1. In order to best cleanse your palette between ounces consumed, it is useful to suck on one's toes. This is best done if said toes can be sucked on at the same time you also have a food source in your mouth. It is tricky, but very satisfying.
2. If mom is doing anything at the same time she is feeding you, it must be investigated thoroughly, even if this means stopping and starting eating 146 times in a 20-minute span to see if anything has changed.
3. In regards to #2 if aforementioned activity is reading, one must reach up and continually pat the pages of the book while eating until it either drives mother to distraction and she puts the book down or until my arm gets tired (which hasn't happened yet).
4. If the remote is in site at all, ever, it must be played with. Even if it is during a feeding and weighs as much as the I do. Even if it means trying to go headfirst off the couch to retrieve said object.
5. Anything that has a tag is a cool toy. Toys without tags (or tails) are not cool. Tags taste good.
6. Socks get in the way of the divine feel of one's bare toes. Sucking on socks is inherently in bad taste. If one is wearing socks, they must be removed to get the proper appreciation of the slurping, drooling and sucking on one's big toe.
7. Avocados are not real food. They make you shudder and gag and spit and create huge amounts of drama. Aunt K has the right idea. She doesn't make Cousin K eat avocados.
8. If anyone is singing, you must sing along or giggle. Even if it is the sacrament hymn. ESPECIALLY if it is the sacrament hymn, at which point the volume should be turned up.
9. Regardless of what the SIDS people say, sleeping on one's back is not comfy. Side sleeping is okay. Tummy sleeping with my bum in the air and my face smooshed into the side of the crib is preferable. Even if mom disagrees.
10. Toys that are too far away will come to you if one hollers long enough.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Eight Days
At The Factory, we're hard at work for a client, which means working to get mentions online.
This site is running a contest for one of the client's DVD sets - asking people what they would do if they had only 8 days to live - points go for funny and are deducted for sappy.
So ... what would you do if you only had 8 days?
I would dine at the French Laundry
I would take Baby Girl and Himself to Disney World, so I could experience their first time with them
I would voice my opinion on everything - for good measure
I would spend money on all those things I'm too cheap to spend money on - like aged, imported cheeses, king crab and other lovely things, with which to enjoy my last meals
I would travel to the New England coast ... unless it was the dead of winter, then I'd have to reconsider
I would write a letter to Baby Girl telling her to try everything once, learn to love avocados, travel and drive Himself crazy in my place
I would spend my last, quiet days in the blissful haven of my childhood wilderness - on the mountain, by the lake, with family and far away from bills, jobs, phones, e-mail and the never-ending pile of laundry
And reserve the right to change this as often as I want. :)
This site is running a contest for one of the client's DVD sets - asking people what they would do if they had only 8 days to live - points go for funny and are deducted for sappy.
So ... what would you do if you only had 8 days?
I would dine at the French Laundry
I would take Baby Girl and Himself to Disney World, so I could experience their first time with them
I would voice my opinion on everything - for good measure
I would spend money on all those things I'm too cheap to spend money on - like aged, imported cheeses, king crab and other lovely things, with which to enjoy my last meals
I would travel to the New England coast ... unless it was the dead of winter, then I'd have to reconsider
I would write a letter to Baby Girl telling her to try everything once, learn to love avocados, travel and drive Himself crazy in my place
I would spend my last, quiet days in the blissful haven of my childhood wilderness - on the mountain, by the lake, with family and far away from bills, jobs, phones, e-mail and the never-ending pile of laundry
And reserve the right to change this as often as I want. :)
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Nevermore
I'm the first one to admit it is likely that it is some sort of character flaw, but I have trouble trusting people. In short, I have a difficult time exposing myself to be vulnerable. My brain is wired in a "protect yourself at all costs" way.
I have had very little reason to function this way - arguably because I rarely give people the chance (or enough information) to hurt me. I remain aloof and unengaged on one level as a protection - generally subconsciously.
