Good Hurr

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.

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

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?

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.

Tooth and Nail

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.

The doughnut shop is now open

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.

Tear the Roof Off the Mothersucker

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.

Awesome for Real

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