Fruit in my dessert

He's just not that into you (or rather, me)

I'm sure I've posted about this before...before he had words. Before he could say, "I want mommy go out there," as he steps into the hallway and points toward the living room. It has long been a ritual in our house for B to do the bedtime thing. This started when I was home full-time and counted the minutes until his arrival at the front door, feeling like a 1950s cliche, handing off the baby with more enthusiasm than I thought I could muster. We would take turns of course, and whenever B would travel - which was and is fairly frequently - I would do the whole bedtime thing. And many nights we would share it and use the time to catch up with each other a little as well.

Well, the time has come when post-bath, H tells me to "go out there" so he and daddy can read their story and daddy can put him to bed. We've come close to forcing the issue on a night or two when mommy has needed some H love, but don't get very far before something clicks in my brain telling me that I should be at least partially grateful: for this time to myself and for the relationship H and B have. I have many friends who have the opposite issue where they can't get the child to go with daddy and they feel trapped by that (as would I). When I'm feeling extra insecure I do "blame" it on the fact that B will indulge him more at bedtime than I will in terms of extra moments of interaction before it's time to say goodnight, but I know if that's part of the story, it's likely a small part.

So, here I sit, blogging freely, and I'm grateful, but still a little sad (at least for the moment) that I'm not raising a "momma's boy" as my friend who has the same "issue" said to me the other day. At least for the moment.

Just words

A couple of weeks ago, we finally succumbed to the pressures of this big, bad city and filled out our first (of one, so far) preschool application for H for next fall. We know we're "behind," we know it might be "too late for the good ones," and we know he might be doomed to a life in public school with all those "other" kids, but we know his mom made it through that way - not here, but that's just a detail, right?

I have been toeing the line between trying to understand how involved in the insane process one needs to be to not totally mess up her kid's educational chances for the rest of his (New York) life, and trying to pretend we can do it here like we would do it anywhere else - plus a few K here and there. I have only three requirements in this whole process: (1) we must not be forced to home school him because he doesn't get in anywhere, and (2) no co-ops. Half or more of the reason I believe preschool is a must for our family is the much needed separation and alleviation of responsibility for us, the parents. (3) This may be obvious, but I want ALL of the adults in the room with him at all times to be CARING, LOVING adults.

Okay, let's face it, you know and I know I have WAY more than three requirements, but if I start talking about educational philosophy and what I think H actually needs (and DOESN'T need) from a preschool experience, I'll have nothing to talk about when we see each other for coffee or dinner, or when I write the book about it. Besides, this post is about the application we filled out.

The one question they asked on the application that required real thought was what words we would use to describe our child. It didn't say how many words, but we went with 12, given the line length and assumed need for detail with brevity. I, of course, made B come up with his own list and it turned out that our first word was the same - the rest were not, so we went with a combination. Here's what we came up with:

curious, energetic, loving, social, observant, funny, brave, resourceful, kind, expressive, creative, thoughtful

It was challenging in a number of overthinking-it kind of ways, but it was also kind of fun.

We did get invited to the open house in January after they received our application, so I guess that means we didn't "fail" the application part, but I'm pretty sure everyone gets invited to the open house.

In the meantime, we're signing up for a "pre-school alternative" (read: not licensed as a preschool, half the cost or so, but still too much) for two mornings a week (2 hours/day) starting in January. And, as with so much of parenting, I'm excited and devastated about this new development.

What's In a Name?

I started a post a couple of months ago about all of Henry's new words and developments and I never finished it and it never got posted, so today, I just post about one word he said right before bed tonight: Henry.

Actually, it was more like Henmy, but it was the first time he said his name. The words are exploding these days, and he can repeat almost anything all of a sudden, including today, when we were buying him pajamas, and I said, "would you like the helicopters or the dinosaur?" expecting him to point at one or the other, and he looked at me and said, "dinosaur." This was surprising on two levels - one, he really likes helicopters and even calls planes "copters" and two, I don't think he's ever seen a dinosaur or heard the word (except for last week at the Natural History Museum). I digress. I've been saying this kid's name to him since birth. He knows his name. He responds to his name - usually, when he's not practicing being a teenager. His friends call him by his name (Henny, Honey, etc.), but he's never said it before. I don't know why I find it so special, but I do. So there it is.

