Kid Amnesiac

A disclaimer: If you are squeamish or easily grossed out, you might want to skip this post.

Oh holy mother of all that stinks! We just had our first experience with a real solid-food poopy diaper and it exceeded our expectations. By a long ways. To paraphrase a friend, it was hell in microfleece.

You have to understand that for us, going from our old breastmilk diapers to these solid food ones is like teaching a kid to drive a farm truck on 1000 acres in Iowa and then setting him lose with a stick shift in New York City. We’re not ready!

Because truly, breastmilk poops don’t stink. We got a tiny bit of poop in each diaper that was delightfully odor free. There was no need for a fancy pail. Then solid food entered our lives two weeks ago, and we got a few poops that kind of stunk. Then, troublingly, no poops at all for two days. Then yesterday the dam broke, so to speak, and it left Matt gagging and me laughing at Matt for gagging.

Well, karma’s a bi*ch, let me tell you.

Today I thought Simon smelled a little poopy, went to change him, and disaster struck. I did not know the grab-both-feet trick. I mean, I grab Simon’s feet sometimes, but it’s not the first thing I do while diapering. Nor is it automatic. It hasn’t had to be. Until now.

The scene that unfolded was something from the more scatalogically oriented sections of 120 Days of Sodom. I took off the diaper and there was poop everywhere. And since I didn’t have Simon’s legs in my hands, wherever it wasn’t, it got to be–real fast. His feet, legs, shirt, bib, hands, face. It was just awful. I didn’t know what to grab or try to wipe off first. He even got the walls.

It was like wrestling a poop octopus. In fact, I kept thinking of a hilarious scene in Ed Wood where Bela Lugosi is wrestling a motorized octopus movie-maker Ed Wood did not have a motor for. Bela had to pretend to wrestle the thing while also moving its arms around to make it look alive. Poor humiliated Bela didn’t know what to grab first, and neither did I. The difference? My little octopus was very much alive and was having the time of his life squirming around in his own filth.

At the end, Matt came to help me and we dumped Simon straight into the bath. Where he then proceeded to pee in an arc that landed directly on our toothbrushes. Sigh….

Simon’s all cleaned up now and I’m feeling more prepared for the next mess. All that remains, evidence-wise, is a bucket of clothing with half a box of Oxiclean dumped into it and two parents with mild cases of PTSD.

When Simon was about three weeks old, an old friend called to check in on us. He and his wife were considering having a baby themselves, and the question arose, “Now that you have him, can you imagine your life without him?”

At the time my friend asked, Simon was just a few weeks old, he had been screaming his head off for about an hour, and I was terribly sleep deprived. Could I imagine my life without him? You bet! At that moment, I would have happily taken a dip into the calm pre-baby waters.

Simon is now six months old, and we’ve gotten to know each other much better. Someone else asked me the same question a week or so ago, and this time my immediate and unthinking answer was “God no.” I can still remember my life pre-baby, but I can’t imagine having that life now.

Nor do I want to. It’s not that I’m deluded and think every moment is all sunshine. Of course it’s not! The last few weeks Simon has been eating often and sleeping little. More than once I have wondered–seriously wondered–how I will manage to keep my sanity to say nothing of getting any work done.

But the thing is, even with the eating and non-sleeping, he’s a little sweetie–my little sweetie. He lessens my stress, he makes me laugh, he frees me up to play the silly games and sing the silly songs I, ever trying to catch up to my older brothers, rarely did as a kid myself.

These are all serious benefits, but nothing comes close to seeing how he loves me. When you are pregnant, everyone tells you that you’ll love your child more than you can imagine. I disagree. In fact, I could imagine loving my kid about as much as I love Simon. Truth be told, there were pre-Simon moments when I gazed at Percival or Tristan sleeping and felt a now-familiar heart swell. Clearly there was no shortage of pathetic fallacy going on in our household.

No, for me the true revelation of parenthood is how much Simon loves me. I can walk into a room and watch his entire face light up. If I’m terribly stressed or sad, he’ll fuss and be unsettled. If I’m feeling bouyant and happy, I can almost always make him smile. Much as Simon loves Dad and Grandma and Bubbie–and he loves these care-takers fiercely–sometimes only I will do.

It is astonishing and exhilarating and more than a little terrifying.

