009 is up.

Eat
It didn’t take me long to figure out why people love food so much. I’ve only tasted one kind and I looooooooove it. I have to have it like every three hours. Breastmilk definitely does a body good, and my 97th percentile physique is proof in itself. In 2009 I hope to begin eating real food, you know, the solid stuff. Yesterday, this awesome stainless steel food processor came in the mail and my mom said something about how I would get to eat everything they ate. SCORE! Too bad I won’t be eating solids before the superbowl, I would really love some boneless buffalo wings pureed with breastmilk. mmmmmmmm. Oh well, I should be able to partake of Thanksgiving dinner, and that will be well worth the wait. Not to mention my first birthday cake…

Talk
I obviously have a lot to say and I’m hoping this year to utter my first word. I haven’t decided what it will be yet. Mom and Dad keep trying to get me to say (surprise) mama and dada but I think it would be awesome to throw them for a loop and have my first word be “loquacious.” As in, “I am going to be very loquacious when I grow up so enjoy me now, while I’m still a mute.” OK, maybe that’s unrealistic, but I could at least shoot for like “jello” or something.

Walk
No, I haven’t even rolled over yet (I got close once, but I scared myself and I think I’ll hold off for a while), but I think this year, in my spare time, I will work on crawling, and eventually take my first step. Immobility is so infantile, and I have places to go. Just think of all the fun Posh and I will have when mom can’t keep us apart anymore! Oh the places we’ll go…closets, stairs; the possibilities are endless.

Suffice it to say I have a big year ahead of me. I better go work on what I do best right now…eat and sleep…in preparation for the coming months. Avery, out.

Bring on the cake and candles (or just milk, whatever), I have reached the first of many milestones in my young life. Yes, I am 1 month old. It’s amazing to me how time flies…how did I get so old so fast? I have accomplished so much in my four weeks and two days of life, I thought I would take time to pause and ponder my existence.

The hospital was ok I guess, but I have to say, I much prefer having my own room to sharing space with four other cranky newborns. I mean, not to be rude but some of them were just so childish…up all night, whiny and cranky. If anybody’s going to be waking up and disturbing people at all hours of the night, I would prefer it be me (and what do you know, it usually is).

I also like that I get to wear clothes, unlike the hospital. What’s with the scratchy tunic with poorly functioning snaps and no pants rule? Talk about a fashion emergency. I much prefer the snuggly sleepers I get at home. I just have one issue with them. Although the designs are lovely (love the barnyard animals and polka dots) , I can’t help but notice that they might give people the wrong idea about me. I mean, come on, “too cute,” “cutest baby ever,” “everyone’s favorite”? Yes, I’ve seen myself in the mirror, and it’s true, I am adorable. But please don’t bring me out in public in these. I have an image to uphold…I don’t want all the other kids to think I’m narcissistic or anything (If you want to put me in them at home though, I guess that’s cool).

Speaking of my body image, I have to, once again, contest some of these nicnames. Noony? Bubbaloo? Chubba lubba? Piggly wiggly? Smelly Nelly? Stinkle Winkle? So what you’re saying is, I’m smelly and fat. I can get on board with the chubby part (hello, I’m getting ready for winter in the Northeast, I have to stay insulated) but I’d appreciate if you not draw attention to my smells. I have very little control over them.

And while we’re on the topic of hygiene, Mom, I thought I would make your life easier and just put this out there. Now that it’s just the two of us at home during the day, I know you have this pact with yourself that you’ll shower, put non-pajamas on and put yourself together everyday before Dad gets home. Nice thought, but I just want you to know that no matter how content I am, changed, fed, burped and happy, I will start to scream the second you get in the shower. That’s just how I roll.

And mom, you know how you were soooo excited about how I slept seven straight hours last night, then a few more after you fed me? Well don’t get too used to it. That was just a little birthday gift from me to you…consider it my way of thanking you for the nine months you carried me; the six weeks of nausea, the months of discomfort, the nine hours of labor, the major abdominal surgery, the stretch marks, and the extra pounds you are still trying to take off. Thanks Mom!

(Be advised: I will most likely go back to my normal sleeping schedule tomorrow)

First of all, Mom, I’d like to talk to you about this routine you have me on. I am so confused. You seem upset when I wake up in the middle of the night, or too early in my nap. I interpret this as you wanting me to sleep, but then, if I fall asleep after you feed me (love the feeding by the way, keep it coming), you guys go nuts putting toys in my face and holding me up, trying to revive me from my sweet, sweet slumber. Take the hint: If I am comatose and can’t hold my head up or open my eyes, I’m tired. Let me sleep! I thought that was what you wanted! You two are impossible to please.

