OK, I know all moms think their babies are cute. I really do. But Simon’s photo shoot proofs are in, and I feel comfortable stating-objectively-that he’s cute. Now I just have to decide if I want to preserve for posterity funny cute, smiley cute, pensive cute, clothed cute, or naked cute. Above is a favorie smiley photo with Simon showing off his two bottom teeth, which also happen to be his only two teeth.
The Proof is in the Picture
Jun 29th, 2007 by Jessica
Playing with Our Food
Jun 27th, 2007 by Jessica
Feeding one’s baby involves lots of decisions. Store bought or home-made? Organic or Conventional? Pureed or in its natural state? It’s more complicated than I had originally thought.
I knew early on that I wasn’t that keen on the jarred stuff. It just doesn’t taste that good to me, so I figured it probably didn’t taste that good to Simon, either. Plus, I’ve grown up with stories from my mom about what a pain I was to feed as a baby. Once she put me on table food I was just fine, but I disliked and widely rejected the baby food on offer. It seems that, in my case at least, food snobs are born and not made…
Still, when Simon was about six and a half months old, I got out a jar of sweet potatoes. Now I love sweet potatoes, I’ve eaten many a sweet potato in my life, and that, sir, was no sweet potato. Next up, I tried jarred squash, which more closely resembled its unjarred brethren. Much better. We both liked it.
But the entire episode got me to thinking. How much better would real, home-cooked squash taste to Simon? Only one way to find out: I cooked some, pureed it, and froze it in ice cube trays. Simon ate it right up and seemed happy to do so. That put me on the path to puree fun and success.
Except instead of blending my way to bliss, I continued reading about infant feeding and nutrition. And for every cookbook out there giving recipes for baby purees, there was an Ellyn Satter or Gill Rapley arguing that if the kid needs the puree, he’s not developmentally ready for the food itself. And that spoon feeding may lead to overeating and a lack of decent self regulation later on. That, in fact, pureeing and spoon feeding can make your baby a picky eater and then a picky-eating, obese adult. Ugh.
This school of thought, known as baby-led weaning, argues that you should prepare food for the family and let baby try to eat what she can. If she can scrape off part of that carrot-great. If she can’t-she will be able to soon enough.
Sounds reasonable. Except that the pro-puree camp has a counter for nearly all of it. After six months, babies need more iron than formula or breast milk alone can provide. From months 6-12, you have a window to alter and develop baby’s taste-buds. The early foods in weaning are all about exposing your baby to new tastes and new textures that will encourage healthy habits and a wide list of favorites later on. It’s now or never!
So, to puree or not to puree? Which is it? Heck if I know. I’ve decided to seek a middle course. I’m going to puree, but I’m also going to offer commercially frozen or homemade food as often as possible, I’m going to speed up my rate of food introduction and start combining more flavors, and I’m going to let Simon try to feed himself more often.
Here’s how our fist day after this pronouncement went:
At lunch, I gave Simon a spoon to try to eat his yogurt with. The results were amusing. First he grabbed the spoon, turned it upside down, and shoved it into his mouth. As the yogurt did not fall off the spoon, some actually got into his mouth. Success! I was so proud of him! Then for the next bite, he grabbed the bowl of the spoon and started gnawing away at the handle, all the while his chubby little hand was squeezing the yogurt over his hand, bib, high chair, and leg. Well, at least he was smiling and I was letting him try. Success!
Then, come dinner time, I got out home-made peas. Too much texture for him, so he made gagging sounds and let the peas fall out of his mouth all the while looking at me like I had just done something terrible to him. OK, Plan B. I got out the commercially prepared frozen peas. These had even more texture, despite the label saying “very smooth”, and Simon gagged harder and grimaced wider. OK, Plan C. I got out the detested (by me) jarred peas, which are gray and rather stale tasting. Simon loved them. Opened wide for each bite and swallowed happily.
Lesson learned. You can research. You can plan. You can hypothesize. You can theorize. But in the end, baby will show you the way. His way.
Glamourpuss!
Jun 24th, 2007 by Jessica
When it comes to children’s photography, there are four approaches from which to chose:
- You can take your own pics and call it a day.
- You can go to JC Penney or Sears and have cute pics taken at a good price.
- You can go to a professional photographer’s studio—an Olan Mills kind of place—and have slightly slicker pics taken at a relatively higher price.
- You can find your city’s artsy-fartsy, Ann-Geddes style photographer and blow your child’s college fund on the perfect sepia toned nude baby pic.
Can you guess which one I did Friday? If you guessed option 4, you are correct!
