Last night, Dan was working at the dining room table, and I was tending to my second-born.

"Mr. Masculine and I are going up to bed," I told him eventually.

"Okay," he said, not looking up from his computer. "Why is he 'Mr. Masculine?'"

"Uh, he's wearing a yellow-striped suit that says 'Snuggle Time.'"

"'Snuggle Time'?"

"Yep."

I ordered produce plus from my farm this year, and so I got a pound-and-half each of basil and garlic. Yesterday, I made a huge amount of pesto and froze it in meal-size portions to eat throughout the fall and early winter. I was so proud of myself, and so looking forward to eating that delicious, organic pesto for months to come.

And then, this morning, there were specks and streaks of blood in Mac's stool.

You know what that means, right? It means I probably can't consume any more dairy products for the duration of our nursing relationship. So no pesto for me. Not even a tiny bit.

The new kid hit the two-month mark this week. He plays with his hands and feet, tries to bat and kick at toys, makes lots of funny noises, drools profusely, screams every time he rides in the car, and sleeps pretty well, especially compared to his older brother, who still at age four, is widely considered one of the worst sleepers on the planet.



Also this week, Dan and I marked our sixth wedding anniversary. It's been a pretty fun six years, I've gotta say. I reviewed the wedding album in honor of the occasion, and I noticed that I look a lot older than I did in 2002. I figure four years of sleep deprivation might do that to a person.

This is my third week as a full-fledged stay-at-home-mom of two. I cannot tell a lie: I'm pretty tired. During the last week, I've thought of many potential blog topics:

A) My feet, after this second pregnancy, have settled in at size 10.5 or 11. How large is that?

B) My budgeting is going well, and I've been very creative. For instance, instead of buying a new box of nursing bra pads, I've been cutting up leftover maxi pads and sticking them in.

C)Um, I guess that's it. I thought there was one more, but I guess I'm too tired to remember it.

I realized in a panic this morning that today is Wednesday, and we all need to record our Project Runway guesses. Here's what you need: your picks for the next three losers, plus a winner pick for tonight's challenge. Here's the description of the challenge from Bravotv.com: "The workplace can be a jungle. Inspired by a hit TV show, the Project Runway designers help working women dress the part. Guest Judge: Brooke Shields."

Post here or on Facebook before you watch the show!

At the risk of over-mommyblogging, here are a couple of videos:

This is one Dan took of the new kid getting weighed. His size was a surprise to all - my OB guessed "seven-and-a-half or maybe eight pounds."


Untitled from Savvy Mom on Vimeo.

And here's Shef at swimming lessons. He finally started swimming by himself, and we're all pretty excited about it.


Untitled from Savvy Mom on Vimeo.

One of my pals just had a baby boy yesterday and posted some lovely photos on Facebook of moments after the event. They're images you've seen a million times, featuring a triumphant mother and a beautiful newborn looking into each other's eyes.

My friend looks radiant in these photos - really glowing with the joy of birthing her new child.

And of course, I'm super happy for her and her unbloated face.

Now, offered here for the sake of contrast, this is me about four hours after Mac was born:



Seriously. WTF?

My good pal Renee is getting married tomorrow. It'll be a great day for many reasons, but especially because after the ceremony, her first and last names will rhyme.

Isn't that awesome?

It IS awesome, and I'll tell you why: 1) Renee asked about the status of my fetus's "tail" every day for several months straight; 2) she told 150 eighth graders that I sometimes pee in my pants when I laugh too hard; and 3) she throws balls at me for the sole purpose of making fun of the way I catch. And then, as a bonus for her, to also make fun of the way I throw.

So, I'm totally milking this rhyming thing. I'll be milking it for the rest of my days.