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Staring into one another’s eyes is a fine way to pass the time on a rainy day.
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Like a brand new love affair, it’s indulgent in its way.
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One of life’s great luxuries … depending on your view.
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As long as you can keep the crying at bay. At least for a while.
Tags: Cabin Fever, Joy, Love
Mummy Bjorning in the Rain
On the whole, I’d rate having Baby August at 9,000 out of 10 on my bliss-o-meter.
He has brought me happiness beyond the furthest stretches of my imagination (OK, to be fair, I was slightly dreading how hard it was all going to be, but still) and he has filled the coffers of my heart with love so huge it hurts. I never fathomed that something so small could make my life feel so big.
I absolutely adore being with August. And I think (hope?) that August quite enjoys being with me. Not just because I’m a free-flowing milk keg, but also because I am occasionally fun and I can keep a tune and I’m no longer the world’s worst swaddler and I have a bellowing reading voice.
BUT much as we enjoy holing up in the apartment and staring into one another’s eyes, August and I are, on occasion, prone to bouts of cabin fever.
Thank goodness for Baby School.
On Mondays at 10 a.m., come rain or shine (see photo above) we venture over to the JCC and sit in a room with three other mums with three other babies and we chit-chat about mummy things. Today, we went around the room and each talked about something positive and something negative that had happened the previous week. All this for an absolutely unreasonable $200+ facilitation fee. (I know, it’s New York and nothing is free, but still…)
It’s not exactly dinner and a movie, but it helps to get out and about when you’ve got a newborn. After all, there’s no better antidote for the dreaded cabin fever than having something — anything — on the agenda. Take it from me.
Tags: Cabin Fever, Classes, Love, Moms, Networking
Sleepy…
Wakey…
Back when August was no more than the faintest outline of the boy he’d become, Michael and I traveled to Tokyo and became somewhat entranced (shall we say) by the consumer culture of Japan. There were things we simply had to have. I mean, it’s Japan — everything there is cute or cuddly or quirky and usually all three at once.
You know how the Japanese love nicely packaged things. Well, nothing wraps up as well as a newborn, so it makes sense that baby clothes in Japan comprise some of the cutest items on the market. And if logic follows logic, you won’t be surprised to learn that our vacation rapidly turned into a shopping spree for the baby-to-be.
Among some of the items we purchased for August: A tiger sleep suit (Year of the Tiger), dinosaur socks, burpie bibs with little leaves, a kimono-esque wrap suit with houses on it and then … this precious item from Miki House.
At first glance, it may look like an ordinary newborn suit, but there are a couple of fine Japanese details:
(1) The top wraps and ties with little ribbons.
(2) The legs and body are cut really wide.
(3) The pattern of teeny tiny cars is just, I don’t know … I think the word is cute?!
So here is August, finally big enough to wear his first Japanese suit and modeling it very nicely, don’t you think?
Tags: Baby Clothes, Newborn
It’s amazing how time flies. No really flies. With a newborn, a minute can last forever (usually when crying is involved) but a day can be as short as a second. And I couldn’t tell you where the past four weeks have gone.
August no longer fits in his size “N” (Newborn) nappies. He can more or less hold up his head. He is sleeping for longer stretches. He is cooing now. He is sticking his tongue out. He is exploring his surroundings with his hands.
And as he grows and makes progress, his newborn moments slip away like sand through my fingers. But I need to hold on to these moments! I want to preserve every breath, every snuffle and sigh, every suckle, every yawn and stretch and stare.
People tell you to treasure every second and I really am, oh I am. I don’t take any of this for granted. I’m not wishing it away. I try to focus entirely on the present, only occasionally turning my attention to the future. And since I can’t freeze time, I’m opening my eyes and ears especially wide so that, at the very least, I can capture these ephemeral moments in my memory.
Tags: Newborn
Yesterday we took our little Pork Chop to the pediatrician. On the way there, bets were made in the taxi about how much he’d weigh at this visit — four weeks and one day after his birthday. Michael guessed he’d weigh 10 lbs, 2 oz. I felt that was extreme — I could still lift him, after all — and guessed a more conservative 9 lbs, 8 oz.