It is rare that I meet someone and feel an immediate kinship. There are a handful of people in my life with whom that has happened - 90% of them remain long-term, good friends. The remainder are those who are in one's life for a season. I am so guarded and cautious that I leave little room for hurt, but I also leave little room for a close circle of intimate friends.
Frequently, over the course of the last several months, I have lamented that. I've been burdened with very deep thoughts, emotions and quandaries. There aren't many people whom I've allowed full access to the struggle. I'm too raw, too emotionally spent to risk it, even at a point where I only am increasing my isolation by feeling that way.
In matters unrelated to my personal life, I intuitively felt I had found a friend several months ago. Someone who beyond the professional circles we ran in, could be a sounding board, a resource, a champion. I exposed a little corner of my soul.
Yesterday afternoon, I felt the first sting of betrayal. By this morning, it was full-fledged clenching of my heart and spirit. I can't help but immediately regret my decision. The conversation in my head keeps shouting, "You knew this would happen. You can't trust people. You are so dumb." The tender part of my heart says, "but you had no way of knowing."
One step forward, two steps back. Lesson learned.
Back into my guarded state of life affairs.
I have had very little reason to function this way - arguably because I rarely give people the chance (or enough information) to hurt me. I remain aloof and unengaged on one level as a protection - generally subconsciously.
It is rare that I meet someone and feel an immediate kinship. There are a handful of people in my life with whom that has happened - 90% of them remain long-term, good friends. The remainder are those who are in one's life for a season. I am so guarded and cautious that I leave little room for hurt, but I also leave little room for a close circle of intimate friends.
Frequently, over the course of the last several months, I have lamented that. I've been burdened with very deep thoughts, emotions and quandaries. There aren't many people whom I've allowed full access to the struggle. I'm too raw, too emotionally spent to risk it, even at a point where I only am increasing my isolation by feeling that way.
In matters unrelated to my personal life, I intuitively felt I had found a friend several months ago. Someone who beyond the professional circles we ran in, could be a sounding board, a resource, a champion. I exposed a little corner of my soul.
Yesterday afternoon, I felt the first sting of betrayal. By this morning, it was full-fledged clenching of my heart and spirit. I can't help but immediately regret my decision. The conversation in my head keeps shouting, "You knew this would happen. You can't trust people. You are so dumb." The tender part of my heart says, "but you had no way of knowing."
One step forward, two steps back. Lesson learned.
Back into my guarded state of life affairs.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
Chocolate and Knives
I am terribly sentimental, though not so much on the outside. This, more than any sort of inherent "mothering" gene I think is what causes my heart go to mush every time I look at Baby Girl.
She is quickly becoming her own little person - the personality traits evident from birth are becoming more clearly defined. She is serene, content and joyful. I previously thought all babies were happy - after all, how hard is life when you have the entire world at your beck and call? But Baby Girl takes it a step further in her absolute pleasure in just being.
She will flash an enormous grin every single time Himself or I walk into the room - even if we've only been out of the room for seconds. She naps and sleeps through the night - sighing contentedly as I rock her while I read at night. She slurps on her big toe (sometimes attempting to do so while nursing - much to my consternation). She giggles when you kiss her neck or make goofy faces (she's probably laughing at us, but we pretend we're funny). When I pick her up from Miss Jan's, she has a running commentary of monosyllabic noises as I change her clothes. I tell her about my day and ask about hers - and she chats on and on and on. Her face lights up when the little girls at Miss Jan's come running to greet her when I drop her off each morning, basking in the attention they lavish on her.
However, we're discovering (as we already suspected) she is stubborn and determined. If there is a toy she cannot quite reach - she will fling herself, grunt, stretch, pull on the blanket and kick her legs like a little frog until either the toy is in reach or she has exhausted herself. She insists on holding the spoon each time it is brought to her mouth. If her diaper is dirty, she lets you know - immediately.
Last night, the door to her determination opened even further.
Baby Girl typically sits in her seat on the kitchen counter (silencing all of the CAUTION labels on said seat about not putting baby on high places) and watches me cook. Now that she's dabbling in the fine art of solid foods (rice cereal = bad, bananas = good), I also feed her in it. It sits under the kitchen window in the one spot of counter that has enough space to hold the chair (thereby negating any counter space I might have to actually prepare dinner, but that is neither here nor there). She watches and plays and chatters. Last night, she took it one step further.
