The Search Continues

In my continuing search for identity and definition, I have turned to the media.  Magazines, to be exact.  You see, I have subscribed to Women's Health for years.  I may not have participated in their bootcamp workouts or taken to heart the fact that if you eat five servings of Chia seeds a day you will never get wrinkles (I may be quoting that last fact incorrectly).  But when I got this month's issue in the mail today, I suddenly felt like I couldn't relate anymore.  Women's Health magazine is for people who only have one dessert a week and who consider a couple's training session a date.  Weird.

I, on the other hand, have multiple desserts daily and am lucky to get a 15-minute walk in three times a week.  Once again I find myself stuck between two worlds - care about my health and revel in those "you can do it!" type periodicals, but life and time doesn't allow me to make much headway in either department (ok, so it's fully my choice to have chocolate multiple times a day and watch tv instead of working out).  So I'll continue to read my "get a bounce-free butt in 2 weeks!" magazines, but I'll do so with the hope that squatting to pick up toys with a baby in my arms will have the same results as purposefully doing lunges to exhaustion.  I sure got the exhaustion part going on.

Last night Z and I went out after work for a belated birthday dinner while Donna watched Connor.  We didn't follow the new-parent rule of not talking about your kid when you finally have time alone, but 'Rad didn't permeate our conversation.  We finally got to talk about things other than work, the little dude, and what's not going our way.  We ate sushi, lots of sushi, went out downtown like regular people do, and came home happy to see a-dude and put him to bed.  We didn't have a crazy number of drinks, walk down the street swaying from the influence, or bar hop.  God, we are so responsible now.  But, as Z put it, it's appropriate.  We're not partying 20-somethings, we're people with a kid and a mortgage and we have a life, too.

Tonight is Z's birthday party, and I'm just feeling good.  He's at class this morning but 'Rad is getting big enough to entertain himself for bigger chunks of time.  When in his play saucer, he can actually use the tips of his toes to really get going up and down, amazing himself in the process.  I can sit him up on his playmat, walk to the next room to do something, and come back without him having fallen over like an uncertain bowling pin.  He smiles at everything, has started repeating B sounds all morning, and is getting more and more predictable, which makes my job a little easier.  Saying "peas, please!" still gets him to grin, and when I put him on his belly he can really push himself up on his hands.

Last night I was lightly mourning the loss of the carrying car seat, but I'm looking forward to what the next 6 months and more hold.  I know I will always be mourning the phases that he has outgrown because of my sentimental blood, but that's overtaken by the promise and mystery that is his future.  And the fact that he's so delicious.