I am thankful for so many things this year. The health of my friends and family, my amazing husband, my relatively easy and low-risk pregnancy, my joyful, wonderful son.
My son. My son is thankful for Kanye West.
Gabe is at that stage of toddlerhood where he craves repetition: he wants the same book read over and over, the same food for dinner every night, the same song on the car ride home played on repeat. For the past couple of weeks, the song he wants is Kanye's "Gold Digger".
He sits in his carseat, usually clutching a cracker in one hand, and demands, in increasingly insistent tones, "Gol DIGGA! Gol DIGGA! GOL DIGGA!" And then when I play it for him (as I inevitably do) he cackles with laughter. He especially likes the part where Kanye cries, "We want prenup!" He usually claps at that part.
I have only myself to blame for this, as I was the one who played it for him once on my iPod and pointed out the drums at the beginning of the song. (Gabe likes drums.) I did not realize what I was starting. But as I listened to the song five times in a row on the way home this evening, I didn't feel even a little bit annoyed, at myself or at Gabe, or even at Kanye. I just felt grateful.
I mean, the child could have picked up his dad's propensity for Radiohead. That would have been way worse.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Houston, We Have a Problem
It turns out Gabe has a jealous streak. A serious jealous streak. When I arrived at school on Friday afternoon to pick him up, he was cheerfully playing with a drum and could barely be bothered to look up and say hi to me. So I sat down on the grass beside him and watched the drumming, amused at my musical son. After I had been sitting for about, oh, eighteen seconds, three other children from his class came and sat down on my lap. One sat right in the middle, and the other two perched on each of my knees. It was absolutely charming and I loved it. Of course, I have known these children since they were only a few months old, and it amuses me to no end that they are now walking, talking little people.
After a minute or two Gabe looked up from his drum-playing to see his friends sitting on my lap, and he was not amused. Not one little bit. He stood up, threw the drum to the ground, and ran the whole distance between us (approximately five feet) in just a few seconds, shouting, "No! Mine! Move!" and then trying to push his tiny friends off of my lap. "No! Mine! Move!" he cried, getting more and more frustrated.
I scooped him up in my arms rather awkwardly, not wanting to dislodge his friends (who showed absolutely no signs of moving and looked utterly unperturbed by his protests), and managed to hold him sort of against the side of my body as I explained that yes, I was indeed his mommy but there was room for everyone to sit and it's nice to share and we don't push our friends ever no we do not push.
I would write this off as an isolated incident, but it wasn't and it's not. He doesn't like me to hold other babies or toddlers or kids. Ever ever ever. In the past week he has been angry about my holding: (i) his cousin P; (ii) our friends' two-month-old son; (iii) our friends' one-year-old daughter; and (iv) Gabe's friend L who is three and who we regularly see for playdates. His protests are always some version of the aforementioned "No! Mine! Move!" (He will sometimes mix it up by locking eyes with me, pointing towards the offending child in my arms, and declaring "All done! All done!")
I think poor Gabe is in for a very rude awakening come February 1. And I have no idea what to do about it. And as much as I am thrilled and excited for baby number two, I feel so terribly guilty about how it is going to affect Gabe. I hope he can learn to love his sibling. People do this all the time, right? Someone please reassure me that I am not actually ruining his life by giving him a sibling.
OK, enough of that whining. Please feast your eyes on Gabey the Pooh! (Halloween was excellent. Gabe tasted his first bite of chocolate and ate an entire roll of Smarties candy. It may have been the greatest day of his life.)
After a minute or two Gabe looked up from his drum-playing to see his friends sitting on my lap, and he was not amused. Not one little bit. He stood up, threw the drum to the ground, and ran the whole distance between us (approximately five feet) in just a few seconds, shouting, "No! Mine! Move!" and then trying to push his tiny friends off of my lap. "No! Mine! Move!" he cried, getting more and more frustrated.
I scooped him up in my arms rather awkwardly, not wanting to dislodge his friends (who showed absolutely no signs of moving and looked utterly unperturbed by his protests), and managed to hold him sort of against the side of my body as I explained that yes, I was indeed his mommy but there was room for everyone to sit and it's nice to share and we don't push our friends ever no we do not push.
I would write this off as an isolated incident, but it wasn't and it's not. He doesn't like me to hold other babies or toddlers or kids. Ever ever ever. In the past week he has been angry about my holding: (i) his cousin P; (ii) our friends' two-month-old son; (iii) our friends' one-year-old daughter; and (iv) Gabe's friend L who is three and who we regularly see for playdates. His protests are always some version of the aforementioned "No! Mine! Move!" (He will sometimes mix it up by locking eyes with me, pointing towards the offending child in my arms, and declaring "All done! All done!")
I think poor Gabe is in for a very rude awakening come February 1. And I have no idea what to do about it. And as much as I am thrilled and excited for baby number two, I feel so terribly guilty about how it is going to affect Gabe. I hope he can learn to love his sibling. People do this all the time, right? Someone please reassure me that I am not actually ruining his life by giving him a sibling.
OK, enough of that whining. Please feast your eyes on Gabey the Pooh! (Halloween was excellent. Gabe tasted his first bite of chocolate and ate an entire roll of Smarties candy. It may have been the greatest day of his life.)
Saturday, October 17, 2009
V-Day!
Happy V-Day to me and Version 2.0, Happy V-Day to me and Version 2.0!
That's viability day, in case you were curious. As of Thursday I am officially 24 weeks pregnant, which means that if the baby were born now, she would have a fighting chance at survival. Those odds are only about 50-50, so ideally we'd like to keep her in there a whole lot longer, but I find it reassuring to know she would at least have a shot if something unexpected happened and I went into labor now. Plus I wouldn't have to try and talk the nurses and doctors into trying to save her - they would automatically take measures to keep her alive.
Wow, I sound like I'm preparing for the worst, don't I? Really I am not. She kicks and kicks and kicks all the time, and as far as I know everything is healthy and growing right on schedule. But all the same I take comfort in knowing that my little girl is past that critical 24-week mark. (Although I will happily wait another 15 or so weeks to meet her.)
On another subject, I am beginning to feel as though "Version 2.0" is not a great nickname. If her due date were any later I might call her my little valentine. Suggestions, anyone?
That's viability day, in case you were curious. As of Thursday I am officially 24 weeks pregnant, which means that if the baby were born now, she would have a fighting chance at survival. Those odds are only about 50-50, so ideally we'd like to keep her in there a whole lot longer, but I find it reassuring to know she would at least have a shot if something unexpected happened and I went into labor now. Plus I wouldn't have to try and talk the nurses and doctors into trying to save her - they would automatically take measures to keep her alive.
Wow, I sound like I'm preparing for the worst, don't I? Really I am not. She kicks and kicks and kicks all the time, and as far as I know everything is healthy and growing right on schedule. But all the same I take comfort in knowing that my little girl is past that critical 24-week mark. (Although I will happily wait another 15 or so weeks to meet her.)
On another subject, I am beginning to feel as though "Version 2.0" is not a great nickname. If her due date were any later I might call her my little valentine. Suggestions, anyone?
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Popularity
Gabe has become quite the ladies' man these days, at least as far as the preschool set is concerned. When I picked him up from school one day a couple of weeks ago, his teacher met me at the door. "I have a story for you," she said with a big smile on her face.
She told me about how she was playing outside with Gabe and some of the other children in his class when three of the preschool-aged girls from the Tigers class came by to say hello (as Gabe's teacher is their former teacher, and the big kids all seem to enjoy checking in on the little kids and their old classrooms). One of the preschool girls glanced at Gabe, then clasped her hands and declared, "Oh...he's mine." Then she gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Can I take him home?" she inquired politely.
"Oh, I don't know about that," replied the teacher. "I think we'll have to ask his mommy."
The little girl frowned. "I don't want to ask him mommy. I just want to take him home. He's mine now."
This went on for a while, with the teacher explaining she couldn't just take him, and the little girl insisting that she wanted to, and apparently the whole incident ended with all three of the little girls kissing Gabe goodbye and telling him they'd see him later.
And see him later they did. After coming by to check on him several more times in the following weeks, the ringleader brought her mommy by to meet Gabe last week. "Can we take him home?" she asked her mommy. "Please?"
I am told that when she was told no, Gabe had to go home with his own mommy and daddy who loved him very much, the little girl was quite put out. But she still frequently stops by to tell him hi and give him hugs and kisses.
Gabe, as you might imagine, eats this up. He will cheerfully sit in a circle of older women (well, four year olds, at least) and be petted and hugged and told how cute he is for twenty solid minutes, which is a long time when you're one and a half.
In fact, I have recently realized that he is happy to be admired (whether by family members, preschool girls, or complete strangers) no matter what the circumstances. This weekend we took him to a pumpkin patch to buy a pumpkin and test drive his Halloween costume, and he was very, very pleased by all the of the strangers who stopped to tell him how adorable he looked (and he really did look adorable in his dinosaur costume, make no mistake about that). He basically preened.
I have no witty conclusion to this story, other than to say he may be in for a rude awakening when the new baby arrives and he is forced to occasionally share the spotlight. Poor Gabe!
And on that note, I have to mention that the new baby had hiccups yesterday. It's the first time I've felt that odd, rhythmic movement during this pregnancy, and made me tear up a little bit. They were tears of joy and sudden remembrance. Until that moment I don't think I'd remembered just how miraculous those baby hiccups feel. And how could I have forgotten, when I was pregnant with Gabe so recently? What else have I forgotten, and what else might I forget? This most incredible time in my life is whizzing by much, much too quickly. So I sat in my desk chair with one hand on my tummy and thought to myself, "Remember this. Remember this. Remember this."
Oh, I hope I do. Maybe writing this will help freeze that feeling in my mind. I hope it does.
She told me about how she was playing outside with Gabe and some of the other children in his class when three of the preschool-aged girls from the Tigers class came by to say hello (as Gabe's teacher is their former teacher, and the big kids all seem to enjoy checking in on the little kids and their old classrooms). One of the preschool girls glanced at Gabe, then clasped her hands and declared, "Oh...he's mine." Then she gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Can I take him home?" she inquired politely.
"Oh, I don't know about that," replied the teacher. "I think we'll have to ask his mommy."
The little girl frowned. "I don't want to ask him mommy. I just want to take him home. He's mine now."
This went on for a while, with the teacher explaining she couldn't just take him, and the little girl insisting that she wanted to, and apparently the whole incident ended with all three of the little girls kissing Gabe goodbye and telling him they'd see him later.
And see him later they did. After coming by to check on him several more times in the following weeks, the ringleader brought her mommy by to meet Gabe last week. "Can we take him home?" she asked her mommy. "Please?"
I am told that when she was told no, Gabe had to go home with his own mommy and daddy who loved him very much, the little girl was quite put out. But she still frequently stops by to tell him hi and give him hugs and kisses.
Gabe, as you might imagine, eats this up. He will cheerfully sit in a circle of older women (well, four year olds, at least) and be petted and hugged and told how cute he is for twenty solid minutes, which is a long time when you're one and a half.
In fact, I have recently realized that he is happy to be admired (whether by family members, preschool girls, or complete strangers) no matter what the circumstances. This weekend we took him to a pumpkin patch to buy a pumpkin and test drive his Halloween costume, and he was very, very pleased by all the of the strangers who stopped to tell him how adorable he looked (and he really did look adorable in his dinosaur costume, make no mistake about that). He basically preened.
I have no witty conclusion to this story, other than to say he may be in for a rude awakening when the new baby arrives and he is forced to occasionally share the spotlight. Poor Gabe!
And on that note, I have to mention that the new baby had hiccups yesterday. It's the first time I've felt that odd, rhythmic movement during this pregnancy, and made me tear up a little bit. They were tears of joy and sudden remembrance. Until that moment I don't think I'd remembered just how miraculous those baby hiccups feel. And how could I have forgotten, when I was pregnant with Gabe so recently? What else have I forgotten, and what else might I forget? This most incredible time in my life is whizzing by much, much too quickly. So I sat in my desk chair with one hand on my tummy and thought to myself, "Remember this. Remember this. Remember this."
Oh, I hope I do. Maybe writing this will help freeze that feeling in my mind. I hope it does.
Monday, September 28, 2009
In which I am sick...