Himself bought me a Lindor white coconut chocolate bar for Valentine's day. Because my Valentine's day candy lasts forever, I still have three squares left, which I nibble on occasionally. It has been sitting beside Baby Girl's chair on the kitchen counter for a month.
Last night, I had a bite, put it back in the wrapper and box and went to get dinner ingredients out of the fridge. I heard some grunting and a strange sound of crumpled foil.
I turned around to find Baby Girl hanging over the side of her chair with the box in her mouth, her little hands grabbing at the foil. I'd post a picture, but that would require me getting it off my camera first. I was so stunned, I took a photo to show Himself when he got home (the new age of discipline: "Just wait until your father gets home and I show him PROOF!").
I extracted the chocolate box and foil from Baby Girl's hands, rearranged her in her seat and took a knife out of the knife block to chop an onion. Frustrated at her short-lived chocolate adventure, Baby Girl immediately reached for the knives. That's when I discovered just how determined she is - and just how long her arms have grown. A box and foil with chocolate is one thing. A steak knife (the only ones light enough for her to grab - for now) is entirely something else.
Baby Girl's days of countertop sitting are over. Chocolate and knives are too much on one mother's heart in an evening.
She is quickly becoming her own little person - the personality traits evident from birth are becoming more clearly defined. She is serene, content and joyful. I previously thought all babies were happy - after all, how hard is life when you have the entire world at your beck and call? But Baby Girl takes it a step further in her absolute pleasure in just being.
She will flash an enormous grin every single time Himself or I walk into the room - even if we've only been out of the room for seconds. She naps and sleeps through the night - sighing contentedly as I rock her while I read at night. She slurps on her big toe (sometimes attempting to do so while nursing - much to my consternation). She giggles when you kiss her neck or make goofy faces (she's probably laughing at us, but we pretend we're funny). When I pick her up from Miss Jan's, she has a running commentary of monosyllabic noises as I change her clothes. I tell her about my day and ask about hers - and she chats on and on and on. Her face lights up when the little girls at Miss Jan's come running to greet her when I drop her off each morning, basking in the attention they lavish on her.
However, we're discovering (as we already suspected) she is stubborn and determined. If there is a toy she cannot quite reach - she will fling herself, grunt, stretch, pull on the blanket and kick her legs like a little frog until either the toy is in reach or she has exhausted herself. She insists on holding the spoon each time it is brought to her mouth. If her diaper is dirty, she lets you know - immediately.
Last night, the door to her determination opened even further.
Baby Girl typically sits in her seat on the kitchen counter (silencing all of the CAUTION labels on said seat about not putting baby on high places) and watches me cook. Now that she's dabbling in the fine art of solid foods (rice cereal = bad, bananas = good), I also feed her in it. It sits under the kitchen window in the one spot of counter that has enough space to hold the chair (thereby negating any counter space I might have to actually prepare dinner, but that is neither here nor there). She watches and plays and chatters. Last night, she took it one step further.
Himself bought me a Lindor white coconut chocolate bar for Valentine's day. Because my Valentine's day candy lasts forever, I still have three squares left, which I nibble on occasionally. It has been sitting beside Baby Girl's chair on the kitchen counter for a month.
Last night, I had a bite, put it back in the wrapper and box and went to get dinner ingredients out of the fridge. I heard some grunting and a strange sound of crumpled foil.
I turned around to find Baby Girl hanging over the side of her chair with the box in her mouth, her little hands grabbing at the foil. I'd post a picture, but that would require me getting it off my camera first. I was so stunned, I took a photo to show Himself when he got home (the new age of discipline: "Just wait until your father gets home and I show him PROOF!").
