The Legend of Zephyr

Birthday and Christmas, way past due!

2012-01-03T14:29:00.001-08:00

Sorry for the flakiness - my book is taking up all my writing time, as I suppose it should. So here are some photos!

We gave Zephyr a toy piano - he always gravitates towards them and was getting frustrated by the fake pianos that just play music instead of notes. Then we had a robot-themed party with his buddy Jasper, who's a day younger (I made sliders and pigs-in-a-blanket and provided decorations; Katie made cakes and provided location). It was like a cozy play date with their little toddler buddies, and a good time was had by all.

3D glasses!

Random pre-birthday cuteness with snack and Yo Gabba Gabba.

For Christmas, we didn't do too much special. We went to Peacock Lane a week before, and walked around and looked at all the lights on the houses. On Christmas day, we stayed in our jammies and Tanya and Sigga came over for brunch. It was super-relaxed, and I felt like it was a perfect holiday. I even decided to not be a sardonic Scrooge about everything, and put on the Vince Guaraldi channel on Pandora and baked persimmon bread and everything!

Zephyr has so much crap that we didn't feel like we needed to get him much (plus he's too young to be greedy and insolent about toys), so we just got him some books and cars, and Scott outfitted his old Nintendo DS with a new decal to make it look like a new thing (we gave him a game to play with it, but it might be a little old for him). After the truck he got from Grandpa Jack, though, everything else was dead to him. Plus, I'm the worst and kept forgetting to take photos.

I guess these pajamas are getting too small - I just realized they're in last year's photos, too. Oops.

Zephyr is very into drawing right now. It's just repetitive swirlies connected by lines (he doesn't take the crayon or marker up from the paper), but to him it's "trucks" or "flowers" or "poop."

He's talking up a storm, too, but it's still hard to understand him sometimes because his articulation is for shit. "Truck" is pronounced "dutz"; "train" is "dain"; "blueberry" is "buh-bay" and "raisin" is "wuh-wain," but his vocabulary and grammar are actually pretty far along. He uses more than 150 words and understands tenses and possessives pretty well. He can count to 13 before he starts making shit up (sometimes he forgets four, but from five on up he's got it down). And as of about a week ago, he can finally say his own name!

Instead of tantrums, a lot of times when he's pissed he just says "mad" and goes and stands in a corner, like he's giving himself a little time-out. It's usually because the option he wants isn't practical or I get something wrong (like he wants to wear two different shoes, but I put them on the wrong feet - he wanted the gray shoe on his left foot, not right! and now he's so mad! everything's ruined!). He loves practicing his mad face and talking about different feelings.

We can just explain things to him now, and can see it really clicking. And now our early waking problems have even mostly subsided since we can just tell him it's still night time, and that we're going back to sleep. Then we just ask him if he wants his star lights and music and then he settles back down. Now the worst we get is a 6:30 wake-up where he plays alone and chats to himself ("dark. ni-night. mama sleep. daddy sleep. stars. music.") until 7:15ish, instead of just having to get up at 5:00. And sometimes instead of waking with a loud, whiny cry, he just announces "awake!"

The more we get peeks into his mind (through his talking), the more we're starting to realize just how freakishly smart he is. We're in for a thrilling ride.

Dharma Doll

2011-11-22T09:49:00.000-08:00

Wow, the past couple of months have really slipped away from me. It was just warm and beachy, then all of a sudden it was Halloween (he was Daruma), and now it's Thanksgiving. And he'll be two (TWO!) on Saturday. Time really does fly when you're having fun.

Zephyr is growing so fast, both cognitively and physically, and I can barely keep up. In the past two months he's gone from using maybe 20 or so words to 100 words, and is starting to form sentences. He's finally catching up. Our favorite latest development is his contraction of "yes, please" to just "yep." We still ask him to say please, but "yep" is pretty cute. I've listed the rest of his words at the bottom of this post for posterity and record-keeping.

He's finally entered the part of his speech development where he is copying and repeating words in addition to his normal attempts at talking. We try to model proper speech by repeating back to him what he's trying to say. For example, if he says "apeas! apeas!" while standing next to the horse, we say "I want up please!" Oh, by the way, any four-legged ungulate is 'moose.' Horse is moose. Elk is moose. Deer is moose. At home he has an Ikea rocking moose, so we blame the Swedes for this one.

Also, in a tragic case of "Who's on First," Zephyr is calling a lot of things "mine." He doesn't necessarily think they belong to him, it's just that when I hold my coffee and say "this coffee is mine. that water is yours," he thinks "oh, she said that cup of coffee is called 'mine'". He doesn't assign the ownership to the word 'mine', he just thinks it's a label. I guess all kids probably do this, but when this clicked for me it was kind of a revelation. It's always nice to know that our kids aren't totally narcissistic sociopaths.

Zephyr loves trying to jump. It's still really more of a stilted gallop, and his vert totally sucks, but it's adorable watching him try. He also loves doing barrel rolls on the carpet and walking up and down stairs and his little step-stool.

He's starting to mellow out a bit, but last month was challenging, with lots of mood swings. These photos were taken within 30 seconds, during which time he went from sheer ecstasy:

to rage:

I guess he didn't like the silly faces I was making at him after all.

Since the end of September, we've been members of Eastside Family Co-op; it's a part-time day care that is run entirely by parents. He goes three mornings a week, including one with me. It's been really nice for me to have two mornings a week to myself to get work done (or just catch my breath, increasingly), and he gets lots of solid playtime with other kids his age. It's just 1.5 months to 3.5 year olds, so he's right in the middle developmentally. He's really thriving there.

Zephyr's friendships at Co-op are starting to blossom. He loves to hug and kiss his little friends, which sends my cute overload meter soaring. He went through a bit of a hitting phase at around the time we started, but fortunately it was very short-lived.

He's starting to become aware of the potty, or at least the bathroom. He goes into the bathroom whenever the door is open, points at the toilet and says "pee. boop." I know it'll be coming soon, but I guess I just haven't felt like pushing it. I ask him if he wants to go potty and he's already out the door and onto something else.

All of these new tricks are amazing, but it's also becoming very apparent that Zephyr isn't a baby anymore. I actually have to learn how to parent him now, to help him become the best person he can be. It's really scary to know that I, alone, could fuck this kid up completely if I don't do this right. I'm reading every book out there, and have really found the Positive Discipline techniques valuable. I'll probably be taking at least one class to help retrain me. I get really worried about my ability to do this when my knee-jerk reaction is to yell, and I know he deserves better, so I'm just working as hard as I can. As one mom at Co-op likes to say, "it's a process."

Aybee Seedy

2011-09-10T15:45:00.000-07:00

Long time, sorry. What's been going on: Zephyr has had a few visits with Holly, his speech therapist (though at this age, the "therapy" is really about repeatedly labeling objects and sounds in a way that's not too pushy or exhausting for him). I think it's going well, but I also am becoming more convicted in my thinking that he really is just a little late, and will actually be just fine.

His obsession with cars is, thankfully, starting to transfer to letters of the alphabet. He's fascinated with letters, and flashcards, and letter magnets. He can say a few of the letters: I (his favorite), O, E, A, Y, S, M and D; he holds up the B and says "zzzz." Because that's the sound a bee makes. The rest of the letters, he usually just says "E" because that's as close as he can get to making the sound.

I tend to forget that his receptive language skills are just fine because his expressive language is lagging, so just for fun I decided to test his knowledge. I hold up a book and starting with an easy one, ask him, "where's the I?" He points to it. "C?" I know he can't say that one, so I'm pleased when he points to it. And H, and J, and Q. He can read all of the letters. Little genius has been holding out on us.

He does have a few new words (mostly bullshit ones, but still):

bye (bus; or bye, if waving)
die (car)
die-die (truck or airplane)
dee (train)
nana (banana)
brr (anything that is marginally wet or cold)
no (no)
mo (more; also uses signs for more and please)
moon (for moon or sun, or any picture of a celestial body)
ow (owl)
nummynummy (yummy)
buhbuhbuhbuh (bubbles)
Dada (Daddy)
Mama (music to my ears)

He'll be starting co-op day care in a couple weeks, which will be great for us. It's family-run, for kids 18 months to three years old, and is really nice. I'll be there with him one morning a week, and he'll be there without me two mornings a week. I'll get a break to work, he'll get to be out of the house and around other kids his age (which will undoubtedly help his speech development), and everyone wins. We got our official welcome email today, and couldn't be happier.

Riding the train at Seaside was marginally less thrilling for him than the carousel ride.

And we had our first family trip to the beach last week! Grandma was in town and we rented a little house in Seaside called the Lobster House. It was wonderful to be in the salt air and sunshine, to revisit my favorite childhood haunts, and Zephyr had a blast on the coast (aka That Giant Sandbox). We even got our first family portrait since he was new.

I love how squirmy and funny he is in this photo. It perfectly sums up the little boy we have.

Manic Panic

2011-08-08T19:21:00.000-07:00

Zephyr just wowed the both of us with the most amazing collection of mood swings. After his bath tonight, before bed, he was in top form. Here's how it went:

"Dat? Dat? Dat?" he asks about nothing in particular, jabbing his little index finger in random directions. He leans into my arms and hugs me into a stranglehold, then pulls back and bucks giddily, grinning with his eyes squeezed tight, shrieking peals of laughter as he squirms his naked tushie out of his towel.

"Et? Et!" (his word for blanket) He's pointing at his blanket, so I grab it and tuck it into his arms as I lay him onto the changing table to get him into his jammies.

Epic meltdown. Inconsolable crying.

"What's wrong, honey?" I ask. He looks at me, face in a cartoon frown, and sobs. Then he flips over (Scott has just gotten a diaper on him), crying, and points to the Totoro mural on his wall, says "dat" and starts laughing maniacally.

Scott and I look at each other, confused, eyebrows raised, trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness, lest we encourage him to act like this on purpose.

I pull his jammies over his head. Tears again. He's hugging me around the neck as he steps into his pajama bottoms. He starts slapping at me, and I gently scold him, "no hitting, Zephyr. That hurts." His face slowly crumples into another frown, and he wraps his arms around me and buries his head against my chest. More crying.

We get to the rocking chair, sing our songs and when he's finished nursing he flips his legs around to kick off my lap. He crawls off toward his crib, leaving me and Scott in our places at the rocker and starts to lay down on his rug. Scott picks him to sing the rest of the lullabies, and Zephyr shoos me off by making his kissy word, "mmmuh." Then he starts pointing at each of the stars lit up on his ceiling, "stahs. stahs. stahs. stahs. stahs. stahs." Points at the fan, "dat," then "stahs."

Sigh. "Goodnight, Zephyr. Sweet dreams. I love you."

"Stahs."

Oh, toddlers.

The Strong, Silent Type

2011-07-22T12:05:00.000-07:00

After reading every book and website on speech delays, and after having a brief visit with a speech-language pathologist (SLP), we had Zephyr evaluated for developmental delays last Wednesday, and it turns out he is completely, smack-dab-in-the-middle-of-the-normal-curve normal. Except for speech. That part, he's only 79th centile.

Normally, they wouldn't consider this a far enough deviation from normal to qualify him for federally-funded therapy, but luckily the SLPs that evaluated him used their best professional judgment to determine that he'd be a good candidate for speech therapy. He might just be a late bloomer, or he might end up with literacy problems later if we don't do something now, early.

So now we wait for the Individualized Family Service Plan (IFSP) to arrive, and then we can start weekly, in-home speech training. I reckon most of the training will be for me and Scott, to help us help Zephyr. In the meantime, I just try to play with him more intently, annunciate more intentionally, use proper English instead of "toddlerese," though we still use the "toddlerese" to quell his thunderstorms, which come and go with frustrating frequency as he cuts four molars and four canines simultaneously, and is unable to communicate much further than pointing and nodding. And disdah. Disdah is, I think, "this is a car."

As in:

Disdah.

But dis is still used to tell me about other things he's observing. Like the white clovers in the garden and the busy little Hymenopteran sisters tending their nectar.

He tells me there are bees here, matter-of-factly. My budding naturalist loves squatting low to watch industrious honeybees and bumblebees, and buzzes alongside them. He loves blowing the fluffy achenes off of dandelions, and perfectly imitating the guttural melody of the American crow.

We spend lots of time at the park, providing happy respite from boredom (for both of us). We usually go in the early morning, so we have the whole place to ourselves. This doesn't really do his social development any favors, but it does help us avoid interactions like the one we had the other day. There's this one mom in the neighborhood, and her son, Liam, is about 6 months older than Zephyr. He's a really skinny little kid, almost always in her lap. He's verbally advanced for his age, but seems pretty shy and xenophobic and may have a social/emotional delay. Thing is, he always has really cool cars with him, which are irresistible to Zephyr. So like any other toddler, Zephyr grabbed one off the ground and started to try to take off with it to play. The other mom scoops up Liam, says something like "you don't want him to play with your car, do you?" and Liam buries his face in her neck and sort of says no, shaking his head.

This is the second time Zephyr has tried to play with this kid's toys at the park, so obviously he's established a pattern of behavior. This woman says to me, "he probably just senses that he can easily dominate Liam."

Yes, you stupid bitch, my 20 month-old son is a cold-blooded predator, can sense weakness in your son, and knew he'd easily overpower him to get what he wanted. He's cold-blooded, merciless and calculating. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he is a FUCKING TODDLER and the part of his brain that feels empathy or understands the concept of sharing has literally not grown yet. But go ahead and keep treating your son like a helpless victim. That should bode well for him socially, especially if he stays in the 10th centile for weight. You can protect him his whole life.

I muttered an apology, took the car away from Zephyr, handed it back and Zephyr started crying. I picked him up and we took off. If we see them again, I think I'll just tell Zephyr that Liam is too scared to play and we'll go to the other end of the park where he can't hurt anyone. The funny thing is, our friend's boy, Jude, is 14 months old, and takes cars from Zephyr all the time. Zephyr cries, then when it's time to part, we take the car from Jude and he cries. No one thinks Jude is a sociopath for not knowing how to share, and since Zephyr has almost ten pounds on Jude, it's clearly not that Jude thinks he can dominate Zephyr. I honestly don't know how anyone can go into parenthood without at least knowing that toddlers think everything is "mine."

But I can see how she'd think that Zephyr's a monster. I mean, look at this face.

Diabolical.

Walky Talky, Redux

2011-06-27T14:15:00.000-07:00

...or, Why I am So Damn Tired All the Time

It's been a long time, I know. Sorry about that. I've been too busy chasing my kid all over the damn place, and couldn't be bothered to blog about. And even now that he's taking a nice long nap (all tuckered out from his first swimming lesson), I barely have time to eat lunch and get the rest of my other writing done. So here's what I'll do instead: I'll just show you.

Dizzy? Me too. My favorite part at 0:24, when he's startled by my presence with the camera.

Here's Zephyr's version of a phone call (on a remote control), which is representative of pretty much all talking he does.

No, I can't understand a word he's saying either. I'm hoping that eventually he starts trying to talk correctly, but for now he just babbles incoherently at varying volumes. Sooner or later he'll realize that it's just faster to tell me what he wants instead of pointing and saying "dis, dis" all time.

The last video I want to post is of him splashing around and being silly in his kiddie pool, but he's nekkid as a jay bird in that video, and I don't want any trouble. So that one will just be for Grandma to watch on my phone when she comes to visit in a couple months.

Zephyr's been doing great, though, and aside from the not speaking clearly, I think he's humming right along on his little milestones. His pediatrician said to let her know if he doesn't say ten words in a month or two, so that's a nice thing to be paranoid about. As it stands, he can say "mama," "dada," "caw! caw!" (for crow), "ball," "all done," "hi," "hello," and "I love you." A few weeks ago we were at the book store (he was in the carrier on my back) and I guess he got bored standing there, because he patted me on the shoulder and said "yecko, Mama" ("let's go, Mama"). And he never said it again. Same with several other words, uttered perfectly clearly, plain as day: strawberry, medicine, kitty. I'm choosing not to worry about it yet, because I feel like I'm already doing what I'm supposed to. I talk and read to him plenty, play with him every day, and narrate everything for him, nearly to the point of lunacy. We always freak out and panic that he's behind on things, then just at the last minute he comes along like it ain't no thang.

And it ain't.

Nappy-Headed Fool

2011-05-16T13:24:00.000-07:00

This is a very sleepy boy.

After a month of waking up at 5:00 am to an alternately angry/chatty Zephyr, we have reluctantly decided to wean him down to one nap. We're hoping that if he sleeps less during the day that he'll go back to sleeping longer at night (or later into the morning). We started on Saturday, moving his 9:00 am nap to 10:00. Then yesterday, we bumped it another 30 minutes. Today, due to a spur-of-the-moment brunch date, he went down for his afternoon nap at 11:30. The books say to move the nap in 15 minute increments over the course of a week, but I trust Zephyr's ability to adapt quickly, and other than acting sleepy in the morning (yawns and eye rubs at his old nap time), he seems to be doing just fine.

My goal is to get him to a noon-3:00 pm nap so that we can schedule morning classes and activities to give our days some order, and I'll still have a little time for working and writing every day without having to cut into my evenings too much. Then in the afternoons we can run errands and fix dinner together. He's been very into playing in the kitchen lately, and I want to start letting him "help" soon. Also, with my afternoons shifting to being with Zephyr instead of working while he naps, I can get dinner ready earlier so we can all start eating together instead of just throwing something together for Zephyr, and Scott and I waiting to eat dinner until after Zephyr goes to bed.

The new nap schedule, while excruciating on the first two days (being up at 5:00 and out of ideas by 7:30), is already starting to show some results. Yesterday instead of wailing at 5:00 he just cried half-heartedly and then stayed quiet for a half hour. Today, he woke briefly at 3:30 am, but then went back to sleep until around 6:15 am. And that may have only been because he pooped. We'll see what tonight holds, but I'm already feeling better about things with the prospect of once again getting a full night's sleep on the horizon.

Other than sleep drama, everything is pretty much normal. Walking is going well, though he tends to prefer doing it from the comfort and security of home. When I take him to the park, he just crawls around, grinding sawdust and mud into his knees. Evidently he walks just fine when he's at the park with Scott, so I'm not sure what's going on.

He's really into coloring right now, which is great, because crayons are relatively light and small enough to fit into my purse. He doesn't even need to taste them anymore. He is always entertained now.

He's also started finally breaking his molars. His bottom left second incisor is still showing no signs of coming, or that it even exists. I guess there's a chance that he is missing one of his teeth? Wonderful. In addition to serious orthodontia, he'll need an implant. Hopefully this is just a baby tooth issue.

Talking, too, is coming along slowly. He verbalizes constantly, it's just usually not any words that I can understand. And it's not because I'm not paying attention, it's because he literally says "bzbzbzbzbz. dis. dis, bzbzbzbz." He also makes this cooing sing-song sound like an owl where he starts high and then drops and octave, going progressively lower and lower, "hoo-OOH, hoo-OOH." He can say "all done" when he's finished eating (which he does, while presenting either his empty plate or the plate full of food that he's not interested in eating). When I ask him if we wants to nurse, he nods and says "dub."

He calls Scott "Daddoo" which is adorable. He never calls me Mama, though, or requests me verbally at all, as far as I can tell. Maybe it's because I'm ubiquitous. I hope it's because he just knows that I'm always there.

Walky Talky

2011-04-27T10:00:00.000-07:00

Oh, what a long time it's been since I last updated this blog. Such a bad mommy I am! I've had lots of other writing to do, and I guess I let things slide around here a bit.

Zephyr can walk now - measurable distances, even. He slowly, carefully makes his way across the living room. It's funny, when he's holding something such as a sippy cup, he covers much more ground and with less trepidation than when he is consciously walking.

Other than that, not a whole lot is different. He said the word 'medicine' last night, then repeated it twice to assure us it wasn't an accident. "Mmmm-dsin," he says sweetly, yearning for that candy-syrup Tylenol. We only give it to him at night, when his impending molars seem to genuinely fuck with his head.

Actually, the persistent waking has gotten so out of hand that we finally had to draw the line, and began the night weaning process last night. No, let me be more specific: we are sleep training him, for reals this time. We were having pretty good success with just letting Scott go in and give him a hug, but at 17 months, he really should not be waking up every couple hours hollering at the top of his lungs. Somewhere along the way, he forgot how to just suck his thumb or resettle, and learned to shout for us. So now, no more rocking him back to sleep in the middle of the night. We go in, pat him on the back, give him his blankie and wish him a good night. No more nursing in the night. He hates this. Last night, the first one, was very rough. From around 1:00am to 3:00am none of us slept. Scott didn't get back to sleep until about an hour before his alarm went off.