I have The Black Plague, I think. At least, I'm pretty sure that's what's wrong with me. Gabe continues to be remarkable and funny and probably a genius, and Version 2.0 kicks and kicks and kicks (and she is STILL a girl, according to the ultrasound I had last Friday, woo hoo!), so that is all good news even if I am suffering from The Black Plague.
Please distract yourselves with this recent concert video while I go moan and cough and generally feel sorry for myself. (I would post some of the ultrasound photos as an additional distraction and also to give equal love to both children, but the only shots we got last Friday are of the baby's terrifying skull face, and I will spare you those scary images.)
Please distract yourselves with this recent concert video while I go moan and cough and generally feel sorry for myself. (I would post some of the ultrasound photos as an additional distraction and also to give equal love to both children, but the only shots we got last Friday are of the baby's terrifying skull face, and I will spare you those scary images.)
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Halfway There!
20 weeks! 20 weeks! Oh my goodness, the time is flying by!
But before I get to that, I must tell you that Gabe is so awesome. This evening he was splashing around happily in his bathtub with a toy fish when he suddenly stood up and looked me straight in the eyes. (And that kid knows the rule that we only sit down on our bottom in the bathtub because it is dangerous to stand! Dangerous!) "You need to sit down, baby," I said.
"Hug!" he replied. "Hug!" And then he held out his arms and gave me a big, giant, wet bathtub hug. And then he cheerfully sat down and resumed playing with the toy fish. My heart practically cracked open with mushy toddler love.
About a half hour later it was bedtime, and as I laid him down in the corner of his crib where he likes it the best, he looked up at me and said, "Eye-of you," which of course means "I love you."
"I love you too, baby," I said, heart bursting all over again. "Good night."
"Night night," he replied, already half asleep.
Does it get any better than a toddler at sixteen months old? Don't even try to tell me that it does, because I don't believe you.
But back to our original subject...20 weeks! 20 weeks! I read that second pregnancies tend to go much more quickly, perhaps because most second-time mommies are too preoccupied with chasing around their already-born children to spend a whole lot of time stroking their pregnant bellies and contemplating the miracle of life within, etc.
But 20 weeks! Halfway! (And actually, I'm more than halfway if Dr. M wins our ongoing argument and convinces me to schedule the c-section for 39 weeks.) How did this happen? It seems like I just got that positive pregnancy test about five minutes ago, and yet somehow I am at the point where I feel the baby move every day. Plus they're starting to feel like real kicks rather than just tiny little taps and flutters. It's so great. (Although you know what's not great? Puking. Time to go away, morning sickness. No one wants you here, and you have seriously overstayed your welcome.)
I have my structural ultrasound with the perinatologist next Friday, and I am really looking forward to getting a peek at the little lamb chop. Although I still suspect she's really a boy. I'm actually glad we're getting a second opinion from this doctor, because as much as I love Susan, I still cannot bring myself to believe that we're having a girl. It's just too much, too exciting. Too much joy.
But before I get to that, I must tell you that Gabe is so awesome. This evening he was splashing around happily in his bathtub with a toy fish when he suddenly stood up and looked me straight in the eyes. (And that kid knows the rule that we only sit down on our bottom in the bathtub because it is dangerous to stand! Dangerous!) "You need to sit down, baby," I said.
"Hug!" he replied. "Hug!" And then he held out his arms and gave me a big, giant, wet bathtub hug. And then he cheerfully sat down and resumed playing with the toy fish. My heart practically cracked open with mushy toddler love.
About a half hour later it was bedtime, and as I laid him down in the corner of his crib where he likes it the best, he looked up at me and said, "Eye-of you," which of course means "I love you."
"I love you too, baby," I said, heart bursting all over again. "Good night."
"Night night," he replied, already half asleep.
Does it get any better than a toddler at sixteen months old? Don't even try to tell me that it does, because I don't believe you.
But back to our original subject...20 weeks! 20 weeks! I read that second pregnancies tend to go much more quickly, perhaps because most second-time mommies are too preoccupied with chasing around their already-born children to spend a whole lot of time stroking their pregnant bellies and contemplating the miracle of life within, etc.
But 20 weeks! Halfway! (And actually, I'm more than halfway if Dr. M wins our ongoing argument and convinces me to schedule the c-section for 39 weeks.) How did this happen? It seems like I just got that positive pregnancy test about five minutes ago, and yet somehow I am at the point where I feel the baby move every day. Plus they're starting to feel like real kicks rather than just tiny little taps and flutters. It's so great. (Although you know what's not great? Puking. Time to go away, morning sickness. No one wants you here, and you have seriously overstayed your welcome.)
I have my structural ultrasound with the perinatologist next Friday, and I am really looking forward to getting a peek at the little lamb chop. Although I still suspect she's really a boy. I'm actually glad we're getting a second opinion from this doctor, because as much as I love Susan, I still cannot bring myself to believe that we're having a girl. It's just too much, too exciting. Too much joy.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
An Ode to Three (Four) Day Weekends
Oh, what a great weekend we had. It was the kind of delicious, leisurely weekend that makes it almost physically painful to return to routine on Tuesday morning.
Last week I had to go away on a business trip, which, frankly, was horrible. I mean, the trip itself was fine, but three whole days without this?? Torture! Deprivation!
So to celebrate my return home, I worked from home on Friday and after getting some contracts done I just played and played and played with my fantastic son. We went to the park, we read dozens of books, we played tickle torture until we laughed so hard we could barely breathe. And then the real fun began!
On Saturday we took him to the first home football game of the season! He loved tailgating with GrandBob, Uncle Ross and Auntie Katie, loved eating junk food, LOVED the marching band. Every time the band played - even for just ten seconds in between plays - he would turn his face up to me and cry, "More! More!" He made it through the entire first half without complaint, and we would have stayed even longer had it not been so hot. I think Gabe was actually a little sad to leave the stadium, he enjoyed the experience so much. The whole day made me happy.
And on Sunday things got even better still. My parents belong to a charitable organization that puts on a very elaborate equestrian competition each year, with all of the money benefiting Childrens Hospital. If Gabe loved the marching band on Saturday, then he had fits of ecstasy over the horses at the competition on Sunday. "Neigh! Neigh!" he shouted over and over again, his finger pointing, his head whipping right and left as quickly as possible to make sure he got a glimpse of every single horse. He even got to pet two beautiful horses (including one who was the great-grandson of Secretariat!) and he and GrandBob got to ride on a tractor. When you are sixteen months old, I am not sure life gets any better than this. He finally fell asleep in my arms in a heap of absolute exhaustion around 2:30 p.m., and we managed to get him into the car and all the way back home before he woke up from his nap. And when he did wake up, he was MAD. "Neigh! Gammy! Bob!" he demanded, angry to be at home and away from the horse show. "Neigh! Gammy! Bob!"
On Monday, we celebrated Labor Day with a barbecue at Matt's parents' house, and Gabe got to go swimming in the pool with Cousin Parker. He was also allowed to eat vast quantities of Earth's Best Vanilla Cookies (affectionately known in our house as "ELMO COOKIES YAY!") and Pirate's Booty, and I am sad to report that's pretty much all he ate all weekend. Apparently when we deviate from his routine with too many fun activities, he refuses to eat any food containing any semblance of nutritional value. This stresses me out to no end but so far does not seem to have an adverse affect on the child. Although I am debating taking him back to the baby store near us where they have a weigh station so that I can weigh him and make sure he hasn't actually dropped any pounds in the past couple of weeks. Wow, I have gotten paranoid in my old age.
So in sum, GREAT WEEKEND. I think this is best captured by Gabe's reaction when it was time to take him to daycare this morning (and he is loving the Toddler room, by the way). As we reached his classroom I opened the door and began waiving to all of his friends, saying good morning. I looked back and he was still standing in the doorway. He caught my eye, raised his eyebrows, and shook his head no. He was not interested in going to school. It took a blueberry muffin and two turns on the slide to warm him up to the idea.
So for all of you who had a rough day back at work, rest assured that even toddlers get the end-of-long-weekend blues.
Last week I had to go away on a business trip, which, frankly, was horrible. I mean, the trip itself was fine, but three whole days without this?? Torture! Deprivation!
So to celebrate my return home, I worked from home on Friday and after getting some contracts done I just played and played and played with my fantastic son. We went to the park, we read dozens of books, we played tickle torture until we laughed so hard we could barely breathe. And then the real fun began!On Saturday we took him to the first home football game of the season! He loved tailgating with GrandBob, Uncle Ross and Auntie Katie, loved eating junk food, LOVED the marching band. Every time the band played - even for just ten seconds in between plays - he would turn his face up to me and cry, "More! More!" He made it through the entire first half without complaint, and we would have stayed even longer had it not been so hot. I think Gabe was actually a little sad to leave the stadium, he enjoyed the experience so much. The whole day made me happy.
And on Sunday things got even better still. My parents belong to a charitable organization that puts on a very elaborate equestrian competition each year, with all of the money benefiting Childrens Hospital. If Gabe loved the marching band on Saturday, then he had fits of ecstasy over the horses at the competition on Sunday. "Neigh! Neigh!" he shouted over and over again, his finger pointing, his head whipping right and left as quickly as possible to make sure he got a glimpse of every single horse. He even got to pet two beautiful horses (including one who was the great-grandson of Secretariat!) and he and GrandBob got to ride on a tractor. When you are sixteen months old, I am not sure life gets any better than this. He finally fell asleep in my arms in a heap of absolute exhaustion around 2:30 p.m., and we managed to get him into the car and all the way back home before he woke up from his nap. And when he did wake up, he was MAD. "Neigh! Gammy! Bob!" he demanded, angry to be at home and away from the horse show. "Neigh! Gammy! Bob!"
On Monday, we celebrated Labor Day with a barbecue at Matt's parents' house, and Gabe got to go swimming in the pool with Cousin Parker. He was also allowed to eat vast quantities of Earth's Best Vanilla Cookies (affectionately known in our house as "ELMO COOKIES YAY!") and Pirate's Booty, and I am sad to report that's pretty much all he ate all weekend. Apparently when we deviate from his routine with too many fun activities, he refuses to eat any food containing any semblance of nutritional value. This stresses me out to no end but so far does not seem to have an adverse affect on the child. Although I am debating taking him back to the baby store near us where they have a weigh station so that I can weigh him and make sure he hasn't actually dropped any pounds in the past couple of weeks. Wow, I have gotten paranoid in my old age.
So in sum, GREAT WEEKEND. I think this is best captured by Gabe's reaction when it was time to take him to daycare this morning (and he is loving the Toddler room, by the way). As we reached his classroom I opened the door and began waiving to all of his friends, saying good morning. I looked back and he was still standing in the doorway. He caught my eye, raised his eyebrows, and shook his head no. He was not interested in going to school. It took a blueberry muffin and two turns on the slide to warm him up to the idea.
So for all of you who had a rough day back at work, rest assured that even toddlers get the end-of-long-weekend blues.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
XX
The new baby is a girl.
A girl!
A GIRL!
I could not have been more surprised if the ultrasound technician had told me I was having a unicorn.
As Matt and I headed into my appointment on Friday morning I was overcome with a sudden feeling of doubt and worry. "I don't want to go," I said to him.
"We don't have to," he replied.
I shrugged my shoulders, and in we went.
Our favorite technician, whose name is Susan, smiled to welcome us and tell us she was going to do the ultrasound, which immediately made me feel better. "How far along are you?" she asked as we walked into the exam room.
"A little over sixteen weeks," I replied.
"Big day! Are you ready to find out what you're having?"
A boy, I thought to myself. As if there's any doubt. For months now I have dreamed of myself as a mother to three boys. But I simply said, "Yes, we're ready," and hopped up onto the table.
She laughed and joked with us a bit during the beginning, as she rolled the transducer over my belly. She showed us the brains, the kidneys, the stomach with fluid in it (which she said was a good thing), and the four chambers of the heart. She turned on the volume and let us listen to the heartbeat, which I love so so much.
Then she laughed and said, "The baby's sleeping, and the legs are crossed. But don't worry, I don't give up easy." And she didn't. She spent the next several minutes poking the baby (and me) with the transducer and coaxing the baby to roll over and examining the little butt and legs from every angle she could manage. After a few minutes of silence she said, "I know what it is, but I want to look around a little more to be sure."
