fat boy

At yesterday's pediatrician appointment, Jake weighed in at 8 pounds 4 ounces. He is huge, and I feel for every girl who had a baby who weighed that much or more when they were born. One word- ouch.

I was given the go ahead to feed Jake when he wants to eat, which is nice. I am trying to get him on a 3, 6, 9, 12 schedule, which seems pretty close to his natural pattern. Between 9pm and 6am, anything goes. Sometimes he sleeps for six hours before he wants to eat, sometimes for two. I am officially beginning weaning him from breastmilk during the day so it will be easier for him and me (yes, that is grammatically correct) in June when I go back to work. This way I don't have to worry about pumping during the day at work in the dirty bathroom and the daycare provider won't have to deal with handling breastmilk correctly. She is willing to do it, but it is truly a pain in the neck. He has been getting the occasional bottle since birth, but now that we are weaning, it is kind of hard. For me. Jake is happy because he is eating. I could give him cat food and he would take it gladly. For now he gets formula at 9am and 3 pm, and breastmilk the rest of the time. Beginning on his two month birthday, I will give him a bottle at noon too, freeing me to drink coffee and booze all day long, if I so desire. And I might desire, so watch out. And call me. We'll drink lunch.

Jake and I went to Dave's softball game on Tuesday, and I have never felt more like a wife and mother in my entire life. The game was at the FDR park, a huge piece of land where all of nature lives at the bottom of the city near the airport, naval yard, and sports complex. I put Jake in the stroller and we walked around the park for an hour or so when we got there. There was that great early summer grass and lilac smell in the air that I have stored under "soccer practice" and "bike rides" in my brain, and there were plenty of little ones running around who will likely have the same association in twenty years. Young couples sat on benches holding hands, fishermen cast their lines to see what would bite, and kids were learning how to rollerskate and ride without training wheels. A dad was teaching his son how to play a nine piece drum set in the middle of an empty baseball field, which I thought was pure genius. Many city dwellers complain because they don't have a backyard to do these things, but I secretly like watching families come together at the park.

The mallard ducks have already had thier babies, and there were mama and daddy ducks taking their brood of tiny fuzzies out for an evening swim, turtles sunning themselves in the last bit of daylight, muskrats playing at the edge of the lakes, flocks of orioles eating swampy little treats of waterbugs and duckweed, and squirrels romping in the dandelion fields, which have already started to turn white and billowy. The last of the helicopter seeds fell from the maples, and a few cherry trees still wore thier flowers. Most of the baseball fields were filled with players, and we stopped to watch the little leaguers practice, which wasn't much messier than the adult league games on the other side of the park, thanks to the coolers of beer in the bleachers.

The evening trains whistling and chugging slowly past the park from the west, the huge shipyard vessles looming to the south, and the airplanes flying overhead leaving trails that turn colors in the sunset all promised to someday amuse Jake. I look forward to watching him point to the sky when he spots a plane, and clap his hands as we drive across the bridge above the tankers in the Delaware River.

Ice cream trucks playing their tinny and tempting songs, the roll of the boards at the skate park nestled under the I-95 overpass, and the hum of the cars carrying people home to their families lulled Jake to sleep and made a wonderful backdrop to the game, which ended when the sun finally slipped behind the tree line.

All said, it was a good day, but it leaves me with one question. Why do ice cream trucks insist on playing "La Cucaracha"?