Watching it happen

I snapped at my 17-month-old at four o'clock in the morning, for potentially being in pain. Seriously. I know I'm not the only one who's ever done that but it feels awful, and mostly because it's all my fault. I worked at the office yesterday and with my new hours I am doing ten hours, so I didn't get home until after six, where I met B and H at the playground with a couple of my/our mommy friends and their boys. Then we went out to a fancy restaurant for dinner called Whole Foods. I looked at my watch as we were finishing eating and said, "oh my goodness, it's 10 to seven," but my friend pointed out that it was actually 10 to eight. Oops. By the time we got home we had missed H's bedtime by over an hour and he was feeling it. Also, the whole time at the playground and at the fancy restaurant and even when we were home, he wanted both of us to be there. My analysis is that he wasn't sure which one of us was going to be there when - was one of us going to leave again? And that was making him anxious and me sad.

That's how it's been for the last couple of weeks. A lot of handing off, one of us comes, the other one goes. We added some new fun to the new working arrangement by deciding to move back to New York, which has meant surprise trips to go see open houses, frantically trying to get our house ready to put on the market, and a general heightened level of anxiety. Add to that me going away for a night with my sister (it was divine) and taking on a month long work assignment at about 10 hours a week in addition to the new work arrangement (to be fair I signed up for this other assignment before I decided to go back to work. At any other moment it would be quite enjoyable). B is working hard with less time trying to get clients, get his business set up, and his office arranged, and keeping me from going off the deep end (which takes way more time than it should).

I was feeling guilty about having too much on my non-H plate, which is of course why H was feeling that way and B was feeling bad because he thought it was his fault for not planning their day better to get H to bed sooner, so after a rare unsuccessful attempt to put H in his own bed, we brought him in to ours. We both had planned to do hours of work after putting H to bed but decided against our own wills to go to sleep too. The only problem with that was that we really can't sleep so well with an uncomfortable H in our bed. He was wiggling and spinning and laying on our faces and smacking our ears. And I quickly went from being worried about him to being frustrated that I wasn't getting any sleep. And I snapped. It was brief, just his name, "HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH." And it wasn't the first time and I know it won't be the last, but I feel like I'm watching it happen.

We've made choices, most of them I believe are the right choices for us, but this week, and maybe the next several, we made too many choices to DO things instead of NOT DO things so we once again have to be on top of our individual and collective games in a serious win-the-championship kind of way so that things like that don't happen and ask ourselves, "what are the things that we can NOT do?" "what are the things we can do differently or LESS?" etc. etc.

I apologized to H this morning, but somehow it didn't feel like enough, maybe because he had spent the last fifteen minutes listening to mommy and daddy argue about how crazy mommy was for yelling at everybody because she has too much to do. I missed the, "How to have a happy marriage, brilliant career, not fight, and never take anything out on your kid," chapter in the baby book.

please note: this post was actually written four days ago, but I never got around to posting it. Lots has happened since then, mostly good stuff. And no more snapping.

If only boys

If I only have boys, which I think is more likely at this point, since I have one already, I'll be okay. And here's why:

My sister texted me the other night to tell me that my youngest niece, who will be four years old in a few weeks, wants a Barack Obama t-shirt for her birthday. She keeps seeing him on tv and says things like, "That's Arack Obama and he's the present of the United Steaks."

In her shower this evening, she told my sister, "I wish my t-shirt didn't have the Bratz on them. I wish it was Iraq Obama." So my sister said, "You want one with him?" to which my niece replied, "Yes, I do. For my birthday!"

This isn't about her being a girl, this is about how I feel when my sister tells me these stories about her and my other nieces, her sisters, who are 6 and almost 9. They make me laugh so hard, and cry too sometimes. And, we get to see them often enough to catch an occasional glimpse of their everyday life - a soccer game, a school function, a church choir solo. I get to give them the occasional mani/pedi and braid their hair in ways that their own mom claims not to be able to do (although secretly I think she purposefully saves that stuff for me so it can be MY thing with them - that's the kind of sister she is). H loves them so much and they adore him too. And now that I'm a mom too, I know I'm not exaggerating when I say I feel like they're my girls too. Because they are.