So here’s the part where I break into verse. Matt’s band has been practicing this little dittie by Cheap Trick–yes, Cheap Trick–that seems apt:

I want you to want me
I need you to need me
I’d love you to love me
I’m beggin you to beg me

As a love song, it’s a bit creepy and cliche. As a modern lullaby, on the other hand, it’s kind of sweet and sums things up well. You just have to ignore the second verse and the fact that it was written by Cheap Trick.

I have two quick and happy updates to share tonight:

First, and most importantly, baby Sam has been discharged from the hospital after his most recent heart surgery. He needs to regain some weight, but I’m sure that’s nothing for this little fighter. Amazingly, Jen and Dave report that he laughed for the first time this Saturday. Boy, babies sure are resilient….

Secondly, my little guy sat up on his own for the first time today. I’ve propped him in the past and he’d stay in the tripod position for a second or two before tumbling over, but today Simon could hold his balance for much longer. He was so engrossed in his fabric blocks, I’m not even sure if he noticed that I backed away from him and let go.

Today Simon went in for his routine 6-month well baby check up. The relevant numbers follow:

• Weight: 16 pounds, 6 1/2 ounces (35th percentile)
• Length: 26 1/4 inches (50th percentile)
• Head circumference: 17 7/8 inches (90th percentile)

Yup. Our guy is of average height. He’s a bit on the slender side. And has an ENORMOUS head. Simon’s head has always been on the big side, and lately I’ve noticed that many shirts sized for 6-12 months barely go over his noggin. And forget about it if the shirt doesn’t have snaps on the side or down the back. I’ve considered cutting him out of more than one! (My mother once did cut my brother Perry, who was blessed with a similar head size, out of a shirt.)

Thank goodness there is a long and glorious family history of Wolfsons having huge heads and being developmentally normal. Were it not for Grand-Zadie Lester, Bubbie, Uncle Perry, and cousin Nathan, I would have to seriously wonder right now if my guy was a high functioning victim of hydroencephaly. Instead, I like to think that he is thinking great big thoughts.

Hallmarks of the well planned wardrobe include the following:

• good quality basics such as jackets, pants, and foundation tees
• a few fun shirts or accessories thrown in that coordinate with the basics
• items that are are based around one or two key colors, making mixing and matching easy
• pieces that easily layer for transition from one season to the next

I’ve never managed this for myself despite years of trying. No matter how controlled I try to be, I always end up with orphan pieces that match nothing and too much black everything while never turning up the elusive perfect white shirt or light neutral shoe.

On the other hand, I do believe I’ve pulled off the perfectly coordinated wardrobe for Simon. My sartorially correct baby’s wardrobe features a “sun and surf” theme for spring/summer 2007 that includes interchangeable tees, shorts, rompers, overalls, and adjustable length pants. He has one or two outlying outlying rompers or tops thrown in for fun, which still go with everything else color-wise, and his key palette colors are khaki, brown, mid-blue, and orange. I’ve even got his Fuzzi Bunz pretty well coordinated.

How sick is that? Of course, I am helped by the fact that I dislike much of what is available for baby boys. So in a sense, I have arrived at this coordination via, as the SAT prep books used to say, POE (process of elimination). By eschewing that which is too preppy (who wants babies in structured clothes and docksiders?), that which is too sporty (false advertising based on Matt’s and my abilities) and that which is too stereoptypically tough guy-ish (until he has a pincer grasp, he cannnot use a hammer or saw.), I have ended up with scenes of Roman ruins, golphing gophers (no joke), vintage bicycles, and lots and lots of surfer stuff.

I am also helped by the fact that shopping for myself is, at the moment, much less fun that it used to be. Between nursing restrictions, a few extra pounds (groan), and working from home, I can’t wear what I like and there’s really no one to see me or care anyway. I think this is probably a healthy change for me, but I’ve instructed my mother to PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SAY SOMETHING TO ME the first time I answer the door wearing a t-shirt I picked up at a work conference and sweat pants, as that will surely be a sign of advanced mental distress on my part.

In the meantime, I plan on enjoying many fun clothes changes this summer. And with all of Simon’s urping–to say nothing of all the eating we’re gearing up for–there are sure to be many!

… Count your blessings and quit your whining.

