I’m Back!

I took a vow not to do any other writing until my thesis was done, and that meant no Hausfrauing for you all. My thesis also meant limited Hausfrauing around my actual house, which yielded even more mess than usual.

Well, my thesis is done. So I’m back! To blogging, that is. To cleaning, not so much. It’s a work in progress.

It’s kind of fitting, really. My last post was a birthday post for Das Baby. And now I’ve birthed another baby of sorts. A 92-page chunk of my “book,” and a 35-page critical paper about issues of memory and authority in third generation Holocaust literature. It’s all more exciting than it sounds, I promise.

Some other stuff happened since I last blogged:

Das Baby started walking.

Das Baby started eating real food (again).

Das Baby: food face.

Das Baby started talking. Yes, all of his words sound something like “Bah,” “Gah,” “Dah,” or “Boob,” but they can mean up to fifty different things!

We both started eating dairy again. Hooray, cheese! Less hooray: the ten pounds I subsequently gained.

Das Baby is a natural at the beach. Yes, he’s missing a frozen drink, but give him twenty years. He’ll figure it out.

We went on a fabulous family vacation to Bermuda, courtesy of Herr Husband’s work. We traveled with a delightful pack of pediatricians (no, not because we’d retained them to monitor Das Baby, but because of Herr Husband’s work). Their clinical opinion was that he was the cutest freakin’ thing even (excepting their own grand/children, of course).

Oh yeah, and Das Baby came off of both daytime oxygen (November) and nighttime oxygen (February). The 02 feels like a distant memory, which is, frankly, awesome.

Now that I’ve returned, I owe you lots. What do you want to hear about: Trying to make friends in the ‘burbs? My fear of being the slutty mom at baby swim class? A review of Spot’s Balloon, quite possibly the most tragic, amoral children’s book ever? What really happens to your breasts if you pump for 18 months? My attempts to teach Das Baby to answer the question, “Who farted?” with “Dada,” regardless of the truth? Said efforts failed (he kept saying “Mama,” no matter the actual answer), which is why you shouldn’t manipulate your child’s language development for your own amusement.

Or you can hear more from Das Baby, who apparently wants to discuss golf. Ordinarily it’s a topic I’d find excruciatingly boring, but his little voice manages to make anything sound adorable.