During this entire time I craned my neck and examined the swooshing images on the screen to look for the (I thought inevitable) penis. I kept thinking I could see glimpses of it, but Susan never managed a perfectly clear shot. Finally at one point I was sure I saw it. With a jolt of combined elation and the most minute bit of disappointment (I know, I know, I am a terrible person and should be thanking the Heavens for my good fortune at being pregnant with a second child, not selfishly wishing for a girl), I exhaled and said, "Oh, there it is! I know! It's a boy, right? I see the penis!"
Susan, flicked her eyes away from the screen for a brief second and said to me, "No, you don't." Matt started to laugh. "It's a girl," she declared. "You're having a girl."
That is when I started to cry, tears of happiness and utter disbelief streaming down my cheeks.
A girl. A little girl!!! I laughed and cried, Matt hugged and kissed me, Susan congratulated us both and continued to smile and joke while she took measurements of our gorgeous little baby girl. Who looks perfectly healthy, which is of course the most important thing of all. She is growing right on schedule and appears to have long legs and eventually she woke up long enough to move around a bit and show us her breathtakingly beautiful profile. (Well, beautiful for an ultrasound image, that is.) She weighs approximately six ounces and is the size of an avocado.
At the end of the exam I asked Susan, "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," she replied. "I know my girls," and then she typed "FETUS IS FEMALE" on the report for my doctor. "There," she said, "it's official."
I am shocked and thrilled and almost overcome with joy and gratitude. Gabe will be a big brother to his little sister. I cannot think of any way to say this that doesn't sound trite: we are so lucky and blessed.
A girl!
A GIRL!
I could not have been more surprised if the ultrasound technician had told me I was having a unicorn.
As Matt and I headed into my appointment on Friday morning I was overcome with a sudden feeling of doubt and worry. "I don't want to go," I said to him.
"We don't have to," he replied.
I shrugged my shoulders, and in we went.
Our favorite technician, whose name is Susan, smiled to welcome us and tell us she was going to do the ultrasound, which immediately made me feel better. "How far along are you?" she asked as we walked into the exam room.
"A little over sixteen weeks," I replied.
"Big day! Are you ready to find out what you're having?"
A boy, I thought to myself. As if there's any doubt. For months now I have dreamed of myself as a mother to three boys. But I simply said, "Yes, we're ready," and hopped up onto the table.
She laughed and joked with us a bit during the beginning, as she rolled the transducer over my belly. She showed us the brains, the kidneys, the stomach with fluid in it (which she said was a good thing), and the four chambers of the heart. She turned on the volume and let us listen to the heartbeat, which I love so so much.
Then she laughed and said, "The baby's sleeping, and the legs are crossed. But don't worry, I don't give up easy." And she didn't. She spent the next several minutes poking the baby (and me) with the transducer and coaxing the baby to roll over and examining the little butt and legs from every angle she could manage. After a few minutes of silence she said, "I know what it is, but I want to look around a little more to be sure."
During this entire time I craned my neck and examined the swooshing images on the screen to look for the (I thought inevitable) penis. I kept thinking I could see glimpses of it, but Susan never managed a perfectly clear shot. Finally at one point I was sure I saw it. With a jolt of combined elation and the most minute bit of disappointment (I know, I know, I am a terrible person and should be thanking the Heavens for my good fortune at being pregnant with a second child, not selfishly wishing for a girl), I exhaled and said, "Oh, there it is! I know! It's a boy, right? I see the penis!"
Susan, flicked her eyes away from the screen for a brief second and said to me, "No, you don't." Matt started to laugh. "It's a girl," she declared. "You're having a girl."
That is when I started to cry, tears of happiness and utter disbelief streaming down my cheeks.
A girl. A little girl!!! I laughed and cried, Matt hugged and kissed me, Susan congratulated us both and continued to smile and joke while she took measurements of our gorgeous little baby girl. Who looks perfectly healthy, which is of course the most important thing of all. She is growing right on schedule and appears to have long legs and eventually she woke up long enough to move around a bit and show us her breathtakingly beautiful profile. (Well, beautiful for an ultrasound image, that is.) She weighs approximately six ounces and is the size of an avocado.
At the end of the exam I asked Susan, "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," she replied. "I know my girls," and then she typed "FETUS IS FEMALE" on the report for my doctor. "There," she said, "it's official."
I am shocked and thrilled and almost overcome with joy and gratitude. Gabe will be a big brother to his little sister. I cannot think of any way to say this that doesn't sound trite: we are so lucky and blessed.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Sometimes it's hard to love the cat.
This evening as Gabe and I were going through our cozy bedtime ritual, I walked him over to his crib to take out the decorative stuffed animals (as placed there by the decorators who staged our home which STILL HAS NOT SOLD ahhhhh am losing my mind from the noise of the vacuum and the fumes from the kitchen cleaners which I use EVERY DAMN DAY), I noticed something highly unpleasant.
Our cat, who has been acting up a bit ever since Gabe started walking in earnest, had peed in the crib.
CAT PEE IN THE CRIB.
The bad, bad, bad cat also managed to pee all over Gabe's lovey lion blanket (a very soft, sweet, small blanket with a lion's head sewn on one corner). I was horrified. I am still horrified, several hours later.
So rather than rock Gabe in the glider chair and lay him down gently to sleep as had been my plan thirty seconds earlier, I was forced to strip the crib and and put on a clean mattress pad and sheets. Thank goodness for the waterproof mattress pads that I bought in bulk when Gabe was a newborn. That purchase represents a rare moment of lucidity in the midst of several highly sleep-deprived weeks.
Also, thank goodness we have a backup lovey blanket.
OR SO I THOUGHT.
Gabe has slept with his lovey lion blanket since he was a very little guy. It's organic and made from breathable fabric and it's quite small, so even though I was absolutely terrified of SIDS (and undoubtedly will be again for Version 2.0), the lovey lion blanket never worried me much. Shortly after Gabe began sleeping with the lovey lion, we received a nearly identical blanket as a gift. It's exactly the same, except it has (you guessed it smart readers!) a bear's head on the corner.
I've offered Gabe the bear blanket on a few occasions in the past, usually when the lion was in the wash, and he accepted it without protest.
Not tonight.
Tonight I got him all snuggled down in his crib and handed him the lovey bear. He took it happily, then frowned and sat up to get a better look at it. He examined the blanket, looked at me with raised eyebrows, looked back at the blanket, then smelled the blanket. He turned to me with a very serious expression on his face, extended his arm to show me the blanket, and said, "Uh oh!"
Clearly, not fooled. Not for a minute.
After some serious negotiations he accepted his Elmo doll and DaDoh the gingham stuffed lion as substitutes, and seriously, I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't taken them. I had a few moments of something close to panic as I tried to imagine how I would get him to sleep without the cat-pee-soaked lovey lion. We have an allegedly high efficiency washing machine and dryer, and those damn things take an hour each to run a full cycle, so tossing the lovey lion in for a quick wash was not a good option.
Lucky for me, I have the greatest baby in the whole entire world, and he cheerfully settled down with Elmo tucked under one arm and DaDoh tucked under the other, and was out cold in mere minutes.
Lovey lion is in the wash now, and should be good as new in a couple of hours.
But what am I going to do about the cat?
Our cat, who has been acting up a bit ever since Gabe started walking in earnest, had peed in the crib.
CAT PEE IN THE CRIB.
The bad, bad, bad cat also managed to pee all over Gabe's lovey lion blanket (a very soft, sweet, small blanket with a lion's head sewn on one corner). I was horrified. I am still horrified, several hours later.
So rather than rock Gabe in the glider chair and lay him down gently to sleep as had been my plan thirty seconds earlier, I was forced to strip the crib and and put on a clean mattress pad and sheets. Thank goodness for the waterproof mattress pads that I bought in bulk when Gabe was a newborn. That purchase represents a rare moment of lucidity in the midst of several highly sleep-deprived weeks.
Also, thank goodness we have a backup lovey blanket.
OR SO I THOUGHT.
Gabe has slept with his lovey lion blanket since he was a very little guy. It's organic and made from breathable fabric and it's quite small, so even though I was absolutely terrified of SIDS (and undoubtedly will be again for Version 2.0), the lovey lion blanket never worried me much. Shortly after Gabe began sleeping with the lovey lion, we received a nearly identical blanket as a gift. It's exactly the same, except it has (you guessed it smart readers!) a bear's head on the corner.
I've offered Gabe the bear blanket on a few occasions in the past, usually when the lion was in the wash, and he accepted it without protest.
Not tonight.
Tonight I got him all snuggled down in his crib and handed him the lovey bear. He took it happily, then frowned and sat up to get a better look at it. He examined the blanket, looked at me with raised eyebrows, looked back at the blanket, then smelled the blanket. He turned to me with a very serious expression on his face, extended his arm to show me the blanket, and said, "Uh oh!"
Clearly, not fooled. Not for a minute.
After some serious negotiations he accepted his Elmo doll and DaDoh the gingham stuffed lion as substitutes, and seriously, I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't taken them. I had a few moments of something close to panic as I tried to imagine how I would get him to sleep without the cat-pee-soaked lovey lion. We have an allegedly high efficiency washing machine and dryer, and those damn things take an hour each to run a full cycle, so tossing the lovey lion in for a quick wash was not a good option.
Lucky for me, I have the greatest baby in the whole entire world, and he cheerfully settled down with Elmo tucked under one arm and DaDoh tucked under the other, and was out cold in mere minutes.
Lovey lion is in the wash now, and should be good as new in a couple of hours.
But what am I going to do about the cat?
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Self-Aware
Yesterday afternoon I was speaking with a co-worker in the hallway outside my office. At one point during our conversation I leaned against the wall and oh-so-casually put my hands in the back pockets of my pants. Then I grimaced a little bit. It turns out that at some point yesterday morning Gabe handed me his graham cracker, which I absentmindedly put in one of the back pockets. I then proceeded to, you know, sit down in my car and in my desk chair for most of the day, reducing the graham cracker remnants to graham cracker dust. Let me just tell you, it is hard to carry on a serious hallway conversation about patent indemnity with graham cracker crumbs under your fingernails. But I must say, finding that cracker in my pocket made me feel like a real mom. Only real moms take partially-chewed food and put it in their pockets like it's no big deal.
Just as I am now aware of my status as a real mom, Gabe is now aware that he is "Gabe." Or as he pronounces it, "GEEB!" I find this to be a truly thrilling development. Matt and I spent a gleeful ten minutes this morning having him say his name over and over.
I have a beautiful silver charm bracelet from Planet Jill that I received as a Christmas gift from my parents last year. On it are two circular charms that contain tiny photographs of Gabe: one taken when he was a newborn, still in the hospital, and one taken when he was six months old. (This reminds me that I really should get another charm with a current photograph.) Anyhow, tonight while he was eating dinner, Gabe noticed the charm bracelet for the first time ever, and suddenly sat straight up in his booster chair to declare, "GEEB! GEEB! GEEB!" while pointing at the six-month photo of himself. He even got his grubbly little hands on the charm, which again, made me feel like a real mom. Only real moms have macaroni and cheese residue on their jewelry.
Now, unrealted to any of the above, please enjoy some pictures of GEEB! eating many, many strawberries at the farmers' market last weekend. He tried to eat them husks and all, in case you were curious. (More proof that I am a real mom. Real moms very coolly and calmly pry strawberry husks out of their toddlers' mouths in public.)
Mmmmm, delicious strawberry husks.
They are so delicious that I will do a little dance!
I know what you're thinking, and yes, I agree that I do look quite handsome in this hat.
Just as I am now aware of my status as a real mom, Gabe is now aware that he is "Gabe." Or as he pronounces it, "GEEB!" I find this to be a truly thrilling development. Matt and I spent a gleeful ten minutes this morning having him say his name over and over.
I have a beautiful silver charm bracelet from Planet Jill that I received as a Christmas gift from my parents last year. On it are two circular charms that contain tiny photographs of Gabe: one taken when he was a newborn, still in the hospital, and one taken when he was six months old. (This reminds me that I really should get another charm with a current photograph.) Anyhow, tonight while he was eating dinner, Gabe noticed the charm bracelet for the first time ever, and suddenly sat straight up in his booster chair to declare, "GEEB! GEEB! GEEB!" while pointing at the six-month photo of himself. He even got his grubbly little hands on the charm, which again, made me feel like a real mom. Only real moms have macaroni and cheese residue on their jewelry.