Not as catchy as “If You’re Happy and You Know It”, but more apt. You see, last week was long and hard for my little family–or so it seemed at the time–as we were beset by many little annoyances that were compounded by their happening all at once. To wit:

1. Simon has been in the throws of an obvious growth spurt, which makes him slightly crankier during the day and much hungrier at night. He’s been waking every 2-3 hours, putting us back on the late and unlamented newborn schedule.
2. I had a horrible allergy attack last week, could take very little for it, and slept poorly as a result.
3. We had no real childcare as my mom had some shoulder pain and Evie was on vacation.
4. The weather was too bad to get out of the house. Freezing cold, snow, rain, hail–we had it ALL.
5. Simon is moving into an attachment phase with me. He wants me to hold him much of the time, and sometimes Daddy just won’t do. While this is flattering, it can be exhuasting when I am already tired and don’t feel well.
6. And the coup de grace, we’re installing can lights in our living room. So not only is there horrible dust everywhere that makes my allergies worse, but there is also horrible noise that scares Simon and makes him howl uncontrollably.

I have to admit, I was feeling rather sorry for myself by the weekend. This parenting business is hard! Poor, tired overworked me. Doesn’t your heart bleed for me? No? Yeah–me neither.

This morning I checked my personal email account and noticed something horrible. I had about 10 notices that my friend Jen’s journal for her son Sam had been updated. Jen, as you recall, is the mom to Sam, who had several heart surgeries a week after he was born last December. They update Sam’s condition through a website administered by CaringBridge, and lately their posts had slowed to a fortnighly trickle that basically told everyone that Sam was mellow, eating well, and doing just fine.

In fact, a week and a half ago, Jen sent me a note and a baby announcement. “Exellent,” I thought, “If she’s got time to write, everything must have settled down. Sam must be OK.”

Except now they had updated their journal ten times. Ten. The only possible explanation is that bad things have happened. And so, with a lump in my throat, I logged on to her journal, and got myself caught up.

It seems that while I was having a one-week, one-woman pity party because I have managed to finagle part-time work, have availed myself of free and loving childcare, can afford to pay for home improvements, and have a healthy son who is moving into his next developmental phase, Jen and Dave were back in the hospital with Sam.

The short version goes something like this: heart rate soars, he’s admitted to the hospital, he crashes and ends up on a ventilator, he has another surgery (angioplasty again), he doesn’t handle his meds well, he pulls out his own ventilator, he turns blue, he’s revived, he’s in the ICU and critical and may go off the ventilator again today. May as in “might”. He’s still on a feeding tube. He may have to have more surgery on his aorta later on.

Poor little fellow. And poor Jen and Dave. My heart aches for them, and I’m feeling more than a little survivor guilt. I’ve said it before, but I’m going to truly recommit myself to counting my blessings when I’m inclined to mope. So bring on the vacationing grandmothers, the home-improvement dust, the seasonal allergies, and the hungry, needy baby. I’m ready.

We’ve been duped, plain and simple. For months now, I’ve been told about the wonders of rice cereal. According to folk wisdom, it has the power to solve two of my new-mom challenges: fatigue and messiness.

Tired from nursing twice each night? Try some rice cereal. Baby will sleep through the night.

Tired from constantly mopping up a river of spit-up? Try some rice cereal. Heavier foods stay down better.

Thus, for the last several weeks I’ve carefully watched for signs that Simon was ready to try solids. According to my books, he’d be ready when he sat well with support, when he showed an interest in my food, when he lost his tongue-thrust reflex, and–ideally–when he was as close to six months as I could stand to wait.

And so I waited like a true believer for these signs to appear. I waited in happy anticipation. I waited like Linus did when he sat in his sincere pumpkin patch knowing that this year, this year for sure, the Great Pumpkin would arrive.

Then, lo, this past Sunday the signs were all in order. It was time. Matt mixed up the cereal and put Simon on his knee. Auntie Jen got out the video camera to record the drama. And I commenced to feeding the child.

We started out fabulously. I put the spoon in Simon’s mouth and he took it like a champ! In fact, he attempted to lift the entire bowl and chug the cereal all at once. He leaned forward and eagerly took each spoonful from me and even managed to swallow most of them. Finally, after eating the vast majority of what we prepared, he turned his head away from the approaching spoon as his belly was full.