And about my pacifier; sometimes you are practically forcing it on me while I’m perfectly content, and other times, I spend what seems like an eternity crying and yet you deprive me of it. Let me make this easy for you…I am destined to be addicted to my pacifier. Nothing you can do can change this. Think I may learn to self-soothe if you let me cry? Not so much. I want the pacifier…I neeeeed the pacifier. I may even demand it on my first day of kindergarten. I think you knew this the first night the nurse came in and told you I would either nurse all night long, or you should try giving me a pacifier. So just give in and GIVE ME THE PACIFIER. Mom gets her nightly Lortab, I get my pacifier. Everyone needs a vice. (Oh and by the way, even though you have thirty of them, I only like the one from the hospital that you can’t buy anywhere else. Sorry, that’s just how I roll.)

Second, please pick a name for my pacifier and use it consistently. Dad, you call it a soother, Mom, you go between paci (pronounced “pass-eee”)and “binkie.” I personally prefer pacifier, or if you must abbreviate, paci. “Binkie” is so…childish. Seriously, consider your developmental goals for me before you pick out nicnames like that.

And speaking of nicnames…seriously Mom, monkey? Fine, go ahead, but start setting aside money for the counseling I will require to reverse the serious self-image damage being done. I know it started out as “munchkin” and monkey just kinda rolled off your tongue, but you might want to reconsider. And Dad, do you have to call me Bubby? Let me remind you that although I was in utero, I DID hear you calling someone else Bubby for the last 9 months, and I don’t appreciate sharing my nicname with that four-legged hairy thing that always wants to smell me.

Glad we had this talk.

Oh, and PS – you can bathe me all you want…I will still spit up immediately after you put me down for my next nap, saturating my clean hair with spit up and covering up the soap smell with my favorite smell…milk that sat in my belly for an hour before I regurgitated it.

Hi, my name is Avery. I have been alive for about 36 hours now. I’m feeling like I’m pretty experienced at life. It doesn’t seem so tough…but man is the world big. First there was this place I was born. It was so bright; everybody wore the same thing, and they all kept talking about Boston and the Red Sox (go Sox) even though my mom kept chattering and telling them she was really cold. Ha! SHE was cold? I was naked for like the first two or three hours I was born…they put me under a heat lamp. C’mon guys, ever heard of cashmere? 

So in the bright room I got to meet my dad for the first time (he is the one who is always smiling reeeeeally big when he looks at me), but only for a second. He came with me though when they did a million tests and cleaned me up. He didn’t seem happy about that shot they gave me, which, quite frankly, I wasn’t thrilled with either. But that was just a short interruption to him smiling at me and talking to me; I’ve heard his voice a lot over the past 9+ months. I think I’m gonna like him.

Then I finally got to meet my mom. It looked like she’d had a pretty long day. Maybe she had a lot of errands to run or something before I came. But she also means I got to try out what I now know is my favorite pasttime – EATING! She seemed a little nervous at first, but I knew exactly what to do, so I just went to town. Trust me, I’ve listened to her talk about food for months…it’s about time I got my first meal.

So me and mom and dad hung out for a while. And I picked up my new rhythm…eat, gaze, sleep, eat gaze sleep, REPEAT. In between, I get to do some cool stuff. Mostly keep up with my social calendar. I met lots of people and it took me a while but I figured out who they were. They all stare at me, and they oooh and aaah (pretty low maintenance crowd, all I have to do is stick my tongue out and they go nuts), and then when I do something, no matter how mundane, they whip out their cameras and all start shooting. I should have known they’d show up, it’s the paparazzi. 

Mom and dad always say how I’m so good. Mom says she doesn’t think I’m real, and she feels like I’m too easy because I am happy to just eat and sleep and don’t need to cry a lot. I got so sick of hearing her say that, so last night I decided to show mom and dad that their little girl has some serious pipes. I think they were pretty surprised. Just trying to make them proud. 

Other highlights included meeting the pediatrician. Something about that guy just rubbed me the wrong way. I’d had lots of gunk in my tummy for almost 24 hours at that point; various mucus and other stuff I’d swallowed before I came out of mom’s tummy. So I thought it might be important for him to see that. And see it he did, all over his blue outfit. Everyone got all fussy about it; umm, hello. It was a physical exam. I was just trying to help him get a closer look.

So what do I have on my agenda today? I plan on starting with a delicious breakfast in just a few minutes. People have observed that I looooove to suck on anything; those little plastic things, my fingers (the one on the end is delicious), and even my shirt, but when mom feeds me, that pretty much trumps them all. Hey, I have a busy day planned, I need my strength. 

Other than that, mom and dad need to practice swaddling me. It is so cute to watch them try, but they’re just not quite there yet. I hope to see some of those paparazzi people again because they’re actually pretty nice to me. And besides that, my calendar is pretty open. So anyways, this was fun. I’ll try it again sometime, but I’ve gotta run right now. Breakfast is served.