Being a Mom

I loved being pregnant. I was fortunate to have an easy pregnancy with Little Man. Every day I was in awe of how my body changed and became something so different from what it was before, of the tiny creature growing and moving and thriving inside of me. I loved the way complete strangers would look on me with such kindness, would go out of their way to be helpful and give a smile, simply because they saw that I was a soon-to-be-mom.

While pregnant, I studied What to Expect When You're Expecting and a few other parenting books. I signed up for the weekly newsletters from online parenting magazines. I agonized over what stroller and crib bedding and high chair to purchase, spending hours researching and reading reviews and comparing prices. I approached my last month of pregnancy with a fair amount of trepidation, knowing that I stood on a precipice, at the point of no return—once I stepped off, once our Little Man entered the world, my life as I knew it would never be the same. The old Julie would be gone, replaced by Mom Julie.

But all that was fuzzy, intangible. I was realistic. I knew having a baby wasn't going to be easy. But I also knew how many women successfully raised children every year, many with a lot less preparation and support than I had. And women kept having babies, some one right after another. They encouraged other women to have children. So it couldn't possibly be that hard.

You know what? Parenting—particularly motherhood, particularly for those first few months when your little bundle of joy is not always so joyous and you're trying to care for his every need without really knowing what he needs or how the heck to give it to him—is much harder than I ever imagined it would be.

While I was in the midst of nine solid months of serious sleep deprivation, struggling to produce enough milk to sustain my hungry fellow, feeling every day like I was a failure as a mother because this messy, stressful life wasn't anything like what people made motherhood out to be, I railed against the pretty, perfect picture people paint of the joys of having babies.

To be fair, some practical books do cover the nitty gritty details of all the problems you might face with your little one. But those helpful advice tomes seem so abstract compared to reality. And the truth of the matter is, they're often more confusing than helpful. Take our sleep challenges, for instance. One book would tell me I should do one thing to help Little Man sleep better. Another book said the complete opposite. Websites, other moms interested in lending their advice, whatever the source might be, there was absolutely zero agreement on one best course of action for me to take. It made my head spin and left me more confused than when I started.

That's when I started to realize that there isn't one right way to survive having a baby and being a new mother. There is no one perfect, agreed-upon way to do anything related to newborns. What worked for five other new moms and their little ones will not work for you. You really do have to just do what feels right to you, what you think is best.

But how do you know what's right, what's best, when you can't even see straight from exhaustion? When you question whether every decision you make regarding your baby is wrong? When you have no inherent knowledge, and certainly no experience, to rely on?

It can be hard to rely on mother's intuition and insight when you don't think you have a lick of it. I wondered many times during those first nine months if I was cut out to be a mom at all. How could I be so terrible at something other women seemed to do so effortlessly? How could I be so confident presenting information to a room full of strangers or editing a book or whatever else I was capable of doing in my "other" life and yet be so incapacitated and unsure of myself as a mother?

And why the heck weren't any other new moms having as tough of a time as I was?

Only after the fog of those first nine months started to lift, when Little Man no longer relied solely on me for sustenance and finally started to sleep for longer stretches, when I became a bit more comfortable in my skin as a new mother, did I realize the truth.

All those other new moms probably were having just as tough of a time as I was. In fact, a few I spoke to admitted just how hard it had been for them, how much they wished they had known other moms went through the same thing.

They thought it was just a personal problem, like I did. They thought maybe they weren't cut out for this motherhood stuff while all other moms were perfectly-put-together saints. They spent sleepless nights laying awake questioning every action they'd taken that day, not realizing that all across town other new moms were doing the same thing.

During those first months that were so hard, when I felt so alone, I wish I would've known other young mothers were struggling too. I wish I could have connected with them somehow. I also wish I would've realized how today's access to information only fuels our feelings of inadequacy as mothers.

Every day on Facebook new moms post cheerful updates and happy smiling baby pictures. They rarely mention how sore their nipples are from breastfeeding, how many times they've been peed on in the last 24 hours, how they were so exhausted they smeared toothpaste all over their faces before bed instead of face wash. The same thing happens on so many blogs (I'm guilty, even right here, I know—but who takes photos of the hard parts?) and a million other places where moms have a presence.

Then there's Pinterest, where you can pin photos of dreamy birthday cakes, the ultimate outdoor activities for every age, patterns for quilts and clothes and a million handmade things perfect moms are making every day for their children while their babies nap peacefully beside them in their bassinets. It's a new (real life) mom's nightmare.

