Kid Amnesiac

Simon is getting pretty good at throwing things. Things like his ball, crackers, menus, and most hilariously, his pacifier. Less hilariously, he’s also perfected throwing a righteous fit. I think I’m seeing glimmers of toddlerdom in my baby.

Funny stuff first. The image of a baby throwing a pacifier may not seem that funny. But in context, you’ll have to trust me that it is. The most common scenario has Simon waking up from sleeping or napping with a pacifier in his mouth. I carry him into whichever room we’re going to nurse in and settle us in. While I’m doing that, Simon is doing his own bit to settle in. He shifts in my lap to get more comfortable, takes his pacifier out of his mouth, throws it off to the side to get it out of his way, and then grabs on to me. The first time he did this I laughed out loud so hard he couldn’t get a good grip.

Other favorite objects to throw include pretty much anything from his high chair. He throws his menu, spoons, Cheerios, you name it. A particular favorite is his sippy cup, but he’ll settle for anything I’m likely to pick up for him. So far as I can tell, nothing in the world is quite as much fun as watching mom pick up the same item six or seven million times. ‘m thinking of getting him an atlatyl for his birthday. These are the best of times!

Alas, with the good comes the bad. Saturday night Simon threw an absolute, hellacious fit. I had put him down to sleep for the night, and Matt had gone out to meet some friends at Dutch’s Tavern. Simon woke up around 11:30 or so, which isn’t that unusual. Since he hadn’t nursed much that day, I brought him into the bedroom to nurse instead of just tucking him back in to sleep. Normally, he’d be happy and drowsy at the end of this session, would fall asleep easily in his crib, and would awake at 6:00 a.m. or later the next morning.

Well, not Saturday night. He nursed halfheartedly, then whimpered a bit. I put him in his crib and assumed he’d fall right back asleep. You know what they say about assuming, right? About 10 minutes later I heard awful screaming. I go back in the nursery, reset the crib-side aquarium, give him his pacifier, and walk out.

Now he’s screaming bloody murder. I wait about four minutes, go back in, and attempt to repeat the routine. Only this time he’s on all fours, he’s writhing and screaming, and he goes berserk when I try to reposition him. Back out of the room for about five to six more minutes. Still hysterical screaming. Back in the room. Now he’s on his back, arms and legs up in the air, cross-wise in the crib at the extreme end. I try to give him his pacifier. He swats my hand away. I try again, and he grabs the pacifier and hurls it across the room.

At this point it’s nearly one a.m., I am simply beat, and I don’t care a whit about sleep training; I care only about getting Simon to calm down. So I call Matt on his cell; my message is short and to the point: “Simon is hysterical. Please come home.” After placing the call I drag Simon into bed with me, half expecting him to calm down and go to sleep under these cozy circumstances.

Nope. Still the hysterical crying. His face is red and blotchy. His features are distorted. My sweet, beautiful boy is now a foreign, ugly little alien creature. But I was oddly calm about the whole thing. He didn’t seem to be in pain. (Just in case it was teething, I gave him some Tylenol.) He had no fever. No sign of earache. Was dressed correctly. Was full. And he didn’t sound particularly pained or sad or scared. What he sounded was M-A-D mad.

I’m not sure what or at what he was so angry, but the entire scenario played out like a horrible tantrum more than anything else. In the end, Matt came home, Simon calmed down nearly instantly upon his return, and we all got some sleep at last.

Whew! If that was my first tantrum, I’m not looking forward to the second. Truly, I’d be much happier if kiddo would stick to tossing menus, balls, and cups. But since that’s not likely, I’ll have to settle for hoping his next fit comes on a night when I’m less run down and have the energy to make him work it out himself.

Not in the Caddyshack sense of the sentence, but in the the baby toy sense.

