Kid Amnesiac

Tomorrow I leave for a short business trip to Indianapolis. That in itself is not notable. Simon will not be joining me. That is quite new, and a bit angst provoking.

My trip will be short, a mere 48 hours, but I’m still a little nervous about it. I’ve only recently gotten used to being away from Simon for a seven-hour stretch. Forty-eight seems like forever.

For the record, I’m not at all worried about Simon. He’ll have Matt, his Bubbie, Kathy, and his Grandma looking after him while I’m away. He’ll be fine.

It’s less clear how I’ll do. I know I’ll miss him at night and in the morning, but I’m not particularly worried about that. I’m not even that worried that Simon will miss me and I won’t be around to comfort him. Deep down, I think I’m more worried that I’ll be away and he won’t miss me at all!

Now that is a level of self-centeredness that is none too pretty. My little guy, by contrast, is looking quite pretty in a toothy way these days. This photo will be my “fix” on the road.

I’ve gotten spoiled of late with a happy, mellow baby. For many months, Simon has eaten well, slept very well, and been happy and giggly most of the time. All in all, he’s made parenting feel easy.

The past five days, on the other hand, have been trying. I don’t know if teething or nascent toddler temper is to blame, but he’s definitely given me a run for my money. This past Wednesday Simon threw a fit the likes of which I had not seen or heard for a very long time during his lunch time. He eventually settled down and had a nice time playing with his sitter, but I had an author call during the eye of the storm, and Simon was so loud that I was forced to exit the premises immediately. So I took the call on my porch, in the winter, with no coat on. I turned completely blue and didn’t have much fun at all.

Thursday was fine, but Friday witnessed a return to bad form, with lots of moaning and crabbing, and several all-out shrieking fits. The worst was when I gave him a home-made icicle for his teething pain, and either the hardness of the icicle or its cold surface somehow irritated his gums or lips. All I know is that he was giggling one minute and then began to wail and bleed from his mouth. That wailing continued long after the bleeding had stopped. Matt and I high-fived each other when he went down for the night, and then we collapsed ourselves.

Saturday we had another terrific day-truly one of our best ever-but I knew I was in for it today when Simon awoke hysterical at 2:30 a.m. and had to lie down in bed with us for a bit before he was calm enough to go back to his crib. Things were spotty from then on, and his dinner hour was a flat-out disaster. I was pretty frustrated by the non-stop wailing, and I am already stressed today for non-Simon reasons. (I’m traveling for work this week, I broke my glasses yesterday, and I discovered today that my brand new glasses-the ones I spent three hours and $500 on yesterday–are damaged with no time for me to fix before I leave town.) Honestly, all the while Simon was yelling tonight, all I could think about was having a glass of wine and going to bed myself.

It’s hard to decide what my least favorite type of fit is. It’s a tight race between the arching-back-twisting-rolling shrieking fit and the bending-over-putting-head-on-floor shrieking fit. I think the former is more disturbing and the latter more heartbreaking, but neither is going to get him into charm school or make me feel like the mother of the year.

Somehow, though, we managed to get through it all, and I managed to keep my cool. When he got upset on our walk today, I carried him home. When he was despondent in the living room, I held him and tried to comfort him while he worked it out. And by the time he went to bed, he was smiley and happy again, so we got to end the day on a sweet and loving note. I suppose these days are necessary to remind you that it’s hard to be a baby/toddler, that your wards are little, complicated people and not just toys, and that the bonds of family unity are forged as much by bad days as good ones. Tomorrow is another day!

Long Naps

Yesterday was a Camp Whitworth day for Simon, but I’m afraid he didn’t take full advantage of it. It seems that while Simon played with Grandma and Papaw and even kicked a ball around their house (this a new trick), he also took a three-and-a-half-hour nap. Three and one half hours!

As he usually does, he was too excited to be at a new house to take a morning nap at the usual time of 10:30. So he crashed around 11:45. That’s par for the course. But this time, he didn’t wake up at 1:00 wanting lunch. Or at 2:00. Or even 3:00. Nope, he slept straight through and woke up at 3:15, just in time for linner (the brunch of the mid-afternoon).

He didn’t nap quite as long today, but he did take a later than usual (11:30) longer than usual (2 hrs) morning nap. If he does this for another day or so, I’ll know it’s time to start stretching out his morning wakeful period until after lunch as part of a migration to a single nap. If he doesn’t, I’ll know these odd naps are merely part and parcel of Simon being generally off-schedule from teething. (He’s cutting several more and is having a hard time with them.)