Today we're all pretty exhausted, but we'll survive. Hopefully it won't take long to get him squared away again.

I'll post again as there are updates, but for now, I'm just looking forward to Mother's Day with my guys.

Good Hurr

2011-03-31T15:11:00.000-07:00

Don't ask why, but I decided to give Zephyr his first haircut. Myself. After a glass of wine (or two). Here he is before:

Laid back. A little too laid back. Things are getting scraggly. Clearly, something must be done.

Whoooops, totally fucked his head up.

Yes, Zephyr, "gag." Mommy fucked up your hair. It is a terrible look. It looks like a hipster chick with low self esteem cut her own bangs after that guy she went out with last week didn't call like he said he would.

Now what, though?

What else, a good old-fashioned, Ron Swanson-approved High and Tight. But a little less tight. And with an unintentional Vanilla Ice notch above the ear. Scott, surprisingly, wouldn't let me take it all the way by adding a couple more. He's no fun.

He looks like this little German boy from the 1920s. I wish I hadn't snipped across the front, but whaddayagonnado. At least it'll grow back.

Not much new to report, but he has a new trick: pretend talking on the phone. One day he snuck over to my phone and just held it to the side of his head saying, "Yah. Yah. Yah." And now any object that is roughly rectangular in shape is a phone. Or just an empty hand. That works, too.

And he's just been having a good old time with his little buddy Fred. They are the cutest little besties ever. This is the only kid that Zephyr hugs, and I finally caught it on film.

He loves him some Freddlez. They have so much fun playing and talking to each other. I know, totally gay.

My Many Colored Days

2011-03-17T10:13:00.000-07:00

Does anyone else think that the Dr. Seuss book My Many Colored Days is really about living with schizophrenia? I know it's supposed to help kids define their emotions so that they can express their feelings, but it always seems like the ramblings of a manic-depressive to me.

It also, to a certain extent, describes motherhood. Obviously, every day I'm absolutely over the moon for Zephyr, but the way I feel about motherhood (or myself as a mother) seems to change from day to day. Some days I cannot give myself enough high fives, but I rate my success based on things that are, in actuality, completely out of my control. A "good day" is when Zephyr and I go to lunch together and he doesn't fling his food all over the place. I read to him for the fully-prescribed 20 minutes, he takes his two long naps without a single fuss, then doesn't wake at all to nurse in the night. That means I'm doing it Right.

Most of the time, though, I am plagued by self-doubt. I am terrified of being a mean mom, yet I want to set boundaries so Zephyr doesn't end up being a total dick. I constantly compare him to other kids his age and blame myself if he isn't at the same level (or ahead) of other kids. That he only just took his first steps - at 15 months - is clearly because I don't spend enough time engaging him in physical play. That he only knows about 5 or 6 words (about half of which are actually animal sounds like "hoo-hoo" for an owl) is clearly because I don't read or speak to him enough.

He used to be such a great eater, and now I spend every mealtime girding myself for the moment when he wrings his hands to tell me he's finished (I haven't figured out if he has actually learned the sign for "all done," like I've been trying to teach him) . If I don't respond instantly, he throws all of his food on the floor: one piece, then the second piece, then the entire bowl. This, from the boy who creamed all of the other babies in the race to feed himself. I'm sure this is my fault, because I tend to spend mealtimes trying to get the kitchen cleaned up instead of eating with him, peppering the pauses between bites with pleasant conversation.

So then I break out the books again, all of the dozens of parenting books that tell me "everything is fine and just to fucking relax already," and the ones that tell me "Jesus Christ, talk to his pediatrician if he doesn't speak precisely 15 words by the time he's 18 months." I develop a game plan (because parenting requires a strategy, right?) to help me feel like I'm in charge (when in reality, I couldn't be further from it). I project-manage. I tell Scott what we're going to do from now on, get him on board, get him on the same page. I harp on him for not talking to Zephyr enough, and tell him he needs to read more, and to quit zoning out and staring at the floor. "Even if Zephyr isn't interested, just read at him so he hears words," I tell Scott.

I am also a terrible wife, and am sure Scott will leave me any minute for a woman who still weighs 128 pounds and is less of a fucking harpy, who doesn't complain about how sore and tired she is all the time, who is captivated to listen to him talk about his day when he gets home from work.

I divert my focus to things I can control: a clean house, a full cupboard, a checked-off list of arbitrary To-Dos. I feel competent and proud for while, maybe it even escalates to smug satisfaction. Then that needling sneaks up on me again: my priorities are completely out of whack and I should be focusing on my amazing little boy instead of all of the Other Shit.

I am starting to get it, though. I think. Being a good mom means learning how to laugh at shit that I find really irritating instead of getting pissed off. I think it also means letting the kid have wads of cat hair on him sometimes instead of freaking out and spending 15 minutes vacuuming every day. Maybe it can also mean letting him fuck shit up once in awhile and make some messes if it means he's happy and learning. It definitely means taking a step back and trying to get a little perspective: he's healthy, he's happy and people always remark at what a good boy he is. That is enough.

*****

He took his first steps last week. Just two of them, but now he's motoring all over the house with his little push cart, and shopping trips mean if I don't let him down on the floor to "push" the shopping cart, he will holler and frown and be one of those kids that my pre-kid self wished would shut the hell up.

He's cutting about 30 teeth right now, all at once. I can feel and see his molars and all those incisors all bumping up against his gums and he always has a finger jammed in his mouth. He's been kind of a grumpus the past few weeks, and I am trying to stay patient and sympathetic and just give him lots of snuggles (and Tylenol).

He needs a haircut, but I keep forgetting to give him one. I actually really want to take him to a barber so I can photograph it, but I'm afraid this will end in tears, and I always forget to bring it up on the weekend (I feel like all of these Firsts should have Scott in attendance so he doesn't miss out).

His 15 month checkup was a couple weeks ago, and he's only gained a half pound in the last three months (and no height). His head circumference has increased a little. I have started giving him two or three snacks a day, trying to fatten him back up - 75th centile for weight means he's malnourished, as far as I'm concerned. His little pot belly is starting to slim down, and I guess I'm just not ready for him to be a kid instead of a baby.

(Hey, everyone, please believe me when I say: I'm not asking for everyone to be concerned about me, or to pat my hair and tell me I'm a great mother, or to worry that I am secretly depressed. Just because I write about these things doesn't mean it's a cry for help. I'm just writing about it because I feel it's honest, and I hope that other moms can relate. That's all. But thanks!)

Travels and Travails

2011-02-23T10:53:00.000-08:00

Wow, this month is really getting away from me.

Playing peek-a-boo with his Gramma at The Keg

We survived our first trip two weeks ago. Zephyr was smitten with his Grandma and great aunts and uncles, and likewise charmed them with his near-perfect behavior the entire trip. He was a mite fussy on the flight in, but that was because he'd only had a mini-nap and couldn't sleep on the plane. He caught another 20 minute catnap in the car on the way to the hotel, and was up two hours past his bedtime. This was pretty much the way things were the entire trip, yet he behaved admirably.

That is, until the last night in Gilbert (an ugly suburb of Phoenix, AZ), when dinner at Kona Grill caused a complete failure of composure. I have never experienced my son in this way - just completely miserable, crying and arching nonstop for about 45 minutes (while we waited for the hotel shuttle bus to return for us). The food was passable (but overpriced), the service was cloyingly chipper (and tragically misinformed), but the main problem was that it was a total meat market and not at all the friendly Hawaiian luau food that we expected. The dark, night-clubby lighting and loud DOUCHEDOUCHEDOUCHE music exacerbated the problem. I took Zephyr outside, bouncing, singing, desperate to calm him, but nothing worked. It was too warm, and the air in front of the mini-mall restaurant smelled of stale cigarettes. Phoenix is plastic like Los Angeles, but more rednecky.

We enjoyed the weather and scenery, though, and the zoo was fun.

The new stuff, I'm just gonna list because I think he's waking up from his nap and who has the time for paragraphs these days?

Has three different dance moves, employs them often. Beatboxes "puhpuhpuh." Awesome.
Points to everything and whispers "this." Dis. dis. dis. We try to figure out what he's talking about and name the object.
Teeth #5 and 6 are breaking through. Yes, he is 15 months old and has only 6 teeth.
Still no walking, even though we know he totally could if he weren't so damn lazy.
Every time he sees a picture of a cat, he hugs it to his face. This is the cutest thing ever. EVER.
Can use spoon and fork marginally well, but will usually just throw utensils to the floor and use fingers instead. We try not to react too much, but now I'm trying to actually use parenting techniques so I pick the utensil (or cup, or bowl of food) up, wipe it off and return it to his tray. Then I cheerfully say "the spoon goes on the tray!" instead of calling him an asshole.
Has mastered the F.A.C. (fake-ass cry). He tries this one out often, but this has always been one of my pet peeves in kids and it has absolutely no effect on me. "Sorry, Bubbie! Mommy has a heart of stone!" I say in a chipper voice. It's best that Zephyr learn this as early as possible. It's still funny to see him screw his little face up into a frown and try to work up some tears to get me to drop whatever I'm doing and pick him up. (Oh, don't look at me like that. It's good for him to learn patience.)
Can do that thing where he strums his finger on his lips to go "blblblblb" like in the old Bugs Bunny cartoons when something fell on Elmer's head and made him all concussed and brain damaged (wtf is that even called?).
Leans over in the bath and blows bubbles in the bath water. This always cracks him up and he gasps in a little water and chokes a bit. Repeat ad nauseum.

He's a funny kid.

Laugh it Up

2011-02-01T14:59:00.000-08:00

Next week we're going on our first trip out of town with Zephyr. We'll only be gone for three days, but we haven't even taken him on a day trip yet, so of course I'm worried about messing up his entire schedule and making him miserable. But I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I think he'll probably be just fine, though I am bracing myself for the airport hell - all the crap we'll have to bring is going to weigh a ton. I hope they don't hassle us too much.

I hope that our tight routine will translate well to the hotel - we'll bring his blankie, night light, Totoro plushy and iPod full of lullabies, and the baby monitor so we can slip over to Grandma's room for TV and a glass of wine without disturbing Booshie. I'm psyching myself up now for it to be okay. It'll be okay.

His next set of incisors is just about out. I think I see them right there sometimes, white at the gumline, but then they seem to retreat back for a day or so. His finger is always jammed in his mouth, but he still manages to open up once in awhile to say a few words. His new one this week is "debdeb" (Yo Gabba Gabba - not a useful phrase at all, but the name of the TV show we watch before naptime).

Last week he hit his 14 month mark, and he's getting ever-so-close to taking his first steps. He loves walking around the house holding onto my or Scott's fingers, and is doing a bit more standing unassisted. Honestly, at this point, I think he could walk if he wanted to, but is just being lazy. Why would he risk landing on his ass when it's so much easier to just crawl or get carried everywhere?

And since he's been such a sweet, huggy little guy lately, I don't feel like putting him down much either. He wraps his arms around my neck so tight and pats my shoulder. It's so cute. Last week he cracked me and Scott up when, at bedtime, he was finishing up nursing after we sang our bedtime songs, and he just started blowing raspberries for no reason. Scott though he was motorboating me (which he has done before). I pulled my face down close to his to whisper to him, and he bit my nose! He thought that was pretty funny. I guess I did, too.

Anyway - just a quick post. I just wanted to share these awesome photos. It might be getting close to time for his first haircut. I was hoping his widow's peak would have grown in by now, but I guess it's on the same trajectory as those teeth of his...

Manic Digression

2011-01-18T10:19:00.000-08:00

One of the joys of this age is that Zephyr is displaying a wider range of emotions. Instead of being joyful all the time (which I love, don't get me wrong), he's actually starting to reveal a moodier side typical of toddlers. So now, when we're playing and having a grand old time, he's prone to going from manic grins and peals of delight...

...to disgruntled sneers and indignant whining, in mere seconds. The unhappy times are usually directly related to the focus of my attention. Specifically, when my attention is on something other than Zephyr, he's mad. He wants to be held all the time, and is nursing a lot more than he did months ago. He has recently discovered that if he shoots me a soft look and delicately strums at the collar of whatever shirt I'm wearing (while uttering "neh, neh?"), that I will nurse him. Now that he knows how to ask for it, he does. Frequently.

Lately he's really into reading, which is an early relief from my fears that he will have inherited one of his uncles' demeanor instead of that of his bookish parents. It's still early, I suppose, but Scott and I have been nurturing this love of books at every turn. He loves books so much, in fact, that he will grab our fingers to point to each word and picture on a page, and now even grabs his own feet to use as pointers on the pages, which looks like he's trying to breakdance on his books. When he thinks no one is watching, he will use his own fingers and mumble to himself the words of the story.

He also really loves balls these day. "Buh! Buh!" he'll insist, and then we play a rousing game of Roll-and-Catch, or if I need a break, Fetch. He loves his big green ball so much that he will lay down with it and give it a little hug (Scott thinks he's just pressing his ear to the ball to enjoy the warped sound, but he does this to his soft toys too, and I can't imagine they distort sound much. I also choose to think Zephyr is engaging in this activity for the cuter of the two possible reasons.)

***
Lately I've been feeling really disconnected from my own family. Most of it is my own doing - I haven't talked to my father since last summer. I'm pissed that he forgot to call on Zephyr's birthday, and prior to that, he'd only called me to ask to borrow money (this was the same day as Zephyr's surgery last summer, and he never even called to follow up on Zephyr's progress). My brother and dad, as far as I can tell, think that my dysfunctional childhood is a figment of my own exaggeration, and that I should "get over it." For the better part of my adulthood, I thought I had buried most of it, and I have been pretty stalwart and callous about it all, but motherhood is dragging up a lot of heavy shit that I thought I dealt with a long time ago.

I'm furious that my father hurt me, my brother and my mother, and that he continues to gloss over all of it as excusable because he was drinking at the time. Yes, I'm still pissed about that. I'm furious that my brother idolizes a man that was so disrespectful and irresponsible to his children and partner, and I'm furious that my father allowed my only brother to walk down the same tragic, mistake-fraught path by preventing him from experiencing any of the consequences of his own fucked-up decisions. I have missed out on a brother that could have been a great man, and I am really pissed about that. I'm tired of being treated as a self-righteous martyr because I chose not to become a statistic and instead fight to be the opposite of these people.

I will do anything to make sure that Zephyr has everything I didn't have, not the least of which is stability, predictability, and freedom from violence. The other shit - opportunities to develop his talents, to have friends stay the night for pizza and too many video games, to be in sports or plays or band or whatever the hell tickles his fancy - I will make sure he has that, too, frivolous or not. If it means I need to check out of the family for awhile (or forever), so be it.

Choosing to have children is the greatest act of egomania in which person can indulge. Having a child says, "I am so important and special that more of my DNA should be in the world." To have children without at least the intention of doing a better job than our parents is smug and lazy. To be a survivor of horrible shit and to then say, "it was good enough for me, it's good enough for mine" is utter sociopathy.

Lucky 13

2011-01-04T10:50:00.000-08:00

Zephyr is 13 months old, and as you can see, still has only 3.5 teeth (the second top incisor is still only halfway down). He still crawls and cruises more than he stands unassisted. In a characteristic fit of motherly concern for the truancy of his milestones, I finally peeked into my and Scott's baby books to find out who's genes were to blame, and I am happy to say that it's Scott's fault. He didn't start walking until 14 or 15 months. I started walking at 10 months. So I guess I should say "oh Jesus Christ, thank goodness that Zephyr takes after Scott and not me."

I recently read that infants who spend more time in the crawling phase statistically test higher in preschool than those who walk early, as reported in this article. It turns out that late walkers tend to be smarter. I wonder how much of this is related to later walkers' tendency toward caution and easy demeanor; Zephyr is just more content playing studiously with blocks or drumsticks than he is running around in fitful expression of gross motor skills.

I also recently read that babies who get their teeth late are more likely to require orthodontics later in life (according to a study reported in Science Daily). Scott had braces as a kid and still requires quarterly maintenance on his self-described "fucked-up grill." I, conversely, have naturally straight teeth, which is a good thing because my parents never would've coughed up the dough for orthodontia, had I needed it. I had five teeth by 11 months, Scott didn't get his first tooth until he was 8 months old. So this one is his genes, too. I still that hope Zephyr misses out on the allergies and asthma, but if it didn't stop Scott from having good times as a kid, I can't see why it should stop Zephyr.

Here he is catching a cat hair in a sunbeam, the little genius. Note the perfect action sequence of his dropping the purple ring to grab the bit of sundander.

Another trait of Zephyr's that is typically linked with smarts is long sleeping. Last week, we made a one-night attempt to let him cry it out (going in to pat him on the back instead of nursing), but it was a complete failure. I ended up caving like usual, nursed him for comfort and returned him to his crib and he slept fine the rest of the night. The following night, he woke twice but soothed himself back to sleep. The two nights following that, he didn't wake up at all. I got all excited that maybe he figured out that we're getting serious, but the past couple of nights he's been back to waking up once or twice to nurse. I am still trying to figure out if it's just that he's teething or has the sniffles, and whether or not we should bite the bullet and go full-on Ferber with him, or if it'll just pass as soon as he's back to 100%.

It's official: Zephyr's first sentence is "more food." That's my boy! He knows all of the words that pertain to food. If you ask him, "Zephyr! Are you hungry?" he says "fffffuh." "Zephyr! Do you want breakfast?" "Ffffuh." Lunch, dinner, snack: "fffuh!" After he's finished a bowl or plate of whatever he's eating, we ask him if he wants more and show him the sign language. He can now say "muh! fffffuh!" while clapping his fingers together. Yes, there is a chance he is actually saying "motherfucker," but in this context I am choosing to think he means "more food." I usually do give him more, except yesterday he ate almost all of two full adult-sized side dishes of beans and tofu and kept opening his mouth for more, before I decided that I didn't want him getting a tummyache and put the breaks on it. He got mad and whined about it.

Speaking of food, he's got a few food milestones that I'm proud of this week. A few weeks ago I put a sturdy box (about 6" tall) on the floor and taped a place mat to it so I have a place to give him a snack without having to get him all suited up at his high chair. Things like berries or cubed cheese are an easy thing to feed him, and he loves them, so he's unlikely to dump them or make a mess. He's gotten so tall, though, that he sort of hunches over the "table" and looks like he wants to sit down, but there's no place for his legs. So I seated him on top of the box and pushed one of those small Ikea bent wood end tables in front of him - it fit perfectly, and he just sat there all matter-of-fact like, "yup. this is mah snack table and I have snacks here." And he just ate his little fruits and drank his little cup of milk with a straw instead of the usual throwing-the-sippy-cup debacle. And now that he's suddenly interested in drinking cow's milk, I can quit sweating the constant nursing and pushing cheese on him, because I know he'll get his RDA of calcium. Now nursing can be for comfort and snuggling, and he'll get his antibodies from me.

Today he fed himself completely and neatly using his spoon. This might sound like a non-event, but until now I've had to either give him finger foods or put food on his spoon and hand it to him, then pick his spoon up off the floor after every bite. Today, he spooned his chicken and stars right into his little mouth like it wasn't even a Thing. But it was a Thing! I think what may have tipped the scales for him is that I let him use a "real" spoon instead of giving him his usual baby spoon. And I sat there with him, eating the same food as he was having.

We just chatted like old friends, eating our soup and crackers, and then we cleaned up and had some story time in the living room.

Fledging

2010-12-20T10:45:00.000-08:00

Now that we've passed the one year mark, I guess I am only updating the blog when there's something noteworthy, like a new first or an achievement unlocked. Does that seem fair? Maybe I'll just update each week with photos? Or maybe I'll pick it up again after the holidays. I'm in the process of putting last year's better posts into his scrap book so he'll have something a little more analog to have when he's older, but even this is really so much better than doing a store-bought baby book. Scott and I actually have the exact same Hallmark baby books from our respective infancies - his blue, mine pink.

His one-year check-up was the Tuesday after his birthday (the day after the last post), and though he's still not walking, he does have the dubious honor of continuing to be above the 100% centile for height (at 32.5" tall). His weight was 26 lbs, landing him at the 88th centile, and his head has grown to the 93% centile. That is such a weird measurement to take, I think, but there it is.

He's cut his fourth tooth, his top incisor now has its mate. It's just poking through, and he keeps his finger jammed in his mouth pretty much all day. Between that and the perpetually runny nose he's been sporting, he's been kind of a pain in the ass. I mean, he's still a sweet, funny kid, he just has a bit shorter fuse. Coupled with his attempts at new physical feats (like climbing onto and falling off of his little box-table 6" off the ground), there've been a few more tears than we're used to around here. He's definitely stretching his little wings a bit more these days, experimenting with autonomy.

