The first clothing Mr. Burt and I purchased for the Burt Squirt when we found out we were having a boy was not a sweet, tiny newborn outfit  in which to bring him home from the hospital. It was far less practical than that, and in a size much bigger than newborn.

Our unborn boy already had a dragon costume for his first Halloween.

We knew our Burt Squirt would be adorable in his dragon costume, but at the same time we couldn’t imagine that the baby, still only half-term inside me, could ever have long enough arms and legs to fill the sleeves and pant legs. After he was born and, for the first few months, consistently measured in the 25th percentile for length, it seemed even less likely he’d grow into his dragon suit in time for Halloween.

But on Halloween, which also happened to be the eve of the Burt Squirt’s eight month-birthday, Mr. Burt and I dressed him in the costume as we’d anticipated doing for so long.

And we found it fit, perfectly.

Must be all that baby food he’s been eating almost ever since I posted about him not eating it on his seven month birthday. It took going against the pediatrician’s advice and introducing fruits before vegetables, but going by the way the Burt Squirt scarfed down an entire jar of squash in about two minutes flat the other night, there wasn’t any harm in our method. Now he eats at least jar of fruit and a jar of vegetables a day, divided over breakfast and dinner, and we’re working on a jar of fruit or vegetables, depending on his intestinal needs, for lunch. Breastfeeding is still going strong; he nurses about five times a day, which is great, and usually refuses a bottle, which is not so great. I’d really like to get back to choir, so we’ve got to figure out a solution to get him to eat when I’m not around for that bedtime feeding.

The one time he’s not eating anymore is in the middle of the night. He’d dropped the nighttime feed at around two months, but then at five months had a growth spurt and started teething and was waking to nurse in the middle of the night consistently until about three weeks ago. As of last week he continued waking with gas, but then one night he rolled onto his side, which he’d never done before, and slept through the night, with repeat performances the next three nights as he discovered that the side and tummy are comfier than the back–and better for working through those pesky nighttime toots.

And I’m betting that now he doesn’t mind being on his tummy, crawling really will happen any day now. If he doesn’t take off walking first. He can stand on his own for a good ten seconds now; yesterday he hit twenty, in his dragon costume, but I think that was because the tail gave him a little extra balance. He hasn’t pulled up on any stationary objects yet, though he tries, because all our furniture seems to be a little too tall for him. I thought for a minute he was going to pull up on the refrigerator today while he was playing in the kitchen while I fixed myself some lunch, but then I realized he was only hugging it. And kissing it. (Maybe all that affection will make my crisper drawer stop freezing my produce.)

There’s a lot of that going around.

If I were a good mommy blogger, the first of every month would bring an update about the Burt Squirt’s growth and development. Alas, I am not a good mommy blogger; you will find no such posts prior to this, the Burt Squirt’s seven-month birthday. Probably I shouldn’t admit that my sudden motivation to blog is prompted by the fact that the alternative for this time before the Burt Squirt awakes is to clean the bathroom. That choice would make a blogger of anyone.

From what I’ve seen in the mommy blogging world, these kinds of posts typically start out with stats. This reminds me of something I read once about infancy being the only time when it’s considered polite to ask how much a person weighs or remark on how much hair he has. I’m not sure if anyone ever thought to ask the babies if they think it’s polite, but for the sake of perceived good manners, I’ll go with it.

At seven months old, the Burt Squirt weighs upwards of 20 pounds and is 27ish inches long. Forgive my imprecision, but he doesn’t have a checkup this month and our scale needs new batteries. I assume he’s heavier and longer than he was at six months, as he’s filling out his 6-9 month PJs nicely. Of course, it’s highly possible I shrank them in the dryer…I prefer growth spurt, especially considering how many times I nursed the kid yesterday.

Yes, at seven months old, the Burt Squirt is still nursing pretty much exclusively and shows no signs of giving up any of his six or seven daily feedings. Which isn’t great for the amount of sleep I’m getting, but I’m just glad he hasn’t cut any teeth yet–though Niagara Falls flowing forth from his mouth and constant chewing everything lead me to believe they’re on their way. We’ve spent the past month introducing baby food, but, “Liam, Mashed Sweet Potatoes; Mashed Sweet Potatoes, Liam,” is about the extent of our progress. There were two days in there where he voluntarily opened his mouth and ate apples, but then it was time to move on to other things and there hasn’t been a repeat performance, despite my singing Bananaphone and Peaches in the attempt to make him laugh and open his mouth. He grins–with his lips pressed firmly together. The Burt Squirt is nobody’s fool.