And don't even get me started on the mass media and the general public, who these days seems to think that their place is right in your living room beside you as you feed your baby. There's public outcry from all corners when moms dare to speak about choosing formula over breast milk, then there's more outcry when breastfeeding moms say they're stopping before a year or continuing past two years. Disposable diapers vs. cloth? When should children be immunized? When is it OK to give kids highly allergenic foods? To let them watch TV? To potty train them? Tread lightly, new moms, because everyone—even people who've never been there themselves—have strong opinions.

It's information overload. An overabundance of options (don't even get me started on all the products new moms should have, all the choices they have to make just to figure out which bottle or burp rag to buy). It's too much content not saying enough about the reality of motherhood. It's enough to make your head spin. To make you question every decision you make. To make you wonder why you got into this whole motherhood thing in the first place.

But odds are, if you're like me, when you're finally able to quiet your mind, to stop second-guessing yourself, to just be present with those ten little fingers and toes and that adorable nose, you realize none of the chatter or the pressure or the debates matter. What matters is that you have a healthy baby. What matters is that you are the single most important person in your child's life. And that, despite how difficult those first few months may be, you are better off having your little one in your life.

In a few months, the things you agonize over now will seem rather inconsequential. Your little one will be running around and chattering nonstop, becoming his or her own person. You'll laugh and cuddle and play together and know that everything is alright.

It's a wild ride from here, to be sure, but things get easier than those first challenging months. You're a good mom. Did you hear me? I mean it. You're a good mom.
 
Your child will grow to be strong, healthy, and happy. You'll be stronger, healthier, and happier, too. You'll discover yourself again, you'll get more sleep, you'll find a balance between being a mom and still being your own person. You'll savor the little moments and perhaps even look back with fondness on the craziness of the beginning.

You'll see. Trust me. If I survived this far, you can too.

A Day with the Baby

Since returning from our Lake Oconee trip, the little guy has decided he must. be. held. all. the. time. I blame this on his Mimi and Papa and Auntie Coley.


And so I have spent a good portion of the past couple of days sitting on our couch in the living room, armed with toys and children's books for Collin and a journal and Nook for me.

It's a rather enjoyable existence. I'm trying to savor every moment of it and not stress about all the things I could be doing around the house instead.

It's hard to believe, but I have less than two weeks left to be home with the little guy full-time!

2 Weeks

It's hard to believe this little guy has been with us for two full weeks now.


It has been exciting and exhausting and definitely an adjustment.


I never knew it was possible to sit and stare at someone for hours but trust me ... it is.


And the adventure is only just beginning!

Letting Butter Talk

Hi guys.

Just wanted to let you know I'm still around and happy as can be.

My family has been pretty darn busy lately, but I know even when I'm stuck at home or in the pet motel that they still love me.

All in all, life is good. ... Even though I still can't figure out what the heck is going on in the place formerly known as the office. ...

But I sure do like to sniff all those treasures that keep appearing in there. I'm sure they're all for me, even though I don't know why the heck I'd need so much stuff when all I really want in life is a belly rub, a walk, and a treat.

Walks in the Park

When Butter and I have time, we enjoy heading over to Kickapoo Creek Park for a nice, long walk.


It's a lovely little park with a big paved path that loops around it as well as some other, smaller trails that branch off into the woods and the fields. (Yes, it's big enough the terrain even changes a bit here and there.)


Butter is ecstatic the moment the car turns into the entrance to the park because he knows what's coming. So much to sniff! So much to see! So far to go!


It's a lovely park with a lot of big, old trees. When I was taking an ecology class a few years ago, Butter had the tortuous job of accompanying me on many trips to the park so I could practice tree identification. There are a lot of massive, established native trees and shrubs in the park for me to identify--plus, of course, a few non-native species here and there. (The one below is native--it's a sycamore. There are a lot of sycamores in the park, in case you're wondering.)


Because of these trees, even in the heat of the summer much of the path is shaded, which is nice for a pregnant lady and a very hairy dog.


And if you need a break, you can always step off the path and rest on one of the picnic benches.


Or in the hollow of this old tree, if you're tiny enough.

Sometimes, when we're feeling brave, Butter and I will even go off-roading and venture across the creek and into the woods.