Now, unrealted to any of the above, please enjoy some pictures of GEEB! eating many, many strawberries at the farmers' market last weekend. He tried to eat them husks and all, in case you were curious. (More proof that I am a real mom. Real moms very coolly and calmly pry strawberry husks out of their toddlers' mouths in public.)
Mmmmm, delicious strawberry husks.
They are so delicious that I will do a little dance!
I know what you're thinking, and yes, I agree that I do look quite handsome in this hat.Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Night Night
We have the nicest little bedtime routine, Gabe and I. When it's getting late enough, Gabe gets a clean diaper and a clean pair of PJs, and we lower the blinds in his bedroom to make the room feel nice and cozy. Then we settle into the big soft glider chair in his room with a bottle (the only bottle he gets nowadays, which he drinks with unbridled enthusiasm) and a stack of picture books. Then we read and read and read until he begins to rub his eyes. Next is the best part: we turn the lights down very low and cuddle in the glider and rock and rock and rock until he is nice and sleepy. Then it's kisses and hugs and time to go to sleep in the crib.
Tonight while we were rocking, when I suspected Gabe was beginning to drift off to sleep, he nuzzled his head a little deeper into the crook of my arm and said, "Mommy." Then he looked up at me, straight into my eyes, and said, "Happy." Then he nuzzled back down and let out the most contented sigh I have ever heard.
This ranks in the top ten moments of my life, for sure.
I love our routine so much, and I really, truly hope I can figure out some way to continue it after baby #2 is born early next year.
That's right, I'm pregnant again. Like, really pregnant. Fourteen weeks. That's officially second trimester and everything.
I've been trying to muster up the enthusiasm to write a "Hooray I'm Knocked Up Again Hooray Hooray!" post for literally weeks now, because Matt and I are over-the-moon excited, but quite obviously this post has not happened. I blame: (1) my full-time job, which seems to be more full-time than ever, if such a thing is possible; (2) my toddler, who only walks now (no crawling!) and is trying to figure out how to run; (3) the killer fatigue of early pregnancy, which I somehow managed to block out from last time around (although I really should have remembered the multiple times I flat-out fell asleep at my desk at work during my pregnancy with Gabe, including once with a little drool on the desk); and, most critically (4) the evil, evil "morning" sickness.
I experienced very little morning sickness during my pregnancy with Gabe, and really, I should have thanked my lucky stars for that fact. I did not appreciate it enough at the time. Not nearly enough. Because this time I am sick. SICK. Since the six-week mark, I have been somewhere on the sliding scale of nausea - dry heaves - puking every single day. Usually towards the puking end of the scale, and not just once a day puking either. One of my pregnancy books refers to morning sickness as "progesterone poisoning," and really, that is such a better and more accurate description.
It's bad enough that I whined to my OB about it, hoping he would have some good advice or maybe some nice anti-nausea drugs or something. His respone? "Well, you got off easy last time. This should make you appreciate what an easy pregnancy you had last time around!" He said this with remarkable cheerfulness and a big smile. I kind of wanted to hit him.
So as I mentioned, I am now about fourteen weeks along. I am hoping (praying!) that the progesterone poisoning tapers off pretty soon so that I can attempt to enjoy this pregnancy. Because honestly, we are so damn lucky. Tonight as I sat in the glider chair in Gabe's quiet bedroom, I had a growing baby in my belly and a happy baby in my arms. That, my friends, is just about as good as life ever gets.
Tonight while we were rocking, when I suspected Gabe was beginning to drift off to sleep, he nuzzled his head a little deeper into the crook of my arm and said, "Mommy." Then he looked up at me, straight into my eyes, and said, "Happy." Then he nuzzled back down and let out the most contented sigh I have ever heard.
This ranks in the top ten moments of my life, for sure.
I love our routine so much, and I really, truly hope I can figure out some way to continue it after baby #2 is born early next year.
That's right, I'm pregnant again. Like, really pregnant. Fourteen weeks. That's officially second trimester and everything.
I've been trying to muster up the enthusiasm to write a "Hooray I'm Knocked Up Again Hooray Hooray!" post for literally weeks now, because Matt and I are over-the-moon excited, but quite obviously this post has not happened. I blame: (1) my full-time job, which seems to be more full-time than ever, if such a thing is possible; (2) my toddler, who only walks now (no crawling!) and is trying to figure out how to run; (3) the killer fatigue of early pregnancy, which I somehow managed to block out from last time around (although I really should have remembered the multiple times I flat-out fell asleep at my desk at work during my pregnancy with Gabe, including once with a little drool on the desk); and, most critically (4) the evil, evil "morning" sickness.
I experienced very little morning sickness during my pregnancy with Gabe, and really, I should have thanked my lucky stars for that fact. I did not appreciate it enough at the time. Not nearly enough. Because this time I am sick. SICK. Since the six-week mark, I have been somewhere on the sliding scale of nausea - dry heaves - puking every single day. Usually towards the puking end of the scale, and not just once a day puking either. One of my pregnancy books refers to morning sickness as "progesterone poisoning," and really, that is such a better and more accurate description.
It's bad enough that I whined to my OB about it, hoping he would have some good advice or maybe some nice anti-nausea drugs or something. His respone? "Well, you got off easy last time. This should make you appreciate what an easy pregnancy you had last time around!" He said this with remarkable cheerfulness and a big smile. I kind of wanted to hit him.
So as I mentioned, I am now about fourteen weeks along. I am hoping (praying!) that the progesterone poisoning tapers off pretty soon so that I can attempt to enjoy this pregnancy. Because honestly, we are so damn lucky. Tonight as I sat in the glider chair in Gabe's quiet bedroom, I had a growing baby in my belly and a happy baby in my arms. That, my friends, is just about as good as life ever gets.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Four Quick Things
1. Gabe is totally patriotic. Check out his getup from the Fourth of July (extreme closeup edition):
2. Does marinara sauce count as a vegetable? If so, then Gabe ate a vegetable tonight! Celebration! Party time!
3. Gabe moves from the Infant Room to the Toddler Room in three weeks. Sob! (I have no picture to illustrate this one. Just picture me with sad, sad tears as Gabe toddles off into the sunset to go play with the more exiting Toddler Room toys, or something.)
4. Gabe very much enjoys playing the ukulele these days.
2. Does marinara sauce count as a vegetable? If so, then Gabe ate a vegetable tonight! Celebration! Party time!
3. Gabe moves from the Infant Room to the Toddler Room in three weeks. Sob! (I have no picture to illustrate this one. Just picture me with sad, sad tears as Gabe toddles off into the sunset to go play with the more exiting Toddler Room toys, or something.)
4. Gabe very much enjoys playing the ukulele these days.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Running Down a Dream
I am so far behind that I can't even attempt to catch up. Suffice it to say that since my last post, we've had many social outings (including Baby Loves Disco with my fab friend J and her husband S and their delightful son B) plus we celebrated an excellent Father's Day. Gabe bought his dad a customized Sigg water bottle reading "Peace, Love & Gabe" and matching shirts for himself and his daddy. They both look very handsome in the shirts, in case you were wondering.
But now onto the big news: Gabe took his first real steps yesterday!!! (At least I think they were his first real steps. Sometimes I think daycare lies to me and says they've never seen him do things like waive "hi" and say "doggie" and take steps because they don't want me to think I'm missing out on milestones. And this is fine with me, by the way. Ignorance is bliss and all.)
Anyhow the steps were highly amusing. Here's how it worked: I sat on the floor and helped Gabe get into a nice solid standing position about arms' length away from me. He pushed my hands away to prove how good he was at standing all by himself. The he grinned madly, hesitated, and lurched forward for two whole steps before crashing into my arms and screaming excitedly. We repeated this sequence several times.
AWESOME.
I know everyone says you shouldn't encourage your kid to walk because it unleashes a new level of chaos into everyday life, and I totally believe this is true, but I still think it's super exciting that he's trying to figure out how to walk. I can't help myself - I have to encourage him. He just looks so proud and he gets so excited! (And he's getting sort of heavy, so it's nice to think that one day I won't have to carry him absolutely everywhere and give myself arm cramps. Because I am LAZY.)
I have to go find myself some dinner now because I am SO HUNGRY and because feeding myself is clearly more important than documenting my baby's life and milestones and precious moments in detail. (LAZY and SELFISH, people.) But I promise to not wait weeks and weeks before posting again. Maybe I'll even throw in some pictures next time. Mwah.
But now onto the big news: Gabe took his first real steps yesterday!!! (At least I think they were his first real steps. Sometimes I think daycare lies to me and says they've never seen him do things like waive "hi" and say "doggie" and take steps because they don't want me to think I'm missing out on milestones. And this is fine with me, by the way. Ignorance is bliss and all.)
Anyhow the steps were highly amusing. Here's how it worked: I sat on the floor and helped Gabe get into a nice solid standing position about arms' length away from me. He pushed my hands away to prove how good he was at standing all by himself. The he grinned madly, hesitated, and lurched forward for two whole steps before crashing into my arms and screaming excitedly. We repeated this sequence several times.
AWESOME.
I know everyone says you shouldn't encourage your kid to walk because it unleashes a new level of chaos into everyday life, and I totally believe this is true, but I still think it's super exciting that he's trying to figure out how to walk. I can't help myself - I have to encourage him. He just looks so proud and he gets so excited! (And he's getting sort of heavy, so it's nice to think that one day I won't have to carry him absolutely everywhere and give myself arm cramps. Because I am LAZY.)
I have to go find myself some dinner now because I am SO HUNGRY and because feeding myself is clearly more important than documenting my baby's life and milestones and precious moments in detail. (LAZY and SELFISH, people.) But I promise to not wait weeks and weeks before posting again. Maybe I'll even throw in some pictures next time. Mwah.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Aloha!
This morning at breakfast Gabe signed, "More crackers, please." Clearly, he is some kind of genius baby.
But I digress! So, once again I have been a slacker about posting. But I have a good excuse! We have just returned from a week on Maui! Oooooh, I love me some Maui. I could probably live there. If I could live in a hotel and get spa treatments and go to the beach and snorkel with sea turtles and tropical fish and not actually work at a job, I mean. Then it would be seriously great to live there.
We had an absolute blast. Gabe loooooved the hotel where we stayed. It had a giant lake that wrapped around the entire hotel, with multiple waterfalls and little rivers branching off. It was full of koi and swans ("ducks," according to Gabe), with parrots nesting around the perimeter, and he could pretty much have hung out in the hotel lobby looking at the lake for the entire week we were there. Every single morning when we stepped off of the elevator and into the lobby, he bounced up and down and pointed excitedly while proclaiming, "Wa wa! Duck! Wa wa! Duck!"
The hotel also had five gorgeous pools, one of which contained a little baby waterslide. After some initial uncertainty, Gabe decided that going down the slide on mommy's or daddy's lap was maybe the most fun thing he'd ever done in his life. We went down the slide and into the pool over and over again until Gabe was so cold that his little teeth (ok, mostly gums) chattered.
He also loved digging in the sand in shady places on the beach. He even ate a little sand, just as an experiment. Not so yummy, but very funny, as it turns out.
He ate other things too! Yogurt and fruit every morning for breakfast, sandwiches for lunch, crackers and snacks all day long, and quesadillas or chicken fingers or bites off of my plate for dinner. He ate vegetables, people. Vegetables. I know, I can't believe it either.
The only thing he did not do in Hawaii was sleep. He never really adjusted to the time change, so he decided that waking up at 4:45 a.m. each morning was perfectly acceptable. But he woke up in such a good mood that we couldn't even be upset about the wicked lack of sleep. Instead, we would bring him into bed and he'd snuggle between us and then laugh and say hi and poke us. It was so great.
And then, just to cap things off, our good friends J and G were on Maui at the same time, and we managed to coordinate schedules and meet them for dinner on our last night there. They hadn't seen Gabe in a while, and were properly appreciative of his charm and good looks. And Gabe loved them...he happily sat in J's arms for much of the evening, babbling and eating goldfish crackers. So the end of our vacation was filled with easy conversation and laughter and good old friends.