He missed a few naps over the weekend, because I was gone to a holiday bazaar (where I was selling my poorly-made homemade soft toys) and though I was able to get him down for his morning nap before I left for the day, he didn't really go down for any kind of afternoon nap and this resulted in a little more night waking than I can really tolerate. I'm thinking of night weaning him over the holiday, since Scott will be home for a few days to help with the night parenting without it cutting into his workday performance. It feels really drastic to even think about cutting him off, but I'm just feeling really beat down by motherhood these days. I'm carrying a lot of back pain and my upper body joints pretty much all ache. I need to sleep more than four hours uninterrupted (he still sleeps from roughly 7:00pm to 7:00am, but wakes once or twice, and I nurse him back to sleep to expedite things). I put the Totoro pillow that I made him in his crib to try to help soothe him, and I'm hoping that helps. I just found out that he even likes that thing - Scott sent me a picture last week of Boosh laying down on top of it, sucking his thumb. In the middle of the day. He just grabs it and holds his face against it and knows it's for snuggling. That's its purpose.

Being a goofball in his robot pajamas ("robut jams") and his Halloween hat

He's starting to pick up more and more language, and that means I need to start watching my mouth around him. He actually does a perfect mimic of my exasperated groan, the one I let out whenever I'm driving. (Seriously, people cannot drive in this town. It's just rain! It does that here.) When we ask, "Zephyr! Are you hungry?" he says, "Ffff! Fffff!" (for the sound of us blowing his food to cool it down), and now we can play the Where's Mama's (insert facial feature here) game and he will point to the appropriate feature most of the time. We are careful not to ever ask about eyes, because then he will laugh and think it's funny to poke my eyes out. He already thinks it's hilarious to flip over in the middle of every diaper change unless I turn the TV on to distract him, but this requires me to only change him on the couch. I'm hoping this is a phase he outgrows soon.

His favorite toys are still pretty much just household items: wooden spoons, finger bowls, recyclables like berry pint boxes, shipping boxes (we gave him a giant box that still has the paper packing material in it and decorated one of the flaps to look like a computer keyboard, and he thinks it's pretty awesome in there), empty plastic bottles, that sort of thing. He's really into stacking rings these days, and is gaining more dexterity to actually fit the rings onto their stem. He will open books and "read" them to us, mumbling little words quietly to himself in a language we don't understand.

We bought a mini tree, against my better wishes. The potted trees were all around $50, but it was only $15 for a little tabletop fir. Besides, it supports our local economy. This will be his second Christmas, and I know it'll probably be the last one where we decide what he wants. I really can't wait to see the boy he'll become, but I'm trying my best to relish these last moments of his babydom.

The Cheese

2010-12-06T09:54:00.000-08:00

We survived Zephyr's first birthday party the Saturday after Thanksgiving. We had cupcakes and bubbly to ring in the occasion, to celebrate passing our first year as parents and for keeping him alive. There were about a million kids in our house, running laps like wild dingos, and yet I completely kept calm and nothing got broken. It was amazing (the me-keeping-calm part).

He has more tomato sauce on his face than cupcake, I almost feel sad about this. I should've wiped his face off before giving him his cupcake so I could get good photos. Oh, well.

Oh, man, new stuff:

He's repeating animal noises, like the high-pitched "whee-e-e!" of a horse (I try to make realistic animal sounds for him, and my "neigh" is right proper), the low "mooooo" of a cow (his is a guttural groan) and random sounds I've assigned to the insects on his favorite puzzle. Bees and flies are no-brainers, but I've decided the wings of a moth go "thfthfthfthf" and spiders go "bulubulu" when they crawl. He's also stringing together more syllables on his own, in response to us and to tell us his thoughts on various matters. We'll try to remember to nod and shake our heads more so he can communicate the basic "yes" and "no," and eventually "no" will become his favorite word.

And big one this week: he stands alone! He just sort of did it one day last week, then again for a few seconds longer, and now we'll just look up and notice that he's fully standing unassisted, playing with a puzzle piece or somesuch. The funny thing is, he doesn't seem to realize it's a big deal and doesn't look at us for a big "ta-da" or anything. He's just like "finally, I can use both hands for playtime. It's about time."

Independence is his main goal, now, as evidenced by his inability to hold still for a diaper change (we've taken to just changing him on the couch and turning on the TV) and his newfound tendency to throw his spoon and bowl onto the floor when we try to help him eat. We try not to get too mad about it, and instead just say, "that's not cool, Zephyr."

But we really just need to let him do his thing, let him know that we trust his abilities (new and shaky though they may be), and let him fuck up once in awhile. It's the best way for anyone to learn, and I know I'm not doing him any favors when I fix everything for him. It'll take some doing for me to learn how to step off and get out of his way, but I think every mother struggles with this. I know I will, probably forever.

Hey Shorty

2010-11-26T21:42:00.000-08:00

Our baby boy is one year old today. I have fleeting memories of those first everlasting days together. The two hour cycles that led from that first day to the middle of spring in one long, dreamy stretch of bleary time are a thing of the past. Then, I could hardly put him down, and now I can barely pick him up.

He is scarcely the tiny breeze he was when we first met; he is now a dynamic, powerful, gale-force wind - a wee hurricane. He has changed so much I can hardly keep up, and he continues to evolve and grow faster than a williwaw. Yet he still lives up to his name:

Zephyr

The name Zephyr has evolved from the ancient Greek word "Zephyros", meaning light and beneficial. The Zephyr is a gentle breeze from the west during the summer solstice, and is comfortable for the people it blows upon.

For his birthday, we let him eat all the blueberries he wanted. I even put freshly-whipped cream on some of them (this confused him, and I think he prefers them unadulterated). He had two (tiny baby-sized) helpings of pumpkin pie. And for dinner I made him special turkey broth-soaked tofu cubes, which he happily crammed into his mouth one by one. He really loves tofu.

Zephyr is going through a clingy phase right now, preferring playtime from the comfort and safety of a lap, or opting for cuddles and tickles rather than balls and cars. He is giving many more hugs and wet, open-mouthed kisses, and I just can't get enough. I expect it's a developmental milestone about to strike, so I'm relishing every delicious, snuggly moment before he's too busy running down the cats and climbing stairs to hug his mama.

He sings with us during his lullabies, lilting, making the sweetest babymusic. He dances to all kinds of music and with equal aplomb: Cat Stevens, Kanye West, Department of Eagles, Andrés Segovia, and the lyrical stylings of his two parents - an earnest presentation of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star (sung desperately to stave off a launch off the changing table while struggling him into his nightly jimjams) will usually invite him into a little on-the-back dancing. Usually his dance is a back-and-forth head bob, but he will sometimes employ the full knee-bounce if the groove is just right.

Our little boy is a thing to behold. I can't wait to see what the next year has in store for us.

Toofsome

2010-11-18T15:30:00.001-08:00

We finally have a third tooth. Just in time for his first birthday next week! You can see it there poking out. I keep hoping he'll end up with a diastema. Since Scott and I were both gap-tooth kids, signs point to 'yes'. Mine was "fixed" when I had a crown put on my front tooth (I broke it in half on my 18th birthday), and I wish they'd left it alone. Oh well, chances are Zephyr'll have one, and will hate it, and I'll always tell him how awesome and adorable it makes him, but he'll never believe me.

Here he is practicing his waving. He does this a lot, waves to himself by opening and closing fingers like the sign for "nurse." He will actually chase the cats through the house on all fours and stop to wave at them (he combines the wave with the "c'mere kitty" sign when he does this).

I have no idea, either. Best just leave this one a mystery.

His new camera face, though, appears to be bracing for the flash. I hate using the flash, but it's so dark all the time now, what with the rain and all those moody doldrums in the air. Nowadays we spend a little more time snuggled under a blanket watching cartoons and a little less time strolling around. I do get stir-crazy, though, and I'm sure he does too. Our house just doesn't feel big enough for all his explorations and I will probably start making the pool a more regular occurrence. I want to take him to one of those baby gyms but I don't want to expose him to all the ick that covers toddlers. But I know his little immune system needs a workout, too, so maybe I'll concede. Or maybe I'll just invest in some good rain gear for him.

Other news this week:

Stacking is sticking around. He will stack things up in his hands, Scott's hand, and mine. However, if I am the one who stacks, he instantly destroys the stack. This has prompted the invention of a new game: How Fast Can You Stack Before Baby Smash
He can use the sign for "more" (though it ends up being more of a touching his palm with his index finger), and he uses it a lot for food. If he thinks I'm holding out with fruit, he will ask for more until he's eaten about twice the capacity of his stomach.
He freely gives objects to me if I present my open palm.
He can drink with a straw (though he still prefers to empty a cup all over his dinner tray and himself).
He can climb up and back down stairs. One more hallway needs blocking.
Today he opened the under-sink cupboard. I went to put the locks on it, but turns out, we bought 5 of the latches for the fridge and none for cabinets. There is presently a rubber band around the cupboard handles, and this seems like it'll do the trick just fine.
He can now stack those stacking rings back onto their peg instead of just picking them off and throwing them to watch how far they'll roll.
He will put his toys BACK in their basket when I ask him to! Sure, he often picks up the basket and dumps them back out, but then he puts them back in!

This is all pretty much in one week! I can't believe how fast things change; once he's picked up some momentum, this boy is unstoppable.

Detachment Parenting

2010-11-09T10:35:00.000-08:00

I'm just not cut out for attachment parenting. Sure, I wear Zephyr strapped closely to my body, but that's only because it's so much faster than opening the stroller every time I need to do some grocery shopping, and time management is important.

I still nurse four times a day (and will probably follow World Health Organization advice and continue to do so for another year or so), but it's only because I can't be bothered to walk around rocking him when I can just stick a tit in his mouth and put him right to sleep. Zephyr slept in bed with us until he was five months old or so, but that was just because I was too lazy to get up to feed him in the middle of the night.

We use cloth diapers, but I guess I should come clean and admit that it's really because I like saving all that money by not using disposables. I even make my own organic baby food and everything, but that's because I have control issues and want to spare myself future food struggles. Completely self-serving, I assure you.

Try as I might, I just can't accept the whole-package attachment parenting dogma. You know why?

There is no magical "village" that lets modern mothers have their proverbial (gluten-free) cake and eat it too. So get over the idea that it takes one to raise a child. Okay, there's that one village in Opuwo, Namibia where Babies was filmed. Why don't you move there and tell me how you like it. I'm sure not being vaccinated will work out really great.

There is no scientific evidence supporting the claim that ADD, ADHD, learning disabilities, autism, dyslexia, dyspraxia, asthma, bed wetting, thrush, finicky eating, chronic ear infections, multiple sclerosis, fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue syndrome, rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, type-1 diabetes, chronic cystitis, colic or eczema are caused by an imbalance of gut flora, nor that they can be treated or cured by putting someone (young children, in particular) on a restrictive diet. On the contrary, the author of Gut and Psychology Syndrome (and accompanying GAPS diet), Dr. Natasha Campbell-McBride* has been published in a peer-reviewed medical or scientific journal exactly ZERO times.

Discipline is not the same as punishment. Boundaries and structure make children feel safe, not "dishonored." There's a very thick line between the kind of discipline I got as a kid (hint: my dad thought Dr. Spock was a "fucking bleeding-heart pinko") and saying "no" to discourage unwanted behavior. Let's just grow a pair as parents and be the authority figures we spent our teen years raging against.

Letting a three year-old (or a two year-old, or a one year-old) cry and scream out a tantrum will not cause permanent neurological damage. There is a difference between letting a baby blow off some steam and abject, Ukrainian orphanage-level neglect. A really, really big difference.

There is no scientific evidence that supports the claim that bedazzling a baby in amber, no matter how old, unpolished, or Baltic, will prevent or treat teething pain.

Conventional, rigorous education will not destroy a child's creativity or "spirit." Your hang-ups about conventional, rigorous education might destroy a child's creativity or "spirit." Parenting from the emotional baggage from your own childhood probably will.

I know, I know. Zephyr is definitely going to grow up completely brain-damaged. Sociopathic, probably. He'll require tons of antidepressants and therapy. Because clearly, his mother doesn't love him enough.

*Campbell-McBride wrote (and self-published) Gut and Psychology Syndrome based on anecdotal evidence using her own child as a subject, and runs a clinic in the city of Cambridge (though she claims she's "at Cambridge," falsely implying she's affiliated with the University of Cambridge). Dr. Campbell-McBride is a graduate of the obscure Bashkir Medical University in Russia. Her website is run by NuTriVene, a company that sells the nutritional supplements that her dietary program prescribes.

Kururimpa

2010-11-02T22:15:00.000-07:00

Zephyr had his first Halloween. I'd been dreaming for years of dressing a baby as a character from a video game, and Zeph's plump and curvy body type matched perfectly to Tingle, the 35 year-old cartographer and map seller (from the post-Majora's Mask Zelda games) who is obsessed with forest fairies (hence, his green costume). His catch phrase is "tingle tingle kooloo-limpah!" (or kururimpa in Japanese).

Quite the match, don't you think?

I'd like to assure you that the costume didn't look nearly this bad in person - the stupid flash made the colors look all wonky. I only sewed two strips of fabric to the bottom so his hat would be more like a hood and stay on, but it ended up looking like a strange, green beard in the photos. Nevertheless, this was an awesome first Halloween costume, and regardless of what his Auntie Tanya says, he will not need years of therapy when he grows up because of it.

New favorites and firsts this/last week:

He had his first swim outside my body on Monday, with our new mom friend Rachel and baby friend Fred. Thank goodness for the Mt. Scott Community Center family swim! It falls perfectly between morning and afternoon nap times, and if we get the hang of getting changed before and after swimming then we even have time for lunch without pushing the afternoon nap too late. It was so cute seeing his little legs kicking gently in the water, and we danced and danced around that pool, splashing woo at each other.

I've been sewing soft toys for him out of recycled felted sweaters. So far I've made him a little blue fleece Totoro plushy (with lavender in the stuffing to help him get sleepy), an owl with orange leaf wings, and a fuchsia frog that looks more like a one-armed monster with an extra chromosome. The frog is the overwhelming favorite among the folks we know. I made an etsy page to sell more of these whimsically ugly plushies, because I'm having so much fun sewing them, I thought I might try to make a few bucks off it. Now I just need to add some items to it.

His new favorite thing to watch is Mio Mao cartoons. He will actually belly-laugh when the cats get into their claymation foibles. It's hilarious. He's also becoming much more adept at putting things into his stacking cups and drinking from sippy cup without help. He can drink from regular cup without help, too, but has a hard time putting it back down without spilling water all over the damn place (which he does on purpose sometimes).

All of our photos this week seem to be of Zephyr in costume or eating. If this glorious weather keeps up, I'll be getting some obligatory baby-in-festive-sweater-sitting-in-pile-of-leaves photos. Maybe this afternoon.

It's not a bloodbath, it's baby's first beets.

Oh, speaking of eating, we have another new first this week: today, Zephyr ate his first booger.

Smile and Wave

2010-10-21T17:21:00.000-07:00

Braaaains.

It was a hard week, last week. Zephyr started waking up from his morning nap after only 20 or 30 minutes. It went on for almost two weeks, and I was beginning to resign myself to the fact that he might be weaning himself down to one nap a day. It was too early for that! Most babies don't cut back to one nap until they're a year or so old. Zephyr hasn't hit any other milestones early, so why should this be any different?

When it started to cut into the rest of his day (fussiness mid-day, messed-up afternoon nap, fussy dinnertime, waking at night), I decided to try something different: I ignored Weissbluth's advice (gasp!). Instead of putting him down earlier - what, like I'm gonna put him down for his first nap at 8:00am? - I ignored the yawns and the slow-blinks for a half hour and put him down when he was really sleepy. Instead of nodding off on the breast, he got a little second wind and chatted in his crib for 5 minutes before drifting off. This worried me.

But then he slept for three hours.

Surely this was a fluke? Nope, he did it again in the afternoon, woke only once to nurse very early in the morning, and has been napping great all week after that. I had my baby back. Granted, Weissbluth also probably thinks that two 3-hour naps is too much daytime sleep for a kid Zephyr's age, but I've decided that he wouldn't sleep that long if he didn't need it. He plays hard, and he sleeps hard.

Cuteness of the week: after I set him in his crib and give him smooches on his head to wish him a nice nap, he stands up and makes the smoochy smacking sounds back at me. I'm so glad this has entered his vernacular! He still "kisses" by coming at my face with a wide-open mouth, but he'll put two and two together soon enough.

He has also learned how to wave "hello." Or rather, he points to the person he's greeting, and does the waving part by just opening and closing his fingers. It's so funny. When Scott gets home Boosh looks at him, looks at me, shrieks with laughter, then points/waves like "Whoa, there's Dada! Are you seeing this? Man, I love that guy!"

Okay, now, for real this time: his top left tooth is about to pop out. I can see the little white nub at the gumline. Would anyone like to place a wager on what day it will emerge? Can I get an over-under on this? I'm going to guess...December 1. No, but seriously, I wouldn't be surprised if he finally cuts it this weekend.

And godspeed to that tooth, because I'm starting to run out of ideas for what to feed him. He eats a lot of the same stuff all the time (beans, brown rice, oatmeal, cauliflower, carrots, squash, tofu, salmon, blueberries, greens). It's all good, healthy food, but I'm getting lazy now and occasionally feed him crap like macaroni and cheese from a box (I get the organic kind and add some vegetables, but still). I am such a hypocrite! But then I remember, oh yeah - I love boxed mac and chee, and 7-11 nachos, and chili dogs and all kinds of garbage food. As long as it's a rare treat and not his main fare, I guess I can let go of my healthy baby food dogma.

He gets into everything these days, and man, is he a fast crawler. We have finally given in and put up the nice things that I care about so he doesn't break them, and our living room is (more or less) a baby-proof playground.

Shudder.

Happy Dance

2010-10-12T20:45:00.000-07:00

Zephyr said a perfect "yeah" today, and in context and everything. But it was followed by his string of percussive mono-and disyllabic babymumbles, "op. ep. uh-da," so I don't know that it was intentional. He pauses for effect between each word, looking at me, then at the blue cup in his hands.

Today he also danced for the first time, and bless his heart, it was because he was so rapt with joy at the taste of the oatmeal with cinnamon and pears I cooked for him. He had been eating his usual "Mommy doesn't know what to give you, Bubbie" dinner of reheated salmon, sweet potatoes and greens (frozen cubes for the win), and as usual, about midway through dinner he just starts cramming handfuls of food into his eye sockets and nostrils as he rubbed his sleepy eyes and runny nose (I should probably start giving him dinner earlier, but it was only 5:15). Then he started wailing pitifully, reaching out for me. I suffered the flakes of salmon down my shirt and smears of starchy, orange goo in my hair to comfort my sweet baby, and he instantly cheered right up and began chatting at us.

"That's an order!" - Booshie McBossman

He hadn't eaten much of his dinner, and I knew he'd be hungry again soon, so I squatted down to his level and fed him bites of dinner with my fingers. He ate it all up, so I gave him some of the oatmeal that I cooked for his breakfast tomorrow, and he loved it! I passed the pot with the wooden spoon sticking out of it to Scott and Zephyr yanked the spoon out of his hand and just started chomping down, doing that little bouncy happy dance that babies do, holding onto the chair for support. He ate a lot of oatmeal like that, dancing and singing happy syllables to himself and to us.

Last Sunday we got some cheeseburgers from Burgerville. Okay, we got ten of them. They were those tiny kind that they put in kids' meals, and they were having a deal (10 for $10) and I can never resist! Plus they're really tasty and local and guilt-free and all that, so don't look at me like that. I took one of the buns off one and cut it into little bites so Zephyr could have cheeseburgers like Mommy and Daddy (but without all the extra white bread and ketchup), and he was shoveling bites into his mouth happily, until he stopped, let out a little cry, and then started pulling the food out of his mouth with his fingers. He had tears streaming down his cheeks, but then he'd put another bite into his mouth. Then he'd whine and wimper again and pull it out, crying. We couldn't figure out what the hell was going on! Then I realized I'd cut his burger on the same cutting board where I'd cut up a hot red chili just minutes earlier. I tasted one of his bites to check. Spicy. Tongue-biting spicy. Poor baby! Luckily we still had like 5 or 6 cheeseburgers in the bag so I just cut up another one for him and we were all smiles all over again.