Idle Hands

During all these marathon naps, I was supposed to be getting stuff done. Organizing stuff. Work stuff. Cooking stuff. Cleaning stuff. You know, the stuff of life. Instead I’ve been reading, thinking, reading some more, and posting a letter or two over at Salon.

What’s behind all this sloth is that I’ve finally started paying attention to the upcoming presidential election. I’ve grown to truly despise the way the U.S. handles elections, and so for the past several years, I’ve taken an ostrich approach. I watch a little PBS, I listen to a little NPR, I read the New York Times, the Economist, and a few other periodicals, and I otherwise avoid all media. I am particularly careful to avoid all political commercials and frankly think they do a disservice to democracy.

I was all set to do the same this year. Then my chosen candidate, John Edwards, left the race, and suddenly I realized I had a choice to make in the coming months. With this in mind, I watched my first debate Thursday night, and I’ve been reading about it and thinking about it all day. One debate isn’t enough to help me make my choice, and this isn’t the place to discuss my political views anyway.

Except for one thing.

Looking up at the podium on Thursday night I saw two intelligent, passionate, and civilized candidates representing one of our nation’s two major parties. It was hard to miss that one happens to be a woman and the other a biracial man. As much as I’m trying not to care about either of these things and don’t want to reduce complicated people to simple labels, I just can’t help but notice and feel a tingle of excitement this time.

Two weeks ago we celebrated MLK, Jr. Day, a day when we are reminded of how far we have come and far we still we have to go to realize King’s dream of judging people by the content of their character. I don’t think for a minute that we’ve suddenly realized this dream and erased all misogyny and bigotry from our society. But we’ve clearly made some progress, and it gives me great hope that Simon will grow up in a fairer, more open society than I did, just as I grew up in a fairer, more open society than my mother or her mother before her.

According to all the guidebooks, you are supposed to baby-proof your house by the time your child is nine months old. This includes but is not necessarily limited to the following: installing cabinet locks, covering electrical outlets, installing baby gates by stairs, and lowering the crib mattress.

I dutifully complied with the first three instructions, only to (true story!) trip over and break two out of three baby gates before Simon was mobile enough to need them. In hindsight, I think I put a jinx on his gross motor development by getting ahead of myself. The baby gate at the top of the stairs is up. The gates at the bottom are awaiting Simon’s ability to walk.

For a variety of reasons, Matt and I delayed lowering the crib mattress. Every now and again I’d bring it up, and Matt would remind me that Simon wasn’t able to get from lying down to sitting yet (sigh), and therefore did not require a low mattress. Plus, my arms are kind of short, so he worried it would make it harder for me to put Simon down. Plus, both of us are mechanically inept, and we almost died and/or killed each other assembling the crib in the first place. Plus we weren’t sure where the instructions are. Plus we are both first class procrastinators.

Then yesterday Simon woke up from his afternoon nap a bit earlier than expected. I decided to let him cry for a few minutes, thinking he might go back to sleep. He didn’t, and when the crying began to escalate I went upstairs to greet him. You can imagine my surprise when I opened the door and saw Simon, standing in his crib, greeting me.

Whoa baby-this is new! That made it clear that kiddo could not go back in the crib until we lowered the mattress. This time the universe was kind to us: I found instructions online, we both understood the instructions, and we had all the required tools for the job. Within thirty minutes, Simon’s crib was newly adjusted to prevent him from jumping overboard.

So kudos to Simon for hitting a new milestone! And kudos to us for not being totally inept with baby equipment!

Back in early December, I was really looking forward to the holidays: Specifically, I was looking forward to having a lot of uninterrupted time with Simon. I had vacation and personal days to use up before the end of the year, and I just assumed that I would pass most of them with happy Mom and Baby days.

Instead, I was really busy with Hanukkah shopping, Hanukkah parties (2), Christmas shopping, Christmas parties (2), my Dad’s 70^th birthday party, a hospitalized cat, and some last-minute work assignments. The inevitable result of all this shopping,  partying, vet-going, and working was that Matt got tons of quality time with Simon, my mom and mother-in-law got lots of quality time with Simon, and I think I actually spent less time with him than I usually do. Bah humbug.

By the time we all got sick on my birthday, I was used to watching others take care of Simon while I checked in on occasion, an arrangement that didn’t sit well with me. Thankfully, my work schedule and the MLK, Jr. holiday serendipitously combined to give me five days in row to be home with Simon last week. And that is exactly what the doctor ordered to get us reconnected.

Simon has been in a terrific mood lately, we played our hearts out over the long weekend. We went for walks, went sledding, played patty-cake, danced, played the piano, built block towers, sent the animal train on its way, slid down the stairs on our tushes, played ball, and otherwise played, played, played. For those five days, I changed the vast majority of his diapers, fed him most of his meals, and took a million pictures.

