too hot for milk

Temps will be reaching the nineties in the shade by the afternoon drivetime. And I live in a brick oven rowhome with one really loud air conditioner that I turn on when the heat gets unbearable then turn off when the noise gets unbearable. Jake and I are sitting in front of the fans in our underwear today pretending that I might get up and unpack our bags from the holiday weekend. Neither one of us feels like doing much and like me, Jake seems pretty grossed out by the idea of eating which allows me to continue doing nothing for longer stretches of time. He has been going for about five or six hours without eating with the heat, but seems to be growing anyway. He is already too big for his Size 1 diapers, but I'm going to finish out this bag anyway. I hate to waste 40 diapers just because the velcro tabs are screaming.

We had a practice run with the heat and sunshine this weekend at my mom's house in Erie, where Jake got to meet his aunts and uncles and great grandparents. It was nice to have a little break from diapers and bottles and soothing a sweaty baby for a few days while my mom and whomever else was around clamored to be the one to take care of Jake. I even got some sleep, as Jake slept in my mom's room for two nights. I find that sleep is like a drug, and the more you get the more you want. I am torn between getting up early to get used to how mornings will be when I go back to work or getting in all the sleep I can get now. I hate to admit it, but I think I will probably chose the latter out of sheer laziness.

It is hard to believe, but Jake is 10.5 weeks old already and is changing every day. He is making more noises, usually something that sounds like "ah-loo" and "ma-mar". He smiles all the time but we can never seem to capture it on film. In time, I'm sure. I guess I really lucked out when I got a picture of him the first time he smiled. I thought it would be all hammy shots from then on but I was wrong, as you can see on the picture blog. Jake is getting really good at holding his head up, and has recently discovered his feet although he can't seem to get all the way down to touch them. He is getting better with his hands, and loves to stuff them in his mouth or jam them in his eyes. I've caught him with a finger in his nose a couple times but I don't know if he is digging or just stuck by accident.

I have two more weeks of leave left, and I am having a hard time getting a bag of his things together for the daycare provider. Instead of taking it out of his drawer (sad) I think I am going to hit up Target for some new onesies and sleepers. I'll buy them in a size 3-6 so they will fit through the summer and I won't have to do this again until the weather changes. It would have been much easier to go back to work a month ago when he wasn't so fun. I am looking forward to going back, especially since I can go back to the gym at lunch time or go shopping downtown without a giant stroller in tow. And, I can be the boss there instead of being bossed around here all day by a baby.

Speaking of which, I better go feed him. It has been awhile and he is getting all drooly and chatty over there.

wanna take a ride?

You'll be safe, even if we go in your car. I am a proud card carrying member of the Triple A Motorist Club. Yep- me, Dave, and your grandparents, hittin' the road with our trip tiks and racking up savings at such establishments as Lenscrafters, the Econolodge, and the Reebok outlet, to name a few.

I have been aiming to be a bit more adult, now that I am almost thirty and I have a baby. And a husband. And a mortgage. And a car. And a pension. And crow's feet. I check my bank balance daily, call the branch office if I have a discrepancy or question about my account, and omit the middle eight numbers of my credit card number on the memo line when I write a check to pay my debt.

I am doing laundry every day and wearing clothes that come out of the dryer or a drawer, rather than put on something from the floor that smells halfway decent and walking through a cloud of Febreze mist. I am doing dishes each night before Jake gets his bath in our kitchen sink instead of putting the dirty ones on the counter before he jumps in. I even bought drinking glasses at the store instead of going to the bar and stealing more pint glasses. Ditto on the coffee cups. Purchased for a dollar a piece from the Family Dollar rather than heisted from the Diner. I am even considering buying an ironing board and a full set of matching steak knives.

I am cooking dinner once a fortnight rather than once every blue moon. I am a good cook, I just hate to do it. Actually I hate to eat what I cook. After seeing everything all raw and vulnerable I kind of lose my appetite. Seeing uncooked meat naked and quivering on the counter just doesn't do it for me. I'm okay with the frozen veggies just as long as they are cooked before they melt and re-freeze in a frosty lump in a bowl on the table. I prefer food that is ready to eat in its natural form. Like apples and ice cream.

Next step- conquering the grocery store. It isn't always the store itself, but the ultra disgusting customers who are hovering over and poking at my vine ripened tomatoes and baby carrots. And I get so mad when I look in other people's carts and see what they are willing to feed their families. Does your fat son need the Fudge Stripe cookies, Oscar Meyer's wieners, and Pringles? No. There are other ways to console him when he comes home from school crying each day because he got beat up again. Sometimes it is the store itself, that smell of curdled milk, spoiled meat, and old fish that wafts through the air vents on the day before the cleaning crew comes in to swab the back room.