I mildly torn about this. On the one hand, it’s the exact sort of thing I’d fully expect many of my family and friends-those with solidly working class, lower middle class, or middle middle class sentiments-to frown upon. It is, after all, an unnecessary expense. An exorbitant, unnecessary expense. And it also sends out an unwitting but nonetheless clear signal that you expect the best for your kid. The corollary to which is that the normal stuff we all got as kids and that others get for their kids isn’t quite up to snuff for your little prince or princess. Yuck.
Worse, it’s part of a trend of justifying ridiculous expenses or at least trying to make them sound less ridiculous then they are. Expensive designer denim? Well, they just fit so much better. That pricey electric hot water dispensing pot? Hey, I drink a lot of tea. High-end furniture? Lasts longer, so really a bargain! The list goes on and on, and on Friday it grew to include photography.
On the other hand, I just don’t want a standard studio pic. I mean, I want a few of these, but I also have my heart set on a black and white or sepia-tone nude shot of Simon while his body is still baby soft, baby supple, and baby perfect. I get the proofs at the end of the week, at which time I hope to linger over their obvious superiority and justify them as capturing a moment in time that I can’t repeat and will never experience again.
The shoot itself was pretty funny. In the first place, it was simply amusing to see Simon stripped down and sitting in the middle of the floor, as I only ever see him naked on the changing table or in his bath. Funnily enough, he held his hands over his privates for the most part. And not in his usual here’s-a-fun-toy-to-play-with way, but rather in an Eve-after-eating-the-fruit-from-the-tree-of-knowledge kind of way. I think he was covering his shame.
The other amusing part of the shoot was watching the photographer loudly “A-Goo!” at, make faces at, and tickle Simon to coax a smile out of him. A few times he cried from the over stimulation of the whole thing, and truly I think the overly animated photographer was as much a part of this as the constant lights flashing at him. Simon’s a pretty smiley baby; all she had to do was say “Hey baby” in a friendly voice and he would have surrendered the dimples on the spot.
I have four more days to ponder my splurge, then I get to-I hope-admire the work and feel justified in decision. Until then, I’ll be keeping busy deciding what horrible expense I can talk myself into next.
Welcome Kira!
Jun 20th, 2007 by Jessica
Miss Kira
Yup. Another baby. For those who are counting, that’s the fifth we have announced this year thus far. And we’re not done yet, as one of our dear friends-one of the few who did not have a baby in 2006 or early 2007, announced she was pregnant on our trip to San Francisco last month. She’s due in December, so 2007 will also yield a bumper crop of babies.
But on to the baby at hand. Baby girl Kira Lorie was born Sunday, June 17, to my good friend Tyrrell. Tyrrell works in production at Addison-Wesley, and is so nice that when she writes to tell you that your author stunk so bad he (and it’s almost always a he) nearly made her quit her job, will publish late, and the book will stink despite her best efforts and extra time, she still manages to get a smiley face in there somewhere. It’s amazing.
Even more amazing is the parallel with fellow Addison-Wesley friend Joan. These two got engaged within two weeks of each other. Got married within two weeks of each other. And now have babies born exactly two weeks apart. Maybe Malcolm and Kira will get married one day…
Tyrrell and Tom’s bundle of joy came with long hair and weighed in at 7 pounds, 5 ounces. A hearty welcome to Kira, who I’ll look forward to seeing in Boston this September, and congratulations once again to Tyrrell and Tom!
One day in the future, I am sure to think back to Simon at eight months and miss the little baby that he is now. When that day comes, you can be sure that today will be long forgotten-an absence of memory I welcome as a gift from the nostalgia fairy. For today Simon has fussed, moaned, whined, cried, and screamed all day.
He awoke at 8:00 crying, he fussed through nursing, he fussed through breakfast, he fussed through play-time, he fussed through diaper changes, he shrieked during an attempted nap, he fussed during three others, he moaned during lunch, he wailed getting into his car seat, and he screamed bloody murder when it began to rain on us when we finally got outside.
All in all, today has been exhausting and not much fun. I began the day saying, “Don’t cry honey”. By late morning, it had become a more urgent, “Don’t cry honey!”, by afternoon we had hit, “Please don’t cry” and by now we are squarely in “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD QUIT CRYING” territory. Matt gets off the phone in twenty minutes, at which time I am plunking Simon in his lap regardless of how much more work he has to do.
I’m 99% sure teething is to blame for Simon’s foul mood, and thank goodness the worst of early sleep deprivation is over. Because about now I am getting quite a good reminder as to how shot and desperate and ill tempered I could get during those early months. It’s not a place I want to revisit any time soon.