He’s actually sparing with his laughter in general, which obviously means he has a has a highly cultivated and discerning sense of humor, cracking up only at such comic gems as “poopies” said in a silly voice.

Just because the Burt Squirt doesn’t laugh a lot doesn’t mean he’s not a happy baby. Happy is his default setting, and he smiles and jabbers “dada” and “baba” all day to express it. Especially if he’s outside, or on the go. This is not a child who likes to sit around the house all day–a surprising trait in the offspring of two troglodytes. Lucky for him, he’ll be celebrating his seven month birthday with lunch at Babe‘s and coffee at Mozart Bakery.

Less surprising is his clear desire for independence. If the Burt Squirt’s not happy, it’s generally because he’s not where he wants to be and can’t get there on his own. He’d like nothing better than for me to hold his hands and help him walk around the house all day long. He gets less frustrated now that he’s finally learned to roll from back to front–a motor skill his pediatrician assured us is often delayed in kids with more weight to lug around. Though I think the delay was due less to physical inability as lack of interest in doing so, because one day he just suddenly did it, multiple times in a row, with great ease, and it was obvious he’d been holding out on us. There was a look on his face of, “Oh, I can get across a room if I do that. Why didn’t I do this sooner?”

He’ll be asking himself the same question when he figures out how to crawl, which is sure to happen any day now. He’s quite adept at lunging from a sitting position onto his hands and knees. What he needs is a good set of guns like I have–from carrying the 20 pound Burt Squirt around.

As we’ve come full-circle back to weight, it seems this Burt Squirt update has come to a close. It’s cliché, but I can hardly believe that more than half of his first year is already over and gone. How could seven months have slipped past since I first nuzzled his cheek in the operating room? And how could he be so big when a year ago today he was just a little 17 week-old bump in my tummy?

That time flies like it does makes me glad for those few hours each day when I don’t get any housework done because I”m stuck in my nursing chair snuggling with my little squirt who refuses to nap anywhere but in my lap.

Because that’s the only time I get to be a mommy blogger.

One of the more unexpectedly overwhelming parts of becoming a parent is the task of creating your baby registry. You walk into Babies R Us and are barraged by thousands of products for babies, all of them claiming to be must-haves. Even the lists of “essentials” are designed to sell more stuff.

Recently an expectant friend asked me what items I absolutely could not care for the Burt Squirt without. At the moment the question caught me off guard, but after mulling over it, I’ve come up with my top five must-haves.

Remember, these are my favorite things that work for my baby. Your baby might have entirely different tastes. And if there’s anything I’ve learned in my first six months of motherhood, it’s that babies are like Lolcats: they don’t hesitate to say, “DO NOT WANT!” and it’s impossible to force anything a baby DOES NOT WANT on him.

Which is why Babies R Us sells thousands of items, most of which parents will buy in the hope that at least one of them will make childcare a little easier.

Bag Balm

Developed by farmers to treat chapped cow udders, Bag Balm is not only more effective than Desitin at treating the mother of all diaper rashes, it’s also far more affordable than the more potent creams, such as Bourdeaux’s Butt Paste. I paid $12.99 for Bag Balm at a local pharmacy (though Google tells me you can get it for less) when the Burt Squirt was about three weeks old; five months later we still haven’t used it all–and that’s with a liberal smear up the butt crack every diaper change. (In our house, that’s 6-8 diaper changes a day, 31 days a month, for 5 months…I’ll let you do the math.)

I’ve been told that Bag Balm also works for mommies experiencing discomfort from breastfeeding. Though I don’t think I’d recommend treating lady parts from the same jar used on baby bottoms (however cute they may be)!