So, if and when there's another child in my life (and no, we're not planning on that quite yet), if it's a boy, it will be okay for me to not be a mother of a daughter, because I already have three. And one who I have to go buy a cool "Iraq Obama" t-shirt for very soon. Plus, I'm pretty sure at least one of them will live with me at some point during her teen years or later when she needs to get away from her birth mom. If only she and I had had a cool aunt like me. Just kidding, mom.

sixteen

My baby is 16 months old. How did this happen? He is asserting his independence more than ever before.  It is at once liberating and terrifying - for both of us - and did I mention exhausting? His favorite things these days are trucks and buses and birds and dogs and things that just GO. He'll wave at the dogs and get close but won't touch them. He doesn't mind being licked. He loves to play catch with a ball almost as much as his dad does. All vehicles are "TrrkK" and all animals are "BaBa." He loves to hug and sometimes it's hard to tell when it's going to be a hug and when it's going to be a wee bit more than a hug, a shove perhaps. I think he knows the difference and that one is much preferred over the other, and perhaps how to switch midstream.

He goes to get things now, and to give things, and runs away, and comes back - usually. He has words - we think. And he talks a ton about things we can't quite understand and doesn't seem to mind if anyone is listening or not. BH and I often guess the exact same word or phrase from the sounds he makes. Is that because he is making sounds that are like our sounds? I can't imagine why he would talk so much in this house. He now makes the "shhhhhhhhhhhh" sound that the white noise rain that we've been playing for him since birth makes and thinks it's pretty funny. It will be helpful when we travel :)

Favorite foods these days include avocado, canteloupe, honeydew, bananas, whole wheat bread, cream cheese, peanut butter, eggs, blueberry waffles, pancakes, milk, all of his Earth's Best cookies and crackers, and in the last few days he has actually started to eat carrots, and is also getting into "dipping."

Favorite books include Pat the Bunny (one I'd never read before now), his Dog book, his Fire Truck book (with actual wheels on it), his Truck book, and generally any book that he can interact with and manipulate. He will indulge us by listening to at least part of any book (or magazine or newspaper) we choose and BH has read many Dr. Seuss stories at bedtime every night. He breaks the long ones up over a few nights.

I still miss HD when he sleeps, even when it's sometimes in our bed because of teeth or ears or who knows what. I dread when he wakes up too soon because of those same teeth or ears or just because it's five am and that's when it's time for the boys to play in this house (even when BH isn't home).

He has recently begun to love and need to be a part of everything in the grown up world: sitting upright on chairs with his back against the back, opening and closing the doors and gates when coming and going, including attempts at the heavy car door, eating off our plates even when the same thing is on his, drinking out of glasses without tops, carrying around a coffee mug to match mine.

It appears climbing was not a phase. He hurdled up the bleachers today at the local little league park, attempts all sorts of things at the playground that are for kids a bit bigger than he, with me serving as the intermediary step between ladder rungs and ropes. I know when he's climbing on a chair because he has to use so much effort he grunts for it. He'll stand on anything to give him that extra inch - his water bottle tipped on its side like a log, a book, a baseboard heater, a dish, anything at all. He's moments away from getting that leg over the side of the tub to get in without assistance.

This particular week the word "No" and all its variations seem to have a diminished effect, while sometimes just a look from me (and not even one of my really mean ones) can send him to the floor in devastation. He's definitely feeling like he doesn't have control of much these days and I'm working to figure out how I can give him more - having him help me beat and scramble the eggs tonight for dinner was not perhaps my best foot forward on this front and left us both in tears, but we're a work in progress.

He has developed a squinty, put-on smile for the camera in the last couple of weeks that makes me laugh pretty hard and makes many of his pictures have his eyes closed. The only thing better than this cheesy cheese is his real smile, his real laugh, his giggles when he's surprised or tickled or sees daddy come in to the room. He is still in love with peek a boo and has been since he was about six weeks old. He is now in total control of the game as he covers his own eyes with his own hands in very dramatic fashion. When he's really tired he sometimes forgets why he's put his hands there in the first place and starts to rub his eyes.

Speaking of really tired, he loves to take the blankets in the living room and roll around in them on the floor when it's close to bedtime, and if I'm with him we do it together, him climbing all over me, occasionally lifting my shirt to reveal my rock hard abs and smacks them as if he's my personal trainer and he's pretty disappointed in the progress. Belly buttons are gaining interest as are eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. He loves to stick his finger in mine for some reason.