What is a girl to do? Thankfully I live in a town full of corner stores and street side produce vendors where you can only point to what you want rather than touch and smell everything in sight. After all, I'd rather have SEPTA exhaust and oil refinery smog on my grapes and peppers than the breath of a toothless vagrant who happens to accidentally stumble into the Acme looking for a toilet.

bedtime for bonzo

This time I am really going to stick to the bedtime ritual. I was doing so well and Jake was sleeping for longer stretches, but I totally blew it through sheer laziness. By the time evening rolled around, I was so tired I couldn't get off the couch. So, here we go again with round two of trying to get some actual sleep around here.

About seven o'clock, we'll start by spending some tummy time on the floor to work up a good appetite. Then a good feeding, a warm bath, in the jammys, a nice walk through the house a couple times, in the bassinet, a story (which he loves more than life), and then lights out by nine. For both of us. I turn on the "magic fingers" vibrating option on his little bed, and hit the spring peeper noise button on his music and nature noise console and we are both asleep by the time the timer shuts off. If my parents are reading, they may be surprised that I am no longer scared to death of the peepers. I am working on conditioning Jake to love the noise, so he doesn't have to suffer in a stifling room with the windows closed to keep the peeping out.

I was having a problem going to sleep early because I got caught up in sweeps week on television. I am a sucker for a good series finale. And the kicker- I cry every time. This is a problem that I have had since My So Called Life ended. I've never cried at a wedding or a funeral. I didn't even shed a tear at the birth of my own child (the tears came later as my body drained itself of hormones through my eyes). Watching Will, Grace, Karen, and Jack in that final scene at the bar? Sobbing. That could be me and my friends someday. We go to bars, and we are getting older. I can so relate! The cast of That 70's Show ringing in the new decade? I've rung in a new decade with my friends and family too. Good times! I don't even like t.v., but I can't stop watching it this time of year. And while I'm being honest, I also cry when I hear a marching band at a sporting event. I hate marching bands! But when a big game is about to start and those little band dorks are out there blowing their horns, I have to stifle the weeping. And I have never been to a parade where I didn't cry. When you see me with the eye drops out, that is just a ruse so you think that all liquid on my cheeks comes out of a bottle. And that is about it for the crying- television, games, and parades. That is normal, right?

Anywho, with the lack of routine Jake wakes up every hour or two to eat. I'm starting to look a bit ragged and by the time morning comes I am exhausted. And I have to go back to work soon. I'll work on bedtime this week, add a morning routine in next, and then things should be in full swing when I have to go to work on June 12th, which happens to be my seventh wedding anniversary.

Once Jake is sleeping for more than three hours at a time, I will work on getting him to sleep in his own room. I just can't imagine getting up and out of bed every hour to feed him for a few minutes. It is so much easier to just pull him out of his little bed and into mine. That has got to be the life. A warm, catered meal at your bedside. All I get is a lousy glass of water that the cats drink from all night.

i'm sorry for all the plates i didn't clear

Jake is having his first formula-free-for-all today. I knew it was coming, as he was up every two hours last night, and I felt like I ran a marathon this morning. When he was strictly breastfed, these eat fests would leave me thirsty and hungry, and about 5 or 6 pounds lighter than i started my day with. Jake and I would be attached at the hip (among other places) all day, and I got absolutely nothing done. There was no way to measure exactly how much he was eating, but I knew it was a lot. With the formula, I know how much he is eating, and also how much he is wasting.

I am sitting in front of two ounces of expired formula. What Jake doesn't eat it in an hour's time is officially trash. I paid good money for this, I stood in the kitchen and made it while Jake cried in the living room, and now I have to throw it away, all the while thinking, "Two ounces! You can't finish two ounces? There is an entire ounce more than two ounces of gin in the glass at which we were both staring at while you pretended to eat. I'll have no trouble downing that in a second. The second you let me up". Friday afternoons like these call for a G&T, or in this case a G&G&G&T, with a bit of lime juice to prevent scurvy. The other perk of formula is that when Jake hits the bottle I can hit the bottle. Dave's bottle actually, but who is keeping score. This is a marriage where we share, and I don't think that Dave appreciates the Hendrick's.