One of Evie’s great yard-sale finds of the summer was a toy shaped something like a short volumetric flask. The opening at the top was about the circumference of a golf ball, and the toy came with three balls to drop down the hole. The reward for getting the ball in the flask is that, upon contact with the bottom, a little song plays. I like this toy a lot and have played with it quite a bit, always eager to hear which song it will play for me next.

Simon was less enthused. He’d grab the balls, bang the balls together, taste the balls, and–lately at least–throw the balls. Until last night. For Labor Day, Matt and I worked (putting the “labor” in Labor Day), then headed over to the Whitworths’ for dinner. The guys ran out to pick up food, and Evie, Barb, and I sat down to play with Simon. Within a minute or less, as though he had been doing this his entire life, he picked up a ball, held it over the toy’s rim, and released just right to have the ball go in.

As if to demonstrate it was no fluke, he repeated the trick at least two more times. We were so proud! Then the guys returned and we excitedly went to show them Simon’s new trick. “I’m no trained seal,” Simon seemed to say as he grabbed the balls, banged the balls together, tasted the balls, and threw the balls.

I felt like the sad sap in the famous Warner Brothers cartoon whose singing, dancing frog merely sits and croaks in front of everyone but its owner. In fact, at one point he finally did repeat the trick, but Jim was in another room and Matt had his head turned. Amazing.

Simon finally made an honest mom out of me after dinner. He also cruised a bit on the couch, stood for several minutes (supported by the couch), and ate his first watermelon. All in all, a big and satisfying day for a baby.

Once upon a time, I watched way too much television. Much of that television was pure junk TV, like America’s Next Top Model, but some of it was junk TV disguised as something educational. If you’ve watched much of the programming on the science or history channels, you are well aware that many of these programs feature hokey reenactments of bad science and/or bad history.

One such program, a favorite of mine, is a show about the aquatic ape. To my way of thinking, the Aquatic Ape Theory (AAT) is the chindogu of evolutionary science. That is, just as chindogu or “unuseless inventions” solve a real problem by way of an invention that causes so many concomitant problems as to render the solution useless*, the AAT has so many holes in it, that it fails to solve the problem it was designed to shed light on.

Let’s back up a minute. The basic thesis behind the AAT is that it seems unlikely (to AAT proponents anyway) that modern humans developed on the savanna, and that a period or periods of aquatic life can account for some key differences between humans and apes. Some of these features include humans’ relative lack of body hair, large breasts, and downturned nostrils.  Of course, most aquatic creatures don’t have human sweat glands or enlarged breasts either, thus shooting some holes in the AAT. To say nothing of the fact that humans are non-native swimmers, which really puts the kibosh on it.

But the part of the AAT that is the most intriguing and almost persuasive–at least until you think about it for more than five seconds–is bipedalism. Why would an ape on the savanna ever stand on two feet? Doesn’t it make more sense that this trait would develop in an environment where buoyancy would encourage bipedalism and a watery surrounding would make being on all fours less desirable?

Eh, probably not. Chimps and gorillas and orangutans can all stand on two feet. They just usually choose not to. What’s more, their preference for tree-swinging (orangutans) and knuckle walking (chims and gorillas) may be themselves evolutionary developments that place a premium on speed.

And what does all of this have to do with Simon? So glad you asked. Today at the pool, after three or four failed attempts on previous outings, I got Simon in the baby raft. At first, he cried.  He was leaning forward in the raft, and that was way too much like tummy time for his liking. But then, encouraged by a desire to keep his face dry and empowered by buoyancy, Simon stood up and moved from one side of the baby pool to another.

Imagine that, his face seemed to say, I can actually stand up and move from point A to point B without being carried. Amazing! And certainly nothing he’s considered home on terra firma.

Based on this exercise, I’ve decided that while the AAT may be a bunch of unscientific speculation, buoyancy may well be what finally encourages Simon to stand and walk. All of which is disconcerting because I leave town next Friday and the pool closes for the season next Saturday.

Wonder how high I can fill the tub….