About an hour and a half later, Simon fell asleep. Matt and I turned in ourselves with visions of long stretches of uninterrupted sleep in our heads. How long woud he go? Four hours? Five hours? Six hours? The suspense was killing us.

But not for long! Because at 11:30, exactly three hours after this exciting first meal, Simon woke up hungry. He did the same at 2:30. And at 6:00. And at 9:00.

Did I mention he spat up like Vesuvius, too?

As far as I am concerned, Matt and I just recorded our own, never-to-be-aired episode of Myth Busters. Because let me tell you, that rice cereal could not come close to satisfying the needs of a nearly six-month old baby during a growth spurt.

And those fabled babies who slept through the night so easily and so quickly after their first taste? Let me assure you, it was the formula that conked them out, not the rice cereal.

We’ll give Simon his rice cereal again tonight, and we’ll even make it thicker this time. But we’ll also be going to sleep when baby does, because we now know that a long night still awaits.

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[Editor's Note: It must mean something terrible. He absolutely demanded the keyboard from me and then pounded away at it like Jack Kerouac on an Benzedrine bender. Now he's hitting himself in the face and crying. I'm gonna go try to put him down and then go out and buy a new keyboard.]

I don’t have much news, but I just heard from a good friend that a former colleague of ours, Chanda, had a baby girl last Thursday, April 5.

Maylee came via an emergency C-section, but she weighed in at a healthy 7 pounds, 1 ounce, and mom and baby are reportedly just fine. In fact, I hear my career-driven friend is now entering the uncharted waters of new baby euphoria. Excellent!

I hope to have a picture soon. Until then, welcome Maylee, and congrats to Chanda and Randy. Two more Addison-Wesley babies to go…

Ma nishtanah halaila hazeh? “How is this night different from all other nights?”

It’s a song and a series of Four Questions that the youngest at the seder table asks as part of the Passover service. When you are a kid, reciting the Ma Nishtana and searching for the afikomen (a piece of matzah) is your designated role, your high-profile cameo in an otherwise adult production.

My family went a long, long time between generations, leaving me as the star of Ma Nishtana for about 24 years. I eagerly took over the song from my older brothers when I was about eight–in 1978. It’s a role I didn’t relinquish until my nephew Nathan was about eight–in 2002. Even the years I didn’t come home for Passover, I somehow always ended up the youngest at the table. I’m sure I could recite Ma Nishtana in my sleep. In fact, I’m sure I have recited Ma Nishtana in my sleep.

My tenure is even greater than my cousin Sheryl’s, who, according to family legend, asked the Four Questions from when she was a child of eight in around 1957 until “she was a grown woman” and my brother Steve took over. But that would have been in around 1971. By my reckoning, I’ve got her beat by a decade!

But I digress. About the same time Nathan took over Ma Nishtana, I took over leading the seder itself. The role came to me because I am the most opinionated about the seder service and also because I have the best Hebrew in the family. I missed a few years when I was living in San Francisco, but for the most part Passovers have born my imprimatur for the better part of 15 years.

Until this year, when an unadvertised fifth question changed my entire seder experience:

Ma nishtana haPesach hazeh? “How is this Passover different from all other Passovers?”

The answer is obvious:

HaPesach hazeh yesh li Shimon. “This year, I have Simon.”

This year I had to cede my master of ceremonies role. Like an injured ball player, I was suited up and sitting on the sidelines, cheering on the rest of my family as they carried on without me. My job was to keep Simon at the table and uncranky as much as possible. He had a good night, and the seder was a success without me.

I also realize that Simon is likely to be his mother’s son in at least two Passover-related ways. First, he seems unimpressed with matzah. I gave him a piece at the seder, and he treated it like a toy: he held it, licked it, and then threw it down. That’s my boy! I don’t consider matzah real food either.

And secondly, he’s going to have a monster tenure at Ma Nishtana himself. This year Olivia took over from Nathan after Nathan’s four-year run. Next year Olivia will likely co-star with her sister Madeline. In about 4 years, young Ben will take over from his sisters. Four years after that–in 2014–it will be Simon’s turn. And after that?

Barring the appearance of a sibling, the show will belong to Simon until he’s a parent or one of his first cousins is. I know how you feel, kiddo!