HERE, BOY!

Sometimes when I'm talking to Angus, I'm aware that I sound like I'm talking to a dog.  For example:

"You wanna go for a walk?  Let's go for a walk!  Yaaaaaay!"

"Who's a good boy?  YOU'RE a good boy!"

"Roll over!  Gooooooood boyyyyy!"

said in a screechy, sing-song voice.  No wonder Angus looks at me like I'm a complete moron.

Well, it's exceptionally miserable outside today.  It's windy, freezing, and rainy/snowy.  I STILL don't mind winter though.  My two years in Australia seemed to cure me of any hatred of Canadian winters I used to have.  Two years of sweating in a steamy, tropical city, panting through soupy, cloying humidity, every single day.  My hair was a frizzy mess, stuck to my face all the time, my skin always broken out, and my makeup was always leaking into my eyes.  And all that ghastly sun!  Cartoonishly bright.  Every day, that Godawful, persistent sun in my face.  And you know what?  When I returned from Australia, I wasn't even tanned.  Two years of ultra-violet rays on my delicate Canadian skin, and not even a hint of color.

When I came back, I was just in time for summer in Canada, in which I was very depressed.  Then came winter and my mood lifted.  I have Seasonal Affective Disorder in reverse.

So as the wind howls and hurls rain at the windows, I'm inside, nice and cozy.  While Angus sleeps, I can avoid housework and read my book.  I can plan menus.  Which brings me to my next point, my new hobby.  COOKING.  It's not helping me shed these persistent twenty pounds though, in fact I seem to be gaining weight, which is the opposite of what's supposed to happen after you have a baby.  I've decided to blame my thyroid.  It's common in postpartum thyroiditis for the mother to swing between hyPERthyroidism and hyPOthyroidism.  I must be entering the HYPO phase, wherein the sufferer gains weight and feels tired and sluggish, thereby being exempt from any duties such as housework, and suffering muscle weakness, thereby being unable to participate in any kind of physical exercise.

Yeah.  That's it.

WHY WON'T HE POOP?

The kid will not poop.  So we all have to suffer and wilt from his stinky farts, wondering when the epic explosion is going to finally take place.  In bed?  In the supermarket?  HE'S A TICKING TIME BOMB!

Anyway, we tried prunes, (hasn't done anything yet) and  here are the pictures.  Those of you on facebook have already seen them.

More about sleep.

Well, some success, and some failure in the sleep department.

My nerves can't handle listening to Angus scream himself to sleep in the other room.  (And for some reason I have to have the baby moniter cranked up, just to torture myself even more, even though I can hear him just fine without it on.)
So last night I dragged a chair into the bedroom, and sat next to Angus while he angrily fought sleep for an hour and a half.  I had nursed him as usual, and he was drowsy and falling asleep, so I KNOW he was tired.  But man that kid is STUBBORN.  As soon as I place him in his crib, he falls apart.  I thought maybe he was going through separation anxiety, which is why I decided to try sitting with him this time.  (But not picking him up or anything.)  The whole thing backfired.  If anything, he was MORE pissed off, because I was RIGHT THERE, but I wasn't doing anything!  I'd stroke his hand, which just invoked more hand-flailing, and louder screams.  I lovingly stroked his head, and he bit me.  I cooed softly to him, and he drowned my voice out and thrashed around even harder.  HE WAS PISSED. 
Finally, I had to leave the room.  I was all jangly and worked up, my heart was pounding (these are the effects of hearing your baby scream next to you for ninety minutes).  And you know what he did?  HE FELL ASLEEP.  AFTER I LEFT.

And then he sleep for a solid six hours.  Woke up at two-thirty in the morning, nursed, nursed again at three-thirty, then at five-thirty, and then again at quarter to seven, which was actually sleeping in, because of the whole daylight savings thing, it should've been quarter to eight.  But besides that, he slept for a six-hour stretch.  I wonder what tonight will bring?

p.s. I can't understand why he goes down so easily for naps, but at nighttime he's a child possessed.