The real magic of the trip was that I was able to just step back from our usually rushed routine and simply enjoy being with my husband and baby. No rushing off to daycare, no checking the blackberry every ten minutes, no worrying about nap schedules, even. There was just no point. We slept when we were tired, we ate when we were hungry, and we giggled and played a lot. Because we are so lucky. So very lucky and blessed.
But I digress! So, once again I have been a slacker about posting. But I have a good excuse! We have just returned from a week on Maui! Oooooh, I love me some Maui. I could probably live there. If I could live in a hotel and get spa treatments and go to the beach and snorkel with sea turtles and tropical fish and not actually work at a job, I mean. Then it would be seriously great to live there.
We had an absolute blast. Gabe loooooved the hotel where we stayed. It had a giant lake that wrapped around the entire hotel, with multiple waterfalls and little rivers branching off. It was full of koi and swans ("ducks," according to Gabe), with parrots nesting around the perimeter, and he could pretty much have hung out in the hotel lobby looking at the lake for the entire week we were there. Every single morning when we stepped off of the elevator and into the lobby, he bounced up and down and pointed excitedly while proclaiming, "Wa wa! Duck! Wa wa! Duck!"
The hotel also had five gorgeous pools, one of which contained a little baby waterslide. After some initial uncertainty, Gabe decided that going down the slide on mommy's or daddy's lap was maybe the most fun thing he'd ever done in his life. We went down the slide and into the pool over and over again until Gabe was so cold that his little teeth (ok, mostly gums) chattered.
He also loved digging in the sand in shady places on the beach. He even ate a little sand, just as an experiment. Not so yummy, but very funny, as it turns out.
He ate other things too! Yogurt and fruit every morning for breakfast, sandwiches for lunch, crackers and snacks all day long, and quesadillas or chicken fingers or bites off of my plate for dinner. He ate vegetables, people. Vegetables. I know, I can't believe it either.
The only thing he did not do in Hawaii was sleep. He never really adjusted to the time change, so he decided that waking up at 4:45 a.m. each morning was perfectly acceptable. But he woke up in such a good mood that we couldn't even be upset about the wicked lack of sleep. Instead, we would bring him into bed and he'd snuggle between us and then laugh and say hi and poke us. It was so great.
And then, just to cap things off, our good friends J and G were on Maui at the same time, and we managed to coordinate schedules and meet them for dinner on our last night there. They hadn't seen Gabe in a while, and were properly appreciative of his charm and good looks. And Gabe loved them...he happily sat in J's arms for much of the evening, babbling and eating goldfish crackers. So the end of our vacation was filled with easy conversation and laughter and good old friends.
The real magic of the trip was that I was able to just step back from our usually rushed routine and simply enjoy being with my husband and baby. No rushing off to daycare, no checking the blackberry every ten minutes, no worrying about nap schedules, even. There was just no point. We slept when we were tired, we ate when we were hungry, and we giggled and played a lot. Because we are so lucky. So very lucky and blessed.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Out With the Wash
Gabe has two new favorite activities: standing on the open dishwasher door, and standing on the door of our front-loading washing machine and watching the clothes go around and around.
He is particularly fond of the washing machine. He will watch, his compact body tense with anticipation as the machine fills with water, and then burst into applause when it begins to spin the clothes. Best of all, once the spinning is really going strong, he will dance to the washing machine's rhythm like it is some sort of ultra-cool percussive instrument.
When the machine moves on to the rinse cycle, he will look up at me with sad eyes and demand more. So our clothes go through a lot of spin cycles these days, is what I'm telling you.
I cannot find my favorite picture of him watching the washing, because I am seriously that level of disorganized these days, but here is a quick example of how the dishwasher is super fun:
Why do we even buy toys for toddlers? I mean, we had major home appliances in place long before Gabe was born! And it's not just the appliances that amuse him. He also likes emptying out my dresser drawers, reorganizing Matt's shoes, and crumpling up empty granola bar wrappers. No trip to the Juvenile Shop or the Target toy department necessary!
I never, ever realized a washing machine could be so fascinating. And never has my baby seemed more delicious and full of wonder than this afternoon when we sat and watched the clothes go around and around and applauded for the spin cycle.
He is particularly fond of the washing machine. He will watch, his compact body tense with anticipation as the machine fills with water, and then burst into applause when it begins to spin the clothes. Best of all, once the spinning is really going strong, he will dance to the washing machine's rhythm like it is some sort of ultra-cool percussive instrument.
When the machine moves on to the rinse cycle, he will look up at me with sad eyes and demand more. So our clothes go through a lot of spin cycles these days, is what I'm telling you.
I cannot find my favorite picture of him watching the washing, because I am seriously that level of disorganized these days, but here is a quick example of how the dishwasher is super fun:
Why do we even buy toys for toddlers? I mean, we had major home appliances in place long before Gabe was born! And it's not just the appliances that amuse him. He also likes emptying out my dresser drawers, reorganizing Matt's shoes, and crumpling up empty granola bar wrappers. No trip to the Juvenile Shop or the Target toy department necessary!I never, ever realized a washing machine could be so fascinating. And never has my baby seemed more delicious and full of wonder than this afternoon when we sat and watched the clothes go around and around and applauded for the spin cycle.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
From Lime to Full-Grown Cocker Spaniel
We have a framed picture of Gabe's twelve-week ultrasound that sits on our bookcase. Here, I'll show you:
The bottom of the two pictures is a shot of his miniature spine. If you look closely you can see it clearly; it looks like a tiny string of pearls. As amazing as that spine is, though, the top picture is the one that gets me every time. His little body is so perfectly formed at just twelve weeks old. I glanced at that framed picture this morning as we were playing in the living room and for a moment it took my breath away. I cannot believe my Gabe has gone from that bobbleheaded creature, so very tiny and growing in my body, to this big, strong almost-toddler wrecking havoc in my living room.
OK, admittedly he looks a little ridiculous here because his hair was spiked up for Crazy Hair Day at school last Wednesday. But all ridiculousness aside, it is simply amazing to me how fast a child can grow from little twelve-week-old fetus about the size of lime, to a seven-and-a-half pound newborn mewling in his mama's arms, to a twenty-pound one-year-old bruiser terrorizing the cats and demanding more graham crackers.
We had a great day today. We played at home, and we even had company - we watched Cousin Parker for an hour or so, which was excellent fun! Then we had lunch with friends and went to the park. We watched the ducks in the duck pond, played on the swings, rode on the seesaw, and played in the sand. It was perfect. I am so blessed.
The bottom of the two pictures is a shot of his miniature spine. If you look closely you can see it clearly; it looks like a tiny string of pearls. As amazing as that spine is, though, the top picture is the one that gets me every time. His little body is so perfectly formed at just twelve weeks old. I glanced at that framed picture this morning as we were playing in the living room and for a moment it took my breath away. I cannot believe my Gabe has gone from that bobbleheaded creature, so very tiny and growing in my body, to this big, strong almost-toddler wrecking havoc in my living room.
OK, admittedly he looks a little ridiculous here because his hair was spiked up for Crazy Hair Day at school last Wednesday. But all ridiculousness aside, it is simply amazing to me how fast a child can grow from little twelve-week-old fetus about the size of lime, to a seven-and-a-half pound newborn mewling in his mama's arms, to a twenty-pound one-year-old bruiser terrorizing the cats and demanding more graham crackers.
We had a great day today. We played at home, and we even had company - we watched Cousin Parker for an hour or so, which was excellent fun! Then we had lunch with friends and went to the park. We watched the ducks in the duck pond, played on the swings, rode on the seesaw, and played in the sand. It was perfect. I am so blessed.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Where are the teeth?
The first birthday was excellent. Gabe was a great sport - he tasted frosting, feigned interest in his gifts (although he really preferred the wrapping paper and empty boxes, of course), and smiled obligingly for photos. He even wore a ridiculous hat and played along as we blew out the candle on his cake. What a great baby. (Toddler. Sob!)
But I have to move on to a more pressing matter. (Literally.) WHERE ARE HIS TEETH?
Normally babies get their bottom two teeth first, followed by their top two teeth. Gabe's bottom two arrived a few months ago, pretty much right on schedule. The top two? Not so much. They refuse to appear. Oh, and he has decided that he's too cool to just get two measly top teeth at once. Instead, he has FOUR top teeth that have been trying to poke through for over a MONTH now. The gums are white, they are swollen, and yet the teeth refuse to break through. What is up with that? Seriously, biology, WTF? How is this a good system?
The teeth are painful-looking enough that even his pediatrician commented on them at his twelve-month (sob!) checkup yesterday. I believe her exact words were, "Yow. Those are no fun."
No fun indeed. They were definitely no fun at 1:47 a.m. last night, when Gabe decided the only logical thing to do was scream inconsolably for an hour and a half. Matt (trying for Husband Of The Year) got up with him first and rocked him for a half hour. Then I rocked him for a half hour. The Matt rocked him for ten minutes. Then I rocked him for another twenty minutes, and he finally went back to sleep. Goodness gracious. I forgot how rough that up-for-two-hours-in-the-middle-of-the-night thing is. Hard on the baby, hard on the mommy and daddy. I don't even have anything witty to say. I'm just kind of sleepy this evening as a result.
So anyhow, teeth, if you're listening, COME OUT ALREADY. Enough is enough. The kid is tired of gumming down bites of food, and he's definitely tired of being in pain. Plus mommy and daddy are lazy and want to sleep for seven consecutive hours tonight. Let's make it happen. (Then again, that toothless grin makes him look like he's still a baby. My precious little baby! Will never be a toddler! Never be a big kid! Never be a strapping teenager! Right?? Sob!)
But I have to move on to a more pressing matter. (Literally.) WHERE ARE HIS TEETH? Normally babies get their bottom two teeth first, followed by their top two teeth. Gabe's bottom two arrived a few months ago, pretty much right on schedule. The top two? Not so much. They refuse to appear. Oh, and he has decided that he's too cool to just get two measly top teeth at once. Instead, he has FOUR top teeth that have been trying to poke through for over a MONTH now. The gums are white, they are swollen, and yet the teeth refuse to break through. What is up with that? Seriously, biology, WTF? How is this a good system?
The teeth are painful-looking enough that even his pediatrician commented on them at his twelve-month (sob!) checkup yesterday. I believe her exact words were, "Yow. Those are no fun."
No fun indeed. They were definitely no fun at 1:47 a.m. last night, when Gabe decided the only logical thing to do was scream inconsolably for an hour and a half. Matt (trying for Husband Of The Year) got up with him first and rocked him for a half hour. Then I rocked him for a half hour. The Matt rocked him for ten minutes. Then I rocked him for another twenty minutes, and he finally went back to sleep. Goodness gracious. I forgot how rough that up-for-two-hours-in-the-middle-of-the-night thing is. Hard on the baby, hard on the mommy and daddy. I don't even have anything witty to say. I'm just kind of sleepy this evening as a result.
So anyhow, teeth, if you're listening, COME OUT ALREADY. Enough is enough. The kid is tired of gumming down bites of food, and he's definitely tired of being in pain. Plus mommy and daddy are lazy and want to sleep for seven consecutive hours tonight. Let's make it happen. (Then again, that toothless grin makes him look like he's still a baby. My precious little baby! Will never be a toddler! Never be a big kid! Never be a strapping teenager! Right?? Sob!)
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
It's All About Me
I cannot resist pointing out that exactly 365 days ago, I was just beginning the 23-Hour Pitocin Carousel of Fun! That's right, on May 6, 2008 at 8:00 p.m. my labor and delivery nurse (the first of THREE I would have, I was there so freaking long) administered the first dose of Ineffective Contraction Juice. This dose would be increased in strength every fifteen minutes until I maxed out at about 4:00 p.m. the following afternoon; by then I was receiving DOUBLE the largest dose my doctor routinely uses. My second labor and delivery nurse (who will go down in history as one of the most awesome people I have ever met, just FYI) gave me a little hug and told me she couldn't up the dose any more, but that the doctor had agreed to let me labor for a few more hours on the current dose to see if I could make any additional progress.