In the examination room, we stripped him down and covered him with a tiny burp cloth. Then, we laid him on the scale and the numbers rose and rose and ROSE … to a staggering 10 lbs, 12 oz. That’s about 80th percentile. Then we laid him out on the big, roll-out ruler and his length stretched and stretched and STRETCHED … to a staggering 23+ inches. To put that in perspective, that’s 93rd percentile.
So let me be clear: Our baby is B I G.
Is it possible that such a large child can have come from me? All five-foot-two-and-a-half of me? And Michael? All five-foot-nine of him?
Well, I guess miracles do happen. We’ll see how long August remains ahead of the pack in the height and weight department. You never know, there may be a basketball player in the family after all.
I’ve never seen two cats’ eyes get as large (ROUND and large) as when we first brought August home from the hospital. He was squealing and squawking as new babies will do and the cats were, frankly, appalled. The sound was unearthly. Truth be told, the parents also were somewhat alarmed that such a cacophony could issue forth from such a mouse-sized voice box.
Olive in particular was unhappy. After glowering at us with her wide eyes (the cat version of stink-eye), she slunk low and long, close to the floor. She slept behind a curtain of winter coats in the hall tree for three weeks.
Then, one day, it all changed. And here’s how it happened.
Olive has a certain party trick that every time Michael or I utter a “shush” sound, she responds with a meow. The louder the shush the louder the meow.
As you can imagine, given the expressive VOLUME August was capable of producing, shush was employed on a regular basis in the household. And Olive, despite her horror at the sound of August’s cries, found herself unable to resist meowing at the siren cry of my shushing.
Next thing I knew, Olive was in the nursery meowing her heart out in response to the shushing while I was shushing my heart out in response to the crying. It was a symphony of caterwauling of the highest order. It got so loud, I could barely hear myself think.
And so, that is how an old party trick enabled a friendship (used in the loosest sense) to develop between August and his sisters (whatever Olive does; Emma follows). Now, whenever August cries, the cats are the first to arrive at the nursery where they lay on the rug and twist and turn and stretch and yawn and meow and bite at my heels.
I call it getting along. Siblings will be siblings after all.
I can’t say that sleeping is August’s finest talent. “Going down” usually involves an avalanche of resistance — piercing wails, coughing, spluttering and kicks to mum’s stomach, chest and breast. (There’s gratitude for you.)
But with Dad, his behavior is altogether more polite. He whimpers and then is quiet. Michael theorizes that it takes him exactly six minutes to settle (and silence) himself into sleep.
Since Michael is out at squash, we are testing this theory.
At 6.34 p.m., he was put into his cot. By 6.42 p.m. there was silence. Success! Hurrah!
BUT at 6.49 p.m. there were wails again. Does it still count?
Meanwhile, the cats sing to his cries. Yes, it is absolutely ludicrous.
Testing, Testing, Shhh, Two, Three — ADDENDUM
Oh bless me, it worked. Six minutes on the dot. 6.49 p.m. –> 6.55 p.m. Miracle Baby!
The curtains in the nursery are drawn, a night light casts small stars on the walls and ceiling. The baby is blessedly asleep. He went down without too much squealing and squawking. All in his bedroom is peaceful and dark.
In the living room, however, here is mum, awake, but barely. They say that when baby sleeps, mum should sleep, and yet, it’s almost impossible to turn down this opportunity for a bit of me-time; a bit of time to check the bills, empty the dishwasher and maybe even post to this blog.
Time keeps ticking and each second draws closer to the moment that the wails will pierce through the drone of NPR and Baby Augie will have to be hoisted out of his bed and bounced and fed and me-time will fade away like a dream.
Can I bear to sacrifice me-time for an hour more of sleep? Survey says: YOU MUST! And yet, here I sit, unable to drag myself away from this grown-up world . . .
Tags: Exhaustion, Mother, Nursery, Sleeping