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“If you put your nose near him, he’ll lick it.”

Tags: Eating, Father

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

Today, I took a nap that lasted just four minutes.

Four minutes, people.

Then August resumed his wailing.

Thanks, Aug.

Tags: Mother, Napping

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.

Tags: Crying, Nursery, Pets

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!

Tags: Crying, Schedule, Sleeping

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

“I’d better take a shower before this day is over.”

Tags: Mother

Tomorrow marks the beginning of August’s fourth week in the big, bold world.

Isn’t it about time he and his mum started this blog?

This is a blog about a baby. And a mother. And a father. And occasionally, two cats named Olive and Emma.

The purpose of this blog is honesty. Parenting is a joy, yes, but parenting is hard too. And sometimes it makes you sad. And sometimes it makes you cry. Like earlier today when I was so tired I couldn’t even remember what time I was supposed to feed him.

Supposed to feed him? Yep, you read that correctly. This is an experiment (isn’t parenting really just trial and error?) in putting baby on a schedule. That’s Gina Ford all the way. If you don’t know who she is … read on, you’ll learn.