At about 7:00 p.m. the doctor himself arrived and explained to me, in his kindest, gentlest, do-not-make-the-pregnant-woman-who-has-been-in-labor-for-more-than-two-full-days-cry voice, that despite the massive amount of pitocin coursing through my system my contractions were weakening, I was still only three centimeters dilated, the baby had had a few scary decels, and it was time to throw in the towel and get him out via Plan B (or Plan C, as it were. Ha ha). I agreed. Labor had been super fun and everything, but I was ready to meet my baby.
My baby. My sweet baby. He was born on May 7, 2008 at 9:07 p.m.
He turns one tomorrow.
At about 7:00 p.m. the doctor himself arrived and explained to me, in his kindest, gentlest, do-not-make-the-pregnant-woman-who-has-been-in-labor-for-more-than-two-full-days-cry voice, that despite the massive amount of pitocin coursing through my system my contractions were weakening, I was still only three centimeters dilated, the baby had had a few scary decels, and it was time to throw in the towel and get him out via Plan B (or Plan C, as it were. Ha ha). I agreed. Labor had been super fun and everything, but I was ready to meet my baby.
My baby. My sweet baby. He was born on May 7, 2008 at 9:07 p.m.
He turns one tomorrow.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
At This Time Last Year...
...I was officially in labor. It had been confirmed by my OB via an examination and thirty minutes on the monitor in his office. I was oh so excited to meet my baby, an event which I believed was merely hours away!
Ha.
I was so unaware. So dumb, really. Little did I know the big event was still two and half days (and one false alarm at L&D, about a gallon of pitocin, one epidural [administered three hours after my initial request, FYI], and one c-section) away!
Good times!
Totally worth it, though. No question. No question at all.
I love you, Gabearoo.
Ha.
I was so unaware. So dumb, really. Little did I know the big event was still two and half days (and one false alarm at L&D, about a gallon of pitocin, one epidural [administered three hours after my initial request, FYI], and one c-section) away!
Good times!
Totally worth it, though. No question. No question at all.
I love you, Gabearoo.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Vanity
OK, OK, I have been totally lazy again and not posting. I could give you a lame explanation about how we've all been sick, plus I've been planning Gabe's first birthday party (!), plus I've been continuing to vacuum the house every morning in case any potential buyers want to stop by....but really it's just because I've been lazy. So as penance, I offer you a video of Gabe drumming on the little stainless steel trash can while admiring himself in the big stainless steel trash can. Because he is very vain. Luckily he is also very handsome so the vanity is warranted. More later, folks, I promise.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
This Can't Continue
The baby is surviving on carbs and applesauce, people. (And now that I think about it, apples are pretty much the carbiest fruit. So really he surviving solely on carbs. Great.)
He rejects all vegetables, except for Trader Joe's Veggie Sticks WHICH ARE NOT ACTUALLY VEGETABLES. They are POTATOES with carrot and spinach FLAVORING. Trader Joe's, you sell me nothing but LIES. Lies and potatoes.
I tried to trick him tonight by dipping one end of a Veggie Stick into a tiny bit of hummus. It worked, in the sense that he put the hummus end into his mouth. But then the hummus touched his tongue...and he decided I was trying to poison him and he made crazy, crazy faces and spit the hummus all down his shirt. So that was pretty much a fail.
So he rejects vegetables, he rejects hummus, and he also rejects animal protein like chicken and turkey, OR SO I THOUGHT. It turns out there's s one other thing that he WILL eat, but I am almost too ashamed to mention it here. Then again, since no one really reads this, I can confess. He ate cat food tonight.
CAT FOOD.
FOOD CREATED FOR CATS.
I'm serious. After he had rejected the nice healthy dinner I prepared for him (except for the applesauce and Veggie Sticks, which he ate with relish once he decided there was no further hummus around to torture him), I put him down on the ground to crawl around while I rinsed off the highchair tray. He said "hi" to the cats in an excited voice, and crawled towards them. "How nice," I thought to myself. "He's going to pet the cats. He's getting so good around Magnum and Phoebe, so sweet and gentle to them." Then I turned to watch, just to make sure none of the cats tried to swipe him (which they almost never do these days).
They didn't. But he swiped food from them.
Yep, Gabe had one hand in Phoebe's bowl and one hand crammed into his mouth, shoving cat food down his gaping maw as fast as he could. Oh. My. Goodness.
I ran over to him, tried to force the chicken pellets from his mouth (FAIL), and forced open his fist to remove the uneaten pellets from his hand (SUCCESS). He got pretty mad at me for taking his delicious chicken pellets away. Crying was involved.
So basically the $7 organic free-range chicken breast from Whole Foods = REJECTED.
The disgusting chicken and rice cat food pellets from Centinela Feed & Pet Supply = YUM.
I need a glass of wine. I also need to lay off the ALL CAPS, probably.
He rejects all vegetables, except for Trader Joe's Veggie Sticks WHICH ARE NOT ACTUALLY VEGETABLES. They are POTATOES with carrot and spinach FLAVORING. Trader Joe's, you sell me nothing but LIES. Lies and potatoes.
I tried to trick him tonight by dipping one end of a Veggie Stick into a tiny bit of hummus. It worked, in the sense that he put the hummus end into his mouth. But then the hummus touched his tongue...and he decided I was trying to poison him and he made crazy, crazy faces and spit the hummus all down his shirt. So that was pretty much a fail.
So he rejects vegetables, he rejects hummus, and he also rejects animal protein like chicken and turkey, OR SO I THOUGHT. It turns out there's s one other thing that he WILL eat, but I am almost too ashamed to mention it here. Then again, since no one really reads this, I can confess. He ate cat food tonight.
CAT FOOD.
FOOD CREATED FOR CATS.
I'm serious. After he had rejected the nice healthy dinner I prepared for him (except for the applesauce and Veggie Sticks, which he ate with relish once he decided there was no further hummus around to torture him), I put him down on the ground to crawl around while I rinsed off the highchair tray. He said "hi" to the cats in an excited voice, and crawled towards them. "How nice," I thought to myself. "He's going to pet the cats. He's getting so good around Magnum and Phoebe, so sweet and gentle to them." Then I turned to watch, just to make sure none of the cats tried to swipe him (which they almost never do these days).
They didn't. But he swiped food from them.
Yep, Gabe had one hand in Phoebe's bowl and one hand crammed into his mouth, shoving cat food down his gaping maw as fast as he could. Oh. My. Goodness.
I ran over to him, tried to force the chicken pellets from his mouth (FAIL), and forced open his fist to remove the uneaten pellets from his hand (SUCCESS). He got pretty mad at me for taking his delicious chicken pellets away. Crying was involved.
So basically the $7 organic free-range chicken breast from Whole Foods = REJECTED.
The disgusting chicken and rice cat food pellets from Centinela Feed & Pet Supply = YUM.
I need a glass of wine. I also need to lay off the ALL CAPS, probably.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Traveling Man
Gabe very much enjoyed our trip to Arizona this weekend. We were in Scottsdale for four days to visit my grandparents and my uncle Steve, and the whole trip was a smashing success, if I do say so myself. There was much laughing and many hugs and an excessive amount of food was consumed by all (including about twelve pounds of spicy salted almonds).
Here are a few of the highlights:
Gabe Attempting to Pull the Hair of the Woman Sitting in Front of Us On the Airplane
Gabe Enjoying Complimentary Waffles at the Hotel nom nom nom
Gabe Experiencing Culture at the Phoenix Botanical Gardens, Figure 1
Gabe Experiencing Culture at the Phoenix Botanical Gardens, Figure 2
Gabe Partying at the Hotel, Rock Star-Style
Gabe Exhausted After a Fun-Filled Weekend
Gabe, Loved
Here are a few of the highlights:
Gabe Attempting to Pull the Hair of the Woman Sitting in Front of Us On the Airplane
Gabe Enjoying Complimentary Waffles at the Hotel nom nom nom
Gabe Experiencing Culture at the Phoenix Botanical Gardens, Figure 1
Gabe Experiencing Culture at the Phoenix Botanical Gardens, Figure 2 
Gabe Partying at the Hotel, Rock Star-Style
Gabe Exhausted After a Fun-Filled Weekend
Gabe, Loved. . . . .
On a terribly serious note, please say a prayer for the family of the beautiful and charming Madeline Alice Spohr, who passed away last week at the age of seventeen months. Her mom and dad are awesome and fellow Trojans, and my heart breaks for them. If you have any money to donate to charity this year, please consider donating to the March of Dimes in Maddie's honor.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Things I Have Noticed Recently
1. The cats have recently gone from "slightly chubby" to "borderline obese." I think this may have something to do with the fact that a Certain Baby Who Shall Not Be Named has discovered the unending fun of throwing food off of the highchair and onto the floor, where the cats wait in near-breathless anticipation to swallow the castoffs. Although a Certain Baby continues to be quite picky about what food he will (grudgingly) consume, the cats have no standards whatsoever. Half-chewed grilled cheese sandwich pieces, graham cracker bits, mashed-up peas...they eat it all. With relish. Phoebe has become particularly fond of waffles.
2. Our condo is fully staged and beautiful, although no one has bought it yet. Please buy it. It has been three whole days since it went on the market, so you should buy it. Seriously, it's awesome here, and we found a house we want to buy in Studio City. (Our commute would go from 45-plus minutes to approximately 9 minutes, for those of you who are counting.) But don't do it for me. Do it for the children. Well, the one child, anyhow. The one child who is tired of riding in the carseat all the freaking time. (At the very least, check out the awesome job my mom and the stagers have done: www.1021nineteenthst.com.)
3. Gabe is Featured Artist at the Children's Center right now, which is SPECTACULAR. He actually seems to enjoy painting these days, and will cheerfully paint anything and everything, including paper, the table, his tummy, his nose, and other children. This is a big improvement from his previous reaction to art projects, namely whimpering and crying when his pudgy fingers touch the cold, horrible, slimy paint. Here's his display:
(Sorry for the poor picture quality; this was taken with my iPhone as Gabe pulled to a stand by digging his dragon-like fingernails into the flesh right above my kneecaps. Ow.)
4. If you ask Gabe how big he is, he will now stretch his arms straight above his head to indicate that he is "SOOOOOO BIGGGG!" This may be my favorite trick to date.
Soooooo Biggggg!
5. Keeping the house perfectly clean for potential buyers is very exhausting and challenging when an eleven-month-old baby lives at your house. Take it from me: eleven-month-old babies have zero respect for vaccuum marks on the carpeting and perfectly fluffed throw pillows on the couch.
6. This post is kind of lame, but I am tired, so good night!
2. Our condo is fully staged and beautiful, although no one has bought it yet. Please buy it. It has been three whole days since it went on the market, so you should buy it. Seriously, it's awesome here, and we found a house we want to buy in Studio City. (Our commute would go from 45-plus minutes to approximately 9 minutes, for those of you who are counting.) But don't do it for me. Do it for the children. Well, the one child, anyhow. The one child who is tired of riding in the carseat all the freaking time. (At the very least, check out the awesome job my mom and the stagers have done: www.1021nineteenthst.com.)
3. Gabe is Featured Artist at the Children's Center right now, which is SPECTACULAR. He actually seems to enjoy painting these days, and will cheerfully paint anything and everything, including paper, the table, his tummy, his nose, and other children. This is a big improvement from his previous reaction to art projects, namely whimpering and crying when his pudgy fingers touch the cold, horrible, slimy paint. Here's his display:
Gabriel, Featured Artist Extraordinaire
(Sorry for the poor picture quality; this was taken with my iPhone as Gabe pulled to a stand by digging his dragon-like fingernails into the flesh right above my kneecaps. Ow.)
4. If you ask Gabe how big he is, he will now stretch his arms straight above his head to indicate that he is "SOOOOOO BIGGGG!" This may be my favorite trick to date.
Soooooo Biggggg!5. Keeping the house perfectly clean for potential buyers is very exhausting and challenging when an eleven-month-old baby lives at your house. Take it from me: eleven-month-old babies have zero respect for vaccuum marks on the carpeting and perfectly fluffed throw pillows on the couch.
6. This post is kind of lame, but I am tired, so good night!
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
New Tricks
Hi!!!