You see this face he's making? he does this a lot lately. It reminds me of the face our cat Wumpy makes when he smells something good and stinky. I can't tell if he's being funny or stretching out his gums or what. He does it every night at bedtime, too, it's the strangest thing. When I finish singing my lullabies to him and we turn on the iPod with the Radiohead lullaby music, he makes this exact face at the light of the iPod. Maybe he's practicing his best ballad-singing face for when he becomes a rock star. For now, though, it's just fun to watch him trying new things, faces included. He changes so much every day.

Mr. Snuffleupagus

2010-10-05T19:06:00.000-07:00

You hafta admit, the resemblance is uncanny.

I tried in vain to get Zephyr to hold still and smile for my camera yesterday, but ended up with just a few shots of him glaring at the camera, nonplussed. In these photos he also looks remarkably like the men of my family. I can see my dad in this contemplative face, and my grandfather Edward. Very stern and serious men, they were, even in boyhood.

My father Donald, at age 12

Zephyr had just woken from a long nap in these photos yesterday, and was on the precipice of the cold he woke up with this morning. He's a sniffly Snuffy.

Zephyr still only has two teeth. I know of only one other baby close to his age that has this few teeth! There are so many foods that I want to give him, but he just can't gum through everything. He really prefers to feed himself, and I'm getting tired of giving him chunks of cooked carrot or squash all the time just because I'm afraid he'll choke.

Today we were reading My Mother is Mine, and I got to the page, "my mother feeds me." I suddenly realized I hadn't given him lunch yet! Out of desperation, I gave him a handful of cooked carrots, a Wasa Crispbread and a thin slice of olive loaf from Edelweiss (another vestige of my childhood - my grandma Laverne used to feed it to me on Wonder bread, or sometimes Braunschweiger, or sometimes pimento loaf). He gummed the cracker a bit, and pawed at the carrots, but he greedily ate up the olive loaf like a good little German boy. The sodium isn't great for him, but the iron is.

Zephyr looks amazing in autumn colors, doesn't he? I think so. If you really want to have your breath taken, click the photo and look at his eyes, which upon my hope of hopes are staying olive-gray with bronze-brown nebulae centers.

Every day I am a little more embarrassed about how cliché I am, with all the Motherly Love, and every day it gets a little deeper. I hear this is only the beginning. I'm totally okay with that.

Indian Summer

2010-09-30T15:57:00.000-07:00

After a brief flirtation with fall-like weather, we are back to warmer days. And after a two-month stint with sleep regression, we are back to good old-fashioned, 12 straight hours, through-the-night sleeping. It started on Monday night with 13 straight hours. Scott actually went an woke him up at 7:30 so we could keep on schedule for his morning nap. I woke with my breasts as hard and swollen as when they first made milk, dripping everywhere until I could nurse for relief.

Surely this was a fluke? Then, naptime at 9:00, he finished nursing and looked at me, murmured a few babymumbles, and he rolled over with his thumb and blankie the moment he hit the crib. He napped for 3 hours that morning, then again in the afternoon. And though his naps are not always that long, he has regained his record of sleeping all night long without needing a snack. From 8 months until 10 months, almost to the day, I was afraid that this wasn't just a phase, but then it was. Everything is.

He can say "mom," and "yum." He makes music with a rattle I made of a yogurt tub filled with dry beans. He shrieks with delight when we play peek-a-boo. He has discovered his penis. He eats dirt if we let him.

He is a perfect little boy.

He Has Hives

2010-09-21T21:29:00.000-07:00

Plus he's (still, oh god! still) teething. Poor baby. He's had a fever, constant sleepiness (with lousy napping), night waking, itching-to-bleeding. We just give him lots of hugs right now, but it never seems like enough.

Duck Duck Goose

2010-09-15T10:38:00.000-07:00

We took Zephyr for a little stroll at the rhododendron gardens last weekend. It was a brisk-yet-beautiful late summer day, just cool enough in the late morning to warrant a light jacket. The garden has free admission until March, but some of the rhodies are still blooming (and the anemones are gorgeous this time of year). The ducks still mesmerize the boy - maybe he'll take after his mother and ride his childhood bike down here to study and sketch, to fantasize about being the next best ornithologist since John Audubon.

It didn't take long at all before Zephyr was starting to wind down. In fact, he was nearly immediately ready for his afternoon nap.

Not a lot new this week. He's still cruising around in an upright fashion, and I've had to start putting things away. First, the collection of seashell souvenirs from our honeymoon. Next will likely be the large cow skull on the coffee table. My favorite aspect of his still-unfolding personality is his new growling, but his joyful squeals are still pretty good.

Prince Charmling

2010-09-07T21:08:00.000-07:00

These top two photos were taken one day apart, but he looks so much older to me in the second one. Blows my mind. They really do grow up so fast!

I don't even know where to begin. I guess first, with an apology for not updating last week. There was so much happening (and yet, not), and I guess I got a little behind. The main update from last week is that the results of his 9 month checkup were that he is awesome and amazing, and though he is leaning out (coming in at the 85% centile for weight), he is still growing longer and taller (97% centile for height).

He's eating three solid meals a day now and smacks his lips and says "mmm", which is very reassuring to me. He is obsessed with Scott, and says "dada" (but not necessarily intentionally). The closest he's come to calling for me is saying "muh." Coupled with a newfound penchant for growling like an actual little monster, we have quite the little charmling on our hands.

But all of that is really neither here nor there. This, THIS is the real trouble we're in:

Oh dear god, help us all.

Cruisin'

2010-08-26T21:41:00.000-07:00

This is a boy on the go. Each new mobility achievement is unlocked nearly before my very eyes. This week: everything but walking. On Monday, on the forgiving grippiness of the library's flat weave carpet, he just started cross-crawling (the classic belly-off-the-floor, alternating hand-knee crawl as seen in the top photo).

This means that getting him to hold still for photos is pert near impossible anymore.

He also pulls himself to a kneeling position, warranting his crib's transition from new baby height to big boy bed height. We caught this just in the nick of time - he was probably moments away from launching himself out of the crib. He stands when placed near furniture for balance, and then proceeds in trying to climb said furniture.

He's still only got the two teeth, but this week's epic droolfest suggests that maybe, just maybe, teeth #3 and #4 will be making their debut soon. He still eats mostly mushed up stuff like these pureed carrots with cooked acorn squash from the garden, but I've been giving him more chunky stuff like flaked salmon, boneless anchovy fillets, berries and diced fresh peaches. His pincer grasp is accurate enough that he feeds himself for 75% of his meal. For messier stuff (like last night's elk chili), we still help him out by passing him a loaded spoon. And he eats. And eats. Like his mother, this kid eats like he has a tapeworm. (Disclaimer: he does not have a tapeworm.)

Now, our main feeding challenge is keeping enough food around. He's years away from being a teenager, and is already threatening to eat us out of house and home.

The equitemporality of being

2010-08-19T15:17:00.000-07:00

Zephyr is a challenging little polliwog these days. He can't seem to settle down anymore - his legs are always kickkickkicking: the arms of the chair we nurse in, the floor, my stomach, none have escaped his restlessness. His arms flapflapflap, slapping palms on the floor, on the surface of his bathwater. He won't stop fidgeting long enough for me to change a diaper, he flips himself over the instant he's on his back (and I, distracted by the adorableness of his tiny, kissable butt, momentarily forget my fear that he'll deposit a dribble of urine onto every surface unless I get a diaper back on him immediately). He won't let me trim his nails, and has the resultant face-gouges to prove it. When I cradle him to shhh and soothe for naps, he squirms like a maggot on a hot rock; when I hold him upright against my shoulder, cheek to forehead, he rears back and punches me in the throat.

Today he won't nap for more than 30 minutes, but I know he's exhausted! He's been yawning and stealthing little eye rubs off and on all day (exacerbating the dark circles that have formed under his eyes), yet when I get him into his dark, white-noisy room for a snuggle and a nurse, he polishes off both breasts in under five minutes and starts arching and squirming again. When I put him down in his crib and walk away, he alternates between laughing with his Fuzzytown forest fauna, rocking back and forth on all fours, and crying from boredom. I know what he wants, but he can't have it all the time. He's gotten a taste of mobility, and now he's chomping at the bit to movemovemove forward; fervent.

I know boys are supposed to be more active than girls (starting in utero), but he's really wearing me down today. I'm starting to feel it everywhere, that I've been getting up to nurse him at 4:00 or 5:00am after trying my best to play hard enough, to engage and stimulate enough, to be sufficiently enriching (then spending the evening playing catch-up with paltry housework, meal preparation, and attempts at having a meaningful relationship with Scott whilst winding myself down). Then he's up at 6:00 or so again, and the rest of the day is spent trying to chase down the nap.

This is the nine month growth spurt.

I wonder if Zephyr has memories of his old life inside my body? I wonder if memories of the womb are like feelings one has for past lovers - they only completely disappear once sufficient time has passed, the amount of which is always equal to how long you were together? If so, maybe this is like some version of baby's first mid-life crisis. One week from today, he's been outside for as long as he was in. X equals Y.

He's been quiet for thirty minutes, and now he's crying again. Maybe it's because he misses me.

Fluffer Nutter

2010-08-13T21:18:00.000-07:00

Here's Zephyr an hour before surgery last Wednesday, giving the proverbial thumbs-up, being a strong little trooper at the hospital and charming the shit out of everyone. His surgery went well, and he's recovering nicely. I even held it together, only crying a little, and only once. It wasn't even over Zephyr per se, it was over some little boy being pushed on a gurney to or from surgery. The little boy was really scared and was just wailing. It just really hit a nerve and I had to duck into the waiting room kitchen for a tissue.

Rather, when Zephyr woke up from his sedation in the recovery room, I heard him crying from down the hall and went into Mother Bear mode, all raw adrenaline, and ran to him, undoing my shirt on the way. It felt amazing to be the thing he needed, to hold him and make him feel safe and loved. The nurse in the recovery room tried to cover me up to give me privacy, but coming off the heels of Big Latch On (in which we participated) I righteously shrugged off the blanket and insisted that more people should see a mother nursing her infant. The other mothers (their personal feelings on public breastfeeding notwithstanding) didn't notice, though, because they were too busy staring love at their own cubs.

But that's all done now, and he's healing up quite nicely. Now he can get back to the unfortunate business of cutting his two upper incisors. These ones are really fucking him in the head - for the first time, today he pulled away from the breast mid-nurse just to arch and sob. Not even cherry-flavored codeine could chase this pain, and it took sheer exhaustion (ours and his) to get him to nap for more than 20 minutes today. Adding insult to injury, this nap came at 3:30pm, so I had to wake him up after only an hour and a half so we could still get him to bed on time.

Good news, though: Zephyr has just learned that pressing his face against the mesh of his pack 'n play a) feels interesting and b) gets major laughs. He likes getting laughs. Since he can't hang out in his exersaucer while his nuts recover from being helped into their new location, he's been spending a little more time in his little pen. Or as I like to think of it: "Baby's First Prizzin!" Scott said he even saw Zephyr running his little cup along the mesh, like a prisoner running a rusty tin cup across the bars of a jail cell.

He got to spend a little time hanging out with his cousins Logan, Ellie and Charlotte over the weekend last week, which he loved. He absolutely adores them, for obvious reasons: they are hilarious and completely rapt with him, and this is a winning combination in his book.

To top things off, his Grandma was in town. It's been so great having her around this week - not for the help, necessarily, but because she is in love with Zephyr, and he with her.

Oh, his new trick of the week: demonstrative word recognition (is that a thing)? Besides "mommy" or "dada," that is. We've been seeing quite a few squirrels outside our window since I refilled the bird feeder. These are basically smaller versions of our cats, as far as he's concerned, and he screams with excitement when he sees them. New trick: we were reading I Am a Bunny and got to the page that shows the squirrels in their tree with the acorns and all that, and I said, "look! there's a squirrel!" to Zephyr, and he looked up and out the window at the tree where the squirrels normally hang out. It blows my mind that he's already absorbing information - my work is just beginning.

He has had such a great week overall. Plus, his nuts are finally in their proper place, so there's that.

Yay!

The Inchworm and the Orchid

2010-08-03T19:57:00.000-07:00

Big week, this week. Two new developments, both pertaining to going mobile. First, Zephyr has started crawling. Not an arm-leg-arm-leg, traditional type of crawl. No, that's a little too on-the-nose for our boy. Instead, he has adopted an inchworm-like movement: he stretches his arms out toward his goal as far as he can, then he scoots his legs up behind to catch up. Repeat until he reaches his destination (usually toward some contraband or other, like the eject button on the PS3). This means that we must always maintain a watchful eye, just when he demands more freedom.

And it begins - the dance of parenthood. We will strive to balance his protection with encouraging him to (safely! safely) explore his world. He seems to have inherited a combination of my impatience and perfectionism with Scott's insistence on doing everything himself, without assistance. Imagine a baby's frustration. And then imagine his.

This grimace is actually just Zephyr feeling his new lower teeth against his still-toothless (but not for long) upper gums, but I like to pretend he's expressing his frustration.

The other type of mobility, or lack thereof, is taking place in Zephyr's little groin. His left testicle has remained up there, undescended, and at this point we know it's never moving down on its own. So it'll need a little help. Surgical help.

Orchidopexy: big, scary word, but evidently this simple outpatient surgery will take only about an hour and a half, and will be harder on me than on him. I'm trying not to worry about it until it's time (next Wednesday), but I can't help it. Since he'll have to take it easy for a couple weeks after the surgery, we're taking advantage of the balmy playtime we have right now.

We go to the park.

We play at the park.

Hard.

And in case any of you were worried that Zephyr doesn't look as chubby as he used to, check out the belly in all of its luscious splendor. He is my fat little drupelet. My juicy little inchworm.

...and when we get home again, we cannot stop hugging him. We never put him down.

This Just In

2010-07-27T20:45:00.000-07:00

Teeth!

They came almost overnight. Last Friday (the day after whenever I updated last), we were here:

See the little nubs just poking through?

By Monday, we were here:

Fully cut through, and out a good half millimeter or so...

And after yesterday's nice, long naps (3.5 hours in the morning, then another 3 hours in the afternoon!), we were here:

"What is the haps."

Could he be chilling out any harder? In case you were wondering, yes, he is sitting in the middle of the sidewalk at the end of our driveway. They don't make lawn chairs that small, so he's in his Bumbo (plus his legs barely fit into it and I want to get the last but of mileage out of that thing before I have to pass it down to babies with svelter thighs. The neighbors have kind of an unkempt situation with their front yard (to put it mildly), and the blackberries are getting ripe now. So I'm picking berries instead of whacking down the canes and mumbling expletives. I plied Zeph with a few to keep him happy while I picked, then eventually passed him my iPhone with some music playing to keep him from stuffing dog-piss-zone dandelions into his mouth.

Scott is certain that Zephyr is thisclose to crawling, then I guess all hell will break loose and we'll have to actually baby-proof our house. That bites.

Infanta Dentata

2010-07-22T22:23:00.000-07:00

He's teething. We hate it. Yet, Zephyr manages to (mostly) keep on a happy face.

Mostly.

...it just doesn't stick around as long as it used to.

Hopefully they'll cut the rest of the way through soon. In the meantime, we're giving him Tylenol, frozen mango and lots of hugs.

Back on Track

2010-07-16T13:42:00.000-07:00

Another late post! It was my birthday this week, and between work-work, the food blog and the blog I guest-write, I just haven't found the time to update Zephyr's blog. I'm a terrible mother, I know! I can just hear my mother-in-law's coworkers rapping their fingernails on their desks, impatient for an update. But since I'm a bit lazy, I think I'll excerpt from my post this week on the Big Latch On blog:

To Nurture is a Mother's Nature

My son, pictured in the photo you see here at one week old, is now a robust 7 months old. Nursing was then, and continues to be, our special shared time. To nurse is to feed, to care for, to tend. Think of the words that sound similar, and are of the same etymology: nourish; nurture.

While we once spent the better part of our days together this way - intimate, luxuriating in one another's company - the time spent breastfeeding my son is now a collection of fleeting moments between a rapid-fire succession of developmental milestones. I cherish these precious moments of his mutable infancy, even as he squirms kicking from my cradled arms, distracted by the so-much-excitement of his surroundings.

Even if I continue to nurse well into toddlerhood, I know I can't breastfeed him forever. I already miss it. So I relish the time we do still have after every nap, during every lullaby. And I search for other ways now to nourish and nurture my sweet baby.

Check out these amazing vintage trousers I found. He looks like a little baby from the 1950s, dunnhe? He's growing so fast. Talking is imminent! We're sure he said "buh-bye!" to Scott the other day when he was leaving for work, but he hasn't said it again yet. He waves his hand back and forth now when we greet him. He babbles incoherently, but with determination.

Blurry photo, but worth it for the comedy. He loves technology (always and forever), but obviously we can't allow him to destroy our iPhones, cameras, and other gadgets, so we took the batteries out of an old remote control and he just gums the shit out of it. He loves it! I hold it and press the buttons while I'm secretly using the "real" remote behind my back so he thinks he has the power. But usually, he's content just chewing on it. Look at our little future flutist!

Thank goodness, his waking has subsided for the past three nights (sorry, Natasha!). I'm not quite calling it yet, but it's been nice to have uninterrupted sleep again. It affords me the energy to do millions of things with my day...besides write about my baby boy.

Wazzberries

2010-07-08T21:33:00.000-07:00

Wazzberries (wāz'běr'ēz) n. the soft sound of a baby blowing a zephyr through his lips and tongue; "blfblfbbltlfbltfblt." Not to be confused with raspberries, the small, aggregate fruits that a Zephyr enjoys eating directly from neighborhood bushes whilst on strolls to the store.

So, it's been kind of a helluva week. Of course, it was the dreaded 4th of July last weekend, and I think any but the most redneck parent of an infant or small child curses Independence Day with fist aclench and brow afurrow. Zephyr did okay, I guess, all things considered. As usual, we kept his room pitch dark (but for a night light) and kept two loud, cool fans running to lull him into white noise oblivion. But a few epic booms from illegal fireworks (likely purchased from the 'Couve, Portland's armpit neighbor to the north) finally took their toll, and he was up at 11:00, crying, needing to be nursed back to sleep.

And then, as he has done every night for the past week, he woke up again at 3:00am. We thought those days were behind us. We were out of the woods! But, no.

Every night for a week, Zephyr has woken up once, sometimes twice, unable to put himself back to sleep. It varied - sometimes 4:00, then 3:00, 2:30, 5:00. Sometimes he'd wake only two or three hours after being put to bed. Last night he went back to sleeping straight through to 6:00, but who knows what tonight holds in store?

He's also been a bit of a grumpus the past week or so. Granted, this is Zephyr's version of grumpin', so it means he frowns and says "buhbuhbuh", not that he's throwing tantrums or anything. But lately, unless we actively distract him by singing or playing, he will cry actual hair-wetting tears almost every time we try to change his diaper or get him into a sleep sack for bed. I can't figure out what's going on with him that makes him this upset. So we just keep singing and goofing at him to distract.

We have, though, figured out that "buhbuhbuh" is his frustration/pissed off word, as it is always accompanied by a scowl (I like to think he's sounding out the word "bitch"). Other words: "dwadwadwa" (happy, excited, interested) or "blftlbltfbbttltft" (wazzberries of contentment). And this morning he finished one breast, said "moh" (more?) and then moved to the other breast to keep eating.

I think he's going to have teeth any day now, for real this time. He gnaws anything that drifts into his field of vision, and I can actually see the bumps under the gums. So, any day. This will be exciting for his diet, too, since he has recently developed the pincer-like grasp that separates him from the other primates! He can grab blueberries and get them to his mouth, and other finger foods will follow his ability to chew them.

His new favorite foods are pretty much anything that we eat, undumbed, but chopped up for his tiny craw. He loves my minestrone, and grits with blue cheese and corn, and I made him some tomato-roasted red pepper soup with tiny star-shaped pastina, and it tastes exactly like Spaghettios. On these hot days, he really loves shoving a whole wedge of cold watermelon into his mouth and gumming the rind while sucking the sweet juice. I also made him a smoothie by blending strawberries with frozen breast milk, and he really seemed to enjoy that.

Here's Zephyr hanging out with his towheaded friend Zane at the Stanley's raspberry party. Hopefully when they're a bit older they'll form a supergroup of z-named kids and will take over the playground.

I live in a hollow tree

2010-06-29T19:05:00.000-07:00

Look who's sitting all by himself! And I couldn't help it, I had to pixellate out his junk. It totally cracks me up.

We've had a bit of warmer weather, followed by another wee cool spell. On the warm days, I like to just put a towel down and let Zephyr hang out in the buff, as is his birthright. But after he pees on me I usually get his little nekkid butt into a diaper again.

