Toe Jam, an offshoot band of Pearl Jam

Too. Tired. To. Think.

Amos decided to celebrate our favorite holiday last night in a big way. What is our favorite holiday? Why, When the Clocks Change and Give Us an Extra Hour Day, of course! It is the only day that rewards us with a gift of an extra hour of sleep. Nothing is better than that. Not even cheese (yeah, I said it).

So, Amos decided to take that reward and smash it into tiny shreds of stuff and drool. He woke up around 3am (damn you, The Exorcism of Emily Rose!), and then every 10 to 20 minutes thereafter. After plugging his binky back into his whiny mouth about a million times, I couldn't take it any longer by 4:30am. I turned on the light and saw that most of his body was contorted in very unflattering ways inside or outside of his Swaddle Me. He looked up at me from his Moses basket and grinned a huge grin, as if to say, "Hey, you're up, too? That's GREAT! Let's DO something!"

I reswaddled the creature while Phil swished up a bottle of milk. I looked at the clock and realized that at best, I had acquired about an hour and a half of sleep so far. Earlier in the evening, Mr. Porter and I had relations (yes, I know I keep talking about having sex with my husband, but you must understand, it is very impressive that we managed to bump nasties twice in a few days). Those relations were quite tasty, but they ate into our allotted sleep time. We didn't bank on Amos starting up a party a few hours later.

He drank his milk (yay! yawn.) and fell asleep by 5am. I'm really hoping this isn't a new phase of babyhood with the waking in the night thing again. I'm old and cranky. Stop making me wake up every few hours, damn it. I sincerely feel this lack of sleep is shortening my life span. (I'm sure many mommies will chime in here and point and laugh at me as I try to pretend that Amos won't wake us up constantly anymore, but you know, give a girl some hope).

So, yeah. Blee blah bluh. We had hoped to go on a fantastic hike somewhere today to enjoy the 75 degree loveliness, but we holed up inside the house instead. We did manage to accomplish a few baby-oriented tasks.

Task One: Get an Amos foot imprint for the fancy picture frame thingy that has a slot for a picture and his foot. This meant that we rolled up a ball of putty over and over and over after futile attempts to get Amos and said foot to cooperate. Phil would hold him while I squished his piggies into the putty. Eventually, we succeeded, but not before we were foiled by various things such as "not enough heel," and "ewww, is that toe jam?" Good thing that the putty stuff doesn't dry quickly. We had just enough left over to do a hand imprint as well. Amos observed the finished piece and gave a giggle. Yes, Picasso, your work is lovely.

Task Two: Try out the Walking Wings that the loverly Lotus sent to us (yay!). Amos is only four-months-old and the box says to wait until month six, but I couldn't resist trying it. Walking Wings are used to strap your baby into a contraption and then sling 'em around the room to encourage the baby to walk. The design is great because instead of having a baby attached to your fingers all of the time to learn how to walk (thus, breaking your back), you can strap him in and let him pitterpatter while still on a leash. Brilliant.

Amos wasn't the most agile wing walker, but he did seem pretty fascinated to see the world from almost 24 inches off of the ground. He caught sight of the cat and started pumping his legs to go after her. Not exactly walking, per se, but it's a start. I lifted him up and bounced him over to the cat, where he would proceed to pull out fistfuls of fur. Then she would run away, so of course I did what any responsible parent would do: we bounced right after her. Ah, the joys of torturing pets with babies.

So, I look forward to day two of trying to sleep after the time change. If he wakes us up again, I'm going to need to seriously consider sending him to boarding school or survival camp. Anywhere but next to my side of the bed.