Good looks, brains, and talent. Impressive, isn't it? (Ignore the part at the beginning where he is fussy because I refused to let him gnaw on the video camera.)
Good looks, brains, and talent. Impressive, isn't it? (Ignore the part at the beginning where he is fussy because I refused to let him gnaw on the video camera.)
Monday, March 23, 2009
(Don't) Eat, (Don't) Drink, and Be Merry
Tonight for dinner Gabe consumed:
1. Thirty-seven sweet potato "puffs" (junk food version of otherwise healthy sweet potato, created by Gerber);
2. Astonishingly large volume of Pirate's Booty (mmmm...delicious Pirate's Booty);
3. Zero bites chicken;
4. Zero bites cheese;
5. Three molecules pureed carrots;
6. One sliver of dried apple fished out from crevice of highchair with pudgy fist (possibly left over from breakfast this morning?); and
7. One eighth of a teaspoon of water from bear-shaped sippy cup (approximate; this is the amount he appeared to drink before flinging the sippy cup at me with a surprising amount of force).
That is some quality parenting right there.
The good news is that we went and weighed him today, and he is just over nineteen pounds! That's a gain of about three quarters of a pound in two weeks. Hooray! (Perhaps he is absorbing calories through osmosis or similar? It's either that or Pirate's Booty has more calories than I remember, and I should stop eating it myself.) Just look at that round little face and the tummy protruding from the shirt. Excellent all around.
(That's my brother in the picture with him, in case you were curious. Gabe and Uncle Ross are big fans of each other.)
The other good news is that Gabe has a vocabulary of four whole words now. He says "dog" and "cat" and "duck" ("duck" sounds remarkably like "dog," if I'm being honest), and most of all, "hi." He's very good at saying hi and very offended when people do not say hi back to him. If ignored he becomes more insistent and determined, saying, "Hi! HI! HI!" while waiving his tiny little hand back and forth as fast as he can, determined to get the attention of occasionally unfriendly strangers. I'm talking to you, mean lady in the produce aisle at Whole Foods who looked down her nose at us and refused to say hi back to a charming and talented ten-month-old-baby when he said hi to you. I hope you're happy with yourself. Way to crush a kid's blossoming social skills.
Luckily Gabe was undeterred by the foregoing Rude Produce Incident and went on to say "hi" to the avocados and bananas while we continued wheeling towards the seafood counter. Not that he would eat avocados or bananas, mind you. But he'll waive and say hi to them in the produce aisle. He's friendly like that.
1. Thirty-seven sweet potato "puffs" (junk food version of otherwise healthy sweet potato, created by Gerber);
2. Astonishingly large volume of Pirate's Booty (mmmm...delicious Pirate's Booty);
3. Zero bites chicken;
4. Zero bites cheese;
5. Three molecules pureed carrots;
6. One sliver of dried apple fished out from crevice of highchair with pudgy fist (possibly left over from breakfast this morning?); and
7. One eighth of a teaspoon of water from bear-shaped sippy cup (approximate; this is the amount he appeared to drink before flinging the sippy cup at me with a surprising amount of force).
That is some quality parenting right there.
The good news is that we went and weighed him today, and he is just over nineteen pounds! That's a gain of about three quarters of a pound in two weeks. Hooray! (Perhaps he is absorbing calories through osmosis or similar? It's either that or Pirate's Booty has more calories than I remember, and I should stop eating it myself.) Just look at that round little face and the tummy protruding from the shirt. Excellent all around.
(That's my brother in the picture with him, in case you were curious. Gabe and Uncle Ross are big fans of each other.)The other good news is that Gabe has a vocabulary of four whole words now. He says "dog" and "cat" and "duck" ("duck" sounds remarkably like "dog," if I'm being honest), and most of all, "hi." He's very good at saying hi and very offended when people do not say hi back to him. If ignored he becomes more insistent and determined, saying, "Hi! HI! HI!" while waiving his tiny little hand back and forth as fast as he can, determined to get the attention of occasionally unfriendly strangers. I'm talking to you, mean lady in the produce aisle at Whole Foods who looked down her nose at us and refused to say hi back to a charming and talented ten-month-old-baby when he said hi to you. I hope you're happy with yourself. Way to crush a kid's blossoming social skills.
Luckily Gabe was undeterred by the foregoing Rude Produce Incident and went on to say "hi" to the avocados and bananas while we continued wheeling towards the seafood counter. Not that he would eat avocados or bananas, mind you. But he'll waive and say hi to them in the produce aisle. He's friendly like that.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Ten Months Old!
Gabe is ten months old! Double digits! Let's have some applause please!
Yes, that will do nicely, thank you.
Yes, that will do nicely, thank you.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Best Laid Plans
I had this great idea that I would take a vacation day from work today, send Gabe to school as usual, and spend the better part of the day packing up all of our junk to put into storage this weekend (see earlier post re: oh-my-stars-i'm-having-a-nervous-breakdown-getting-ready-for-the-professional-stagers-ack!). Then I would go grab Gabe in the late afternoon and whiz down the traffic-less freeway towards home, accompanied by unicorns and shooting stars, to play with my baby in my perfectly clean and organized home.
Then this happened:
For those of you who can't tell, that would be the Stinkeye Pinkeye, a/k/a the disease that will get you evicted from daycare in fourteen seconds FLAT. When I picked up Gabe from the Children's Center yesterday afternoon, they literally could not hand him to me fast enough. After (gently) shoving him into my arms, one of his teachers frantically began using hand sanitizing gel as she backed up ten feet away from us and gestured in the general direction of his eyes.
"We had to wipe his eyes twice. You should take him to the doctor. Like, right now."
At this point Gabe rubbed his eyes briskly with his little fists, then smiled up at me and began patting my face because he was just so happy to see me. (I tried to see beyond the contagious plague on his fingertips and focus on the fact that my favorite baby was giving me big smiles. Of course there is no doubt in my mind that I am going to wake up with my eyelids crusted shut tomorrow morning.)
Thank goodness my lovely father-in-law is an eye doctor, and he promptly called in a lovely prescription for lovely, lovely, anti-Stinkeye eyedrops. Although putting eyedrops in the eyes of an almost-ten-month-old baby is, shall we say...challenging. But that is a subject for another post, because I am just too freaking exhausted to describe holding his arms down with my body while attempting to gently, gently pry open his poor goopy blue (red) eyes long enough to drop a single eyedrop in each one.
Oh good grief, I just scrolled up and looked at the picture of his pathetic little self again. Let's face it, there's nowhere good that further discussion of Stinkeye Pinkeye can go, so here, distract yourselves with this picture of a baby with no comunicable disases, which was taken during a happier time (e.g. last weekend):
P.S. My house looks like a complete disaster, thanks for asking.
P.P.S. Gabe got another tooth yesterday, bringing him up to a grand total of TWO!
P.P.P.S. He slept through the night twice this week (FIRST TIME EVER since that one time he did it when he was three months old and still sleeping in the swing), but I dare not say more for fear of jinxing it. (pleasepleaseplease let it happen again tonight!!!)
Then this happened:
"We had to wipe his eyes twice. You should take him to the doctor. Like, right now."
At this point Gabe rubbed his eyes briskly with his little fists, then smiled up at me and began patting my face because he was just so happy to see me. (I tried to see beyond the contagious plague on his fingertips and focus on the fact that my favorite baby was giving me big smiles. Of course there is no doubt in my mind that I am going to wake up with my eyelids crusted shut tomorrow morning.)
Thank goodness my lovely father-in-law is an eye doctor, and he promptly called in a lovely prescription for lovely, lovely, anti-Stinkeye eyedrops. Although putting eyedrops in the eyes of an almost-ten-month-old baby is, shall we say...challenging. But that is a subject for another post, because I am just too freaking exhausted to describe holding his arms down with my body while attempting to gently, gently pry open his poor goopy blue (red) eyes long enough to drop a single eyedrop in each one.
Oh good grief, I just scrolled up and looked at the picture of his pathetic little self again. Let's face it, there's nowhere good that further discussion of Stinkeye Pinkeye can go, so here, distract yourselves with this picture of a baby with no comunicable disases, which was taken during a happier time (e.g. last weekend):
P.S. My house looks like a complete disaster, thanks for asking.
P.P.S. Gabe got another tooth yesterday, bringing him up to a grand total of TWO!
P.P.P.S. He slept through the night twice this week (FIRST TIME EVER since that one time he did it when he was three months old and still sleeping in the swing), but I dare not say more for fear of jinxing it. (pleasepleaseplease let it happen again tonight!!!)
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Lazy.
I know, I know, I haven't posted in a hundred years. (This would perhaps matter more if I told anyone about this blog and had any actual readers beyond my husband and parents.) Anyhow, the reason I have not posted is because we are getting ready to put our place on the market. The market for sale. As in, we are hoping some other people want to buy our condo and live here, meaning we would go buy some other house and live there instead.
This has basically unleashed every obsessive compulsive self-critical bone in my body, which it turns out are most of the bones in my body, because now instead of sleeping I sit up and worry about whether or not we can afford a counter-depth refrigerator and where on earth we are going to store all of our junk including the 764 brightly colored plastic toys that now occupy the area where our living room used to be and wow our sofas are so beat up and ugly and oh my goodness the baby just smeared mushed-up graham cracker on the walls and the rug! (But he's eating graham crackers, isn't that exciting!?!)
The good news is that I have convinced my lovely husband that we need to bring in the big guns, a.k.a. professional stagers. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, professional stagers are very savvy, smart, experienced decorators who come in and politely murmur that all of your furniture is painful to look at and then they force you to leave your house for a day so they can rearrange all of your aforementioned hideous furniture and put down new rugs and toss some throw pillows around so the place looks presentable and won't cause potential buyers to turn up their noses in disgust the moment they walk through our front door. The stagers and their team are coming in about two weeks. Woo-hoo! Before they arrive to work their voodoo decorating magic I have to do the following:
2. Order new dishwasher and refrigerator in stainless steel, have them installed
3. Move current hall table into kitchen
4. Put white loveseat into storage
5. Move plant from corner of living room (probably get rid of)
6. Obtain green sofa from Mom and Dad
7. Move Matt’s bed into master bedroom
8. PutErin ’s bed into storage
9. Have Matt’s bathtub reglazed
10. Replace toilet and sink inErin ’s bathroom
11. Have gardeners trim hedge outside of master bedroom window
12. Obtain empty boxes (perhaps from work?)
13. Tidy all closets/storage area, put items into storage as needed
14. Remove/hide all evidence of cats
Excuse me, I have to stop typing now so I can go freak out and then clean out some closets.
This has basically unleashed every obsessive compulsive self-critical bone in my body, which it turns out are most of the bones in my body, because now instead of sleeping I sit up and worry about whether or not we can afford a counter-depth refrigerator and where on earth we are going to store all of our junk including the 764 brightly colored plastic toys that now occupy the area where our living room used to be and wow our sofas are so beat up and ugly and oh my goodness the baby just smeared mushed-up graham cracker on the walls and the rug! (But he's eating graham crackers, isn't that exciting!?!)
The good news is that I have convinced my lovely husband that we need to bring in the big guns, a.k.a. professional stagers. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, professional stagers are very savvy, smart, experienced decorators who come in and politely murmur that all of your furniture is painful to look at and then they force you to leave your house for a day so they can rearrange all of your aforementioned hideous furniture and put down new rugs and toss some throw pillows around so the place looks presentable and won't cause potential buyers to turn up their noses in disgust the moment they walk through our front door. The stagers and their team are coming in about two weeks. Woo-hoo! Before they arrive to work their voodoo decorating magic I have to do the following:
2. Order new dishwasher and refrigerator in stainless steel, have them installed
3. Move current hall table into kitchen
4. Put white loveseat into storage
5. Move plant from corner of living room (probably get rid of)
6. Obtain green sofa from Mom and Dad
7. Move Matt’s bed into master bedroom
8. Put
9. Have Matt’s bathtub reglazed
10. Replace toilet and sink in
11. Have gardeners trim hedge outside of master bedroom window
12. Obtain empty boxes (perhaps from work?)
13. Tidy all closets/storage area, put items into storage as needed
14. Remove/hide all evidence of cats
Excuse me, I have to stop typing now so I can go freak out and then clean out some closets.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
My Day (Aren't You Giddy With Anticipation?)