I am also beginning to wonder how important those baby teeth are. Can’t they just gum their food until the adult ones come in? Crazy as this may sound to you, about now it seems completely reasonable to me.
Epilogue: At around 6, I decided to go to Whole Foods to shop for frozen organic baby food. Some things I can’t make, and our rotation of supplemental jars was getting small and boring. Plus, I needed to get out of the house. When I came home, Simon nursed, then promptly knocked my bowl of salmon chowder off the kitchen island and-simultaneously-threw up. It seemed like the perfect ending to the not-so-perfect day.
But then something funny happened. I got out one of the new foods, spinach sweetened with pears and mangos. Simon went wild. It was the happiest I saw him all day. He banged his hands on the high chair tray, kicked his legs, and squealed in delight between each bite. After which he took a very happy splashy bath and then went straight to bed. So we at least got a happy ending!
What’s Happening to Grandpa?
Jun 18th, 2007 by Jessica
Shopping for Father’s Day stinks. While merchants have untold numbers of yummy and lovely presents on display for mom, the dad displays tend to feature bad cologne, useless golf gadgets, barbecue items, and joke ties. Where’s the respect? I’ve seen these bad displays for ages, but my dad usually requests “no gifts” for Father’s Day, so I haven’t given the sad little displays much thought in the past.
This year I came up smack against it when I attempted to shop for my dad, Jim, and Matt. My idea was to get each a book to read to Simon. Matt’s would be about dads, and Jim’s and my dad’s would be about grandfathers. Easy, right? I mean, how hard could it really be to find heartfelt books about dads and grandfathers when the shelves are full, well nigh teaming, with books about moms and grandmothers?
Bloody impossible is how hard it could be. The Father’s Day display at Borders was embarrassingly thin, featuring not only the usual suspects–books about barbecue and golf were prominently displayed–but also, embarrassingly, anything the staff thought seemed like a guy book. Which is to say WWII and investing.
The going got no better in the children’s section. For every book written about dads, there must be fifty about moms. I had already gotten Matt one book about animal babies and fathers, but wanted to get him another one or two. I had to settle for one Dad book and one book about sleepy bunnies. I could have done better shopping online, but then you can’t read all the text and see the pictures before you buy, which I think is a no-no in children’s literature.
Then I went looking for grandfather books and the pickins got even slimmer. The entire store seemed to have four offerings, which I think says a lot about the state of grandfatherdom in the twenty-first century:
- The Grandpa Book. From what I can tell, this picture book designed to explain what a grandfather is to kids who live a thousand miles or so from theirs. As I was hoping for something the grandfathers could read to Simon, this book was out.
- The next book featured grandfathers doing all sorts of things with their grandsons. I can’t remember the name now. This looked promising until page 5 or so when Grandpa took Grandson to church and they celebrated Christmas together. Last time I checked, grandfathers named “Zadie” do not go to church. So for my dad at least, this was also a bust.
- I Already Know I Love You. This title was written by Billy Crystal, nearly a strike against it right there. Then I read it. Yuck! Really corny and filled with bad rhymes and metaphors. I hope Simon’s Zadie and Papaw are both too cool for this one. Plus, it is about loving your grandchild before he or she is even born, which to my mind is just begging your children to ask questions you don’t want to answer before their time. So no to this one, too.
- What’s Happening to Grandpa? Yes, a book about Alzheimer’s. Written by Maria Shriver, so another celebrity offering to boot. Endorsed by Nancy Reagan no less. Need I say more?
So that’s it. My quest for grandpa books yielded not one that would be fun for Simon’s grandpas to read to them. What’s happening to Grandpa? indeed.
Thankfully, our Father’s Day proceeded well despite the absence of quality literature. In the first place, just having my Dad attend was a plus, as on Thursday he had to go the emergency room with poor kidney functioning. (We’re hoping it was merely dehydration, but will know more later this week.)
In the second place we began the day with a fun outing to the zoo, and any day that includes a baby elephant can’t be all bad.
And in the third place, if my presents weren’t so good, at least Simon’s scored. See accompanying photo to check out how Simon, cool baby that he is, decked out his dad, his Papaw, and his Zadie in cool aloha wear to match his own.
Respek da Schedule
Jun 16th, 2007 by Jessica
Once upon a time, we could take Simon anywhere with us. If we were ready for dinner, all we had to do was put Simon in the car and take him along with us; he was certain to quietly hang out or sleep through the whole meal, depending on whether he was in the mood to take in the scenery or doze a little.