I extracted the chocolate box and foil from Baby Girl's hands, rearranged her in her seat and took a knife out of the knife block to chop an onion. Frustrated at her short-lived chocolate adventure, Baby Girl immediately reached for the knives. That's when I discovered just how determined she is - and just how long her arms have grown. A box and foil with chocolate is one thing. A steak knife (the only ones light enough for her to grab - for now) is entirely something else.
Baby Girl's days of countertop sitting are over. Chocolate and knives are too much on one mother's heart in an evening.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Belonging
Baby Girl and I went on a walk today - that's twice this week I've managed to work out. And, while I think the excuse for moving Daylight Savings back into March is ludicrous, I'm singing the praises of the man who started it all.
Anyway, as we were walking (or, rather, I was walking, and she was sleeping in her Snugli), I found myself wandering (my mother would be horrified) into random neighborhoods. I paused at every single house for sale and wondered what they looked like inside. I watched children play in the streets, couples walking their dogs after works, teenagers out running. I walked and walked and walked (it was only upon returning home that I realized I had been walking for 90 minutes and it was nearly Baby Girl's bedtime - no wonder she was sleepy!).
As I walked, I thought about belonging.
After two years in our apartment in Northern Virginia - two years of railing against renting, I bought curtains for my living room windows. It made a huge difference. I felt settled. Nearly everyone I knew rented. It was too expensive to even consider any other option, so I hung my curtains and settled in. Long before that, however, I had settled in socially - making friends, investing in long-term relationships and feeling as if I belonged.
That is what is missing here. I realized tonight I am consciously holding myself aloof, because I know The Hobbit Hole is not a forever proposition - or even one beyond our year's lease. I know moving is right around the corner, again. I'm not naturally social - I have to force myself to be social - so combined with the hesitation to make any truly meaningful emotional investments, thereby subjecting myself to eternal guilt for not being a good enough friend to keep in touch, I haven't exactly made any friends.
In fact, I realized as I was walking, that the next time I move, I'm not bothering with unpacking any of the holiday items, camping items, most of our books, the special occasion kitchen items, anything home decor, etc. A boring, simple existence, to be sure - but the thought of packing again and moving makes me want to cry.
At the same time I was patting myself on the back for being so smart and efficient in planning our next move, my heart sank. It is exactly this same line of thinking (subconsciously of course) that has resulted in me living here for nearly 10 months and having nothing to show for it.
Not one new friend.
Not one new business networking contact.
Not one dinner party (to be fair, we have no dining room or dining room table).
In fact, only one couple over for dinner - or anything - ever.
Not a membership to anything (other than the library, without which I would either go broke from spending too much at a bookstore or go mad from not reading).
Not one favorite hangout or walking destination or place.
Not one radio station programmed into the car (due mostly to the fact that I listen to books on CD while I drive, and I've memorized the call sign of the local NPR station -the only radio to which I really listen).
Our lease is up in two months. Himself still doesn't have a job. I desperately need a new one. All of which must revolve around Miss Jan, Baby Girl's sitter, as I'm not willing to sacrifice her services even out of geographic inconvenience.
Other than the very obvious blessing of Baby Girl, I don't have much to show for the past year, and I know it's subconsciously on purpose, because it's not as hard to leave nothing as it is to leave something.
That and curtains made for 6' windows don't work very well in The Hobbit Hole.
Anyway, as we were walking (or, rather, I was walking, and she was sleeping in her Snugli), I found myself wandering (my mother would be horrified) into random neighborhoods. I paused at every single house for sale and wondered what they looked like inside. I watched children play in the streets, couples walking their dogs after works, teenagers out running. I walked and walked and walked (it was only upon returning home that I realized I had been walking for 90 minutes and it was nearly Baby Girl's bedtime - no wonder she was sleepy!).
As I walked, I thought about belonging.
After two years in our apartment in Northern Virginia - two years of railing against renting, I bought curtains for my living room windows. It made a huge difference. I felt settled. Nearly everyone I knew rented. It was too expensive to even consider any other option, so I hung my curtains and settled in. Long before that, however, I had settled in socially - making friends, investing in long-term relationships and feeling as if I belonged.
