Some people's kids.

You know, when I was pregnant, a woman I used to work with told me, "The only time everyone feels they have a right to offer you advice or instruction is when you're pregnant or when you have a baby". She was right. When I was pregnant, people were constantly telling me what to do, what to eat, what to avoid, how to sleep, how to give birth, where to give birth, how many pounds I should gain, how important it was to do things their way, etc. As if I looked confused. As if I had asked. Constantly.

But, it was nothing compared to having a baby.

I'm astounded by the nerve of people. Complete strangers will come up and tell me what's wrong with Josh, like they've spent every day of the last five and a half months with him and have any idea whatsoever. As if it's somehow escaped me why my baby is crying or what I should do to help him. It blows my mind! I would never walk up to someone and say, "You know, fuscia really makes your rosacia stand out. You might want to try wearing blue instead" or "You know, you really should cut back on the booze. I think you might be an alcoholic". But because I have a baby, I'm considered open season for advice-givers.

I was in the grocery store one day and Josh was having a fit. A woman walked up to me and told me that he was too hot. I was out walking with him one day and Josh was crying in his stroller. A woman stopped me to tell me he was hungry. I had just fed him before we'd left. And yesterday on the streetcar, I was examining the cradle cap that's returned to Josh's scalp and the woman behind me said, and I'm not kidding, "Don't pick at it, love. It'll be all raw in the sun." Then, when I put Josh's hood up over his head so that the sun wouldn't burn his delicate scalp, the woman chimed in with, "There. Now Mommy's thinking."

This audacity blows my mind. It's completely unjustified and insulting. If I were hitting Josh, then come up and stop me. If I left him in a car, call the police. If I dropped him and he was unconcious, call an ambulance. But if he's crying and I'm trying to comfort him, don't come over and tell me what's wrong. This is not your baby. This is not your situation. This is not something you know anything about, so don't assume like it's your right to speak up. Manners, people!

Oh yeah. I used to write in this journal as a way to remember my time with Josh and have a place to look back over all the changes that have taken place since I gave birth five months ago.

Except, I got sidetracked and kind of lost my focus. And my focus, without question, without excuse, needs to be Josh. I only have one opportunity to raise him. I don't get a second chance if I blow this one. I am the only one responsible for making sure his needs are met, his influences are positive, and his examples are healthy.

Anyway, on Tuesday night, my little man sat up by himself like it was no thing at all; like he was made for it. He sat there on the bed and played with his own marvellous feet like they were delightful gifts sent from heaven for his entertainment. I nearly wet my pants. Next up: university. I just know it.

Tomorrow is Good Friday. I will go to church and remember what it means to be forgiven and do my best to give freely what has been given to me. Sometimes I hate that I'm so human.

Be well, muchachos. And a blessed Easter to you.

Josh is 5 months old today. I can't believe the time has flown by so quickly, and yet, it feels as though I've been away at war. It hasn't helped that I've had so many ups and downs and craziness on the romantic front, but those were things I could do something about. With Josh, I've been helpless.

He can almost sit up unsupported now. He's finding it very frustrating to be forced to lie back and do things like nurse or bathe. He's the king of raspberries and they come at the most ingenious times, too, like when I'm trying to get him to go to sleep and have spent 45 minutes rocking and singing to him. Thhhrrppppt! Or when I've just shoveled a spoonful of sweet potato into his mouth. Brilliant.

He's turning into a really fun guy, though, if I'm honest. He'll smile at me and I'll just get this pow pow pow pow feeling that starts at my heart and runs down into my feet. I'm crazy about him. I have no choice but to admit it.

I still have 18 pounds to lose and a lot of tightening up to do. I get to go to the gym at least once a week when Sharon & Shannon watch Josh for me. Then they feed me dinner, which is good, because they're kick ass cooks. I try to do squats and lunges and push ups (Man, you should see my wobbly bits. No wait. No you shouldn't. Ever!) around the house when I remember, but the pull of the couch is so much stronger than I remembered.

Josh still doesn't sleep through the night (or longer than 3 hours at a stretch) so I'm baked pretty well all of the time. I think I'm going to need some serious intervention here. It might be time to swallow my fear and go Ferber. My poor neighbours.

See how boring I am? Yay life!