It’s an interesting paradox that a string of long and seemingly tiring days can leave one feeling so invigorated. But there it is. Add to that a second paradox that the more time I spend with Simon, the less keen I am to have help or share him with others. From the distance of a week, I can see that Simon feels the same way. After our little babymoon, he’s been unusually attached to me, gesturing to be picked up and help every time he sees me and prone to cry whenever I leave a room.

He’ll adjust back to having a part-time sitter soon enough, and he certainly loves our new nanny Kathy (as do I). But after feeling a bit removed for a few weeks, it was great to once again be two peas in a pod and see that my love is requited.

Poor baby! Simon is currently recovering from his first bout with diaper rash. I suppose Matt and I should be grateful that we made it 15+ months without having to deal with diaper rash, but frankly we’re still finding the whole situation miserable.

But not as miserable as Simon. Poor baby! It all started Friday when he had a dirty diaper that must have been unusually toxic. We went to change him that afternoon and discovered a very red, very irritated bottom. We knew we were dealing with something new when Simon cried while we cleaned him up.

In the past, we could put on the tiniest layer of zinc oxide (or not), put on a fresh Fuzzi Bunz, put Simon to bed, and rest assured that all would be normal by morning. Well, Simon was noticeably improved today, but he was still red in in the center of his bottom, and he still had a raw spot the size of a nickel on the back of his right thigh.

Tonight we realized–to our absolute horror–that the red spot on his thigh is currently without an epidermis. Poor baby! I even spotted a tiny bit of blood on his Fuzzi Bunz. No wonder he cried when I tried to put some zinc oxide on that spot.

I called my brother and sister-in-law for some parent-to-parent advice, and to their everlasting credit they called me back with parent-to-parent and doctor-to-patient advice. Steve called in a prescription for silver sulfadiazine, we’ll be switching from wipes to warm wash clothes tomorrow, and we might even get out the baby legs and air that bottom out. Honestly, a little pee would be a small price to pay for faster relief.

Watching Simon cry from the pain of being cleaned up was simply horrendous. Earlier today, I Googled “diaper rash” and was greeted with some truly horrible sights that made me cry for babies I don’t even know. Poor babies!

Uh oh! It’s been a goal of mine since Simon was born to ensure that he develops solid eating habits.

For the first six months, I ate quality food and he exclusively nursed. For the next six months, I fed him mostly vegetarian, exclusively organic homemade baby food and nursed him. I felt good about the entire first year.

Then he began to refuse being spoon fed, and the quality of his nutrition took a predicable downturn. Out were the wholesome lentil stews. In came the mac and cheese. I justified this by knowing/hoping that if I introduced Simon to a broad range of foods and modeled good eating habits to him, he’d eventually broaden his diet.

I assume this is still true. What is also true is that your kid will notice and be infinitely more interested in your bad food choices than he/she ever will ever take note of or wish to mimic your good ones. Does Simon reach for my kale and beans? Hanker for sushi or a salad? Heck no.

But look what happened when he saw my soda can Tuesday night! I was horrified. I mean, I don’t even drink soft drinks on a regular basis. I don’t like them much for starters, and from a nutritional standpoint they are a total nightmare. Between the carbonation (bad for bones), the corn syrup (bad for teeth and just generally bad for you), and all those natural and artificial flavors (straight from a lab in Jersey!), I hold up the soft drink as a token of all that’s wrong in the Western diet. To quote Michael Pollan, who echoed my exact thoughts in his most recent book, this isn’t food: it’s a scientifically constructed food-like substance. And one that’s making us sick to boot.

For the most part, I drink water. Once a day, I have a cup of tea. And several nights a week I enjoy a glass of red wine. But I do like ginger ale on occasion. And when I got sick two weeks ago, it really helped to settle my stomach. Then, after I got well, I continued drinking a can a day because I had a case on hand.

That stops NOW. I know that one day the marketing forces that combine in schools, on TV, at restaurants, etc. will result in endless arguments between me and Simon over how much soda he can drink. And I’m not so naïve to think that I’ll win the battle and have a soda-free kid. But honestly, when a fifteen-month old picks up a can and pretends to drink from it, you have only yourself to blame.

Effective immediately, I have instituted new house rules: 1. No soft drinks in the house. 2. Any soft drinks brought into the house (like Matt’s Mountain Dew) must be consumed in a glass and have the bottle or can disposed of out of Simon’s sight. With any luck, Simon will not know what to do with a soda can in six months.

