I'm working so hard at my new resolution to be the wife he deserves, but my efforts are hindered when I'm feeling like it's a goal which I'll never truly be able to meet. My self-esteem seems to be at an all-time low; I feel thick-headed, thick-witted, and thick-waisted. I'm just thick, I suppose. Couple that with Eric's nearly constant state of depression lately, and what you don't have is a recipe for marital bliss.

Eric says, "I miss the way we were when we were first married."

"You mean, when I was in graduate school?"

"Yes. And I was working a regular shift. We connected better, and you made pancakes from scratch on Saturday mornings."

To anyone else, the connection between those two things might seem tenuous at best, but I got his meaning. When we were happier, we were more inclined to do nice, little things for each other, like make pancakes. As it stands, I haven't made pancakes - or breakfast at all, come to that - for a very, very long time.

So I'm feeling worthless, tired, and weepy, and I'm staring around at an apartment whose condition makes me feel a mish-mash of feelings ranging from guilt to nausea. I feel exhausted from caring for the baby, disgusted at my own infrequently cared-for body, and just...just sick. No end in sight.

And then I decided to take steps toward making changes. Perhaps if I began acting more positively, my mind would eventually follow suit. The first thing I did was to make another resolution: no more computer time before two in the afternoon. The morning is to be devoted to housework and to completing tasks that might otherwise be procrastinated into never happening. Secondly, I asked Eric to begin getting me up when he gets up for work between 6:30 and 7. Sam is usually beginning to stir at that point anyway, so I'm just getting him ready a teensy bit earlier than I otherwise might. I'm making Eric's lunch, and I'm actually going to begin showering regularly (can you imagine?). I can use the computer in the afternoon, but dinner is to be ready at 6:30 every night, no matter what. I've also resolved to begin making my own bread again; I enjoyed doing it before, and we both appreciate the results.

Before anyone asks, these were all my ideas. Eric said they sounded fine to him, but he in no way asked me to do any of it. If they all seem aimed at making him happy, know that I am extremely unhappy when I'm not pleasing him. (Lord, that sounds bad.) What I mean is, I feel like a poor excuse for a wife and mother, and that makes me feel terrible. My steps toward improving myself in those areas are designed to satisfy me as much as him.

Today is Day Two in my headlong dive into domesticity. So far, so good, except that Sam has decided to make my escape from the bed in the morning difficult. Eric's lunches will have to be made the night before, I think. Other than that, the house is beginning to look much more presentable, and we didn't fight last night at all.

This Saturday: pancakes. From a mix, though. Baby steps.

Yesterday, Sammy began fussing as I was going through the mail. To buy myself a little time, I handed over a piece of junk mail; he happily waved it around while I ripped up credit card offers. Suddenly, he crowed loudly, making me glance up at him.

With a huge grin on his face, he swiftly ripped the piece of paper in half. Then he laughed a big belly laugh and waved the pieces over his head. I grabbed the camera to capture Sam's first willful act of destruction. The time is approaching when we'll have to put all the books on higher shelves, I suppose.

He's getting so big! This morning we were playing on the floor, and he strained for me to pick him up. I lifted him to his feet, where he began to wobble wildly in my hands. I was trying to see what was throwing off his balance so much when I noticed his feet; he was trying to move them, one in front of the other. The fact that he can't actually stand on his own doesn't faze him. He wants to walk!

We need to childproof. Soon, I believe. He's not yet crawling or even rolling over, but he can skootch around on his little butt with amazing effectiveness. He moves in wide semicircles across the floor and rotates himself in bed at night, ending up with his feet in my ribs and his head against Eric's rear. He's proud of himself, and I am, too. What a little man I made!

• Baby socks that actually stay on baby feet
• An effective treatment for eczema. Mine was never as bad as Sam's.
• A way to keep sun off a rear-facing, middle of the backseat baby. Sam hates the bright light, but he also hates sunglasses and hats with brims.

I have the best readers in the world, so I know you guys can help me out with this. Thanks in advance!