On cooler days, we like to stay in most of the day, helping Zephyr look at the world from a different perspective. He loves being upside-down now, or sometimes he'll cock his head to the side to see how things look sideways. Sometimes when he's upside-down I'll take the opportunity to snorgle his tiny chin, and this makes him squeal and laugh like a little pixie, the way it ought to.

I have such a soft spot for I am a Bunny because I had (and loved) it when I was a little girl. My beloved grandma Laverne used to read it to me. Whenever I buy books for Zephyr that I had as a child, I get a little extra nostalgic and misty, and write him a little inscription that makes me think of his future and this always makes me lose it, and I cry like a ninny. I've been making little notes to him in his Richard Scarry's Best Storybook Ever! that I hope he'll enjoy one day. On the page that shows different careers, I'm going to draw a girl bunny that is a biologist wearing her field vest and rubber boots.

Hey, look at him go, cramming some leaf or another into his mouth.

Still fresh on the heels of the raccoon shit brain-eating roundworm paranoia (particularly now that zomg, I personally KNOW SOMEONE who heard about a kid in her hometown THAT DIED FROM EATING RACCOON POOP!!! I decided he can eat some raw arugula straight from the garden instead of grass and clover. I was sure that it would be too peppery and that it'd staunch his desire to cram all the grassy stuff into his mouth. But whaddayaknow, he loves it!

...or does he?

Juneuary

2010-06-18T10:19:00.000-07:00

It's the end of June, yet look how bundled I have to keep Zephyr. And the heat's still on! It's been such a cold spring this year. We've broken several records for precipitation and low temperatures. I guess I don't mind that much - it's easier to bundle Zephyr up in cozy layers than to cool him off, and his room is nice and dark and cool for blissful slumber. My tomato plants are hating it, but I can't say I really care. The rain doesn't keep us indoors, not one whit.

Just because I have a baby now doesn't mean I love children. I still sort of find most of them annoying, especially the little girl across the street. She's about 5 or so, and always hollering or crying or singing in that nasal Little Orphan Annie voice. The world is her stage, god help us all. But a long as it keeps raining, the insufferable Little Princess of Darkness stays indoors.

Anyways, this post is very late because we had our hands full with planning Scott's birthday pig roast (plus I had a lot of work-work to do last week, boo). And to celebrate his first Father's Day, I did (almost) all of the chores and party cleanup the following day. Three days of prep, one day of go-time, and one day of cleanup, and I'm just tired. But Zephyr performed admirable at his first shindig - he played happily with his baby friends, made a nekkid appearance (while I paraded him around, holding him over my head yelling, "blood for the blood god!") and then went right to sleep at bedtime.

You're probably thinking, "god, does that baby ever make any other face?" The answer is no, no he doesn't. Oh wait, here's a different one (though he was in the middle of getting his grin ready, and not really screwing his face up in a frump).

I have come out to play, and I'm here to stay

2010-06-08T19:36:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday was gorgeous. I got some long-overdue yard work done, including mowing the lawn with our rusty, old reel mower ("Sally"). In these complicated times, I find it really satisfying to do some things the old-fashioned way, and the hard-earned whirr of a good, old push-mower hearkens back to simpler times.

Once the yard was cleaned up and the sun was safely behind the maple tree, I brought Zephyr out on a blanket to enjoy some fresh air. He was at the edge of the blanket and immediately began to stuff handfuls of freshly-mown lawn (ahem, weeds) into his eager baby maw. I wouldn't really mind, since everything growing back there is technically edible, but I've watched one too many episodes of Monsters Inside Me and am terrified of Zeph ingesting those brain-eating roundworms that live in raccoon feces. You think I'm being paranoid, but one end of our little pond is actually a midden site for the neighborhood raccoons (I've seen the scat!), and I stupidly watched that whole episode twice (for fuck's sake, it infected a baby boy!) and goddammit some things you just can't unsee. Unfortunately, Scott and I were too busy tag-teaming Operation No, Boosh, No to get a photo, but I have a feeling this won't be the last time we scramble to pull something horrible out of his mouth.

Hey, it turns out that Zephyr is a huge Simon and Garfunkel fan. He is awesome at singing along, and damn, this kid has some motherfucking soul. Here he is singing with all his gusto:

...and here's some general goofing-off and merriment with his old man. If you listen carefully, you can hear him telling his "joke" (the part where he emits a high-pitched gurgle). He always busts this out for a laugh.

And for those keeping score, yes, his pooping is completely back to normal.

Who Gives a Shit?

2010-06-01T20:28:00.000-07:00

After a couple weeks of eating rice, bananas, squash, and anything else I could find and cook up for this kid, Zephyr has experienced his first bout of constipation. He hadn't pooped all week, so at his 6-month checkup on Friday I asked his doc, who told me not to worry about it unless he had very hard, small shits (but in a more doctor-y tone).

Over the weekend he strained to shit numerous times, but to no avail. His backed-up tummy was preventing him from getting comfy enough to take afternoon naps (and this was starting to trickle into the night sleep), so finally, yesterday, we decided to do something about it. We picked up some Pedia-Lax - suppositories of glycerin that come loaded in an "anatomically-correct applicator." Scott and I had a good, creeped-out laugh wondering what part of the anatomy it was supposed to correctly resemble, but they're basically a soft plastic pipette of liquid glycerin that you squirt up the baby's butt. I cautiously and apologetically administered the glycerin to Zephyr's pinched behind and he made the biggest, reddest "I'm poopin" face you ever saw on a baby. I felt too bad for him to remember to take a photo of this face (plus I was trying not to laugh). Scott and I exchanged uncomfortable looks and sympathetic words of support to our struggling baby, as I gently massaged his tummy in a clockwise motion.

Baby's first "Fuck you, Mom!"

An hour later, success! We had a poo. But it was a tiny stone of a poo, and I knew there was more. I fed him some apricots and greens, got him into bed for the night, and figured we'd try again today. This afternoon, he slept like the dead. Almost 4 hours. I ended up finally waking him up at 5:20 so I could keep him on schedule for bedtime. As I went to change his post-nap dipe, he started crying pitifully. He often needs a bit of a snuggle and chat before his diaper change when he wakes up, so Scott and I hugged him for a bit, then put him back onto the changing table, singing and goofing at him to stave off the tears. There was another tiny poo in his diaper, wedged up in his butt crack. Hooray!

Then, suddenly, came tears. A torrent of real tears, accompanied by cries of pain. He was straining to pass another poo, a big, dry, hard poo that was obviously hurting his tiny tushy! It was so sad to see my baby suffering, but what can you do? Yes, I finally grabbed that hard poo and tried to pull it out, but it broke off and his butt closed back, keeping the rest inside. I called the pediatrician, and we'll be therefore giving him a wee teaspoon of milk of magnesia tomorrow to help soften his stools (I'll also give him another round of glycerin to help him slide out the last of that mean old poo). And from now on, high-fiber foods will be dominant, and we'll be having less bananas and rice.

Other news from his 6-month check-up: at 27.5", he is off the charts for length for his age. They actually said he's in the 100th centile, and Scott and I laughed at this reporting error. "He's the tallest baby in the world!" He's dropping in rank for weight - 19lbs lands him at the 80th centile. His head is catching up with his body though, and has grown from the 50th to 80th centiles.

Zephyr also got his third round of shots. We thought about waiting until the 9 month visit, but we figured we may as well do it now while he still smiles at strangers. We braced ourselves for the screams that come with the injections, but they never came. The first two shots, not a peep out of Zeph. The third shot, only a yelp. Our brave little Viking took those shots like a champ.

So yeah, it's been an uneventful week. Sometimes shit doesn't happen.

The Worst Vice Ever Invented

2010-05-26T10:15:00.000-07:00

"Good taste is the worst vice ever invented." - Edith Sitwell

Zephyr and I have embarked on adventures in culinaria. It's as much fun for me to think up what to make for him as it is for him to taste so many new things. Every day at dinner I feel like I'm getting another chance to blow his mind. And so far, he's shown a great appreciation for everything I've prepared for him. What can I say? The kid has good taste.

New foods this week:

Carrots with fresh-grated turmeric, ginger and orange zest
Sweet potato with curry and cinnamon
Millet (cooked very soft and pureed with breastmilk)
Mango
Banana with walnut oil and nutmeg
Baby taku choy (a greener version of bok choy) with coconut milk, galangal, lemongrass and lime juice, served with rice
Grilled cheese and tomato-roasted red pepper soup (I sprinkled rice cereal and grated cheddar into the soup)

I cook his dinner while we wait for Scott to come home, and then freeze leftovers in an ice cube tray. Now we have bags of delicious dinner cubes in the freezer for lazier days (like this summer), or for when Scott's in charge, or for when Zeph starts really teething - I can just pop a food cube into his mesh teether and let him at it. Tonight will either be fresh favas with butter and mint or kabocha squash with shiso and sesame oil. Then I'll chill out on the feeding frenzy.

I've been reading a lot about various recommended first foods for babies and about complimentary feeding. There is actually no scientific evidence that shows that babies should not eat protein foods, classically allergenic foods in particular, and the AAP has changed their recommendations based on a 2008 study. Keeping babies away from peanuts does not reduce their chances of developing peanut allergies (same goes with wheat, dairy, eggs, or fish) and they can actually handle meat, dairy and vegetables just fine (only really acidic foods should be avoided). Babies who are allergic will show signs of their allergy via breastmilk (though breastfeeding can reduce the severity of reactions). Turns out, rice cereal is a first food out of tradition only. I wonder if Gerber had anything to do with that?

It's funny, the traditional first foods (rice, applesauce, bananas) are not really ideal at all because they can cause constipation - three of the four foods in the so-called "BRAT" diet, meant to stop diarrhea, are bananas, rice and applesauce (toast is the T). I notice a difference right away when Zephyr eats only apples, rice or bananas. He hadn't crapped in three days before I made him the greens in an attempt to flush him out, and it worked! A big smudge of cud just scrubbed his little colon right out and showed up in his diaper looking nearly identical to how it did going in.

I believe firmly that exposing infants to different flavors and textures is the easiest (only?) way to develop a young palate. Too many parents treat babies like they're stupid, unadventurous or dull, and then complain when they won't try anything new. One of my biggest pet peeves is a picky eater, and I'll be damned if my own spawn turns his nose up to my cooking! (The greatest irony is that I am eating a bowl of boxed mac and chee as I type this.)

****

Today is Zephyr's 6 month birthday. What is that, a hexamester? Things are putting right along - he's *this* close to sitting up by himself, which is exciting news for his playtime options. Right now he spends most of his waking hours upright in the exersaucer or on the belly or back on his play mat, so it'll be really cool when he can sit up and play with blocks or whatever strikes his wee fancy. This morning he lunged for his toes and toppled forward. He's unfazed by these minor setbacks, and just keeps trying.

Speaking of setbacks, he has this new thing where when I try to put him down for his nap he starts crying. Really angry, guttural crying. It kills me to hear it, but as soon as I pick him up to comfort him he just starts grinning, "Yay! She's back!" So I have to just let him protest, even though it's the hardest thing in the world to hear. I think he's starting to hit his attachment peak, and even though I stay there for awhile, rubbing his back, he just gets so pissed that I'm leaving him alone. That, or he's just not interested in sleeping (even though I can tell by his droopy eyes and slowed movements that he needs a nap). Maybe I need to get him a bit drowsier before I put him down.

A couple days this week he's gotten up at 6:30, throwing off the nap schedule for most of the day. This means he wants his first nap at 8:00, wakes at 10:00 or so, and then I have to squeeze in two shorter naps instead of just one long afternoon nap. It's annoying to watch the clock and have to wake him to keep him on schedule, but I really think he needs to stay on schedule at least until he shows me he can stay awake for more than two hours. Hasn't happened yet. I'm looking forward to being able to spend a little more time with him, taking strolls that aren't hurried or task-oriented, or just hanging out. Being home with him is really starting to get fun.

All Through the Night

2010-05-19T16:17:00.000-07:00

Natasha warned that I'll jinx it: "the first rule of Sleep Club is don't talk about Sleep Club!" But by gum, this sleep-training thing has some merit after all. At the risk of jinxing it I'm feeling brave enough to talk about it, so maybe some of you who are still struggling can try out the routine that works for us.

We keep to a pretty strict schedule: go fetch him in the morning at 7:30 (maybe closer to 8:00 on weekends), open up the blinds to let in some daylight, have a nurse and some playtime, then when he starts winding down at around 8:30 we read some books or might watch a little Yo Gabba Gabba (I know you're not supposed to let them watch TV before age two, but it's ad-free and he loves that show, so a big fat whatevs).

At 9:00am he goes down for his first nap. I usually nurse him in our bed with him laying in the crook of my arm, then I slip out from underneath him and tiptoe out. Often, he wakes when I do this and will cry for a minute. I used to pick him back up and nurse a little more, but then he would get too full and barf all over the bed and I'd have to mop everything up and we'd have to start over. Now I just let him fuss - once he finds his thumb (takes less than a minute now), he settles right down and closes his eyes. He usually sleeps until noon, maybe waking once and fussing for a second before falling back to sleep, but the last couple of days he's been fussing a little more and waking up at 11:00.

Once he's up, he can only stay awake for up to two hours before he starts getting fussy. We try to get in a good long stroll during this time, maybe lunch with a friend, but I always feel like I have to hurry before he starts melting down. Zephyr's version of a meltdown is still pretty benign: cluster-feeding, squirming, then full on back-arching as if to say, "Bitch, let me lay down! Why you keepin' me up?" That means I need to get him home, stat. Sometimes I nurse him and lay down with him just to get my snuggle on, but sometimes he just wants his lovey and for me to GTFO.

The afternoon nap usually goes pretty long, especially if he's been up for three hours before he goes down. He will often sleep 3.5 hours before I finally go wake him up (5:30 is the cutoff point, or else he gets too close to bedtime). I like to wake him up by planting kisses all over his little cheeks, and he slowly blinks and smiles to wakefulness. It's the sweetest thing.

Weissbluth says the afternoon wakeful period is supposed to be the longest, but this hasn't been true for us since Zephyr takes such long naps. His late afternoon wakeful period is usually only long enough for a walk to the park next door to touch leaves and swing for a bit. He is mesmerized with his shadow on the ground, and laughs when I grab his toes and kiss them before giving him a gentle push. Then we shuffle back home and I start preparing his dinner: rice ceral mixed with breastmilk and the seasoning of the day: usually a scant pinch of cinnamon, sometimes a little finely minced basil, or some mashed banana, or yesterday, homemade applesauce (seasoned with ginger, nutmeg and cinnamon, and sweetened with a tiny drop of agave nectar - he actually made a happy sound and laughed when he tasted it).

After he eats dinner (Scott and I alternate days feeding him), he has a warm bath with a drop of lavender bath milk added. He sits in the tub for about 5 or 10 minutes, then I give him a massage (to relax him and for the opportunity to get some moisturizer on his skin to stave off another eczema outbreak). Then we get him into his jimjams (and a disposable diaper instead of cloth, so he doesn't need to be changed in the middle of the night) and we quietly walk him upstairs.

We have blackout panels on his windows (one actual blackout panel and another window has blinds, thermal drapes and a dark brown bedsheet draped stylishly over the top) to darken his room completely. We settle into the comfy rocker and I nurse while we recite his bedtime story (it's too dark to read in there), then I sing the theme from Moulin Rouge and Marla, two unlikely lullabies that I picked specifically for Zephyr when he was still living in my body.

Sometimes he falls completely asleep in my arms, but usually after he pulls off the nipple I pass him to Scott, who finishes the job. Scott walks and rocks him for a few minutes, quietly singing along to the Rockabye Baby lullaby version of OK Computer. I think it's important that Scott and I each have our own individual bedtime rituals so either one of us get cue Zeph that it's bedtime. This has already paid off: last Sunday I had a free ticket to Cochon 555 and had to miss Zephyr's bedtime for the first time. Scott was easily able to get him to bed on time without me.

Once he's laid down in his crib, lovey in hand, he will usually go right to sleep (though sometimes he will babble to himself for a few minutes before succumbing). Then, our new breakthrough: he sleeps for 8 straight hours, minimum. Over the past week, he's been generally sleeping from 7:00pm straight to 3:30 or 4:00am, wakes to nurse, then goes back to sleep until 7:00 or 7:30 (we're not sure if he's been waking up earlier, because if he is, he's staying quiet in his crib and just staring at his mobile or stuffed elk).

Twice in the past week, he slept twelve straight hours. That's right, 7 to 7. The first time he went past 3:00 without waking, I freaked out a little. My breasts started becoming engorged, and I lay there awake for an hour before I finally just went into his room, scooped him up and nursed him while he was still asleep just to get the milk out. Once I realized that he won't starve (and that my milk won't dry up just because I no longer need to nurse every four or five hours), I've decided to leave well enough alone and I got the first complete, uninterrupted full night's sleep I've had since I was in my second trimester.

So, there it is. I don't know if other babies can fall into reliable patterns so neatly or quickly as Zephyr has - he is probably the easiest among all the babies we know - but I really think there's something to the whole sleep training thing. It took a couple weeks, but it didn't require any weird methodology. We did have to let him fuss a little here and there, but it really didn't take him long to figure out that his thumb is part of him and that he can suck it whenever he wants. (He only sucks it during sleepytimes and at dinner - he likes to pop it in between bites, maybe as part of him learning to feed himself?) But the take-home lesson is that babies really do need routines that they can count on. I think that my strict adherence was required for at least a few weeks until it became engrained, but now there is a little more flexibility (like having lunch and wiggling around nap time here and there). Granted, I still need to pick up and leave if we're out and he starts letting me know that he needs to sleep. But I don't mind this trade-off.

Babies learn quickly. If we can create predictability in their lives, they behave predictably. It's science. And you know what they say about science.

Avoiding My Tragedy

2010-05-12T20:10:00.000-07:00

"All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his."

~Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

A first Mother's Day is different than any other first holiday. When I gave birth to Zephyr, I, too, was borne into motherhood. I know it sounds trite and corny, but motherhood really does change everything, especially my identity as a woman.

Motherhood is different for every woman, obviously, but I think that motherhood is particularly poignant for the motherless. My own mom passed away 5 years ago, and never did I feel her absence more than on my own first Mother's Day. There's so much I wish I could ask her, yet at the same time I feel a slight sense of relief that this journey really is all my own, and I can venture in head first, unabated by tradition, or unwanted advice. I'm free to ace it with flying colors or completely fuck it up, all on my own.

I still have mixed feelings about my mother. I haven't yet decided if I admire her strength for sticking it out in the bad times, or if I judge her for being too weak to leave someone who was so irresponsible and cruel to her and her children for years. No woman I know wants to turn into her mother, but for me, I don't see how it's even possible.

I frantically try to remember what kind of mom she was, but find only fragments: dust-specked Sunday sunbeams through the windows of our apartment along Johnson Creek, comparing the relative merits of each of the Beatles (Ringo was her favorite); almost superstitiously paranoid of the dangers of children being out after 5:00pm, or of meat that is cooked any amount less than "to leather"; a lover of crafts, living simply (or the the idea of it), and Jim Croce; a crier at Hallmark cards and Humane Society advertisements (an embarrassed "don't look at me!" when caught); her distance (both spatial and emotional) from her own family. In some humble ways that are as much nurture as nature, I am just a bit like her after all.

Scott made delicious berry waffles gilded with a sprinkle of powdered sugar, sausages and mimosas for breakfast. After Zephyr woke from his morning nap, we went to the rhododendron gardens near our house. I thought it was free on Mother's Day, but instead they were having a plant sale so the place was pretty packed (in addition to there being a $3 admission). It was worth it, though - the rhodies were at their peak. The rhodie gardens also afforded Zeph his first close-up view of ducks. He thought they were pretty funny.

Firsts this week: Zephyr drank water from a glass, and when given his spoon of cereal, actually put it into his mouth all by himself! I had to put his hand almost all the way to the bowl of the spoon so he wouldn't gag himself on it, but he really seemed to get what it's all about.

Zephyr has really taken to his fingers and thumbs. This afternoon I went in to check on him when his nap was going long (I am serious about this schedule thing, and this article from Zero to Three backs me up), and he was blissfully sleeping with his little thumb in his mouth. This means that I never have to worry about a binky falling out of his mouth or getting lost, but it does mean that I might eventually have to break him of the habit. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, I guess.
The rice cereal has been going really well. I've started adding the scantest touch of cinnamon to it to give him some new flavors. It makes his shit so garish, but I guess that's inevitable. He really does sleep in longer stretches when he's eaten solids before bed - the longest he went last week was almost 6.5 hours. The cutest thing is that when he eats something he likes (a blob of banana out of my crepe is a recent favorite), he grins and laughs with delight. I love that he's getting so much enjoyment out of food, but I'm also wary that he may still go through a picky phase. I'm reveling in it while I can. Seeing him get so happy over his first taste of something reminds me that the best things in life really are the simple things.