But most of the time we just stick to the path and mosey along, him sniffing and peeing every chance he gets and me just enjoying the fresh air and the scenery and the exercise.


And then when we get done, we plop down on the ground, drink some water, and ...


relax before it's time to head home.

Answering Your Questions

In my new role as a pregnant lady I've discovered that there is an inevitable list of questions that people ask once they find out you're pregnant.

Such as (in order of popularity) ...

When are you due?
November 26. Yes, this is one day before Conservative Hubby and I celebrate our second anniversary. He is hoping for a November 27 birth, thinking it will get him out of anniversary celebrations forever because the baby's birthday will take precedence. Every woman who knows him has quickly assured him this is not nor ever will be the case, but he may still be in denial about this fact.

The due date means, sadly, that our families have to put a hold on our annual tradition of spending Thanksgiving in Georgia. (Conservative Hubby pouted about this and didn't understand at first why we couldn't just go anyway. Um ... hello? I'd rather not give birth en route to the lake, thankyouverymuch.)

How far along are you?
If they don't ask the question above, people usually ask this one. As of yesterday, I am at 18 weeks. That means I just entered month 5. It's hard to believe it has already been that long. We're almost halfway there!

(Conservative Hubby is excited to reach the halfway point if for no other reason than he's annoyed he has to do all the lifting and mowing around the house now ... Little does he know that when the bambino comes his honey-do list is only going to get longer.)

How are you feeling?
It's so kind how many people ask right away how I am doing. I am grateful to say that I am feeling really well and have for the entire pregnancy. Due to some terrific genes (thanks, Mom!), I made it through the entire first trimester without a hint of morning sickness. As long as I ate a bit right away when I got up and munched on a little snack frequently throughout each day, I was fine.

Of course, I've had the general weird feelings that come when your body undergoes such massive changes, and I'd had my share of days when I felt foggy and beset by pregnancy brain. But I escaped without morning sickness or the major mood swings that I've heard others have to deal with, so hooray for that.

My biggest challenge has been a lack of energy and being incredibly tired. For someone who is on the go as much as I am and who isn't very good at just sitting down and relaxing, this has taken some getting used to. I've had to take it easy as much as I can while still working, commuting, doing a bit of freelancing, doing all this darn Elks work I got suckered into, keeping the house clean, and so on.

That's meant that the things that have gotten neglected are cooking, blogging, responding to personal emails, and other leisurely pursuits. (Conservative Hubby would undoubtedly add himself to the list of things that have been neglected, but I would argue with that--he's been even busier than I have been lately!)

Are you showing?
Of course I get this one from people who aren't standing in front of me, although the people who are standing in front of me to date have usually said something to the effect of, "Wow, I can't even tell you're pregnant!

And it's true, that baby has been darn slow to let the world know he/she is in there. People who have known our news have probably seen a hint of a belly in the past couple of weeks, and the really astute even a few weeks before that. But the average person who didn't already know our news would not have been the wiser until the past week or so. In fact, most of the people I work with besides the women right in my office do not yet know we're expecting (or at least have been keeping their suspicions to themselves if they have wondered anything).

It is going to be a bit harder not to notice now though, because in the past week or so the bump, small as it may be, has made itself known.

Still, it's just a little one.

Are you going to find out if you're having a boy or girl?
Yep! I would've been OK knowing or not knowing, but Conservative Hubby is dying to find out. He has gotten into the habit of saying "he" when referring to the baby, although one night he did slip up and say "she," which his friends took to be a sign that we are having a girl.

Some people have asked if I have an inkling what we're having, as I guess some women get a feeling one way or the other. The answer there is: I don't have a clue. No premonitions. No strong sense that it's one or the other. I even took some of those wacky quizzes based on old wive's tales about what signs or symptoms might predict what you're having. The result: It's too close to tell. See? Not even the old wive's tales can help on this one.

We've both said we'll be happy either way, but let's be honest. Conservative Hubby wants a boy. (And knows if we have a girl he's doomed because she'll have him wrapped around her little fingers.)

Our sonogram appointment is July 12, so hopefully after that we'll have some exciting news to share with you. I'll probably make you guess first though.

Have you had any weird cravings or food aversions?
Nope, not really. No wacky food combinations or strange dinner choices.

Right when I got pregnant (before I even knew for sure), I was eating spinach like a fiend. My body's way of telling me I needed more folic acid, I guess. Lately I've been eating more beef than ever (big juicy burgers and steaks, which aren't something I usually eat much of). I guess now I'm needing more protein.