Also, if you do put it to your own use, you might want to forget it was developed by farmers to treat chapped cow udders…

bébéPOD

The Burt Squirt has nearly outgrown his bébéPOD–a source of much sorrow in our household, as the bébéPOD allows Mr. Burt and me to eat dinner without having to hold a baby who wants to be sitting up and a part of the action like a big boy. It may seem like one of those superfluous purchases–why not just pop him in a high chair, swing, or bouncy seat?–but the Burt Squirt won’t sit in any of those for the duration of a meal. I think it’s because they require him to be strapped in, while the bébéPOD allows him to sit up free of restraint.

There’s a similar product on the market called the Bumbo, and honestly I’m not sure one is superior to the other. We chose the bébéPOD over the Bumbo because the wider leg holes and all-around less restrictive design accommodate our chunky child; he would have outgrown a Bumbo before he was two months old.

A tip: Search children’s consignment shops or craigslist instead of buying new. The “plus” version with the tray retails for around $50, but we picked ours up sans tray for $15. Later we decided we wanted the tray and purchased one at Babies R Us for around $12. (Alas and alack, it didn’t come with one of the adorable kiwi placemats.) But you can find the ones with trays used, too.

Boppy

Of course you can breastfeed without a nursing pillow, or you can use any old pillow to give your baby the boost he or she needs to get to the goods. I never nurse without a pillow because, at not quite six months, the Burt Squirt weighs over 18 pounds and just about breaks my arms during nursing sessions that can last up to half an hour. And I don’t use any old pillow because I find it awkward.

A Boppy fits around my waist to provide a comfortable and stable prop for nursing. And did I mention it frees up your hands? You wouldn’t know it from the pictures of nursing mothers cuddling their babies (making me wonder why they’re bothering with a Boppy at all), but you really can do it hands-free! The Burt Squirt actually prefers I nurse him hands-free; he has a conniption if I touch his head while he’s eating, which eliminates a couple of nursing holds.

Breastfeeding eats up (heh) a ton of time, especially in the beginning when your baby is learning how to nurse. Why not reclaim some of that time for yourself? Thanks to my Boppy, I’ve been able to eat dinner while nursing (even at a table, with friends and family), read books, play board games, and use my computer. If I weren’t able to do these things, I’d have completely lost my mind somewhere around day one of motherhood. It’s nice to be able to stay sane–and retain a semblance of the woman I was BBS (Before Burt Squirt)–while still doing the best thing for my baby.

Exersaucer

God bless the person who invented the Exersaucer, without which we would never eat a home-cooked meal or have clean toilets. The Burt Squirt is too big for his britches and could stand up for hours, but he’s not yet able to do that without Mommy or Daddy holding on to him. We do, of course, but sometimes you’ve just got to let go of your kid for a few minutes so you can fix yourself a sandwich or get dressed.

There are lots of different Exersaucers that feature a variety of activities. When choosing, consider ones with fewer electronic components and more activities–things to grab, spin, chew on, pull, pick up, turn, flip, shake, rattle. Also, get an Exersaucer that fits your baby. We tried one Exersaucer when the Burt Squirt was around three months old, and his arms were too short to reach out for any of the toys on the tray portion–which was a bit of a problem because it was only a tray portion! We went with this model because of there were plenty of toys within arm’s reach (also, because expectant friends offered to let us borrow it till their twins are old enough to use it), and the rest he grew into over time.  The Exersaucer has actually been a fun way to track the Burt Squirt’s growth, and nothing makes you feel prouder as a parent than seeing how proud he is whenever he can finally reach that toy he’s been trying to get for a few weeks.

Except maybe when you manage to clean a kitchen and bathroom and dust your living room while your baby “Exersauces” for a solid 40 minutes.

Vtech Move and Crawl Ball

When we received this as a baby shower gift I was a little skeptical, but the Move and Crawl ball has turned out to be one of our favorite baby toys. In fact it was the first toy that really engaged the Burt Squirt, as, I’ll remind you, he thinks he’s a bigger boy than he is.  He was never a fan of lying on his back reaching for dangling toys in his baby gym, and, when he began to sit unassisted at a little before four months, the ball provided something easy to play with in an upright position. I think it actually helped develop his sense of balance and gave him some core strength.

