Kid Amnesiac

Simon hit twelve weeks old today, and in celebration of that fact (as well as the realization that we had taken no pictures of him in 2007 yet) Mom went a bit crazy with the digital camera. First there’s a series of glamor shots taken on the day bed in our guest bedroom (a.k.a. Mom’s Special Sanctuary). Next there was a series of shots of Simon struggling to sit upright in the Bumbo seat that his Grandma gave him for Christmas, but I had to edit some of these out. There’s nothing worse than watching a baby self-consciously try to support his own head and fail, and in the end there was only one I found usable without Child Protective Services coming to pay us a visit. Finally, Mom snapped some shots of me playing with Simon in his favorite place — the diaper changing pad! We have no idea what’s going on with that, but he’s almost guaranteed to break into a huge grin whenever I set him down there. Of course, he’s equally likely to vomit, but we didn’t take any pictures of that.

Most Sundays Matt’s band practices from 5-8 p.m. in our basement. Since Simon came along, that leaves me looking for a place to grab dinner and hang out for the evening, as the downstairs is too loud for Simon when the band is going strong.

So the routine is that I head over to my mom’s, and she cooks dinner for me. It works out well: I get to eat a well rounded meal, and Simon gets to preserve his hearing. And in theory, it means my mom gets good Simon and Bubbie time on a regular basis. In theory.

The first few weeks all went according to plan. I’d arrive, nurse Simon, put him in his Baby Papasan or swing, eat dinner, get him down for a nap, then nurse him again and head home. One of those early weeks Simon flashed his first truly social smile right at my mom–a great big gummy smile for his Bubbie. It was awesome.

Then, a few weeks later, I came over and Simon fussed the whole time. No big deal, I thought. It was bound to happen at some point. Except, then Mom came over to our house a few days later, and Simon was super crabby the whole time. And then Matt and I went over to Mom’s house for dinner together, and Simon cried a ton and never settled down for a good nap.

Worse yet, everything Mom did to make him feel better just seemed to tick him off more.  Mom would adjust his clothing, he’d scream. She’d go to put his pacifier back in his mouth, he’d scream. She’d wipe spit off of his face, he’d scream. She’d look at him cock-eyed, he’d scream. You get the idea.

Mom took this all in stride, but it was beginning to look personal! In fact, when Mom babysat Simon on Saturday, she even made a joke about how he could dislike her all he wanted, she was still going to love him (for now). And wouldn’t you know it, he got crabby on her while we were off having dinner.

So tonight as I packed up the Papasan and diaper bag to head over to Mom’s, I was more than a little worried. Would he pitch a screaming fit again? I mean, I can’t keep telling her about Simon’s napping for Grandma, smiling for Grandma, and cooing for Grandma if he’s ticked off every time Bubbie is within 50 feet. That’s just not right.

Well thank goodness, tonight he rallied. He napped long enough for me to eat. He nursed well twice. He had a good hour of awake time during which my Aunt Linda delighted him with funny faces and he smiled and cooed at her and my mom. Mom held him, and he smiled and was content. It was a very good visit. The curse was lifted. Huzzah!

Except… Earlier this afternoon, my mother-in-law came over, tried to give Simon a bottle, and he flipped out on her. My rational mind knows that the problem was that we stupidly went about three weeks without offering Simon a bottle and now must pump and bottle feed once a day to get him reacclimated. My irrational mind, however, is a mite worried that my son is simply incapable of being in a good mood for both grandmothers at the same time.

I’ll be 37 in about 2 1/2 hours, and for the first time in a long while I feel truly different on a birthday. The last time this happened was when I hit 30. It doesn’t seem that long ago, and yet I’m now closer to 40 than that earlier benchmark.

When I was 30 I was in San Francisco and was freaked about not yet having what I considered a “real” job since leaving my PhD program. Flash forward seven years and I have had two such “real” jobs and yet still do not know exactly what I will be when I grow up. And that’s OK. Because while I was quite happy at 30 and was in the full throws of my romance with San Francisco, I am quite happy now at 37 and am in the full throws of my romance with being back home.

And then there is Simon, who, even on a crabby day like yesterday, brings me great joy. Joy that is hard to put a finger on, as on the surface he’s much more work than fun.

By the time I feed him eight times a day, burp him, change him, coddle him, put him down to sleep, and clean up after him, it’s easy to watch an entire day go by with precious little to show for it besides laundry and garbage. Where’s the joy in that?

I think the answer lies in the daily routines and coziness of our life now. I’m a bit of a worrier to say the least. I’ve spent much of the past 37 years worrying about everything from my career to global warming. Since Simon came along, I have less time for this (unless I’m worrying about him, of course) and more opportunities to appreciate the everyday joys in life.