We are taking a break now, and Jake is happily staring at his toys that hang overhead in his little gym. I think I have about an hour to pick up the house, flip the laundry from washer to dryer, brush my teeth and hair just in case I didn't this morning, and catch up on internet stuff. My goal for the day was to get my closet in order, purging it of all maternity wear and hanging my normal person clothes. Some of my clothes look so tiny and will be relegated to the back until my hips put themselves back together and my shirts are able to reach my waist again. What I affectionately call "Jake's Diner" ("Jake's Dinor" for you Erieites) are shrinking a little since I am only breastfeeding at night, but are still too big for most of my tops, and a lot of my shirts look like midrifts. Not the look I'm going for, despite its popularity in my neighborhood.

And, I'm off to try to get some grown up things done. Wish me luck, and finish your dinner tonight, or at least wrap it up for lunch tomorrow. Someone likely worked really hard to feed you.

two months old!

Like any good boy born on St. Paddy's Day, Jake celebrated by doing shots. Four of them. Two in each leg. He took it like a champ, and was pretty quiet once the initial shock was over. He is a bit fussy now, so I put him in his uterinesque sling that he loved when he was first born and he is on my lap now. I tried his uber-cool Baby Bjorn but he hates it, and I didn't want to mess around with his legs too much to get him in there, I'd imagine they are pretty sore. And just like most birthdays end in this house, Jake is now trying to nap and taking Tylenol to ease the pain.

Jake is a whopping 9 pounds 8.5 ounces, and is 22 3/4 inches long. The pediatrician said that she is happy with his weight, and said that at this point a baby's weight and height can be indicative of a body type. I'm okay with that, tall and thin never hurt anyone's chances at life before. His head is a bit smallish, but still normal. If you remember, he has had a small head since conception, and I look normal but really am all hair and teeth. We are both destined to a life of pin-headedness. Jake's face is rounding out, making him look more like Dave. Long and lean on the bottom, small and round on top. That is how my baby looks.

Jake is still fitting in his 0-3 month clothes pretty well, but I think that we only have a couple more weeks with his sleepers. The pants fit him, especially if they are shorts. Onesies are getting a bit snug around the old diaper, so I might have to open a 3-6 month pack of those any day now. I still dress him mostly in his pajamas, as I think it is kind of cruel to force a baby in and out of clothes. Especially clothes with dumb little sayings on it. For instance, Jake is neither a Little Prince nor a Little Slugger, and the chances of him being a Future All Star remain to be seen. Who comes up with this crap? Ladies who iron decals of kittens and Christmas trees to their sweaters I suppose.

Developmentally, Jake is right on track, he is following things with his eyes, holding onto our fingers and a few of his toys, and smiling at us. He grasps tight onto whatever it is that he is eating out of, and tends to be what Dave and I call "a bit rammy" in the evenings. He loves to head-butt and jam his face into our collarbones. That has to hurt, but he loves it. He is napping a few times a day, and sleeps pretty well until about one or two in the morning, when it becomes an eating and cooing free-for-all until about 4:30. Sometimes we sleep, sometimes we eat, sometimes we just lie in bed and talk to ourselves. The doctor was impressed by Jake's ability to hold his head up a little, and she suggested that we start leaving him in a room alone for a while each day so he can learn how to amuse and pacify himself. I have actually been doing this for a few weeks now, and she said that is okay, most first time parents have a hard time doing that.

Not me, said I. I need the alone time to amuse and pacify myself.

a mother of a holiday

Technically, it is my 29th Mother's Day, but the first one as an actual mother. Unless you count the cats, then it is my ninth. And the verdict- still a fake holiday. Move over St. Valentine. Of course I will still accept chocolates and gifts. And the phone calls from people that love me. In that case, every day is a holiday because I never say no to a present.

Unfortunately, Jake was feeling a bit illish over the weekend, and has been boycotting naps since yesterday. After two projectile vomiting incidents and some screeching, he seems to be in better spirits, and is chatting himself up in his bassinet as I type. I've been thinking about it, I wouldn't sleep either if some lady kept singing about my cradle falling out of a tree. Maybe we need a new song.

And on a final note- I have been avoiding housework by scrapbooking. Since age six I am a superstar cutter, a fabulous paster, and an avid sticker collector, so now I am putting my skills to good use. I was at A.C. Moore twice in three days. This can get scary.

no mas playa del jersey

I have eradicated half of the pelican mural, and am much happier with the pelican room now. I wish I had more before pictures, but they are in my office desk, tucked away safely.
And the after...