A New Dawn, A New Day

2010-05-03T19:40:00.000-07:00

...and I'm feeling good.

Zephyr's sleepytime "oh no you di'int" face

So we ordered a copy of Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child (after reading as much of it as Amazon allows in the preview, which is surprising lot). It came highly recommended by several well-rested non-child abusers, and I figured we needed to try something, anything different. But during the two days while we waited for the book to arrive, I ended up finally hitting my limit (the night I wrote last week's blog post, I think). It was 3:00am, and Zephyr was waking up for the third time, only 30 minutes after being nursed. "That's it. That's it." I brusquely scooped him up and marched him into his room and put him down in his crib. I closed his door behind me and got back into bed, trembling justifications under my breath. "I just can't do this anymore. I don't know what to do." Scott sleepily mumbled something supportive, as I lay there, ears wide open.

Zephyr was quiet. He stayed quiet. I eventually fell back asleep. Cut to 6:00am, Scott's alarm going off. Suddenly remembering, I panic: "go check on the baby!"

Zephyr was still asleep. He stirred a moment later and I rushed to retrieve him, planting apologetic kisses all over his tiny head. He was perfectly fine; in fact, he even appeared well-rested and happy to see me.

The book arrived the next day and I speed-read it, then started implementing the techniques that night. I followed Weissbluth's recommendations to the letter that day, moving all of Zephyr's naps to an earlier time, even running him home in the stroller (almost a mile) from a quick coffee date with Beth to make the 1:00pm nap time slot. We got Zephyr into bed at around 6:30pm (an hour earlier than we had been), and after about an hour of minor fussing he quieted down and went to sleep. He slept four hours before waking to eat, and I gladly nursed him and settled him back into his crib. It was almost too easy.

Four more hours go by, and he wakes again. Weissbluth assures us that babies his age don't need to eat that much, and to let him fuss for a bit so he can learn to settle himself back down. Everything else was going so well that Scott and I decided to stick with the program.

Cut to 40 minutes later, when I finally cave because Zephyr has still not stopped crying.

After that 3:00 waking/feeding, Zeph slept the rest of the night. Scott and I decided we could live with two wakings (abandoning the pointless cry-it-out bullshit) and haven't fucked with it since. We're all back to sleeping in 3-4 hour chunks (the last chunk sometimes goes almost 5 hours) and we're okay with that. Zephyr sleeps 12 hours or so before waking up for the day at around 7:30am, and coos to himself quietly for awhile in the morning until we come to greet him (and he wakes from naps babbling and smiling instead of crying). We're still streamlining the bedtime routine so Scott can be more involved (Daddy is Zeph's #1 Funniest Person right now, not Mr. Soothing Bedtime Man), but otherwise we're just pleased as punch.

So basically, the kid just needed some space. We were the ones responsible for his frequent wakings, simply by being too close, making all of those tossy-turny night noises. Once I figured out that this is what he needs, I got over my guilt about not co-sleeping. We gave it the old college try, but the family bed (including the sidecar) just isn't a long-term sleep situation for us. I am glad, though, that we ignored so many of the warnings and did it while Zephyr was a newborn. It was so great while it lasted. (I still like to bring him into bed in the morning for a snuggle and a nurse, and he still goes down for naps this way.)

Another plus, we get our bedroom back.

After much vigilance, his eczema has finally cleared up (twice-daily applications of Triamcinolone cream and four daily applications of Weleda Calendula Baby Cream finally worked after a couple weeks), further helping his sleep situation. No more "scritch scritch scritch" of tiny fingernails to keep him awake.

Oh, also, we started giving him rice cereal recently (mixed with warm breast milk), and he seems to like real food! He takes after his mom, I guess. He also likes mushed banana and avocado, delivered to his eager maw via my fingertip. I picked up one of those baby teether-feeder things and will probably start stuffing it with cold apple chunks for him to gnaw on (still no teeth!). I guess we'll need to start eating dinner at the table soon, instead of in front of the TV. Yet another good habit having a baby has forced upon us.

Let the messy-face photos begin.

Mommy Dearest

2010-04-27T11:42:00.000-07:00

He used to be such a good sleeper. Brag-worthy four- and five-hour blocks of time were spent catching up on restful sleep, allowing us all to recharge and face our days, all smiles and productivity. But for the past few nights - hell, maybe a week or two? - I haven't gotten more than three hours of sleep at a time. In fact, the three hour chunk happened only a handful of times over the past week. More often, these days, Zephyr wakes up every two hours or less, wants to nurse, and is difficult to lay back down (even though he falls asleep while nursing). During the day, it lately takes an hour to get him down to sleep for thirty minutes. Scott badly wants to help, but alas, he lacks the breasts that allow Zephyr to succumb to deep, lengthy sleep (when I take time for myself, it's always at the expense of Zeph's nap schedule).

I feel like I'm completely losing my shit, and I'm shocked at how quickly I go from a creamy Madonna to a hanger-wielding harpy when my precious sleep is compromised. Sometimes I get so frazzled that it takes an hour or more for me to get back to sleep (and by the time this happens, Zephyr often starts fussing again). Then I crumble into frustrated tears and wonder what I was ever thinking, deciding to have a kid.

I should put things into perspective, though. He is still the sweetest, goofiest, smiliest and happiest little baby I've ever met. He grins so big that it splits his face in two. He is not a difficult baby at all, not by any stretch of the imagination. The little guy is teething, and is covered in eczema that he scratches until it bleeds. He is merely guilty of being a baby: mutable, unpredictable, inconstant. He evolves at an hourly rate.

What kind of monster loses her cool at a tiny baby, just because he won't sleep? This one, evidently. During those wee hours of sleeplessness, I worry that I will never be good enough for my precious little changeling. I spend so much time in that dark place in my heart that tells me that I can never be the mother that my son deserves. I have spent the better part of my life obsessing about being the polar opposite of my intolerant, dictator father (the dominant parent in my family), but I am terrified that, if pushed, I might still have his capacity for violence. The worst thing that can happen to Zephyr is for him to be raised by someone who hates children.

In case you have already dialed six of the seven digits to call Adult and Family Services, I should let you know that I don't beat my infant with a hanger, or shake him, or anything like that (I have yelled at him, though, I'll admit it). It's just that my own anger frightens me. It's so early in this ride - how awful will I be when, in a couple years, he starts throwing tantrums in the grocery store? Or when actually looks me in the eye and talks back?

In the meanwhile, I will learn to take deep breaths. I will take Zephyr's nap-free days as opportunities to play more and count my blessings that he is such a joyful creature. And I will hope fervently to gain the grace that only restful sleep can bring.

(Note: as I finished typing this, Zephyr just woke up from a 3.5-hour nap. Just to prove me wrong and make me look a harpy fool. Little bastard.)

Tooth and Nail

2010-04-22T18:18:00.000-07:00

Take a good look - still no toofies in this mouth. Any day, now. Yep. Aaaaannnnnyyy daaaayyyy. Sigh. This poor kid. He's at the end of his wee rope. He's trying so hard to be a good baby, but you can just see the wimper on his face as he crams his fingers and anything near them into his mouth. Sometimes this results in a scratched face. Nail-clipping is a daily endeavor these days.

Even bath time is another opportunity to work those little gums of his. Now that he's bigger, we have opted to start daily baths - 5 minutes or so in just-above-tepid warm water, followed by a good rubdown with Weleda Calendula Baby Cream on the rough, eczema spots and Burt's Bees Buttermilk Baby Lotion everywhere else. I love the way that stuff smells. Our bathroom is in the middle of a remodel right now and gaps at the base of the wall expose the basement crawlspace, so we have to warm it up in there with a space heater and keep a vigilant watch for house centipedes.

(and another shot just because he's so damn cute)

Not too much new this week - he did get into his first little baby altercation. He and his friend Oshea were enjoying some time on the play mat, laying head to foot, and Oshea grabbed Zeph's toes with a little too much aplomb. Zephyr started crying sharply, and this set Oshea to crying. Claudia and I picked up our respective babies, and they took turns looking at each other and melting down. It was really cute and funny. Lesson learned: fun-wanting moms just best not fuck around with naptimes.

Have you ever seen a more dimply butt? I mean, without cringing in the mirror. I want to chew on his tiny butt cheeks. They're as soft as mochi, and almost as sweet.

Little Green

2010-04-14T12:33:00.001-07:00

"If your knees aren't green by the end of the day, you ought to seriously re-examine your life."
-Bill Watterson

Zephyr had his first forays into the wilds last week, nettle-picking (as a passive participant) and moss-stepping (as a more active, if forced, participant). He thoroughly enjoyed himself, or the walk at least, and I was better for the exercise. The weather started to take a serious turn for the worse in the midst of our stroll, and certain a downpour was imminent (the wind and clouds were telling), I ran him and the stroller across the north lawn at Reed College toward leeward trees and their relative shelter (relative to a field, anyways). His Graco Metrolite is not intended for off-road use, though, and I'll probably need to tone down these adventures or get a new stroller (in which case I will tone these adventures way up).

Yep, things are really starting to get exciting with (and for) Zephyr. Every day he's a mite smarter, a little abler, and just a bit more cognizant of his world. His hands are more articulate, and he now derives great pleasure (and maybe some pride?) from turning the pages of his board books when we read to him. His bedtime story is becoming so rote that he even waits for the pauses in our lilt before reaching his chubby digits toward the stiff page edge.

In our attempts to get him to sleep more than two hours, we gave him his first rice cereal last week. At first we just put it in a bottle of warm breast milk to make a thin slurry (cut a hole in the nipple to promote flow), but once the novel first few tastes were swallowed, he just let the last two ounces dribble out of his mouth and gave us a funny look. He ended up waking up after two hours anyways, so the next day we tried just giving a few spoonfuls of a rice cereal-breast milk mush. This didn't work either, but the rice cereal does effect a powerful change in the texture and odor of his shit. Needless to say, we've backed off the solids for the time being.

Could he look more like his father? I think not.

Now that Zephyr has been hanging out in his exersaucer, his legs are getting a lot of practice supporting his weight. He stands with help for several seconds at a time, and delights in his new skill. I think he feels powerful and strong on his little legs. Tummy time is still not totally his favorite, but the new play mat that I picked up at Ikea is turning him around on floor play. I just regret not having gotten Zephyr onto a comfortable floor setup earlier. Though, I will admit that there is a strong temptation to just leave him there while I tend to matters around the house.

Finally, I wanted to share this triptych of Scott, Zephyr and myself, all at 4 months of age. It's really remarkable how much he looks like the both of us instead of just one of us. He has my mouth, I think, and he totally has Scott's chin. His eyes look like both of ours. I think he's cuter than either of us, and greater than the sum of his parts. Zephyr is our awesome son and he is synergy.

Zombie Baby

2010-04-06T20:47:00.000-07:00

I went back to work yesterday. It's not the same as before, I just have a few projects that I will work on, and primarily from home, but I did spend five hours in the office yesterday. It felt pretty good to put on a button-up shirt and pay too much for parking, to be on the phone and to crunch numbers. I felt like Career Mom Barbie, pumping breast milk in my old office. If anyone other than Scott had been home with Zephyr, I never would've made it those five hours. It'll be interesting to see how long I can keep it up, though. Next week I think I might take Zephyr out to a field visit with me. We won't have to get out of the car.

Zephyr's latest trick is this thing where he acts like a baby zombie. It only happens when Scott is holding him (and he's hungry). He will violently lurch forward toward Scott's chest, mouth agape, and just gum at him like a hungry baby zombie. It's really hilarious.

And the last update (they are few this week), we have found that Zephyr loves being in an exersaucer. It's nice to be able to have him in the kitchen while I work, without him getting bored in a matter of minutes. He even seems to be aware of cause and effect, mashing buttons that name animals and mimic their sounds. It's so wonderful to see his little gears turning.

Sorry for the brevity - weekly updates are only as thrilling as the milestones themselves. Not that it's not a total rollercoaster...

The doughnut shop is now open

2010-03-30T18:20:00.000-07:00

Okay, last time, I promise. I'm gonna talk about sleep again. We had a little breakthrough this week. I should say, I figured out a few things, just by taking a step out from all up in Zephyr's Kool-Aid, so to speak. Get this: if I leave him alone after he wakes up in the first half hour of his nap, HE FALLS BACK TO SLEEP ON HIS OWN. I know, right? If I just leave him the fuck alone, he sorts that shit out all by himself. My coddling and doting was just reinforcing his awakeness, and he seriously only fusses for like a minute or two (I timed it) and then quiets back down to sleep. And then he sleeps for two and half more hours. Brilliant. I suppose it's kinda like moms rushing to their kid's scraped knee is what really makes the kid cry, not the scrape.

We had his 4-month checkup on Friday, and he's still in the 95th centile for weight (at 18 lbs., slightly less than I thought) and 97th centile for length (at 26"). Dr. Martin is really laid back and thinks Zephyr is doing great, told us to ignore the books that say the babies are supposed to sleep through the night at his age. Of course, I can't. I decide she's just trying to make us feel better and take matters into my own hands.

So, last night I decide we're gonna try our hand at sleep training. I'm drunk on power, having discovered the secret to getting Zeph down for solid naps (and seriously, getting two 3-hour breaks a day is delicious), I think we can totally do this. I formulate a plan: when he starts crying, give him five minutes, then gently soothe him back to sleep by patting his back but not picking him up or feeding him. That's what the No Cry Sleep Solution book (err, the summary of it that I read online) said to do. So we give it a go.

We go through the bedtime ritual: rub him down with calendula cream and get him into a dry dipe and jimjams. Upstairs to the bedroom, snuggle in bed to read I'll See You in the Morning and then into his swaddle he goes. Then we lay down for a nurse, and I tuck him into the Arm's Reach sidecar co-sleeper thing, kiss his little head and say good night. Fifteen minutes later, he starts fussing. "Just let him fuss for a minute," I reinforce the plan to Scott. He stops fussing, and we clink our wine glasses and high five each other and enjoy an hour or two of grown-up time.

Scott and I settle into bed at around 11:00pm, and after a couple hours of blissful slumber, Zephyr starts fussing. I decide to firmly ride it out for five minutes, instead of just reactively bringing him to my breast like normal. His fussing escalates into full-blown crying. I pat his back, "it's okay, Zephyr, go back to sleep." No dice. I look at the clock. 12:50am. The crying isn't slowing down, and now Scott and I are both completely frazzled. Zephyr is starting to totally unravel. I try patting his back again, with no results. I look at the clock again. 1:11am. Sigh. This feels mean and neglectful and exactly like the cry-it-out method (which I'm pretty sure has never been attempted in a cosleeping situation), I'm at my wit's end and scoop up my baby to soothe him and fret for being such a disastrous mother, planting apologetic kisses all over his tiny, tear-damp head. He starts mouthing on my shoulder before I even get him to my breast, and then nurses frantically back to sleep. It takes me probably two hours to get back to sleep after the ordeal.

At 5:00am, same story. This time I figure out that four hours is about as long as he ever really goes between meals (and I already feel like a failure for having caved at the first attempt), but not before he cries for five loud minutes. I nurse him to sleep again and finally get back to sleep myself after Scott's alarm goes off at 6:00.

This afternoon, I read the Going Through the Night Without Being Fed section of Penelope Leach's Your Baby & Child and realize that I hadn't been doing anything wrong at all until I decided that we were going to try to fuck with Zephyr's sleep habits. The kid needs to eat a couple times at night, and this is completely normal! I feel renewed as a mother, have reinstilled faith in my pediatrician (whom I already trust and should've just listened to in the first place). One neat trick that Leach offers, though, is to wake the baby to nurse when I go to bed instead of waiting for him to wake up at the four-hour mark. I can reset his tummy-clock myself to get a full four hours of sleep for myself. Now that's sleep training I can get with.

In other news, today Zephyr had his first poop in FIVE DAYS. I know it's normal and common for babies to go several days between poops at this age (particularly breastfed babies), but holy shit, it totally freaked me and Scott out! And then when he finally did poop, it went all the way up his shoulder blades and required a full bath. But lemme tell ya, he's been a much more pleasant kid since. Tummy time was thus extended with comfort and ease, offering me a chance to shoot him in his new pants. It's motherfucking doughnut time.

Consistently persistent

2010-03-24T10:16:00.000-07:00

It's been a tough few days for Zephyr (and me). The rough patches on his legs, arms and abdomen (that I'd heretofore been blithely treating with Burt's Bees after baths) is eczema. This isn't much of a surprise and I know it's pretty common, but something - possibly allergies inherited from Scott, or the recent addition of OxyClean to the laundry regimen - has triggered the rash to become so itchy that Zeph has begun scratching himself raw. We had to make a late-night call to the pediatrician's triage desk the other night because, after nearly three hours of trying to get him to sleep, he began sobbing inconsolably and was starting to break the skin with his scratching. Now he's on hydrocortisone and is wearing sock mitts to prevent scratching, but coupled with teething and a lack of good sleep, he's been kind of a Fussy McCrabberson. I just really hope he doesn't end up with allergies and asthma (the other two legs of the Nerd Trifecta).

At some point, I guess I can stop talking and thinking and fretting about sleep. There has to be more to parenting an infant than worrying about sleep, right? He used to be so good, even a week ago, at the onset of transitioning him out of our bed. Now? I'm lucky to get four hours. I usually get two (particularly if I succeed in getting him to bed at 9:00, in which case his first "long" stretch is overlapped by me and Scott trying desperately to relate to each other as friends and partners). Last night he never slept more than two hours at a stretch. He slept better as a newborn than he does as a "settled" infant, when he's supposed to be finally sleeping through the night. The main difference between my energy levels now versus when he was brand new is that now he weighs 20 pounds and it physically exhausts me just doing day-to-day tasks like diaper changing and lugging him from room to room.

I think I'm most frustrated by his inconsistency, when I'm working so hard to be persistent with his routines. I don't really know how to bounce back when he, say, naps for only 30 minutes instead of a couple hours. Am I supposed to try to get him right back down? And how long do I keep trying if I don't succeed? I usually give up after about an hour or two, and then try again in two hours. Sometimes he cues that he's sleepy right away, and then wakes up right after going down again. Repeat ad nauseum. What I'm most sick of, though, is talking about his fucking sleep problems.

Hey, though, on the plus side, I found some new camera apps for my iPhone, and have been thoroughly enjoying photographing Zephyr (as any of my Facebook friends can attest). One more way to obsess over this kid. Just what I need.

Puttin' along

2010-03-16T18:37:00.000-07:00

Not a lot to report this week, not as far as new milestones go. His laughter now comes from the belly, and it's easy to get him going by giving his cheeks raspberries and then giggling at him. Zephyr is also really getting good at bringing his hands, and anything in them, to his mouth (or to each other, which always looks adorable).

Thank goodness for these $0.49 toys from Ikea. They're his favorite! He is particularly fond of the bunny (whom I have secretly names Ferdinand), whose ears and carrot he soggifies with great gusto. He also likes to nurse on the nose of the turquoise wolf, chomping his sore little gums into submission. Better the toys than my nipples.

His mirror is much more interesting to him these days too, and he'll often watch himself playing with toys. Sometimes he talks or shouts at his reflection, which cracks me up to no end. I know he still lacks a sense of Self, but I think his recent acknowledgment of other babies coincides with his newfound appreciation of the mirror. I think he thinks his reflection is another kid.

Sleep continues to be up and down, but I guess I don't really care anymore. If I really need a break, I just lay down with him. Otherwise, I try not to sweat it. We're in the process of transitioning him out of our bed and into his cosleeper adjacent to the bed, mostly because he's just so big now, but also because he's kind of a squirmy sleeper. This way he's also less disturbed by Scott's and my nighttime movements, and we all sleep better. We're also moving him to an earlier bedtime, but this is a little bit bumpy. Usually instead of going straight to bed at 9:00, we get him down for what ends up being an hour or two nap, then we go through the formal bedtime motions: change dipe and into PJs, swaddle and story, then nurse. Once his afternoon naps become more predictable, I think it'll be easier to start readying him for bed at around 8:30 or earlier, and really make a big production of it to cement the routine. We'll omit the swaddle step soon, once his routine becomes canon. It's starting to get a bit warm for it, and if he gets an arm out he becomes really distressed. He tends to nap better without any swaddling, so my swaddle-weaning process has involved simply tucking a light blanket tightly around him. He can easily squirm completely out of it with the kick of a leg, but I think it feels secure to him as he's drifting off.