During those early months, our lives were ordered around three-hour intervals. Simon didn’t really know the difference between day and night, but every three hours he needed to be changed, eat, possibly played with, and then coaxed back to sleep. In hindsight, those were liminal days in which we existed outside the schedule of basic society. We were no more or less tired at 2:00 a.m. than we were at 2:00 p.m. We merely coasted on adrenaline and cat-naps from the beginning of one three hour unit of time to another.
As Simon grew older and became more aware of the world around him (and as his tummy got bigger), he began to settle into something resembling a schedule. The upside of this is that Matt and I now get much more sleep at night-we usually wake only once between 10 or 11 at night and dawn’s pearly fingers. The downside is that we have to respect Simon’s schedule, making us much less flexible than we used to be.
We first learned this on a Saturday about two months ago. Simon went out to a cafe with us in the morning, then browsed the Cherokee Triangle Art Festival and hit a second cafe in the afternoon. By dinner time he was pretty sick of being in his car seat or stroller. But Matt and I had plans to go out for dinner with a friend, so we decided to put him back in the car seat, take him along, and trust that he’d doze off or quietly hang out with us.
Simon had other plans, and going gently into that good night was not on the list. He fussed in the car. He fussed in the restaurant. He fussed when I nursed him at the restaurant. He fussed after I nursed him at the restaurant. Before our food could ever arrive at the table, I had a red-faced, angry, and loud baby that no amount of holding, rocking, bouncing, or cooing at was going to make happier.
So I did what no doubt many a parent has done before me: I ran the proverbial white flag up the pole, excused myself, and got my food to go. What’s more, I acknowledged that in pushing Simon so, I had not been a very good parent to him. I had earned his fit of temper for not recognizing his needs and respecting his schedule.
That was the last time we tried to push Simon so hard, but not the last time we paid for him being off schedule. Just last Thursday Simon and I had a hard day despite my best efforts to keep him on track. He woke up, nursed, and had some oatmeal just like he always does. Then, about 2 hours later he was ready for his morning nap. Also just like always.
Only Thursday morning he woke up early from the nap, insufficiently refreshed to be in a good mood, which meant he had several fitful feedings and some fitful playtime before it was time for his afternoon nap, from which he also awoke early. It was just one of those days. Thankfully, he righted himself Friday and managed to eat when hungry, play when awake, and sleep well when tired.
So how does one keep a baby on this best-case schedule? I still haven’t figured it out. Some days, like when we were on vacation, we do all the wrong things and he does just fine. Other days, like this past Thursday, I do my best to follow his cues and still fumble. I’m sure I will get better at this as we go along. But one thing I can say for sure is that it will be a long, long time before I put a strung out, over-tired baby in a car seat and assume that everything will be “just fine” once we get to our destination!
The Maggie Gyllenhaal Controversy
Jun 14th, 2007 by Jessica
Sometime last week, celebrity new mom Maggie Gyllenhaal nursed her daughter Ramona in public. A photographer snapped a picture of her nursing, the photos ended up on several celebrity gossip sites, and the comments have been amazing-disturbing, funny, crude, supportive or just about any other reaction you can think of. It’s been fascinating and infuriating to read all at once.
The debate mostly seems to rage on two points:
- Should moms nurse in public?
- If so, how important is it that they cover up while doing so?
All but the most Neanderthal among us seem to agree that nursing in public is OK. For the most part, the comments against public nursing reveal a complete lack of understanding about babies in general and the mechanics of nursing in particular. Consider some of the following questions and suggestions I’ve seen:
“Can’t you just pump and bottle feed in public?” No, actually, you cannot. If you don’t nurse when your baby is hungry, you mess up your supply. Also, as I know all too well, many nursing mothers cannot successfully pump.
“Can’t you just time your trips better so you don’t need to nurse in public?” Again, no, actually, you cannot. Most young babies feed every 2-3 hours-and that’s beginning of feeding to beginning to feeding. Unless you stay home almost all the time, you simply can’t arrange to avoid public feedings.
And then there’s my personal favorite: “Yuck! You wouldn’t pee in public, so why is this OK?” I trust no comment is necessary on this one.
Having dispatched those who disapprove of nursing in public in all forms as ill-educated yobs with issues, we can now move on to the next question. How important is discretion?
It’s funny how my views on this have changed in the past few months. Early on, I purchased the Bebe au Lait nursing cover, which I fondly call the nursing burkha. Even though I thought it was ridiculous and unnecessary, I used it in deference to Southern mores about modesty and discretion. And to keep my father and brothers’ eyes from bleeding. And, in all honesty, to keep from feeling exposed and self conscious myself.
Simon is now nearly eight months old, it’s summer, and the burkha is becoming a thing of the past. Simon is so strong and wriggly now that it’s almost impossible to keep the burkha in place. More than once, I’ve found myself sweating with the exertion of trying to wrestle him, my body, and the wrap all at once.