Now doesn't that look like a nice, relaxing place to have a cup of coffee and hang out with the baby? One wall of tacky beach mural I can handle. Two walls were giving me a nervous condition.

let me try to explain

I am often asked by other mothers how I am enjoying motherhood, each of us knowing this is a trick question. They have been there through the late nights and early mornings, the sunny afternoons spent playing outdoors with other mommies and babies and the rainy days with the marathon house cleaning sessions between baby demands that make you feel like Supermom. I have already learned that this question is somewhat rhetorical, and often is a proverbial hand on your shoulder, an offer to run for milk or a triple caramel latte, an understanding of lost independence at the mere cost of unconditional love. I have pledged to a sorority of infinite happiness and struggle. Struggle to control tears while watching the evening news, looking on as a toddler skins his knee while learning to walk, or runs to hug his dad who has been at work all day. To control smiles as a little girl chases after her puppies in Washington Square, shares her french fries with the seagulls outside of McDonald's, and takes joy in finding worms in the dirt. And to control the impulse to give other baby-toting mothers a hug and my phone number, just in case we need each other.

I am often asked by those who wish to be mothers what it is like, and I have no words to answer that question. "What was it like not to be a Beatle?". I forget what it was to be just me, to make the decision at 10 pm on a work night to go out for a few beers, to run in to the gas station for a snack without unhooking a car seat, to leave the cart in aisle 10 while I run to aisle 7 for a forgotten can of clam chowder. I vaguely remember eating only cookies and coffee for two meals in a row, and never thinking that I was depriving someone else of valuable nutrients or keeping them up at night. Can someone remind me what life was like when I slept for more than three hours at a time? I haven't done that since November. Is it okay to say that I sometimes hate being a mom, especially the absent-minded redundancy of the days, but always love my little boy? Will that answer cause a potential mom to re-think her decision to try to have a baby? Everyone hates their job from time to time, right?
I forget what it is like to not have a little sidekick who looks to me for everything, and can't imagine life without him.
I never planned to have a child, now I am planning to have another. To give my child the gift of a sibling, and to have someone else to bear the overwhelming feeling of love that nature gives us when we have a child so I don't inadvertently smother Jake with it. That is what being a mother is like.

That said, I almost lost my mind yesterday when I thought that I finally had a break between constant growth spurt induced feedings to grab a bowl of Raisin Bran and put in a movie. A meal good for regularity, bad for a mom alone in a house with a baby. Five minutes into the cereal Jake started squeaking for more food. This after three hours of nursing plus eight ounces of formula. I went to his swing, thinking that I could keep him amused while I shoveled food into my face. Wrong. He started crying, and the cats saw this as their golden opportunity to get what they wanted too. Bailey immediately jumped onto the entertainment center, started chomping on the orchid- which is silk and yet somehow alluring, Tyler began meowing and crawling up my pant leg (of course by pants I mean pajama bottoms. With jack o'lanterns on them, because that is somehow okay now) to get herself closer to my cereal bowl which she knows is brimming with milky goodness, the phone rang, and a parade of ambulances (ambuli?) raced down the street. Jake was startled to tears from the commotion, Bailey knocked the orchid over, Tyler got her claw stuck in my pants and pulled them down all the way to the floor, the phone rang again, and just as the ambulance sirens died down, the firetrucks followed. And how did this end? Bailey took a nap on the off-limits-to-cats mantle, Tyler ate my cereal, Jake fed for an hour and six minutes, I never did check my caller ID, and I got stuck on the couch with no pants on. And that movie? It was on pause because the remote was hidden, found later across the room next to the diaper changing supplies. I got to stare at Audrey Hepburn enjoying a gelati in front of the Trevi Fountain for sixty-six minutes.

I amused myself by telling Jake all about our summer spent in Rome. Because that was the kind of thing we did before we had him.

you know you're in south philly when...

you tell some lady that your baby's name is Jacob, and she says "Oh, that's dif'rent, I ain't never heard of no baby named that before". Okay I'll give her that it is different from Jimmy, Vinnie, Frankie, Joey, Louie, Bobby, and Ant'ny, but Jacob was the number one boys name each year since 1999. It is the new Michael for God's sake. And this lady's mother agreed with her- "Oh, doll, that is dif'rent". For the record, they were pushing a newborn baby named Nadia Marie around in a stroller. Of course.

Jake and I had a banner day today, traveling to the bank, the post office, and the grocery store before 2 pm. I had a ton of change($137.49 in coinage) and Dave's expense account check that had been kicking around for awhile to deposit, two gifts to send to two long distance babies, and I hadn't eaten anything that didn't come from my freezer or a can for two days. It was time to get those things done, at the expense of doing things around the house.
I did get the pelican room primed yesterday, and I am hoping to get the edges of the wall painted blue today, if not at least one coat on the whole wall. We'll see. I've been busy with Jake's latest growth spurt, and he is eating every couple hours, which made for a tough night last night. I am pretty tired, and really hungry and thirsty from all the milk production. Being a dairy animal is hard work. Moo.

it's not just me

Jake has a bit of a cough lately, and it is the most pitiful thing I have ever heard in my life. After he is through hacking he looks at me with big wet eyes and sighs, as if he is doomed to endure the uphill battle of a chest cold for the rest of his life. A regular Sisyphus this kid thinks he is.