His viselike grip on Ferdinand even while sleeping was worth taking another photo, even though the click woke him momentarily. He loves his bunny.

Teething is a real pain

2010-03-09T16:25:00.000-08:00

(Note: eyes definitely still hazel. My wish is coming true!)

Still no napping for this one. As I type this, he has just emptied both breasts, with attempts to lay him down after each one. I tried putting him down, completely out cold, into his pack-and-play. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, he's up. Walk around with him for a bit, then decide to try to nurse him in the darker upstairs, in his bedroom. Nurse again. His arms marionette floppy, I gently lay him down into his crib. Eyes pop open, and the little bastard starts grinning and laughing. Legs like little eggbeaters, kick kick kick kick. Mocking me. I've just snuck downstairs, leaving him alone up there, hoping he'll just, I don't know, forget about whatever's distracting him from sleep? Why does he want to be awake so badly? And what, exactly, does he find so fucking funny about it?

I can hear him whining a bit. "Enh. Enh. ENH."

I don't want to be one of those "cry it out" people, all ignoring their babies' needs, causing trust issues and brain damage. This is no slight at one good friend of mine (who tried this method for a spell), who had a VERY high-needs, colicky infant and actually had to regularly call those "please talk me out of strangling my baby" hotlines out of lack of sleep or peace. I don't have that baby, and neither do most people who think that you can spoil a baby by holding it too much, or that babies cry to manipulate people. Those people are completely insane, or at best misguided. And for what it's worth, I don't think it even worked for my friend, who found it gut-wrenching to hear her baby cry that much.

Fingers are fascinating

I mean, technically, he's not even crying or anything. I think he just knows that I always respond almost instantaneously to any slight fussing and is expecting my smiling face to pop up any second. And so it never really needs to escalate to full-blown crying (unless I say, clip off the tip of his thumb whilst attempting to trim his nails). Still, the annoyed (and annoying) whines are his cue that he's unhappy, and as his mother, I am supposed to be the Bringer Of Happy. But this time I'm ignoring them, just to see what happens. If he really starts crying, I'll go rescue him.

What's that I hear? Could it be...silence? He's either asleep, or he's staring at something quietly. I haven't figured out if I care which of those it might be. I know he needs sleep. "Sleep begets sleep!" chirp the helpful, childless doulas. And though I know this to be true from experience, I just can't force him to sleep. I can't wear him 24 hours a day, walking and nursing him into oblivion. But more importantly, I can't make my entire day focused on trying to get Zephyr to sleep. So what should I do?

Usually, I let him sleep on me after he falls asleep nursing. At least this way, he gets at least one good hour or two chunk. More often, though, I let him take several catnaps. I don't know if this is great for him, but I'm sure it's better than nothing. This time, I'm trying out the "leaving him alone in a dark, quiet place" technique to see if that yields results. At least this way I get a few minutes to myself.

...only a few minutes.

*****************

Milestones this week: rolled over from tummy to back, turned his head toward my voice when I said his name, and will laugh with me instead of just at me. Oh, and he is beginning to interact with other babies now instead of just staring at them like objects. With adorable results. Here he is with his bestie (and possible future soulmate) Sigga:

"Invisible Steering Wheel"

"Pshpshpsh I'm telling you a sekkrit!"

"Hugs", or "Attempted Carrot Theft"

Amuse Bouche

2010-03-03T21:02:00.000-08:00

This is the face of a little boy who won't nap.

Zephyr is about to start teething. Any minute now.

At his 8 week checkup, Dr. Martin found his gums to be slightly swollen, and now, at 14 weeks (today) they're bugging him just enough that he has a hard time napping for more than 20 minutes (unless I let him linger at the breast) and has been emitting a high-pitched whine that sounds like a mosquito.

He won't use his pacifier anymore except as a chew toy. He really favors clothy items, though, and is usually trying to cram his blanket, a burp rag, the hood of his jacket, or his pant legs (quite the feat!) into his drooly maw. I picked up a couple of new toys for him that are rattly, crinkly and absorbent. On the plus side, I can start putting him in the adorable bibs I bought for him a month ago.

Tummy time is particularly exciting as his neck strength develops (despite his demeanor in this photo - sleepy, forced to perform for a demanding mother). Now he arches his body with his arms and legs extended like a tiny skydiver, his heading bobbing around to examine his surroundings.

Wearing him is more interesting too, now that I don't have to keep one hand on his head at all times. Springtime has done wonders for my motivation for park walks and errands on foot. Unfortunately, his 18 or so pounds of mass is doing my back no favors, so I've started carrying him in the Moby (actually the Sleepy Wrap brand) instead of the Maya for longer walks. When we circle the park (works great for getting him to sleep, when he's not gum-fussy), I sing a song about what I'm seeing in a soft, repetitive tone that he seems to like. "There's a Doug-las-fir. There's some green, green grass. There's some En-glish i-vy. There's a wes-tern larch!" Repeat ad nauseum. The park is big, and this is Portland. We sing about the green, green grass a lot.

"sup ladeez" (sorry, I couldn't help it)

Breast is Best

2010-02-22T13:00:00.000-08:00

I sleep in some days when Zephyr wakes too early. On days when he wakes too early, after his dad tries in vain to sate and soothe with a bottle, I finally wake from my hurried sleep to rescue Zeph from the indignity of a rubber mother, and I arrive with my warm breast.

He latches on with greedy aplomb. After panicked panting "ohthankgod" through the first moment, my milk releases and his suckling slows to a slower, more gastronomical pace.

My little gourmand savors each sip, his free hand tracing an unknown pattern across my sternum, his tiny fingers lingering at the seam of my bra. He strums across my breast carefully, deliberately, with apparent specificity.

He sometimes pulls away suddenly gasping, arching his neck and back gracefully as he comes up for air (eyes closed tight, tiny lips still pursed), then he dives back in for another taste. He wobbles his head back and forth like a mad puppy playing with a bone - mouth agape, splashing his cheeks in buttery milk, and uttering a low grunt - and then settles back into a warm sigh, falling into comfortable slumber.

Jonestown

2010-02-17T17:33:00.000-08:00

Every time we think we've got this parenting thing dialed in, something changes. I'm becoming convinced that a baby is nothing more than the universe's way of keeping you on your toes. I smell a developmental milestone coming up - after a couple weeks of good sleeping, including consistent, lengthy naps, as of Monday night he's back to waking up every two or three hours. He's outgrown almost all of his pjs - each time we put them on it seems like the last time they'll fit. Tonight I think he officially outgrew a favorite pair after wearing them for just a few hours.

In his 11th week, Zephyr has begun gnawing invisible chewing gum. His chin and anything it touches is sopping wet. Teething is right around the corner. Out of the frying pan, into the fire, I guess. And as you can see from this photo, his eye color is coming in. A big set of puppy dog browns like his old man, I'd hazard. I'm still holding out hope that the burnt umber stays around the pupil only, and the rest of his iris is bluish gray, that his eyes might continue to resemble a sky in solar eclipse.

Yesterday he had another first - he cried for more than 30 seconds. Was it because he was baking a turd all day (a day of no pooping at all in 24 hours - another first) and had a tummyache? Because he had crappy naps and was a Crabby McGrumperson? Who knows. It took two squirts of gripe water, his vibrating papasan chair set to stun and a squirt of Liquid Nap to calm him down enough to sleep.

Last Thursday I had an appointment to get a massage at Zenana. On Tuesdays and Thursdays they have child care available, so I thought I'd take them up on it and get some work done on the fucked-up IT band that's been causing me a lot of knee, hip and leg pain since the delivery. Zephyr was asleep in his carrier, and I felt leery of leaving him in a room with three raging toddlers and a very pregnant child care provider. But I really wanted this massage, and I was just going to be in the next room if anything happened, right? Wrong. I never made it into the massage room before I broke down in tears at the thought of leaving my baby. I ended up bringing him into the room with me, where he slept quietly for most of my massage. When he woke up, I said hello to him, told him I loved him, and let the nice massage therapist take him to the child care room for the rest of my massage. The following Sunday, Scott and I left Zeph with his grandpa Jack for a couple hours while we had a Valentine's date.

Speaking of Zenana, I've been taking a few classes there that I really like. The Mamalates class is over now, but it felt good to start taking steps toward regaining some semblage of my pre-pregnancy figure (the one I had before the holidays that preceded my pregnancy, that is). I've been back to my pre-pregnancy shape since about two or three weeks postpartum, but I'd still like to drop a few of the saggy tummy pounds that were present in the form of winter girlchub a year ago.

The infant massage class is fun, too, and a nice way to connect with Zeph, but sometimes I really think the other moms Drank the Koolaid. They are really into their babies. When the teacher asked a question like, "What is something that you're proud of this week?" The moms all say shit like, "Peyton smiled at me when she pooped! Blessed be!" or "little Henry rolled over by himself!" I'm the only one who answers, "my food blog got linked on Saveur.com!" Maybe I'm being selfish or unrealistic that I still want to be Heather some of the time, and not just Mommy. But I'm pretty sure autonomy in motherhood is healthy. We're setting a good example for our kids when we make time to take care of ourselves and indulge our outside interests.

That said, though, I had my first bout of complete insomnia the other night, related to the prospect of going back to work. I still have six weeks of maternity leave, and boy do I need them. Being a mom is hard, especially in these post-women's lib times. Our aunts and mothers worked so hard for us to be able to go back to our hard-won careers, and I mean them no disrespect, but I just don't think anyone can do everything. Sure, we can try to juggle working inside and outside the home, and our relationships with our partner, family and friends, and then maybe take a millisecond to look after ourselves, but what kind of life is that? Why do anything at all if we can't do it with the attention, time and care that it deserves? Don't get me wrong - we can have it all, we just needn't have it all right now.

For now, all I want is to have is my time with my growing son. All I need is to be there to celebrate this remarkable little changeling and love him every day. I guess maybe I've gotten into a little of that Koolaid myself.

Tear the Roof Off the Mothersucker

2010-02-09T18:41:00.000-08:00

Look at this little mothersucker (caught in an uncharacteristic fussy spell). To be fair, though, these days he's sucking more on his hands, blanket and pacifier, and less on his mother, thank god.

Zephyr's been prone to wee bouts of fussiness lately. We figure this has something to do with all of the drooling and sucking in which he's been engaging, but it's just as likely to be gas as far as we can tell. It's really anyone's guess. It passes very quickly though - I took all of these photos in a rapid succession that lasted less than ten seconds, then he was laughing again. Weird little baby bipolar disorder, innit.

In his tenth week, Zeph's becoming more a sentient little person and less an organic bundle of raw electricity and shaky reflexes. As his nervous system matures, his hand and arm movements are becoming more controlled and less Moro-spastic. His new trick is some awesome air guitar - I'll try to shoot some video to post soon.

Future babysitter, Connor

Zephyr does great in crowds, too. We brought him over to our friend Norm's place for Super Bowl Sunday, and aside from a couple of feedings, he really didn't need me at all. Our friends just passed him around, dumbstruck at the sheer proportions of the boy. I'm always a little worried that bringing him out just means I end up carrying him instead of getting to relax and enjoy my friends, but he's so good with other people. Hopefully this is a testament to an outgoing personality, or at least a healthy lack of xenophobia.

This week has also been a boon for all of the ridiculous equipment we bought for him months ago. Last month, this portable swing may as well have been a torture device as far as he was concerned, but now it's become a preferred place to put him down for his naps. I can set him in there drowsy but still awake, and he rocks to sleep instead of relying on my breast for sedation. I still nurse him down at night, but right now this makes life so much easier for me during the day, and it's helping him develop important self-soothing skills. We'll have to see if the standing swing has the same effect.

The coolest development thus far (besides smiling and laughing) is that Zephyr's been experimenting with vocalization. It's really funny to see him look us square in the eyes, serious as a fucking heart attack, and just jibber-jabber all of the sounds he can make with his little wordhole. Here's a little sample of the chitchat hilarity (including an epic shitgrunt - a household favorite):

...yes, we still always laugh at his farts.

Well, Baby

2010-01-31T18:00:00.000-08:00

Last weekend my girl Tanya and I went to the outlet mall in Woodburn for a little sweet, sweet discount shopping. It was the longest Zephyr and I have been away from the house (4 or 5 hours), and he behaved commendably. On the way, Tanya pumped milk using the power source from my car, and we joked about how it feels like we're cheating on our babies when we pump. It's true, right? I always hunker down and wait until he's napping before I get out the pump, lest he smell my milk from across the room and get offended that it's not directly for him. It is for him, though, just so Scott can feed him.

And on the other side of that coin, why do I get jealous when he's being fed from a bottle? Last week Scott took him in the morning so I could sleep in a bit, and when I came downstairs he was giving Zephyr a bottle. For some reason, my milk started to let down and I felt a little possessive of Zeph and took ownership over his sustenance, even though Scott is doing me a huge service by taking over for an hour and giving my tits a break. So weird.

We had his two-month Well Baby checkup last week, and turns out he's above the 99th percentile for weight (at 14.3 lbs) and length (at 25.25"). He got most of his vaccinations - I opted for all of the ones that prevent particularly virulent diseases that actually do still float around. His howls of pain broke my heart in two, especially after I had clipped his fingertip with the nail clippers when I tried to trim his nails earlier that day. Poor baby. I was happy that he comforted easily, but I still experience such a visceral response to his guttural cries. I can feel my blood pressure raise and my eyes mist up, and I feel desperate to protect him.

His herniated belly button had been bugging me ever since his cord fell off (at 5 weeks - very late, I think). We had taken him in and had it checked, but his regular doc (Christine Martin) wasn't working that day and the other one said to just apply hydrogen peroxide and keep an eye on it. I told her I thought it was a granuloma, and she said it wasn't (she said this since "it isn't red like a granuloma"). Well, Dr. Martin confirmed my suspicion and hit his belly with a little silver nitrate to dry it up. Thank goodness for that, because that oozy little flesh nubbin had been freaking me out for weeks.

His sleep cycles have been going through fits and starts, too. Tuesday, he slept pretty well from having had such a rough day at the pediatrician's office (and the vaccines really took it out of him). Thursday and Friday, he gave us two nights in a row of sleeping 5.5 and 5 hours, respectively. Last night he slept for 4 hours, but we went to bed later than normal and that mat have had something to do with it. We're still trying to figure out if there's any cause and effect there.

On Wednesday he was being such a pill - no nap all day, fussing all the way until 10:30pm - that we finally just gave him a squirt of baby Tylenol. I felt sort of guilty, like I was drugging him to get to sleep, but I figure he must've been fussy for a reason, like the shots the previous day, or because his lower gums are a little swollen. That's right. At two months, he's already showing the first signs of teething.

Speaking of guilt, does any ever find the time to be 100% engaged with their baby during those precious "quiet-alert" stages of consciousness? Sometimes I take that opportunity to interact with him, singing my favorite Grizzly Bear songs or giving him some tummy time or a bath, but sometimes I just take advantage of not needing to give him a boob (or other techniques for trying to get him down for a nap), and just park him in his Pack 'N Play to stare at his owl mobile. He seems happy enough, cracking up at them, and I always take him out again if he gets bored, but I feel like I'm being a terrible mother for needing a break. Like when I peruse the internet with one hand on my iPhone while I'm breastfeeding instead of gazing into his eyes. He won't remember such egregious acts of neglect, right?

I got an IUD inserted last week, too. I love this little guy so much, and would be devastated to let someone steal his thunder too soon.

Awesome for Real

2010-01-21T20:05:00.001-08:00

Look out 4Chan, I think Zeph just whipped your smily's ass.

Let Down and Hanging Around

2010-01-17T17:23:00.000-08:00

Breastfeeding is kind of great. I mean, what's better than sustaining another human solely from your own body? It's free, and it means I can eat 2600 calories a day. Breastfeeding is pretty awesome.

Except for when it isn't.

Some things they don't tell you about breastfeeding:

Your nipples will go from being fun playthings (pre-baby) to supersensitive, cracked and bleeding (early after delivery) to more-or-less purely functional devices.
When your milk lets down it feels like your tits suddenly filled up with hard water balloons studded with prickly needles. The only relief from this sensation is to feed or pump.
Speaking of pumping, your nipples look like sea cucumbers when they're being mechanically sucked by a plastic funnel. They sure as hell don't tell you that.
If you forget what side you nursed on last, or your baby has a tendency to fall asleep on the breast, or you produce so much milk that your newborn can't possibly empty a breast in one sitting, or even if you just don't periodically switch the way you hold your baby when you nurse, you can develop a fun inflammation of your milk ducts: mastitis.

This happened to me on Friday. I guess my milk has just been hanging around too long, since I backed off on pumping after every feeding (I've been a bit lazy about it lately and I've been interested in finding other ways to spend my time, frankly). I spent a rough Thursday night waking to feed Zephyr every couple of hours (my right breast was starting to get sore at this point), and at the second feeding or so, around 2:00 or 3:00am, I felt kinda crappy. I was really hot and sweaty, and pretty hungry. I got up after feeding him and went downstairs to get a glass of milk, and when I came back to bed I just could not warm back up, even though I had been so hot only a moment earlier. It took me about an hour to warm back up enough to go back to sleep.

When I woke the next day, I felt kind of tired and crummy, but chalked it up to a lousy night's sleep (plus my back and shoulders have been kind of achy from wearing Zeph everywhere). I think an hour or two passed where I just sat on the couch with Zephyr passed out at my breast, sitting in front of the television without actually watching it, staring helplessly at the glass of water on the table that, at 3 feet away, was impossibly out of reach. I felt powerless to reach for the water that beckoned to me to drink it. I was freezing cold and swaddled myself and Zephyr in a soft blanket.

It must've been 1:00 in the afternoon before I realized that I hadn't eaten anything and didn't feel like doing so. I got up to change Zephyr and crank up the heater, and try to rustle up some grub and my face felt flushed. I had a hunch to check my temperature and panicked when I saw that it was 101.1°F. For a second, I was terrified that I had the flu and that I'd get the baby sick (and tearily called Scott to come home), but then I calmed down and put two and two together. My tender right breast was the culprit. The tenderness, shooting pain during nursing, the firm lump near my sternum (it had only just appeared that day and hadn't been there during a breast exam only three days prior).

Anyways, long story short: I had mastitis. I treated it successfully without antibiotics by using a combination of hot compresses (the disposable heating pads made for wrists and necks work great), Tylenol, rest and fluids, coupled with keeping that breast completely empty. It was easier and less painful to pump that side and let Zephyr nurse on the left, but the pain subsided over the weekend and by Sunday night I felt completely fine. But I am back to pumping at least a couple times a day, and I figured out that I can empty different ducts by moving the pump to different parts of my nipple. I know it's working because I can always get another half ounce or so even after it seems like there's nothing left, simply by adjusting the position of the pump.

Over the past week or so, Zephyr has been attitude-challenged and is acting like a little Mr. Fussypants lately. He will quickly go from this:

To this:
We remembered from our newborn care class that fussiness is supposed to ramp up until around 8 weeks or so, then things mellow out a bit. I sure as hell hope so because I am TIRED. Zephyr evidently won't nap anymore except for when I'm wearing him while walking (hard on the back), or unless I just leave my boob out for him to use as a pacifier (another thing to avoid if you want to prevent mastitis). Today I'm cheating and gave him a (non-boob) pacifier so he can suck on something besides my breast, and it's actually keeping him pretty quiet (as I type this, I think he's just fallen asleep with it - win!).

He actually doesn't really cry much, but instead makes this kind of struggly, panting "heeheeheehee ENH!" sound, complete with pouty lower lip protrusion and kicky legs. When he's swaddled he likes to throw in the dramatic, back-and-forth thrashing head like a mini Houdini who, for his next trick, is attempting to escape from a baby straightjacket.

Eventually he succumbs to sleepiness, but not without protest.

Then when he wakes up, even if it's only been an hour, he's in an awesome mood and is an absolute joy to be around. That's when I get out the camera.

Last night I actually had to move him to the cosleeper because I could tell that Scott wasn't going to get any sleep with all of Zephyr's griping and moshing. I felt terrible to "punish" him by moving him out of our bed, but I have to admit it was nice to have our bed back, and I moved him back to cuddle after Scott got up to go to work.

New tricks: Zephyr figured that mirrors are a Thing this weekend. If he catches his reflection pouting or frowning, he's like a Siamese fighting fish and gets all pissed off like, "who the fuck are YOU looking at?" and it's a sudden downward mood-spiral. But if he's in a good mood, there's no stopping his flirting with himself. He actually makes the 4chan Awesome For Real face. For real.