And speaking of sweat, it’s summer in the South. Which is to say it’s hot and humid. So when I stop sweating from exertion, I start sweating from having an extra layer of fabric over my exothermic baby and me. Whew! I’m pretty sure Simon doesn’t like sweating it out either, as he gets fussy and protests the cover.
So my new compromise is to dress to make nursing as easy as possible when I’m going to be out for most of the day and to place the burkha over a shoulder next to me-but not over Simon’s head-to cut off the revealing side view. Can you see anything if you look real hard? You can. Am I worried about this? Not much. The practicalities of feeding an older baby have simply flipped off my modesty chip.
Going back to Maggie, many posters assume her public nursing was a public statement, perhaps even an open challenge to those who are offended by it. And if it was, go Maggie, go. But I also wonder if it wasn’t just a case of her being a mom of an older baby out in hot and humid NYC in the summer. And if that’s the case, folks, the rubbernecking and ensuing debate is just plain ole silly. Or, to quote some of the more succinct comments I ran across, “It’s just a boob folks. Can’t we all get over it?
Welcome Malcolm!
Jun 12th, 2007 by Jessica
A hearty congratulations are in order for my friend Joan and her husband Steve, who welcomed son Malcolm into their family June 3.
Joan has been the kind of work friend you hope to find but usually don’t-a tremendous professional filled with great ideas AND a wonderful friend who will always lend an ear wrapped up into a single package. Joan was married last summer and wanted to start a family right away, and little Malcolm arrived just a few weeks before mom and dad’s first anniversary. Well played!
At 20 1/2 inches and 9 pounds, Malcolm is a nicely rounded baby who already has cute little dimples in all the right places. I think he looks like his dad, and I can’t wait to check him out in person on a trip to Boston this fall.
Enjoy him while he’s tiny, Steve and Joan!
My VOAB (Very Own Amazing Baby)
Jun 11th, 2007 by Jessica
Simon is developing by leaps and bounds these days, clearly behaving as and hitting the milestones for “the older baby”, as all books seem to term babies over six months old. But I don’t like the word “older” in reference to Simon, so after a line in the book I Kissed the Baby! I prefer to call him my Very Own Amazing Baby (VOAB).
His accelerated development began three weeks ago in Oakland, when I realized that Simon’s drooling was the result of teething-a hunch that was verified when he first munched on my shoulder and then tested out his emerging choppers at the end of a nursing session (ouch!) . He now has two quite visible lower front teeth and is drooling away as he works on the next ones. Alas, my baby’s adorable gummy smile is becoming a thing of the past. I’ll miss it.
At about the same time, we noticed that Simon’s manual dexterity was advancing quickly. He has developed a crude pincer grasp and uses it to grab at anything he can. My hair and necklaces are great favorites right now, as are books, magazines, balls, the cats, and any food within grabbing distance. This last bit is proving to be a real hazard, as Simon has gotten precariously close to eating queso and spicy lentils well before his time.
On the gross motor skill front, Simon has been able to reach his feet for some time now, and Friday he managed to get a foot into his mouth for the first time. He’s also starting to prop his chest up and reach for things when you give him tummy time these days-a new and welcome advance over his previous routine of flopping down and shrieking.
But the thing that really blows my mind is that Simon now does a fair job of standing in our laps. He needs some support, but we can tell that he’s working on his balance and will be pulling himself up to a stand soon enough. Simon’s first good stand came Thursday night at his Uncle Dan’s new condo. Saturday he stood even better, and-adorably-did his best to clap along when we applauded him for his efforts. That’s my VOAB.
I have mixed feelings about all of this. For the most part, I’m delighted to see Simon growing up on track and mastering new skills. Saturday he played in a baby pool for the first time over at his Grandma and Grandpa’s, and I had a fabulous time watching him splash around in the pool, reach for toys, and really explore all his senses at once.
On the other hand, this all means that my little baby won’t be my little baby for much longer. I worried about the first few months speeding by, but I don’t miss them now because Simon is so much more fun and social then he was then. I also worried about months 3-6 speeding by since Simon was so content and smiley, but I discovered to my happy surprise that Simon at 7 months is just as happy as he was at 5, and only marginally more mobile.
But I have a hunch, a strong hunch, that soon enough Simon will be getting into everything and distancing himself from me as he learns to be independent. I know as an absolute certainty that when that day comes, I will think back to Saturday-the day my baby splashed happily in his pool for the first time and loved me above all others-and will miss that baby desperately. Because honesty, it’s hard to imagine it getting any better than this.