Now that Jake has been getting some formula there is a lot more laundry to do too, since it is notorious for making babies spit up. How and why anyone gives this crap to their kids all day every day is beyond me. It is actually more work, making and cleaning bottles, diapers are dirtier and burping takes longer, it stains fabric so you have to wash immediately. Not to mention it dribbles down their chin while eating and makes them smell like spoiled milk. But, at the end of the day it is making my life easier and I have to go to work eventually so he gets it. It is almost like McDonald's in a bottle. It's convenient when you are on the go, fills you up, makes you fat, and has nutritional value, but you are guaranteed a tummy ache afterwards.
I had Jake at my office on Friday, where he got a bottle and I got three separate lectures from nurses and social workers about how formula is for drug addicts and medicated people, which I agree with- babies shouldn't have those things in their milk, but a girl's gotta do what she can to get out of the house so she isn't one of those medicated people. Plus, there is a time and place for breastfeeding, and it is not in front of your boss.

Today begins the painting of the non-pelican side of the Pelican Room. I think that opening the sliding glass door and turning on the fan should give plenty of ventilation up there, and I'll keep Jake downstairs all day. I'll post some after-pictures by this weekend, when I plan to complete the task of painting over eight layers of wallpaper and oil based paints. I'd remove it but that excavation could take forever, and who knows what lead-based horrors lie within. My mission is to make it so breathtakingly beautiful that Dave agrees to let me paint over the pelican too. I don't think that will happen any time soon, despite the creepiness of the giant bird.
I am excited to begin something constructive as I thought that I would get to do more during my maternity leave, but I would rather spend my free time out of the house instead of in. So paint projects and organization goals have been neglected as I walk all over town. My goal is to have the pelican room done by this weekend, and the laundry room done by next. So here I go. Off to do housework. No really. I'm getting up right now. In a minute. After I check my email. And eat this can of beans while I catch up on everyone's blogs. And make a shopping list because I'm eating a can of beans.

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"?

adjust your thermostats

it's likely to be a cold day in hell!
Not as cold as the day I actually got pregnant, but pretty damned chilly. I just realized that one of my favorite parts during the day is when Jake naps or sits quietly and I get to clean up the house. For those that know me, the bane of my existence is anything that requires papertowels, chemicals, vacuum bags, or fabric softener. I don't know if it is simply because chores allow me to actually move around, or if I (gasp) enjoy doing things for my (gasp again) family but I do at least a load of laundry each day, dishes a few times a day, and manage to clean up at least one room of the house per day between marathon feeding sessions.

When I became pregnant, my grandmother gave me the best words of advice I received: "When pregnant, don't sit down. Keep moving, keep exercising, and whatever you do, stay away from junk food. There will be plenty of time for eating ice cream and cookies while the children are growing up". This was advice passed from her mother, and likely from her mother before that. And it worked wonders, so I listened to her next piece of wisdom.

When I had the baby, she said "I hated housework, but you will just get up and do it. It comes naturally, and you will enjoy the break from the baby". Yes. Yes I do. Plus, it was much easier to stay away from the messy house for 13 hours a day when I had a normal life. Now I have to sit here and look at the clutter and cat hair. Today I spent a half an hour packing away newborn clothes. Jake is finally fitting in his 0-3 month clothes! I thought it would be easier to put those tiny little jammys in a Rubbermaid bin, but it was a bit of a tear jerker. Oh, and as an aside, I cry now too. Such a sissy. I always knew that this baby would only be a baby for so long, but now I have physical proof.

My grandmother also said something about how easily preparing meals becomes once the children are old enough to eat at the table. I can't remember the last time I put together a well rounded non-holiday meal unless we had company, so we will see what the years bring. By the time dinner comes around, I feel that I have eaten so much during the day that some fruit or a salad is plenty. But I am an adult, and have the freedom to eat all day long. Kids are held captive in school all day where food and drink are only allowed for 35 minutes out of the whole day. Hopefully Jake will be off his schedule of eating every 90 minutes by then. And even more importantly, I pray that he grows out of indiscriminately grasping for the nearest boob every time his belly rumbles. That could make for some awkward parent-teacher conferences.