Like baby clothing and books. Every time I change Simon, I have a chance to giggle at the bodysuits with cows, chicks and frogs on them [and blue puppies -mgw.]. Every time I read to him I get to enjoy beautifully illustrated books about bears having tea parties and birds searching for their mommies. The accoutrements of babyhood reek of gentleness.

It’s also great fun watching a new little human discover some of the pleasures I’ve been enjoying for years. Simon now loves his bath, he’s starting to pay attention to the sound of wind and feel of fresh air when we go for walks, and I just know that one day soon he will look over and discover the cats.

And of course there are the eight hours a day I spend holding Simon during and after his feedings. Nursing Simon can be a heady experience, especially in the morning when the sun is coming up and we have the whole day ahead of us. He has a way of molding into me when I hold him that feels amazing. More than once I’ve let my arm or hand go completely numb and tingly before giving in and letting go of Simon. I have to wonder: Who’s comforting whom here?

So here I am. Staring down a birthday and enjoying a time of quiet contentment. A contentment that is, in fact, a fabulous birthday present to myself.

Tuesday, January 2 was my first day back at work from maternity leave. Besides saying hi and chatting with my colleagues–many of whom I missed–my first order of business was to find out when/if my friend and colleague Jen had had her baby yet. She was expecting to have a boy in late December.

Jen works in a different division than I do, so it took some time to find someone who could tell me. But this morning I learned that Jen delivered baby Sam in mid-December. I was thrilled with the news. Then I read on: He was born with two heart defects: coarctation of the aorta and a ventricular septal defect. Seven days after Sam was born, he had open heart surgery, which he came through will flying colors. There have been some set-backs along the way, and Sam will be undergoing his second surgery Monday, this time to insert an internal pacemaker.

The prognosis is good, and Sam may even be going home in a week or so. But the little guy is being fed through a tube, has never been outside or in his own house, and now faces more discomfort as he goes through the surgery and recovery cycle. I can’t imagine how Jen must be feeling.

A good friend of mine passed on a quote that runs something like, “The day you decide to be a parent is the day you decide to wear your heart ouside your body.” No kidding. Jen and I decided to try the mom thing at the same time; we confessed it over a sushi lunch one day when I drove up to my company’s Indianapolis office. She was only 10 weeks behind me, and we had several fun email and phone exchanges comparing notes about pregnancy symptoms, maternity clothes, etc. I loved talking to her about our babies on the way. Never in a million years did I think her journey would end like this. Nor, I’m sure, did she.

If you know Jen, I’m sure your heart goes out to her. If you don’t know Jen, I’m sure your heart still goes out to her. For the sake of Jen, her husband, and her family, let’s all hope that baby Sam is the best, strongest, bravest and most stubborn of the 2006 crop.

What a difference a year makes. Two even more so.

New Year’s 2005 Matt and I hosted a get-together in our San Francisco flat. I wore horrendously expensive jeans I bought at a North Beach boutique, an equally horrendously expensive top made by a local designer, and heels I got in New York City’s East Village that click-clacked across my hardwood floors all night. I made sushi for the party, we had about a dozen friends over, and we stayed up half the night. The next day I was exhausted and Matt was exhausted and quite hung over. It was a great time.

A year later, we had moved back to Louisville. New Year’s 2006 featured a simple dinner for six and several other friends stopping by afterwards. I can’t remember what I wore. Matt bought several bottles of champagne for us to sample. I made it to just after 1 a.m., but I spent the last hour curled up on the futon in our basement watching The Office and trying to look less sleepy than I was. I was exhausted the next day, and Matt was exhausted and slightly hung over. It was a good time.

This year, New Year’s was an even bigger shift. I wore corduroys with spit-up on them and never even got around to putting shoes on. We had my mom over for dinner and three friends stopped by afterwards. We consumed two bottles of champagne total, and I was sleeping like a baby by 12:20, having just barely made it to 2007 with my eyes open. And speaking of babies, I also had to excuse myself twice during the evening to go and nurse Simon. I felt pretty good the next day, as did Matt. No hangovers in sight.

And you know, it was still a pretty good time. We spent January 1 lounging about the Whitworth’s house, cozied up by the fireplace and eating leftovers from their huge New Year’s Eve bash. Simon had a great day napping first by their fireplace and then in the arms of a family friend. Evie and I went shopping for fake plants for my house and discounted Christmas stuff for my first tree next year. The guys watched Michigan vs. USC.

Hardly the life I had in 2004, but the one I’m ready for and am enjoying now. I’m feeling bullish about 2007 and look forward to all the domestic adventures that await. I just hope I’m not ringing in 2008 in sweatpants while drinking Crystal Light and tucking myself into bed at 10:00 p.m.