- Jerk awake from sleep to the sound of baby crying. Check clock. Is 4:03 a.m.
- Drag self out of bed and into baby's room for standard 4:00 a.m. feeding.
- Kiss baby, lay baby back down in bed.
- Crawl back into bed, then check fancy video baby monitor. Baby appears to be sleeping again, tummy full. Excellent, excellent.
- Resume sleeping.
- Jerk awake to the sound of alarm clock. Check clock. Is 7:01 a.m.
- Force self awake. Accept mug of coffee proffered by lovely, lovely husband.
- Fortified by caffeine, commence morning routine of feeding baby, showering, dressing baby, preparing bottles/lunch for baby, getting ready for work, etc.
- Am hungry, but realize there is no time to eat.
- Kiss baby and husband goodbye and get in car (as lovely husband is dropping off baby at daycare as usual).
- Sit on 405 freeway.
- Sit on 101 freeway.
- Merge onto 134 freeway and discover there is no traffic on 134. Accelerate to 70mph. Whee!
- Exit ramp for my exit is backed up. Boo.
- Arrive at work at approx. 9:07. Commence drafting contract while returning emails and voicemails simultaneously. Am excellent multitasking-type person.
- Still hungry at approximately 10:19. Run across the street to Starbucks and grab low-fat muffin (but who am I kidding? Allegedly "low-fat" muffin undoubtedly contains 867 calories and 52 grams of fat) and black coffee. Mmmmm, Starbucks.
- Return to desk and continue work while picking gross dried apricots out of "low-fat" muffin.
- Send out three contracts for signature. Hooray for me!
- Send out a draft contract to my business contact. Am such an effective lawyer. Pat self on back.
- Is now 12:23. Must run to Studio lot to pick up a copy of 101 Dalmatians for my sister-in-law like I promised her I would do.
- Arrive at Studio lot. Damn, no copies of 101 Dalmatians in stock. Purchase "101 Dalmatians 2: Patch's London Adventure" as wholly inadequate substitute.
- Grab salad at Studio commissary. Am paragon of virtue, food-wise.
- Return to desk at 1:17 and begin eating salad while replying to emails and feeling guilty re: lack of original 101 Dalmatians DVD.
- Conference call from 2:00-2:30. No fun. Everyone cranky. Force self to pay attention and not check favorite websites.
- Receive comments to draft contract from business team. Revise draft and send out to vendor for signature. Such a good lawyer today!
- Conference call from 3:00-3:30. Less crankiness on this one.
- Check gmail account and www.icanhascheezburger.com because am lazy and ineffective sometimes.
- Also check favorite blogs, www.flotsamblog.com, and www.amalah.com. Ooooh, new update on Flotsam! Hooray!
- Send out one more contract for signature. Return some more emails. Is almost 4:00!
- 4:02. Time to sneak out. Check hallways for signs of boss. Boss is nowhere in sight. Scurry to elevators as quietly as possible.
- Where is elevator? Damn it.
- Ahh, elevator arrives. Excellent, have escaped without notice!
- In lobby, encounter co-workers returning from afternoon Starbucks run. Busted.
- Oh well.
- Locate car in parking garage.
- Drive to daycare to collect baby. Is raining. Oof.
- Baby!!!!!!!!!!!
- Many squeezes and kisses. Baby applauds for me and buries his head in my shoulder/neck area.
- Am happy.
- Put baby into carseat and take him out to car. Grateful for excellent parking spot right near door, as the rain is really coming down now.
- Sit on freeway on-ramp. Inauspicious beginning to drive home.
- Sit on 134.
- Sit on 101.
- Sit on 405 (all the while thanking God or whatever higher power is in charge of baby naps that baby fell asleep on 134/101 transition and remains asleep now. Snoring slightly, actually.)
- Arrive at home!
- Baby still sleeping. Huh.
- Will sit in car and wait for him to wake up.
- Check BlackBerry, return work emails.
- Baby still sleeping. Double huh.
- Baby awake! Hooray!
- Gather baby in carseat (with blanket carefully draped over same to prevent any raindrops from touching his precious skin), daycare bag full of empty bottles and lunch containers, mail from mailbox, and oversize (but very stylish) purse and run for the front door, as rain continues to pour down.
- Discover I am excellent at running in the rain in high heels. Yay for me!
- Am drenched. Baby is amused. Claps hands.
- Remove baby from carseat and play on the floor for a while. Baby loves clicking butterfly toy and old cell phone with battery removed.
- Try to return a few more work emails while amusing baby with floppy dog toy. Baby spies BlackBerry and demands to play with it.
- Baby flings BlackBerry to the ground. The back comes off and battery skitters under the coffee table.
- Reassemble BlackBerry.
- Baby demands BlackBerry again.
- Baby flings BlackBerry to the ground again.
- Enough of that game.
- Carry baby to the highchair and present him with his menu options. Baby rejects lentils and rice combo dinner (judging from volume of rejection, baby suspects lentils might contain poison) and instead selects Cheerios and applesauce. Surprise, surprise.
- Feed baby. Much babbling and smearing of applesauce occurs.
- Attempt to wipe off baby. Leave disgusting Cheerio/applesauce mixture mashed into highchair tray for later.
- Realize baby has just spit some Cheerio on my soft, soft (read: expensive) cashmere sweater. Feel that baby is perhaps slightly disrespectful of cashmere, and that I am perhaps stupid for not changing clothes before feeding baby.
- Play with baby some more. Many tummy kisses and giggles and banging on the little red piano are involved.
- Am happy.
- Cuddle up with baby in big chair and give him bottle, then offer baby selection of bedtime stories.
- Baby selects "Hippos Go Berserk," "Each Peach Pear Plum," and "The Going To Bed Book." Excellent choices all.
- Read books, smooch baby's fat cheeks, and lay baby down in crib. Baby is tired, rubbing eyes.
- Turn out lights.
- Grab aforementioned fancy video baby monitor and head to kitchen to do the Big Bottle Wash. Wash all bottles and baby food containers used today, plus scrub previously mentioned Cheerio/applesauce mush (which has now solidified into a hard crust) from highchair tray.
- Check monitor. Baby appears to be fast asleep. Hooray!
- Realize have forgotten one dirty bottle on bedside table. Damn.
- Check work emails. Return work emails. BlackBerry trackball not working quite properly, perhaps as result of BlackBerry being flung to the ground several times. Hmm.
- Husband arrives home bearing take out Chinese food! Best Husband Ever!!!
- Smooch husband then greedily grab Chinese food bag from his hand.
- Eat delicious shrimps and mixed vegetables. Mmmmmmm.
- Also drink wine. Mmmmmm.
- Watch American Idol saved on TiVo. Feel strong feelings of love for: (a) husband; (b) baby, who is still asleep; (c) Chinese food; (d) Simon Cowell; (e) cats (one of whom is sitting on feet keeping them warm); and (f) TiVo.
- Prepare bottle things for 4:00 a.m. feeding; put all supplies on bedside table.
- Brush teeth, remove contacts, etc.
- Give husband big hug and smooch.
- Go to bed.
- Whew.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Gabey Proofing
To elaborate on my last post, it turns out that our house is one big baby death trap.
I thought Matt and I were doing a pretty good job making things safe for our little crawler. We put those little plastic plugs in all of the electrical outlets. We're installing locks on all of the bathroom drawers and cupboard doors. We put up baby gates in the kitchen doorways. We put a brightly colored foam playmat down over part of our lovely Mexican ceramic tile floor. We even replaced the pointy-cornered coffee table of death with a nice leather ottoman-type thing.
And still, the baby keeps finding extremely dangerous and disgusting things to play with. For example, he discovered a large hairball gacked up by one of the cats right in the middle of the floor under our dining room table, where I couldn't see it but he could. (Luckily I got to that before he did - his general excitement at crawling under the normally boring table tipped me off that something was going on down there). Similarly, he found a choking-hazardous raisin beneath the couch, probably left behind by my lovely niece Parker. He also discovered that it's really fun to pull on the living room curtains as hard as possible to see if he can pull them down. (The good news is that he cannot, even when he throws his entire eighteen-pound body weight into the attempt.) He has also tried crawling into the cat litter boxes (we stopped him), knocking over a porcelain vase (he couldn't quite reach it), and chewing on an electrical cord (it never even got near his mouth, so don't worry).
Fig. 1: Baby Attempts to Pull Down Living Room Curtains
Whew. I knew crawling would change the game, but I simply didn't realize what I would be dealing with. He's a tiny tornado of dangerous activity. A tiny but extremely cheerful tornado.
The good news is that - also like a tornado - he isn't stealthy at all. You know how people make their pet cats wear collars with little bells on them? We considered it, but we don't really need to put a bell on Gabe, he's so noisy when he moves across the floor. He looks and sounds very much like an iguana, slapping his hands really hard onto the ground, which sort of gives the game away.
He also sticks out his tongue like an iguana, now that I think about it:
Fig. 2: Iguana Tongue
So the bad news is that he has no respect for danger or his own body and it's become very, very exhausting to chase after him as he whimsically attempts to inflict great bodily injury on himself despite my spending all that money on baby proofing items (i.e. the aforementioned locks for cupboards that Gabe has never shown any actual interest in trying to open). The good news is that he's slow enough and klutzy enough that we have no problems anticipating his next moves and cutting him off at the pass.
If his crawling becomes more proficient or ninja-style though, we are in serious trouble. Perhaps we will simply empty the house of furniture, leaving only the leather ottoman thing and the foam floor padding. And his 18,327 toys, of course - we'll keep the toys. Because if we remove all the danger and hairballs and breakable vases, he's going to need something to play with.
Oooh, I can't wait until he starts walking!
I thought Matt and I were doing a pretty good job making things safe for our little crawler. We put those little plastic plugs in all of the electrical outlets. We're installing locks on all of the bathroom drawers and cupboard doors. We put up baby gates in the kitchen doorways. We put a brightly colored foam playmat down over part of our lovely Mexican ceramic tile floor. We even replaced the pointy-cornered coffee table of death with a nice leather ottoman-type thing.
And still, the baby keeps finding extremely dangerous and disgusting things to play with. For example, he discovered a large hairball gacked up by one of the cats right in the middle of the floor under our dining room table, where I couldn't see it but he could. (Luckily I got to that before he did - his general excitement at crawling under the normally boring table tipped me off that something was going on down there). Similarly, he found a choking-hazardous raisin beneath the couch, probably left behind by my lovely niece Parker. He also discovered that it's really fun to pull on the living room curtains as hard as possible to see if he can pull them down. (The good news is that he cannot, even when he throws his entire eighteen-pound body weight into the attempt.) He has also tried crawling into the cat litter boxes (we stopped him), knocking over a porcelain vase (he couldn't quite reach it), and chewing on an electrical cord (it never even got near his mouth, so don't worry).
Fig. 1: Baby Attempts to Pull Down Living Room CurtainsWhew. I knew crawling would change the game, but I simply didn't realize what I would be dealing with. He's a tiny tornado of dangerous activity. A tiny but extremely cheerful tornado.
The good news is that - also like a tornado - he isn't stealthy at all. You know how people make their pet cats wear collars with little bells on them? We considered it, but we don't really need to put a bell on Gabe, he's so noisy when he moves across the floor. He looks and sounds very much like an iguana, slapping his hands really hard onto the ground, which sort of gives the game away.
He also sticks out his tongue like an iguana, now that I think about it:
Fig. 2: Iguana TongueSo the bad news is that he has no respect for danger or his own body and it's become very, very exhausting to chase after him as he whimsically attempts to inflict great bodily injury on himself despite my spending all that money on baby proofing items (i.e. the aforementioned locks for cupboards that Gabe has never shown any actual interest in trying to open). The good news is that he's slow enough and klutzy enough that we have no problems anticipating his next moves and cutting him off at the pass.
If his crawling becomes more proficient or ninja-style though, we are in serious trouble. Perhaps we will simply empty the house of furniture, leaving only the leather ottoman thing and the foam floor padding. And his 18,327 toys, of course - we'll keep the toys. Because if we remove all the danger and hairballs and breakable vases, he's going to need something to play with.
Oooh, I can't wait until he starts walking!
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