* An example of a perfectly chindogu invention is a tongue cover designed to prevent burns from hot food. Of course, if you actually use this sucker, you also won’t be able to taste your food, which takes away some of the pleasure. For more chindogu, see the book by the same name by Kenji Kawakami. And prepare to laugh yourself sick.

We had another first today: Simon pulled himself up to a stand. Yay, Simon!

Lately, we’ve been playing a 1-2-3-stand game. We both sit on the floor, I hold Simon’s hands in mine, we count aloud, and I pull him to standing on 3. After a while, he started doing some of the lifting himself, with me only nudging him along somewhat. But today, after several rounds of 1-2-3-stand, I got to 2 when Simon decided it was time to pull up and did so all on his own.

Excellent. He can stand holding on to furniture as well, but has yet to pull up on any furniture, probably because he still can’t crawl or scoot to get over to it.

Sigh. I know there’s nothing to be alarmed about here. I know he’ll develop in his own time, that boys are often slow, that he didn’t get much tummy time, etc., but the kiddo is getting beginning to fall behind those a full trimester behind him.

On the plus side, there is some real upside to Simon’s slight developmental tardiness. First, it doesn’t really matter than I installed the baby gates poorly and have now knocked both down. And second, I can still put Simon on the floor, go get something in another room, and know he’ll be where I left him when I get back.

I guess so long as a lazy baby means mama can also be lazy, it’s not so bad. Still, I’m glad he’s showing progress on other gross motor skill fronts.

The Princess Chair

Who sold me out? My sister-in-law warned me about this: you get pregnant and the next thing you know a bunch of stuff arrives at your door. Catalog stuff. Formula sample stuff. Babies R Us coupons. Just mounds and mounds of stuff-mostly stuff I was not interested in.

The information had to come from the hospital or my OBGYN. Doesn’t HIPAA prevent this sort of thing? I was up in arms briefly, then the flood ended at about the time Simon was 2-3 months old, and I assumed the flood of unwanted stuff had ended. I was wrong.

In the past two weeks, as Simon approaches his first birthday, I have received two unsolicited items. The first was a new Enfamil toddler formula, touting the benefits of its nutrition over whole milk from nine months to baby’s second birthday. I honestly didn’t know toddler formulas existed.

The company’s logic is that whole milk isn’t nutritionally optimal for baby’s second year and that toddler formulas contain additional calcium, phosphorus, and DHA. I can see that. But formula is expensive-extremely so. I’ve read that most families spend $1.5 K in a year on the stuff. And unless your baby is not eating much in the way of solids, I think the toddler can do without formula. And even if your toddler is a poor eater, I suspect you can simply give a multi-vitamin and achieve the same effect for much less cash.

Then again, Enfamil has to come up with some way to increase their profits every year and keep shareholders happy. I suppose you could call this the ultimate customer retention plan. My own plan is to offer some whole milk once Simon turns one, continue to nurse, and give a vitamin to supplement his iron intake.

The next arrival of stuff is actually topical. It’s (sadly) all over the Louisville papers that celebrity photographer Larry Birkhead-he who sired Anna Nicole Smith’s daughter-is throwing a first birthday party for baby Danielynn at Tricia Barnstable-Brown’s house. This is simply too, too perfect. You see, Tricia Barnstable rubs elbows with C- and D-list celebrities each year at her Derby party, which occurs around the corner and several income tax brackets from my house. And Larry… Well, poor Larry rubbed more than elbows with at least one C-lister (that would be Anna Nicole), who, according to reports, met Anna Nicole at the Barnstable Derby party one year and was embarrassed by her drunken behavior at the same party the next year.

You may also recall a little paternity battle resulting from Anna Nicole’s officially naming Howard K. Stern the father. Ah, true romance. Still, Tricia claims magic was in the air the day they met, and so she’s now hosting an intimate gathering of 200 to mark the celebuspawn’s first birthday. And Louisville is getting on board! Thanks to the Courier-Journal, I now know all about the ritzy shop where Larry bought the invitations and party favors to perfectly capture the princess theme for the upcoming celebration.