I have been eating more salty things than usual (think an occasional bite of potato chips, but nothing excessive) and I certainly haven't shunned fried foods when an occasional opportunity arises to have a bit (French fries, fried pickles, fried cheese? don't mind if I do).

Still, I haven't gone overboard with anything or done anything as crazy as consume an entire pint of ice cream or a whole bag of chips in one sitting.

Probably the craziest thing is that for the first couple of months I completely lost my sweet tooth.


I know you don't believe me, but I'm serious. I didn't have any interest in pies or cookies or any sweets (even dark chocolate). The only thing I would enjoy would be a bite or two of ice cream on occasion.

That's slowly coming back, but even now I haven't been into baking at all because sweet treats just haven't sounded all that appealing. Strange, isn't it?

Do you have names picked out yet?
Yes on that one, too, but I'm going to go ahead and not share them with you here. Once we know what we're having, I might fill you in on the final name choice. Maybe. Or maybe not.

But I will tell you the name Conservative Hubby picked out if we have a girl: Brontosaurus Viper.

Yes, you read that right. If we have a girl he picked the name Brontosaurus Viper. Bronto or BV for short. Don't ask me where it came from. He says it would ensure that his little girl was never messed with. I actually think that would ensure she would be messed with. Forever. Needless to say, we will NOT be naming our child Brontosaurus Viper. No way, no how.

What does Butter think?
Absolutely nothing. As far as I know, Butter is oblivious to the little creature growing in my belly, that is undoubtedly going to turn his world upside down.


He's looked at me with boredom when I've moved more slowly getting ready for work in the morning. He has capitalized on the extra time I've spend sitting or lying down in recent months (more belly rubbing for Butter!). He's appreciated the extra walks he's gotten on the weekend, which have become one my preferred forms of exercise.

And he's looked on with curiosity as I've tackled the rather daunting task of cleaning out the office so it can become the baby's room.

But other than that, he doesn't have a clue.


So there you have it ... the most popular questions I've gotten recently about the little one. What questions do you still have that I didn't answer?

A Front-Yard Addition

No, I did not purchase a dog statue to liven up the front-yard garden beds.

This is our goofy pooch. I did not tell him to sit here or stay for an extended period of time. He did that all on his own. I swear he knows when I have my camera out and does everything he can to make it on the blog.

And it usually works.

Happy Spring (From Butter)

Hey guys. Now that it's spring, I figure you're probably going to want to stop by soon and check out our flowers (and pet me).

So I wanted to let you know that whenever you arrive, I'll be ready and waiting to welcome you at the front door.

Come on in (and pet me).

Simplifying

Sometimes it's easy to get caught up in the mayhem, in the to-do lists and the buying and busy schedules.

It happens, particularly, at the holidays. Yet go-go-go, spend-spend-spend isn't limited to certain months. It's a pattern many of us fall into nearly all the time, almost all the year.

I am reminded of this occasionally, at random moments.

Like when I'm baking at My Sister's apartment, where I can't microwave the butter because there is no microwave and I can't plug in the mixer to blend the dough because there is no electric mixer.


I come to realize you really can get by on very little, on the necessities. And in the process you can live beautifully, you can live fully. You can still make pretty darn good sugar cookies.



I am reminded of this on the beach, when I notice something as minuscule as the way someone has carefully placed a handful of shells right where I can see them as I wander by.

You don't have to hoard the shells, to take them home for your collection. You can stop and examine them, admire them, and then leave them for someone else and move on.

I am reminded of this right now, too, at a spartan retreat center run by Dominican Sisters in Racine, Wisconsin. Here I have no choice but to slow down and to contemplate life, as I sit in my tiny room after the day's activities are done or as I wander along the snow-blown path toward the icy shore for a glimpse of the lake in the early morning light.

It's something I think we all need to do more often.

To pause.

To look around and finally notice--really notice--our surroundings.

To appreciate the fine details--the handheld mixer with its faded handle and the distinctive shape of each shell and the way the winter wind roars across the lake.

To stop counting gadgets and tasks accomplished. Instead, to count blessings and blissful moments.

We all need to drink in a big, deep breath of life once in a while. To slow down. To live in the moment, not in the madness.

Leaving This Face

Dear sweet Butter was particularly dear and sweet at the beginning of last week.