He watches - everything and everyone. He's pretty outgoing but cautious. He's...well...he's HD and he's pretty terrific.

Thanks for indulging me. I've been wanting to do this every month or so since his birth and never have. Maybe the next one will be shorter, but probably not.

Strike a chord

What do you do all day?

I've heard some version of this question quite a bit in the last 15 months and have never really been able to answer it very well. And because I haven't been able to answer it well, I have often questioned myself in a similar tone to the question asker featured here...what DO I do all day? I mean, seriously. I used to be paid to make people and things and processes more efficient. Why, then, have I done crazy things like missed not one, but several bill payments in the last year, effectively, in my mind, destroying much more than my credit rating with the credit card companies? Or not responded to actual important emails from people who are doing things to help me out? Or (nearly? I can't remember) missed appointments because I didn't know what day it was? Or, or...

Carolyn Hax, Style Columnist for the Washington Post answered this question for her Tell Me About It column all the way back in 2007 for the unnamed questioner from Tacoma, Washington. I think she answered it for everyone else too, even the stay-at-home-moms in question. And, well, she answered it with style. I'm less concerned with the "snit" parts and more with the actual list of stuff. It's a good reminder and yes, of course, validating too. And, I know this isn't my friend asking, because I'm the person who does call my friends ALL the time, the ones with kids, without kids, kids themselves. I like to talk. Have I mentioned that? Maybe that's why the bills aren't getting paid. But I digress. The question:

Best friend has child. Her: exhausted, busy, no time for self, no time for me, etc. Me (no kids): Wow. Sorry. What'd you do today? Her: Park, play group . . .

Okay. I've done Internet searches, I've talked to parents. I don't get it. What do stay-at-home moms do all day? Please no lists of library, grocery store, dry cleaners . . . I do all those things, too, and I don't do them EVERY DAY. I guess what I'm asking is: What is a typical day and why don't moms have time for a call or e-mail? I work and am away from home nine hours a day (plus a few late work events) and I manage to get it all done. I'm feeling like the kid is an excuse to relax and enjoy -- not a bad thing at all -- but if so, why won't my friend tell me the truth? Is this a peeing contest ("My life is so much harder than yours")? What's the deal? I've got friends with and without kids and all us child-free folks get the same story and have the same questions.

Carolyn's answer:

Relax and enjoy. You're funny.

Or you're lying about having friends with kids.

Or you're taking them at their word that they actually have kids, because you haven't personally been in the same room with them.

Internet searches?

I keep wavering between giving you a straight answer and giving my forehead some keyboard. To claim you want to understand, while in the same breath implying that the only logical conclusions are that your mom-friends are either lying or competing with you, is disingenuous indeed.

So, since it's validation you seem to want, the real answer is what you get. In list form. When you have young kids, your typical day is: constant attention, from getting them out of bed, fed, clean, dressed; to keeping them out of harm's way; to answering their coos, cries, questions; to having two arms and carrying one kid, one set of car keys, and supplies for even the quickest trips, including the latest-to-be-declared-essential piece of molded plastic gear; to keeping them from unshelving books at the library; to enforcing rest times; to staying one step ahead of them lest they get too hungry, tired or bored, any one of which produces the kind of checkout-line screaming that gets the checkout line shaking its head.

It's needing 45 minutes to do what takes others 15.

It's constant vigilance, constant touch, constant use of your voice, constant relegation of your needs to the second tier.

It's constant scrutiny and second-guessing from family and friends, well-meaning and otherwise. It's resisting constant temptation to seek short-term relief at everyone's long-term expense.

It's doing all this while concurrently teaching virtually everything -- language, manners, safety, resourcefulness, discipline, curiosity, creativity. Empathy. Everything.

It's also a choice, yes. And a joy. But if you spent all day, every day, with this brand of joy, and then, when you got your first 10 minutes to yourself, wanted to be alone with your thoughts instead of calling a good friend, a good friend wouldn't judge you, complain about you to mutual friends, or marvel how much more productively she uses her time. Either make a sincere effort to understand or keep your snit to yourself.

Thanks and credit to my friend KD for alerting me to this column by posting it on Facebook.

If Only It Were This Easy...