Hey Larry (or Tricia)! You shoulda called me. I could have saved you a bundle. Because today I received the catalog “1st Wishes”, offering 35 pages of birthday themed napkins, invitations, plates, rugs, hats, tee-shirts, bibs, and toys. Lare’s princess theme appears on the cover and on page 2-3. In case the gender stereotyping of princess turns you off, you can also choose from a Baby Einstein “baby genius” theme* or, better yet, Thomas the Train, which comes with bonus lead paint at no extra charge.

Anyway, call me old fashioned but I have different plans for Simon’s party. I’m making the (gender neutral) invites. Evie is going to help me plan games for the older cousins. My mom is hosting the party and helping with the cooking and baking. A cute party will be had. I’ll no doubt blog about it. And with the $250 I’ve saved by not buying all the stuff in the catalog, I can buy Simon his fall-winter wardrobe. **

* A study released two weeks ago demonstrated that children who watched Baby Einstein videos actually had fewer words than those who didn’t. Probably because the time kids spend watching these videos is better spent by a parent or sitter actually, you know, talking to the kid.

** OK, so I could buy his fall-winter wardrobe for $250, but sadly, knowing me, I’ll go way over that budget. So apologies to all who blow money on birthday parties. People who live in glass houses and all…

A little late in the game, I joined the Jewish Community Center two weeks ago. Pool season is nearly over, but when it’s 103 degrees out, it’s about the only thing to do. Plus, I can start working out there and take advantage of the drop-in babysitting, J-Play, which charges a mere $2 for the first hour and $5 thereafter. That’s a heckuva lot cheaper than a nanny, let me tell you.

My first visit was a study in ethnic stereotypes. In the baby pool with me were several other moms. Two were quite slim, very blonde, extremely tan, and were watching over similarly blonde, similarly tan babies. One of the women was so dark that I have nicknamed her “shoe leather woman.” If you are a dermatologist, I think you would call this woman “job security.”

So we have our two skinny, tanned, blonde moms. Then there were the other moms. They had dark hair, not much in the way of tans, and ranged from pretty fit to pretty overweight to morbidly obese. Their kids? Also untanned. Also unblonde.

Can you tell Jew from gentile? I realize I could be wrong here. But I wouldn’t bet against me.

Simon’s experience at the pool has been mixed. He’s not always wild about the baby pool (maybe the tanned babies freak him out, too), but he loves getting in the family pool with me. We jump in the water, I lay him across his belly and simulate swimming, I put him on my belly and swim along on my back (sort of), and we generally frolic in the 3-4 foot zone. It’s a good time for both of us.

There have been to date only two complications. One is that the dear will not keep a hat on. It’s his second favorite game, next to “throw the object off the highchair” in hilarity. Last time I put the sucker on about ten times; Simon took it off just as many. This was much easier before he could grab things. The solution to this problem is zinc oxide, but it’s a messy solution at best and an eye-stinging solution at worst.

The second complication is that I want Simon to feel comfortable in the water, but I don’t really know what I’m doing. Most of the time I feel fine with making things up as I go, but two days ago we hit a bump. We were sitting in the baby pool together when I let go of him to reach something. Simon chose that exact moment to lose his balance and fall over backwards, completely submerging his head in the water. Before this, I had always made sure that his head stayed above water.

He looked up at me with open, startled, underwater eyes. And I looked back at him–briefly–with startled, terrified mommy eyes. Two seconds later he was sitting back up, and I was clapping for him. “Yay Simon! You went underwater and opened your eyes like a big boy!” He almost bought it. There was a tiny bit of crying, a fair bit of eye-rubbing, and several minutes of clinginess. Then he was ready for more adventures in the family pool.

Based on this display of bravery I am dubbing him, for the moment at least, Aquababy.