That is what is missing here. I realized tonight I am consciously holding myself aloof, because I know The Hobbit Hole is not a forever proposition - or even one beyond our year's lease. I know moving is right around the corner, again. I'm not naturally social - I have to force myself to be social - so combined with the hesitation to make any truly meaningful emotional investments, thereby subjecting myself to eternal guilt for not being a good enough friend to keep in touch, I haven't exactly made any friends.
In fact, I realized as I was walking, that the next time I move, I'm not bothering with unpacking any of the holiday items, camping items, most of our books, the special occasion kitchen items, anything home decor, etc. A boring, simple existence, to be sure - but the thought of packing again and moving makes me want to cry.
At the same time I was patting myself on the back for being so smart and efficient in planning our next move, my heart sank. It is exactly this same line of thinking (subconsciously of course) that has resulted in me living here for nearly 10 months and having nothing to show for it.
Not one new friend.
Not one new business networking contact.
Not one dinner party (to be fair, we have no dining room or dining room table).
In fact, only one couple over for dinner - or anything - ever.
Not a membership to anything (other than the library, without which I would either go broke from spending too much at a bookstore or go mad from not reading).
Not one favorite hangout or walking destination or place.
Not one radio station programmed into the car (due mostly to the fact that I listen to books on CD while I drive, and I've memorized the call sign of the local NPR station -the only radio to which I really listen).
Our lease is up in two months. Himself still doesn't have a job. I desperately need a new one. All of which must revolve around Miss Jan, Baby Girl's sitter, as I'm not willing to sacrifice her services even out of geographic inconvenience.
Other than the very obvious blessing of Baby Girl, I don't have much to show for the past year, and I know it's subconsciously on purpose, because it's not as hard to leave nothing as it is to leave something.
That and curtains made for 6' windows don't work very well in The Hobbit Hole.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Mommy Guilt
I promised myself I wouldn't feel any guilt about how I fed Baby Girl. I was well-educated (or as well-educated as one can be without knowing exactly what will happen, anyway) on the options, and gave myself a healthy dose of reality. I knew it was a BIG GUILT issue for so many friends who weren't able to feed their children the way they had envisioned or chose to do it differently than others in their life thought they should.
So I began my own personal journey telling myself I had options and I would not surrender to the BIG MOMMY GUILT.
I also told myself that my emotional crises of the past several months had not hindered anyone but me.
Until now. The two worlds collided.
Baby Girl is now formula-feeding 60% of the time. I have zero guilt about it, or, rather, about the fact that she is on formula. What consumes me is not that my own body failed me (as I suspected that it might) - because it didn't, it wasn't that there was not enough, it wasn't that I was working (though I can't say I miss feeling like a milk cow).
It is that my own insular emotional crisis prevented me from seeing and responding to Baby Girl's needs. During a 5-week period between month 3 and month 4, Baby Girl gained only 7 ounces. Babies in mine and Himself's families are small genetically. But they grow. During the month of December, Baby Girl crossed the line from small to not growing.
I knew she was too small - that she wasn't growing - but in the maelstrom of my darkest days, I failed to realize that the signals she was giving me were of need. She wasn't like other babies - becoming more efficient and taking less time - though everyone said she should be, that I was feeding too long. I chalked up her whimpers at the end as a need to suck. "Don't let them use you as a pacifier" everyone cautioned.
My own mind was too full of dense fog to listen to Baby Girl instead of everyone else.
She wasn't eating enough. She stopped growing. On top of it all, no matter the amount of calories I consumed, no matter how carefully I tried to add "good" calories, my milk wasn't rich enough. Even when I realized the problems, she barely added any weight. No matter how much she nursed, the line had been crossed from "small and healthy" to not growing steadily.
At 5 months, after a month of mixing and supplementing, we converted to formula, except for the beginning and end of each day. She drank and drank and drank. 5 ounces. 6 ounces. 7 ounces. 8 ounces. She put on 1.5 pounds.