Since before HD was born, I have continuously obsessed about which diapers would be best to use. You'd think that now that he's 14 months I would have stopped obsessing, but, in reality, I'm still deciding. Our primary diaper is Pampers Cruisers, well, because they're easiest to use, especially on the go, which we often are, and because BH prefers the disposable option. When I know I'm going to be home for several hours, I use the G Diaper whenever I can. I learned the hard way that the flushing option doesn't work at our house, but they do break down quickly in the trash, and will break down even faster when we start composting this spring. We've also tried Seventh Generation and have heard good things about the similar Nature Babycare. I originally wanted to try cloth, but decided, for a variety of reasons, that we were not to be a cloth family. I tell myself (and people who ask) that it's because you have to wash them twice in really hot water, which is not good for the environment anyway, but it's definitely partially an excuse, one to which my friends who use cloth might say pish posh. To make myself feel better about the Pampers choice, I don't change HD very often, so I wind up using fewer diapers altogether. Some people might call that neglect of some kind, but HD and his heiny don't seem to mind, and it helps me sleep a little bit better at night. Plus, I'm potty training him next week, so this will all be moot then.

The intro to this SNL video was supposed to be one line, but I got carried away. Like I said at the top, if only it were this easy:

Favorites

BH has been home since last Tuesday afternoon. His dad and stepmom came to visit for a few days and we hosted Thanksgiving with my parents, his cousin's family, and his aunt and uncle. BH cooked a delicious meal (and I set a mean table). It has been unbelievably fabulous to have him here. We have gotten to spend some awesome family time together - just the three of us, and I've gotten to sleep in past seven most days because he's been here to play with HD. At least once, I didn't get up until after HD went down for his morning nap. Lucky, lucky girl. I have felt slight twinges of guilt at these luxuries, but I've pushed them away knowing that it's good for me, good for making my slightly annoying cold go away, and good for BH and HD to have additional bonding/father/son time.

Except for two things. HD is now obsessed with BH to the point that he has cried bloody murder at least twice in the past twenty four hours when BH left him with me to go to another room. I want to love this and think it is just what I've always wanted - our young son to have the kind of attachment to his father that he has to me. An equal opportunity to have his dad as his favorite. But I'm jealous. And I know I shouldn't be. And I'm trying hard not to be. I should be thankful for the free moments it has allowed me to have in the last couple of days. And I am. If only I could remove the jealous bones in my body - I wish I knew which bones they were - they have caused me SO much trouble over the years.

Oh - the second thing. Tomorrow is Monday. BH goes back to work. I think HD and I will take turns screaming bloody murder tomorrow. Play date, anyone?

Weaned

It's done. I didn't breastfeed HD today. I likely won't breastfeed HD tomorrow or the day after that, and perhaps, I will never breastfeed again. Before I started breastfeeding, I certainly didn't think much about it. Before I was pregnant, I'm sure I never thought about it at all (well, aside from the time that the nurse in my sister's post-delivery room told me I had great boobs for breastfeeding when I was all of 22). I definitely didn't think I would ever write about it.

It turns out, after all the drama, all the, "I don't know if I can do it anymore," all the "I really don't like it," "I'm doing it because they tell me I should," it's not as immediately freeing as I thought it would be.

HD did his typical-of-late, wake up on and off between 4:30 and 6, with a final wake-up call of 7:15. BH was up already and gave him breakfast. I got up 20 minutes later and started making the bed when I realized I hadn't breastfed HD (we had confirmed this plan the night before). I yelled down to the kitchen, "Hey, I didn't breastfeed him." BH replied, "yeah, I know."

Me: Is he eating breakfast?
BH: Yeah.
Me: Did you give him milk?
BH: Yeah, he's having it with his breakfast.
Me: But, he doesn't even need me? He's not acting crazy? He's not panting for me?
BH: Nope.

I went downstairs and sat next to HD who gave me a big good morning smile.

Me to HD: Um, so, you're done? That's it? You don't even need me anymore? What are you? A toddler? I can't believe this. It's so...anticlimactic.

HD to me: Yesshhh.

Okay, so I might have embellished his part, but we actually do think that YES is his first word. He just might not have said it at that time. I had a really hard time listening to him after my dramatic rhetoric was finished.

So there it is. It appears I was weaned, not HD. Now, I'm going to watch Lois do this so I can benefit from her insights and laugh like I mean it about this whole thing.