The other thing I love about the Move and Crawl Ball is that, unlike a lot of other baby toys, the buttons respond readily to those uncoordinated, light baby finger touches. If a baby can’t make something work, he’ll quickly lose interest, but the Burt Squirt’s ability to interact with his ball keeps him entertained pretty much until the cat runs into his field of vision and distracts him. But even Mommy can’t compete with the cat…

Mommy (and Daddy) readers: what are your favorite baby things?

The Burt Squirt at 3 months, but looking more like 5 or 6 months. It's the man boobs.

“Can he sit up?” asked Lindsay, the photographer, at the start of our three month-old’s session at the JC Penney Portrait Studio.

“For a few seconds,” I replied, my husband quickly adding, his voice strident with paternal pride, “He did it for a whole minute the other day!”

“We’ll give it a try,” Lindsay said.

Try was the operative word. After a few unsuccessful attempts at snapping a picture before the Burt Squirt toppled over sideways (I think this had less to do with the Burt Squirt not having good balance than with his not wanting to sit up), she asked her assistant for the various tools of the photography trade that keep infants propped up for photo shoots.

She asked us, “How old is he?”

“Three months,” I answered, my husband chiming in again, “Four months on Thursday, actually!”

Lindsay stopped arranging the Burt Squirt and looked him over.  “Seriously?  He’s big.  I thought he must be five or six months.  That’s why I asked if he could sit up.”  She shook her head, chuckled to herself.  And repeated, “He’s big!”

“We get that a lot,” I said, because it was the truth.

A few weeks earlier, a Walmart cashier had clucked her tongue at the sleeping baby in the shopping cart.  “Oo-ee!  He’s juicy! How old that child?”

“Eleven weeks,” I replied, adding, as the cashier furrowed her brow in the effort to convert weeks to months, “Almost three months.”

“Three months!’ the cashier cried, then proceeded to grumble, “Ain’t no way that baby only three months.  Look like he five or six months.  Three months.  Heh.”

She looked up, suddenly, and her grumbles became a shout at a fellow cashier just closing up at the next wrap stand.  “How old you think this baby look?”

The second cashier shambled over and looked the Burt Squirt up and down.  “Five or six months.”

“He three months old!” said the first cashier.

Now it was me who was being looked up and down.  “What you feeding this child?  Cereal?”

“Nope,” I replied, grinning in amusement — and, I admit — a touch of pride, “just breastmilk.”

“Breastmilk.”  The cashier’s eyes dropped a few inches south of my chin.  “Heh.  I never did none of that breastmilk.  Hurt too much.”

I chuckled politely, because, well…what do you say to a Walmart cashier when she tells you about her breastfeeding pain?  She shifted her attention to the still-sleeping Burt Squirt.

“Three months old and he that big…I bet you don’t qualify for wick, do you?”

“Pardon?”  I wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly.

“Wick,” she repeated.

It wasn’t until she explained that she, too, had a baby who was big for his age, and that somehow that had kept them from qualifying for it, that I understood she was asking if I received WIC.

She proceeded to tell me how she’d gotten around the problem of having a big, healthy-looking baby by getting her sister to apply for WIC, while I contemplated how strange this conversation had become.  Never in my life had I been asked if I was on, or had applied for, government assistance.

Did I look poor?  I was wearing my bleach-stained yoga pants and an old t-shirt and had tied my hair up in a quick, sloppy bun.  Then again, you can buy that look at designer boutiques.

Maybe it was because, rather than buy expensive baby formula, I’d resorted to feeding my child from my own breasts.

Or maybe it was just because I was shopping at Walmart.  It was, after all, the very supermarket in which a woman stalked me, offering parenting advice to me and bits of a sticky bun to the Burt Squirt. But that’s another story for another day.

Contrary to popular belief, it’s not the low low prices that keep me shopping at Walmart.  It’s the stories.  (It’s certainly not the way they randomly stop selling items that are a part of my regular shopping list.)

(Okay, I admit it.  The low low prices are the main reason I shop at Walmart.  But the stories are a bonus.)

I’d say that, as the mommy of a big baby, these stories are my new normal, except that I’ve got lots of strange stories about Walmart, going back long before I was the mommy of a big baby.

But then, doesn’t everyone?