Today is Baby Girl's half-birthday. Six months (27 weeks) ago today, she joined this world - tiny, content and perfect. At her six-month checkup, we celebrated her growth. I felt immensely relieved that it wasn't an issue of her body, and at the same time feeling horribly guilty as I realized it was me.
"You shouldn't worry about it." "You couldn't have known." "Everyone feels that way."
But I feel sadness. Partially for my body's inability to produce the right milk - and for my own inability to overcome my apathy to food - and eat. The one time when, Instead of taking advice, examining it and using the applicable parts, I depended entirely on the advice of others, because I was on auto-life, too distanced from my instinct to hear its voice among the fog. It was there. Baby Girl was there, gently protesting. And I heard none of it.
So, while I celebrate the fact that she has almost doubled her birth weight - tipping the scales at 12 pounds, 6 ounces at 6 months old, I mourn the fact that, while genetically small, Baby Girl should have passed that milestone a month ago.
Every time someone says "what a tiny little girl" I feel a stab, and the Mommy Guilt voice I swore I'd never listen to chants, "you didn't listen." over and over and over again.
I'm just glad that I can move on - rise above - watch her grow, and while I'll remember, she will continue to love and snuggle and smile. For in her world, nothing is too big to be forgiven.
So I began my own personal journey telling myself I had options and I would not surrender to the BIG MOMMY GUILT.
I also told myself that my emotional crises of the past several months had not hindered anyone but me.
Until now. The two worlds collided.
Baby Girl is now formula-feeding 60% of the time. I have zero guilt about it, or, rather, about the fact that she is on formula. What consumes me is not that my own body failed me (as I suspected that it might) - because it didn't, it wasn't that there was not enough, it wasn't that I was working (though I can't say I miss feeling like a milk cow).
It is that my own insular emotional crisis prevented me from seeing and responding to Baby Girl's needs. During a 5-week period between month 3 and month 4, Baby Girl gained only 7 ounces. Babies in mine and Himself's families are small genetically. But they grow. During the month of December, Baby Girl crossed the line from small to not growing.
I knew she was too small - that she wasn't growing - but in the maelstrom of my darkest days, I failed to realize that the signals she was giving me were of need. She wasn't like other babies - becoming more efficient and taking less time - though everyone said she should be, that I was feeding too long. I chalked up her whimpers at the end as a need to suck. "Don't let them use you as a pacifier" everyone cautioned.
My own mind was too full of dense fog to listen to Baby Girl instead of everyone else.
She wasn't eating enough. She stopped growing. On top of it all, no matter the amount of calories I consumed, no matter how carefully I tried to add "good" calories, my milk wasn't rich enough. Even when I realized the problems, she barely added any weight. No matter how much she nursed, the line had been crossed from "small and healthy" to not growing steadily.
At 5 months, after a month of mixing and supplementing, we converted to formula, except for the beginning and end of each day. She drank and drank and drank. 5 ounces. 6 ounces. 7 ounces. 8 ounces. She put on 1.5 pounds.
Today is Baby Girl's half-birthday. Six months (27 weeks) ago today, she joined this world - tiny, content and perfect. At her six-month checkup, we celebrated her growth. I felt immensely relieved that it wasn't an issue of her body, and at the same time feeling horribly guilty as I realized it was me.
"You shouldn't worry about it." "You couldn't have known." "Everyone feels that way."
But I feel sadness. Partially for my body's inability to produce the right milk - and for my own inability to overcome my apathy to food - and eat. The one time when, Instead of taking advice, examining it and using the applicable parts, I depended entirely on the advice of others, because I was on auto-life, too distanced from my instinct to hear its voice among the fog. It was there. Baby Girl was there, gently protesting. And I heard none of it.
So, while I celebrate the fact that she has almost doubled her birth weight - tipping the scales at 12 pounds, 6 ounces at 6 months old, I mourn the fact that, while genetically small, Baby Girl should have passed that milestone a month ago.
Every time someone says "what a tiny little girl" I feel a stab, and the Mommy Guilt voice I swore I'd never listen to chants, "you didn't listen." over and over and over again.