After Conservative Hubby was already in Georgia golfing and around the time I started packing for my travels down south, Butter put on his angel face.


He knew somehow--even before he spotted my suitcase--that he was getting left behind.

But rather than his usual mournful gaze and puppy pout, he decided to woo me with his big eyes and most serene poses.


And goodness, it almost worked. Had I not been flying, I may have scooped him up and taken him with me.

Instead, he was stuck at home all week. Lounging in the sun with his dog sitter, who no doubt lavished him with all the attention such a sweet little pooch deserves.

So don't feel sorry for him. Not this time anyway.

Just So You Know ...

Right now, Butter is bored.


He thinks it's lame that his mother works all day and then comes home and types away on her laptop in the evening.

Not cool, he says. Remember me? I'm your sweet puppy who needs a belly rub and some play time.

Butter has been busy lately—he spends afternoons at the office with Conservative Boy and Conservative Dad, keeping an eye on the things and making certain the secretaries don't get lonely.

So when he comes home in the evening, he just wants to relax. He can't understand why I wouldn't want to do the same. (And Conservative Boy echoes his sentiments.)

I'm working on it, guys, I tell them. But I'm a creature who is used to being busy, to going 100 mph and trying to cram as many to-dos in the day as possible.

I want to slow down and relax, but I've grown so accustomed to go, go, go, work, work, work, that it's taking some time to get used to not having to juggle 50 things at once.

But I'm working on it. I really am.

An Update

In case you were wondering ...

* I am turning in my thesis in 8 days. I am not allowing myself any more extensions. Then you better believe I will commence a happy dance to rival all happy dances.

* Because no sane person can work all day and write all evening and then write the entire weekend too, I'm hoping to find time to make these beauties and to try this at some point this weekend.

* I also am going to attend this concert at the Logan County Fair, which means of course that I am going to wear these.

* After traveling to California and then for work and then making my summerly stop in Georgia and then heading to Iowa for a wedding all in the span of 3 weeks, I am thrilled to be home for most of the next month.

* Another reason you haven't heard much from me lately: I started a new job July 1. I'm the Green Center Manager at Lincoln Land Community College. This week it has been particularly strenuous. I had to go to a farmer's market yesterday and was forced to buy peaches and blackberries and bread and soap and a cilantro plant. This afternoon I have to go on a farm tour and to another farmer's market. And I'm not allowed to work Fridays in the summer because the college is closed. Like I said, strenuous.

* If you are feeling neglected because of all of this traveling and working, you are not alone. You should see my backyard garden. It's a disaster. And my dog gives me pitiful faces too.

* I am pretty much recovered from the surgery I had in June. It took me much longer than expected, but finally this week I was able to start working out again. So glad I could wait until the heat index is 107 degrees to start jogging outside. But it's OK. Jogging at my top speed yesterday, I think I saw a tortoise pass me.

* Someday soon, I will golf. Maybe next summer.

A Day in Butter's Life

The other day on our evening walk, some of the neighborhood kids stopped Butter and I so they could pet him. They love Butter and will shout his name even if we're a few blocks away when they see him. They can't ever remember my name, but that's OK. I'm not four-legged and furry.

On this particular evening, after the kids grew tired of petting Butter and getting licked in return, they raised a serious concern with me.

"How come Butter never gets to go outside?" one of them asked.

Never mind the fact that we were outside on a walk when we saw them.

What they meant, I learned, was that whenever they passed by our house, Butter was always sitting as his window, staring outside.


To them, this meant he was cooped up and longing to get out and play.

I assured them that Butter was not neglected in any way and that he actually gets lots of time outside.

In fact, all he has to do is ask (which, despite his lack of verbal abilities, he's quite skilled at) and we'll put him outside on his chain. He can stay out there as long as he likes, and he often takes advantage of the opportunity to chase rabbits and squirrels, sniff around, get tangled in the bushes, relax in the sun, and, of course, guard my flowers.

Lately, he's also ventured into the front yard—sans chain—with me while I work in the garden or water the plants. This is particularly enjoyable for him because he has new places to sniff, can watch traffic, and even gets some time in the neighbors' yards until he gets caught. (Apparently, without an invisible fence, dogs aren't too concerned about property lines.)

Then, of course, there are Butter's daily walks or runs.

And even when Butter is inside, it's not like he's bored. He has a busy agenda.