Simon has made some significant leaps in cognition lately that are thrilling to witness.

A while back, we delighted at his use of the word “light” and were puzzled by some other utterances like “ba” and “yagi.” In the past week or so he’s set to work on his pronunciation, and as a result we understand more. Simon now has six clear words: “light”, “mama”, “dada”, “ba” (bye), “ball”, and “lat” (cat). He also has several more words he’s said once or twice, but for now we are attributing them to mimicry. These pre-words include “turkey” and “clock”. He’s got a seventh word, “good,” that we’re not quite ready to confirm yet, and he also delights in saying “uh-oh” and “eeeeeey”.

Beyond simply saying a few words, Simon is letting us know that he understands more every day, too. For a week or so, he’s been able to point to a light, a cat, and a bunny in books when I ask him to. If I ask him to get his ball, most of the time he will. And if I ask him to give me a hug, he usually stretches out his arms. He’s hugged his stuffed bunny on command, too.

I’ve also been fascinated by watching Simon play with graduated boxes. When he first got them, he knocked the boxes together. As the months wore on, he began to play by putting the smaller boxes inside the larger ones. A few weeks ago, he stacked two boxes for the first time ever. And this week, he’s managed to stack as many as four boxes at a time.

Since these boxes are graduated in size, results vary dramatically according to the order he tries to stack things. Sunday and Monday, I looked on as Simon successfully put smaller boxes on top of larger ones, and then less successfully put larger boxes on top of smaller ones. Sometimes when he does this, he grabs the larger box off the smaller one and giggles as though he were playing peek-a-boo with them. That’s pretty darn cute. But Sunday and yesterday alike, I watched Simon take the larger box off the stack, look around for a smaller box, and try again with better results. That was downright fascinating.

Whenever Matt and I realize Simon has learned something new, one of us inevitably looks over at the other in amazement, searching for validation. “Did you see what I saw?” we ask each other. Once the new skill is confirmed, there’s a ripple of excitement and a moment of wonder. Watching this baby transform into a little person I can communicate and interact with has to be the most rewarding and fascinating experience I’ve ever had. I have the sense we are now embarking a Very Grand Adventure, and impatient me can’t wait to see where we go to next.

Pictured, Simon scratching his head as he thinks–or at least appears to think–big new thoughts.

No, nothing magical happened overnight; kiddo still ain’t walking. However, as Simon’s Robeez have very thin soles, and as it will be 9 (brrrr) degrees tomorrow, I decided it was time to get a pair of pre-walker or first-walker shoes for him to guard against the cold if nothing else. And who knows, maybe a little support will give him a nudge.

With this goal in mind, I set out to Stride Rite today to buy Simon his first pair of real shoes. I was excited! After all, these are the shoes that will later be bronzed and live with us forever. I pictured myself consulting with an expert over the best type and size of shoe for Simon, and I was genuinely looking forward to the outing.

I should have known better.

Matt and I hit Stride Rite and my happy little image was immediately shattered. The place was crammed, and a single teenage clerk was staffing the shop. When after five to ten minutes I hadn’t even been greeted, I stormed out in a huff.

My backup plan was Von Maur, a Nordstrom like store in Louisville. They aren’t cheap, but they offer great service…. Or at least they usually do. Today I stood in the children’s shoe department surrounded by several other sets of annoyed looking parents as a single clerk tended to a customer making an exchange. It was every bit as bad as Stride Rite, only I didn’t even like the shoes they carried and they had fewer places to sit.

By this point, I was in a totally foul mood. We live in one of the most aggressively consumerist societies that has ever existed on the planet. I take that back; we live in the single most aggressively consumerist society that has ever existed on our planet. Why then, for the love of all that’s right, is it SO BLASTED HARD to get someone to actually help you buy something? It’s maddening.

Before heading back into the cold, I decided to give Stride Rite one more chance. I managed to buy a pair of shoes this time, but the teenager who “helped” me didn’t seem to know much about fitting babies, and I didn’t feel very confident in my selection. So on a whim I stopped by Naturino—a shop selling horribly expensive European children’s shoes—on my way home. There a very nice young woman offered plenty of good advice, helped me select a shoe that will give Simon some ankle support once he starts to move, and then—hilariously—apologized for not being more of an expert. The owner was out today, she explained, but she’d do the best she could for us.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I managed to blow $65 on a pair of shoes for a child who is not yet walking. It’s not something I plan to make a habit out of, but it sure beats spending $50 for a pair of shoes that, as it turns out, didn’t offer the right kind of support and that were sold to me by an under-trained staff. Grrrrrr…….