I'm just glad that I can move on - rise above - watch her grow, and while I'll remember, she will continue to love and snuggle and smile. For in her world, nothing is too big to be forgiven.
Friday, March 07, 2008
The Case for Domestic Husbands
(As opposed to wild ones, you know!)
Himself is still unemployed, for which I am alternately either gnashing my teeth or trying to figure out what I'm going to do when he is no longer unemployed.
The crowning moment came when I was unable to make it to Baby Girl's 6-month well-baby checkup due to a grievous scheduling error. Himself took her, asked all the questions I had and gave me the information the doctor gave him.
For most of our married life, Himself has only worked three days a week, due to the nature of his profession. I had just started getting used to having to go back to getting my own oil changed, gassing my own car, doing all the errands, etc. when he lost his job.
I've quickly re-adapted.
Too bad the Hobbit Hole isn't free, I could get used to this life.
Himself is still unemployed, for which I am alternately either gnashing my teeth or trying to figure out what I'm going to do when he is no longer unemployed.
The crowning moment came when I was unable to make it to Baby Girl's 6-month well-baby checkup due to a grievous scheduling error. Himself took her, asked all the questions I had and gave me the information the doctor gave him.
For most of our married life, Himself has only worked three days a week, due to the nature of his profession. I had just started getting used to having to go back to getting my own oil changed, gassing my own car, doing all the errands, etc. when he lost his job.
I've quickly re-adapted.
Too bad the Hobbit Hole isn't free, I could get used to this life.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
I'm Looking for Somewhere
After lifting for the better part of last week, the "funk fog" has settled back in again. Neither Baby Girl nor I have slept well over the past few nights. I have more work to do than time I'm willing to give it. My already over-distracted brain is chanting "Go to sleep" over and over and over again. My stomach hates me. Everything I eat gives me some sort of gastrointestinal upset.
I need a vacation. Somewhere warm - with no signs of snow. Somewhere that doesn't require packing or unpacking (I know - a pretty tall order, but it's my daydream and I can craft it as I please). Somewhere that work cannot find me, that inept doctor's office billing agents can't find me, that only serves fresh veggies, fruits and seafood - and bread, chocolate milk and cheese. Somewhere that has banned To Do lists, computers, cell phones and the like. Somewhere that lets you send out a vibe that lets your friends know you think of them often, even if you rarely write, never call and find it almost painful to engage in any kind of lasting conversation of late.
I'm looking for somewhere where the only currency is love and food, where time is never spent on the mundane and ordinary and instead is lavished on the spectacular and beautiful, where spending an hour on the floor with the baby doesn't come with little voices reminding you of the laundry piles, or the work project or the bills.
The vacation must come with alternate portions of solitude, family engagement and wonderful happy hours with friends (speaking of which, I discovered the other day that the traditional Happy Hour is illegal in The Frontier), clean sheets daily, large sun-filled windows and a library that always had the newest books in stock.
I'm not sure I'll find it. But it feels nice for a just a moment to look.
I need a vacation. Somewhere warm - with no signs of snow. Somewhere that doesn't require packing or unpacking (I know - a pretty tall order, but it's my daydream and I can craft it as I please). Somewhere that work cannot find me, that inept doctor's office billing agents can't find me, that only serves fresh veggies, fruits and seafood - and bread, chocolate milk and cheese. Somewhere that has banned To Do lists, computers, cell phones and the like. Somewhere that lets you send out a vibe that lets your friends know you think of them often, even if you rarely write, never call and find it almost painful to engage in any kind of lasting conversation of late.
I'm looking for somewhere where the only currency is love and food, where time is never spent on the mundane and ordinary and instead is lavished on the spectacular and beautiful, where spending an hour on the floor with the baby doesn't come with little voices reminding you of the laundry piles, or the work project or the bills.
The vacation must come with alternate portions of solitude, family engagement and wonderful happy hours with friends (speaking of which, I discovered the other day that the traditional Happy Hour is illegal in The Frontier), clean sheets daily, large sun-filled windows and a library that always had the newest books in stock.