There are lots of naps to be taken.

And here and there, a little play time with favorite toy.


He has to follow me around and lick up spills on the kitchen floor.

There are hot laps to run around the couch.

And, of course, he has to spend time at his window. Not because he's feeling woefully neglected and is yearning for fresh air, but just because it's his favorite spot to sit and keep an eye on things.

Besides, if he didn't sit in the window, where would the neighbors find him to wave at him?

Then, at the end of a long, busy day, Butter likes to retreat to the basement. Couch time with Conservative Hubby and I is a favorite part of his day, and he'll often take off down the stairs anytime we get near the kitchen in the evening because he thinks it must be TV time.

On the weekends, however, he doesn't spend as much time on the couch as he does at another key spot in the basement: the bar. Even a busy guy like Butter has time for good beer and good friends.

Every dog should be so lucky.

Letting Butter Talk

Julie, can you please help me?


I'd really like to chew on my bone for a while. It's so delicious. I could chew on it all day. But it's too far away.

I just ... can't ... reach ... it.


I've had a rough day. I had to get up at 7 a.m. and get groomed and eat and wait for the mailman to come and take a noon walk with Conservative Boy and eat again and it's so exhausting being me. Won't you please help?


GAH. I give up. I don't want the stinkin' bone anyw—


—wait a second. What is that? An intruder?


Nope, false alarm. But don't worry, Julie. I got your back, babe.

A Peek in the Hallway

At first glance, our hallway is just like any other. It has off-white walls (stucco is the official hue, if you must know) and tan carpet and a few of our favorite wedding photos hanging in new frames.

But look a little closer, and you'll realize this hallway doesn't really belong to Conservative Hubby or me. It's Butter's hallway. His official domain.


Although Butter also rules the big picture window in the living room, both the upstairs and downstairs couches, the backyard, and essentially every other place in between he wishes to frequent, he regularly returns to his hallway.

If you stand facing the hallway, you'll notice that no matter how frequently I vacuum the carpet, the fibers at the entrance to the hallway on the left side are permanently matted down. This is often where Butter reclines in the afternoons, when he snoozes while I work. It's also where he dreams each night after he tires of resting on the floor next to my side of the bed.

And it's where he sits dutifully, waiting for our return if he happens to get penned in the hallway when we leave. (This happens less frequently now, but naughty behavior or muddy paws or the impending arrival of the mailman mean he's relegated to his hall rather than left roaming.)


Yet that matted patch of carpet isn't the only sign of Butter's presence.

There are the dirty, worn spots on the wall where Butter likes to lean. There are the corners missing their paint because we recklessly clank the gate against them too frequently. There are the millions of dog hairs that accumulate in the place where the carpet meets the baseboard. There's the black gunk stuck on the ceiling, an unfortunate side effect of Butter's ear problems causing constant head-shaking.

Speaking of that ear gunk, someone taller than me really should scrape that off. It's gross.

And, unfortunately, there are the bright red spots on the carpet, signifying those times when Butter's stomach was upset and he couldn't help but ridding his belly of whatever was causing the problem. (This happens infrequently, fortunately, but somehow only after he has eaten something colorful.)

Apparently the tile bathroom floor just steps away isn't nearly as inviting when he's not feeling well.

And so this is Butter's hall. The place where he can wait patiently for his family to return when we leave him behind and listen with one ear cocked to the sound of my typing in the office and keep watch on the world while we sleep.


And for this reason I can handle the dingy, dinged walls and the matted carpet.

Besides, as long as we leave the hall light off, it doesn't look too bad.

Opening Boxes

Between Christmas, a certain conservative fellow's birthday, and getting hitched, we've had an occasional box arriving at our front door in the past month.

This gets Butter worked up every time.

First, of course, there's the UPS delivery man who, nice as he may be, is still an intruder in Butter's eyes.

Then, once the big brown truck drives off, there's the big brown boxes that have been left behind.


What's this? Butter asks, sniffing tentatively.


He'll pace around as I cut into the box and dig out whatever treasure is hiding inside.


Sometimes he'll sniff at the gift, but usually he's more interested in the packaging that came along with it. Most days it's lots of crumpled up brown paper. But one day, he discovered the wonder of packing peanuts.


And tried to eat one.


Fortunately, he didn't find it too tasty, and instead promptly began staring at his treat cupboard. Clever fellow.