Some things just go together —

For example: Red beans and rice are a natural combination. So is peanut butter and jelly, cookies and milk (see previous), hot dogs and mustard, bangers and mash.

And some things just don’t go together —

Babies and construction work.

So, here’s the thing, if anyone was wondering why Baby Augie hasn’t been updated in a while (Lauren), it’s because we’ve suffered the most almighty construction project. Located where? Right above the nursery.

Here’s what happens: At 7.56 a.m., we hear the first clomp, clomp, clomp of workers’ boots entering the apartment. There is about half an hour of touring as the workers examine everything that happened the day before. Then they start pounding the walls with what — pick-axes? crowbars? heaven only knows what — and rocks, rubble and dust come flying down the walls entering our apartment under the floorboards. That continues until 12 p.m. when the workers take a break for lunch. Then, at 12. 30 the workers return and the drilling begins. A bit of drilling here and a bit of drilling there. Then there’s quiet for a while and then, just when you least expect it, the drilling will fire up or an entire bathtub will dropped or a cement-mixer or whatever it is they’ve got up there. And that continues until 5 p.m. when we hear the clomp, clomp, clomp of the workers’ boots leaving the apartment.

Meanwhile, downstairs in the Donner apartment, August wakes up and just when he’s about ready for a nice quiet feed on the couch, the pounding begins over the living room. So we hoist ourselves off the couch and move through to the bedroom (mercifully quiet), and there we hang out doing our best to ignore the pounding until nap time. Then August is wrapped up and dropped into his bassinet for his afternoon “nap.” The screaming begins after about 4 seconds, rising in pitch and intensity because it’s not his crib and it’s not familiar. And that continues interspersed with bouncing and shushing for about 30 minutes at which point August is placed lovingly in his stroller and pushed up and down the Upper West Side.

Then we return to the apartment and ensconce ourselves in the bedroom coming out only to change nappies amidst the construction dust clouds. Finally, ready for his late afternoon nap, August is once again placed lovingly in his stroller and carted about through Central Park where his eyes finally close. Then at 5 p.m. we’re back at the apartment where a desperately unrefreshed August is encouraged to wind down in his bedtime routine.

The nursery is a safe zone by then, so after a calm feed and a calm bath and another calm feed, he is wrapped up and placed in his crib and oh my-oh my-oh my-noooooo! Where is the bassinet? The crib is unfamiliar, the nursery is unfamiliar. And after bouncing and shushing and rubbing and calming, August finally — finally — drops into a fitful sleep waking up mummy oh, only 40 times-or-so during the night. And well, so the cycle continues.

So, in case anyone was wondering, that’s where we’ve been and no, construction works and babies do not go together.

Tags: Crying, Nursery, Sleeping

How much does a baby really need?

A pregnant friend asked me this on Facebook. Her friends keep telling her that she should be busy-busy-busy buying-buying-buying.

I beg to differ.

Here’s a short list of what a baby needs:

• A safe place to sleep
• A safe place to nurse
• A safe place to — occasionally — kick up its heels.

Babies also need: lots of love, lots of care, lots of attention, lots of cuddling, lots of bouncing, lots of burping, lots of calming,  lots of cleaning, lots of singing and lots and lots of milk.

Of course, there’s a list of what the mum (dad, caretaker) needs for the baby and that’s different. That list is long:

• Swaddle cloths x 20 (literally) since they come in handy for all sorts of unexpected purposes
• A sturdy crib which won’t break mum’s (dad’s, caretaker’s) back
• A good changing table with multiple covers that can be washed on stain cycle triple hot
• Extra cloths to cover the changing table cover. Mine have seen more action than an airplane lavatory and are worth their weight in gold. (Thank you Auntie Ashley. I’m sure I gave you crazy-eye when you lovingly bestowed those cloths on me, but you were right.)
• A closet/shelves in/on which to stow all the lovely figurines and piggy banks baby can’t touch until he’s 3.
• Baby shirts that cross over the chest rather than go over the head. It’s hard enough to dress a wiggly, wobbly baby without having to yank things across his face.
• Pacifiers, dummies, dibby-dops, choo-chos, call them what you will, but they are the crutch that has saved me countless times. Need.
• The blessed sterilizer by Avent. Admittedly a luxury, but anything, frankly to get out of boiling bottles and dibby-dops (see above).
• Some form of tub in which baby can be bathed
• A Baby Bjorn/Ergo carrier/sling in which to transport the baby to a restaurant for mum and dad’s “date night”
• A good stroller
• Nappies. Lots.

What have I forgotten? In the comments below, share your baby must-haves, like-to-haves and unnecessaries.

Tags: Baby Clothes, Nursery

Who’s to say what it is, exactly, that August does when he’s alone, asleep in his nursery?

You never quite know what you’re going to find when you wake him up. Or rather, when he wakes you up.

For example, there was the time he had turned himself a full 90 degrees in his crib so instead of laying longways (normal) he was laying latitude-ways (not normal). (Remember, this is a child who can’t walk, let alone roll over, find his mouth with his fingers or control his head — though on the latter three, he’s definitely making progress.)

Then there was the time, he woke his mum at an irregular 1.30 a.m. and she found him laying at one end of the crib in just a T-shirt and diaper with the swaddle all the way at the other end of the crib. Mysterious.

Then there was the time that just one booted foot was extricated from the swaddle, dangling through the slats of the crib in the cool air.

And then there was the time that he’d somehow managed to propel himself to the top end of his crib so that his head was pressed against the slats and his neck was turned at a totally unacceptable angle. If he were stiff and old like a grown up, that would have resulted in a severe crick in his neck. Did August mind? Not one bit!

Meanwhile, his mum is dealing with her own nighttime antics, waking up at 4.15 a.m. by habit and feeling fully — gasp — awake by 5 a.m. Don’t worry, it doesn’t last. By 7 a.m., the exhaustion fairies take over and there’s nothing she’d rather do than stretch out in the bed and close her eyes and breathe deeply and relaaaaaaaax…

Of course, that never happens.

Tags: Nursery, Sleeping

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

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