Oh, and today he experienced his first fart in the bathtub. Laissez les bon temps roulez!

I Get Around

2010-01-10T15:48:00.000-08:00

I have decided to really give babywearing a solid try, and as a result, I've finally been able to unchain myself from the couch! This enabled me to stop by New Seasons' new parents' group last Tuesday to try to meet other hip neighborhood moms (and happily met one Katie: fellow blogger and mother of Jasper, who is one day younger than Oosch). The group mediator, Gracie, showed me another way to wear Zephyr that is much more comfy and doesn't leave his head hanging out in danger's way (the vertical or upright cradle-type hold). This new discovery also enables me to breastfeed easily and discreetly in public - even while I'm walking - though I still feel a little National Geographic walking around with my tit in his mouth. But I'm getting used to it. I bought two other slings (another Kangaroo and a Maya) to complement my wardrobe.

Last week Zephyr and I got out of the house almost every day, which is awesome for my sanity. Lunch with Morgan on Wednesday (Good Taste Noodle House, followed by frozen custard at Tart), and Natasha on Thursday (Cafe Castagna, affording me the opportunity to say hi to Jack) after the Mamalates class I started attending. Zephyr behaved commendably at all events, giving me a new lease on mothering and redefining this "staying-at-home" business.

The boy nurses a lot, and my breasts are pretty tired as a result. Today we experimented with Scott feeding him a bottle of my breastmilk, and he took to it with great aplomb. He really loves milk, no matter where it comes from. And no surprise, then, that Zeph continues to grow at an alarming clip - he is officially 14lbs as of Friday, landing him squarely in the 95th percentile for weight. I love having a sturdy, chubby, happy baby. Even though he's technically still newborn, he doesn't feel fragile, and this gives me confidence as a new mother. I feel like a creamy German milkmaid that my breasts are so nourishing to him. My milk production is so abundant that I've been able to donate some of it to Tanya (to supplement her own milk while she and hearty-eating Sigga settle into their new digs). On the down side, he tends to gulp a lot of air when he eats, and since he often falls fast asleep while I'm trying to burp him, this air gets trapped in his little tummy and gives him gas pains. A gassy tummy is the only reason he ever cries, actually. His pained squalling is truly heart-wrenching, but usually turning him across my lap on his tummy and briskly rubbing his lower back helps soothe, and then he'll let out a loud fart (he often lets out a moan when this happens, which is always hilarious).

Exacerbating the problem is that during his 6-week growth spurt last week, he was eating every hour or so (when he wasn't sleeping in the sling). The gassiness has been temporally magnified such that ol' Toots McBoosh ended up with three blowouts yesterday. Just explosively shat right out the back and sides of his diaper (not to mention the multiple chunky milkbarfs - all in all, I think he ended up with no fewer than five wardrobe changes yesterday).

Following this morning's neck-drenching puke, we gave him a bath. I was getting ready for a shower anyway, so I drew the bath directly into the tub and got in with him. It was nice to be able to hold him up against me and let his little body really stretch out. I held up his head and shoulders so his face was above the water and his body and legs could float out, and he closed his eyes and just sort of checked out for a moment. It was eerie and sweet, as though he was remembering the womb.

After his bath, Scott was drying him off and I could feel my milk let down so I just went ahead and fed him in the tub before hopping in the shower. He snuggled up on Scott when he was getting burped and fell asleep (his M.O.). Whenever he is already asleep, swaddling is a tricky venture. If I try to use one of those velcro swaddlers (like the Kiddopotamus), I end up having to pull him out of his inviting naptime blanket, which is too small and rectangular for using as a swaddle on its own. And the last thing I want to do is attempt to wrangle him into a giant swaddle blanket, trying to finagle some origami on him (and he usually just kicks right out of these). My new trick for this situation is to simply tuck the soft, warm blanket in which he's blissfully slumbering and then tie a thin swaddle blanket around his upper body like a belt. Fast and easy, and this way his arms are restrained so he doesn't Moro himself awake.

Inevitably, though, he wakes up anyway...

Faces of Zeph

2010-01-03T14:04:00.000-08:00

At five weeks old, last week Zephyr started making eye contact. Not just the odd cross-eyed drive-by, he actually looks at us and reacts, with adorable results. He smiles and laughs, too - a stuttered cackle that follows a rapid panting. His smiles aren't just for passing gas anymore, and he has an excellent sense of humor. These days he's thoroughly rapt with his friend The Light (any lamp, window or television) or his friends The Birds (the black-brown silhouettes of birds in flight that I painted across our sloped, attic bedroom ceiling). His friends The Owls (his mobile of heather-blue and brown raptors) also crack him up, but I'm leery of calling The Owls out separately from The Birds lest he think that owls are not birds. He also grins at the mounted insects that hang on the wall above the TV room couch. A budding Attenborough, he is.

That's not to say he's all smiles, all the time. Oh, no. His sleeping and eating schedules are slow to evolve, and though he occasionally makes it four hours between feedings (at night, this is a blessing), he usually sticks with his clockwork three hours and fuss for boobies. You can set your watch to it. And instead of sleeping on and off all day, now he will often only take one good, long nap and wake the minute we're about to sit down to dinner. Besides that, he just nurses every hour and falls asleep when I try to burp him. If I try to put him down in his crib at this point, he wakes after ten minutes or so. Repeat ad nauseum. Some days, though, I get lucky and he just needs to recharge his little battery, in which case I might be afforded enough quiet time to say, get a latte, finish making birth announcements, or go visit our friends Tanya and Sigga.

His birth announcements were fun to make. I had the negatives from Justine's photos converted to a CD of jpgs, and used a few of my own photos, and came up with a couple options that I really like. Here are a couple of my favorite of Justine's portraits of Zephyr:

Look at that tiny hand and chubby arm. Couldn't you just eat him up? He is such a handsome little baby! I know everyone thinks that about their baby, but I'm pretty sure mine really is particularly and uniquely attractive. I can't believe how much he's grown in the four weeks between these photos and the ones in the collage at the top of this post. He's been consistently putting on about 10% of his body weight every week, and now he's already up to about 14 pounds.

His belly button is also pretty well healed up. Enough so, anyways, that we gave him his first real bath in the sink (instead of just a sponge bath). Here's Zephyr, looking uncertain in fluorescent light (hence the poor white balance and unfortunate skin tone of the photos) and our tiny bathroom sink:

I love that last photo where he's holding onto my thumb for moral support. Once his little legs kick reflexively into the warm water, he gets this look on his face. That "oh, this is really something - this is a Thing" look. But when we immerse him in the soft suds, he looks like he's just not sure what to make of everything, and he wears this adorable little furrow on his brow. Then we pull him out to dry him off, and the rapid temperature change makes him pee all over the place. Yay!

He looks so much like Scott right now. It's wonderful (especially wonderful for reassuring Scott, whom I suspect is getting a bit frustrated with Zephyr's recent unwillingness or inability to be comforted by him). We have a picture of Scott being held by his dad at around this age, and I plan to recreate the image with Scott holding Oosch to make a diptych. Should be a fun project - I am completely in love with the subject matter.

Baby's First Christmas

2009-12-24T14:04:00.000-08:00

In our five years together, I think Scott and I have actually celebrated Christmas exactly once; after our first, we gave up on formalities and just started giving each other gifts in November. We'd drink to the holiday, and did not a lot else. I think we stayed awake long enough to toast the new year once or twice - one year we were so busy playing Everquest II that we didn't even notice the clock strike midnight, and only realized it was the new year when we heard the noise in the streets. We just weren't big holiday people.

Personally, the holidays stopped having much meaning to me after my grandma Laverne died about 8 years ago. She baked three different pies from scratch (pumpkin, mincemeat and "Christmas" - a fluffy coconut cream pie); made numerous candies including chocolate covered peanut butter balls, chocolate fudge and divinity; and baked a million different cookies (my favorite were her pfeffernüsse - nutty, crumbly little bites). This, in addition to her seven-course dinner. She was the most important person in our family and always did so much to make everything special. After she died, I found little reason to talk to anyone in my family.

My mom always hated the holidays because they reminded her that our family was poor and that made her feel like a failure. She complained about the hassle each year when it was time to put up our little plastic tree, and worried about how to pay for presents. It was depressing, and I'm sure played a role in my own feelings about the holidays, even though I don't have to worry about things like stretching food stamps to the end of the month or keeping the lights on.

Now that we have a baby I feel like the holidays should mean more to us, even though we aren't religious "reason for the season" types. Though we were always a unit together, Zephyr really makes us feel like a family, and I'm glad Scott and I can create our own family traditions now. It gives me a much more positive outlook on everything.

I'm making some French toast for breakfast tomorrow using pannetone (Italian sweet raisin bread that's almost like cake) with orange syrup, sausages and mimosas. It'll be our new little family Christmas tradition.

We still open some of our gifts early.

Growth Spurt

2009-12-17T17:55:00.000-08:00

Today is Zephyr's three-week birthday. He has earned himself a few nicknames, including Amuse Bouche and Jellybean (aka Butterbean). My favorite is McBoosh (the natural evolution of Ooschie). Scott overheard me one night when I was having trouble getting Zephyr latched on to the nipple, and in frustration I muttered "Dammit, McBoosh!" He laughed and said it made Zephyr sound like a character in a bad 1980s cop movie. Now we get a kick out of saying it, but adding lines like "You're out of your jurisdiction!" or "One more move like that and you're off the force!" We laugh and laugh at the thought of a tiny baby getting put on desk duty as punishment.

Any day now, I expect that my milk should start changing to a higher butterfat content, keeping him full longer. This is about the time when babies are theoretically supposed to be able to sleep for those four or five hour stretches, right?

Instead, we get a growth spurt.

Now, instead of those lovely three hour sleep chunks (still hard to adjust to but at least it's sleep), for the past two nights he's been waking every hour or two and wanting to feed. He falls asleep on the breast and never eats enough to stay full for longer than that. Or conversely, he'll want to cluster-feed, essentially staying at the breast for three hours, during which time he usually fills up completely and pukes all over me at least twice. My side of the bed smells like a yogurt factory about now.

Ohp, he's a-stirrin'.

The Wind Waker

2009-11-26T18:33:00.000-08:00

World, meet Zephyr. Here he is at two days old, in a room flooded with mizzled November daylight, during one of the fleeting early moments when his eyes opened to meet mine. This is the story of how we met.

On November 25, I arrived at my midwife's office for a routine checkup. It was my due date, and a pre-holiday visit seemed prudent. If I didn't go into labor soon, I would be induced on the following Monday. Women with gestational diabetes usually aren't allowed to go past their due date, but I was healthy, and besides, Thanksgiving was the next day.

Weight check: 187 pounds, even with shoes off. A nearly 40 pound weight gain over the course of the pregnancy, though I didn't really look like I gained it anywhere but in the front. "She's all baby!" people said about me while I was pregnant. And although I resent that women's bodies are suddenly up for public discussion when they become pregnant, I never minded when people said this about me, because I was so proud of my taut pregnant body. Well, except that in the past few weeks my legs had started retaining water and resembled sausages, and I couldn't wear my wedding ring anymore. And my face was starting to get a little puffy. I was kinda ready to have my body back.

Next routine check: blood pressure. 137 over 75. Ouch. Must be the coffee? Or that I was hurrying to my appointment? I felt fine. Midwife is concerned about hypertension, particularly with my diabetes, sends me to have a fetal non-stress test (NST), tells me to have another BP reading when I get there. Trena, the nurse who administers my NST, takes my BP again and it's actually higher. The baby sounds fine, she says, but she tells me to go ahead and plan on staying put anyway. I'm getting induced. I decide to start Tweeting my progress via iPhone.

(Twitter update: Gah, my bp is a tad high and midwife wants to induce. Like, *now*. Guess he's gonna be a T-giving baby after all! How a propos. :) 1:17 PM Nov 25th)

My options, what are my options? The baby was still posterior - I was hoping I'd have time to try to get him to move so I wouldn't have to endure back labor. I didn't want Pitocin. Under no circumstances was I to have Pit. Scott and I went to all these hyponobirthing classes and I was determined to have an intervention-free birth, but now that that was off the table I still wanted to start small. What about misoprostol? Ehhhh...still not what I really envisioned (soft moaning and rocking back and forth in a warm bath while I slowly meditate through labor), but it seemed like the least intrusive of the possible next steps, aside from just saying "peace out" and leaving the hospital, where I may or may not go into labor on my own, and may or may not risk harming the baby with preeclampsia. I was already dilated about a centimeter and 80% or so effaced, so the miso might work fine. Sure, we'll try it.

My cell rings. It's my company's HR department. Jeff in the Seattle office has been trying to get a hold of me, but I'm not responding to emails or voicemail, and he doesn't have my cell number. Jeff must've missed the part where I told him the prior Friday that it was my last day, or my out-of-office autoreply that clearly states I'm on FUCKING MATERNITY LEAVE and have more important things to worry about than updating my corporate resume. I laugh into the phone and explain to HR man that I'm about to be induced to go into labor, and to pass that on to Jeff.

Time to kill. Scott runs home to grab some things (we'd been in the habit of bringing a suitcase to the hospital with us just in case, but I needed other stuff like my glasses, snacks for me and cookies for the nurses, champagne). He tells his mom, who is staying at our house, what's happening and she kind of freaks out a little and wants to hang out at the hospital and just pace a groove into the floor. He assures her that this is a terrible idea and that we'll keep her posted.

While Scott is out running errands I order something to eat and start signing forms and checking boxes for which procedures I'll allow or decline. I have to explain why I don't want my baby's eyes being swabbed with anti-gonorrhea ointment (I don't have gonorrhea) and don't want him vaccinated against Hep B yet (again, I don't have it). Resist the urge to go off on the nurse about the absurdity of universally vaccinating newborns against sexually-transmitted diseases. They make me sign waivers to decline their routine procedures.

(Twitter update: Eating some hospital food (tastes like Lean Cuisine) and signing forms. Feel like a PITA for declining so much, but whatevs. My baby & body! 1:55pm Nov 25th)

The annoyance begins. My midwife instructs the nurses that I am to test my blood sugar every two hours instead of just after meals. I'm beginning to get pissed at the lack of control I have over this entire situation. After an hour, I am already officially sick of being hooked to the fetal monitor. They let me take a break to pee. This would be only the beginning of my long hate-affair with the monitor. Here's the imprint after three hours.

(Twitter update: Fetal monitor srsly cramping my style - stuck in bed hooked to it for 40 mins of every hour. This is bullshit. >:( 2:53pm Nov 25th)

I was so happy to get off the monitor for a half hour or so. By this point, the misoprostol had well kicked in and I was having plenty of contractions, but labor still hadn't kicked in. I spent my break in a hot shower to try to get enough nipple stimulation to kick things off, then walked in circles in the maternity ward for about 20 minutes. Still nothing. Scott and I start watching Wizard People Dear Reader on Youtube until I'm too distracted to pay attention.

(Twitter update: Contractions about a minute apart! Still can't really feel them, but back starting to ache a little. 7:29pm Nov 25th)

After two more hours go by, I'm only about 2.5 cm dilated. My midwife is long gone, leaves me with the OB. We discuss next steps. She mentions that she'd had some success inducing with a Foley bulb. This will mechanically dilate my cervix, after which I should go into labor on my own. They would insert a rubber hose into the opening in my cervix and then inflate it with saline to push my cervix open. I'd have a little Ambien to help me sleep, then they'd come wake me up at around 5:30am and my cervix should be at 5cm. This doesn't sound too bad, and I'm totally sick of being there, so I agree to it. It doesn't hurt going in, but it's awkward getting up to pee my usual 4 or 5 times with a fetal monitor strapped to my belly and a rubber hose dangling from my vadge (taped to my thigh).

(Twitter update: Gah, still no labor, though having plenty cntrxns. Trying foley bulb to get the next 2.5cm, Ambien, will try to sleep it off. 9:27pm Nov 25th)

Thanksgiving day. I am awakened by the nurse at 5:30am, and the bulb must've worked because it falls right out with a slight tug. They take my BP and blood sugar again. BP still high, glucose normal. The misoprostol wore off a long time ago, and my contractions have stalled. The OB comes in, and we discuss Plan D. I am informed I basically have three options left: breaking my bag of waters, Pitocin, or Cesarean section. I realize that fighting is futile, and decide to let go of anguish over not having the birth I planned, and concede.

(Twitter update: 5cm/90% effaced/-1 position after 6 hrs sleep, still no labor. Gonna get a whiff of pitocin to get things going. Not devastated. 6:03am Nov 26th)

After I get a shower and some breakfast, the OB returns to my room for another BP and glucose check. She decides to go ahead and try breaking my water first. This sounds like the best idea since I am adamant that I am at least afforded the opportunity for a vaginal delivery, and I know that Pitocin often leads to an unplanned C-section. She inserts a poking object into my cervix, and I feel a lot of warm liquid running out of my crotch into the Chux pads under me.

(Twitter update: Broke my water (waiting on Pit) and now it's gush and ouch time. 10:40am Nov 26th)

This feels different. Whoa, Nellie, this is definitely different. I chug a fruit smoothie and try to bring my A game. I am a little afraid I can only muster my B game. This is only the beginning. This is back labor. After writhing in bed for awhile, I suck in my guts and Scott helps me waddle down to hall to the jacuzzi. The thought of jets hitting any part of my body sounds dreadful, so I just lay in the water and try to breathe.

The contractions came in thunderous waves that crashed me against the rocks and left me awash in a steely sweat, eyelids crunched shut. I was unable to merely breathe through them, and began to mewl and curse.

After my fingertips began to wrinkle I had to crawl out of the tub and back to my room, where the world's most grievous bed awaited. After spending two days in it, I fucking hated that thing already, all rigid plastic and hard seams, but now it felt like I was in Eli Roth's version of the Princess and the Pea. I think only an hour or so had passed since the beginning of the intense contractions, but it could have been two or three. I had no idea what I had coming ahead of me. I begged for a little something so I could catch my breath, and was given fentanyl. I couldn't tell if it did any good, but I did feel like pushing.

When it's time to start pushing, your body just knows it. Zephyr's head was down low and he knew it was time, too. The only thing I was aware of in those two or three hours of pushing was when it was time, after a 30 second break, to summon my inner Viking and bring my strength. When the contraction surged up and crested, I used my core and bowel to push back with an equal magnitude. Rest for a second to catch my breath and slow it back down, then surge up and push down. The only consciousness I have is the strength I need to bring. My hips ache, my belly is raw fire. Breathe. Move him down further, further, one millimeter at a time until Zephyr is at my womb's nadir and he is spanning his two existences.

His head is stuck. His heart rate drops. The OB: "Do you want an episiotomy or shall I use the vacuum?"

Get him out as quickly as possible. Get him out. "Vacuum."

She affixes the vacuum to his head and I scream out the last fervent push as I am cleft in twain and feel my son spill from me. His cord is wrapped around his neck. Twice. It is cut and clamped before it can pulse the last hale nutriment to him. I demand to hold my baby and he is unceremoniously slapped down on my belly for a splitsecond then pulled away again before I can know his face. He's not breathing and he's wearing an ashen pallor. He is ushered to the other side of the room and three or twenty nurses work quickly to remedy this.

Maxine the OB distracts me by asking me to deliver my placenta. She says it's a good, hearty placenta and asks me if I want to keep it (I don't, particularly). Zephyr is announced to be 9 pounds 11 ounces, and 22.5 inches long. I had no idea he would be so big. Maxine mops me up and is amazed that I have no tears. "You were built for having babies," she says, and tosses her gloves and my placenta into the biohazard bag.

Zephyr is taken to the nursery for monitoring and Scott goes with him. I'm alone in the room for a moment, in shock at the sudden silence. A nurse reenters and tells me that everything is fine, and I believe her. She congratulates me again on a job well done. I feel like a fraud and admit that I had asked for a shot of pain relief. She laughs. "That wore off in 45 minutes. You only got a half dose."

(Twitter update: I did it! 9lbs 11oz. Vag birth, no epidural. So fucking tired & sore from 8 hrs of contractions & 2 hours of pushing. More later. 7:26pm Nov 26th)

An hour later, I am holding my new son and giving him his first taste of my breast. After two days of recovery and monitoring (his blood sugar, my blood pressure and demeanor), we are briefed on how to care for him and released to go home. We're still getting the hang of things, but it feels like Zephyr is a good, easy baby. His needs are all obvious (as long as we're paying attention), and he rarely cries. Being a new family is strange and wonderful, and I can scarcely remember life without him.