I'm not sure I'll find it. But it feels nice for a just a moment to look.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Bye Bye Burrito
Baby Girl LOVES to cuddle, loves to be held and, until this week, has loved being swaddled tightly.
Everyone who has seen me put her down for a nap or at night asks, "Are you going to swaddle her until she is three?!"
When she was a newborn, we had a cream-colored swaddler. Himself started calling her the "little burrito," commenting that all we needed to do was add a little foil and it would make a perfect Halloween burrito costume (I thought he'd had too much Chipotle).
In truth, I was hoping she'd hit the "hating to be confined" stage soon, as she's almost too big for her swaddler, and one of these days the blankets I swaddle her in for naptime will be too small. But it seemed she loved the security of it. It certainly helped her sleep, and I thought I'd end up with a kid who wanted to be wrapped up until she graduated from pre-school.
But this past week she began fussing when we'd try to swaddle her at night. Not wanting to sacrifice sleep on a weeknight, I would wait until she was drowsy, then snuggle her in. She didn't protest when she was half asleep, drifting off into dreamland contentedly.
Last night, instead of putting her in a onesie and her swaddler, I put her in her blue pooh-bear footie pajamas (one of the only ones that fits her well enough to be safe sleeping in - everything else, including the sleep sack, is far too big for her). I read to her, rocked her for a few minutes and lay her down in her crib.
She opened her mouth, as usual, like a fish - waiting for her pacifier. She held onto her little stuffed bear. She played with her pacifier and jabbered to her bear, finally drifting off about 10 minutes later. I went in, removed the bear, and watched her tiny little self lay spread-eagled on the mattress.
She slept all night.
I went in this morning and she was curled up in a ball, her little bottom high in the air, her cheek smooshed up against her pacifier (that never goes back in her mouth after the first five second she lies down).
Bye, Bye Little Burrito.
ETA: I just put her down for her nap. No sleep. I finally went in an swaddled her - she was asleep in two minutes, flat. Maybe this isn't good-bye quite yet, but rather a transition of sorts, to keep myself from feeling that lingering bittersweet ache of celebrating a child growing up, while mourning all that will never be again.
Everyone who has seen me put her down for a nap or at night asks, "Are you going to swaddle her until she is three?!"
When she was a newborn, we had a cream-colored swaddler. Himself started calling her the "little burrito," commenting that all we needed to do was add a little foil and it would make a perfect Halloween burrito costume (I thought he'd had too much Chipotle).
In truth, I was hoping she'd hit the "hating to be confined" stage soon, as she's almost too big for her swaddler, and one of these days the blankets I swaddle her in for naptime will be too small. But it seemed she loved the security of it. It certainly helped her sleep, and I thought I'd end up with a kid who wanted to be wrapped up until she graduated from pre-school.
But this past week she began fussing when we'd try to swaddle her at night. Not wanting to sacrifice sleep on a weeknight, I would wait until she was drowsy, then snuggle her in. She didn't protest when she was half asleep, drifting off into dreamland contentedly.
Last night, instead of putting her in a onesie and her swaddler, I put her in her blue pooh-bear footie pajamas (one of the only ones that fits her well enough to be safe sleeping in - everything else, including the sleep sack, is far too big for her). I read to her, rocked her for a few minutes and lay her down in her crib.
She opened her mouth, as usual, like a fish - waiting for her pacifier. She held onto her little stuffed bear. She played with her pacifier and jabbered to her bear, finally drifting off about 10 minutes later. I went in, removed the bear, and watched her tiny little self lay spread-eagled on the mattress.
She slept all night.
I went in this morning and she was curled up in a ball, her little bottom high in the air, her cheek smooshed up against her pacifier (that never goes back in her mouth after the first five second she lies down).
Bye, Bye Little Burrito.
ETA: I just put her down for her nap. No sleep. I finally went in an swaddled her - she was asleep in two minutes, flat. Maybe this isn't good-bye quite yet, but rather a transition of sorts, to keep myself from feeling that lingering bittersweet ache of celebrating a child growing up, while mourning all that will never be again.
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