Kid Amnesiac

Once upon a time, there was a baby who tried to give up his nap too soon. He had just spent a day at his grandma and papaw’s, where he had only one nap, and so he thought he had grown up and given up the morning nap forever.

So the next morning, Friday, when he rubbed his eyes and his mama put him down, he just cried and cried until she got him out of his crib. Then, after his lunch, he relented and took a nap, but only a very short one. After all, he was a big boy and he’d heard that big boys don’t take long naps. Instead he played and played, and also fussed and fussed all afternoon, so mama put him down for an afternoon nap at 4:30. Believing himself too old and mature for two naps, he cried and cried again until his mama came for him.

Later, the very tired baby fussed and fussed after dinner. He didn’t want to play. He didn’t want to read. He didn’t want to stack blocks, play peek-a-boo, or throw the ball. In fact, he fussed so much that his papa put him down for a nap at 6:30. Only this time, the very tired baby slept for 13 ½ hours straight, in his clothes, without having gotten a nighttime cup of milk, story, or cuddle.

And that was the last time—we hope!—the little baby tried to grow up and give up his nap too soon.

Boy, after months of sameness, I feel like Simon does something new every time I turn around these days. Today his something new was saying “blue” when he heard a toy say it and then playing peek-a-boo with himself.

It was around lunch time, and Simon was busy scooting around the kitchen while I cleaned up. As he scooted over to the sink area, he caught his reflection in the oven door, laughed, and then scooted over to the dishwasher to do the same. For the next five minutes or so he scooted between the two at regular intervals, always pulling up to his knees to get a better look at the hilarious baby staring back at him.

On his fifth or so trip to the oven, he realized that the dishtowels were partially obscuring his view of his favorite baby. So he pulled them down one by one and giggled each time one fell to the ground. I hung them back up a few times, then started throwing them over his head so he could pull them off and giggle some more. Finally, I suppose I was too slow on the draw because Simon reached over, grabbed a towel, threw it over his own head, and then giggled like a mad man (mad baby?) when he took it off.

At the end of this game he was so delighted with oven-door-baby’s company that he pulled back up on his knees, leaned over, and gave that baby a great big wet kiss—a kiss that left a great big splotch on the door and a great big smile on my face.

First off, I forgot to mention another kinda funny new thing in our lives. Two nights ago, Matt popped a Baby Einstein sign language video into our DVD player. I had mixed feelings about it for a variety of reasons including but not limited to:

1. The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends no screen time for the first two years.

2. Studies show that kids who watch a lot of Baby Einstein videos have slower language development than those who watch no TV. (That “Einstein” bit is all marketing, folks.)

3. I have my own TV addict past that I do not want to visit on Simon.

So I grit my teeth, and Matt pops in the video. Shortly thereafter, Simon went wild. He squealed and cooed and bounced in place and—hilariously—flapped his arms and hands whenever Marlee Matlin or a cartoon character signed something. Matt and I think this was the sign language version of babbling. I think we’ll be seeing Baby Einstein videos again—we’ll just have to be very careful to enjoy them in moderation, as his rigid and fixated body posture (pictured) towards the end was disturbing. And yes, he is sitting around in his diaper. I don’t know why, either.

Meanwhile, today was Simon’s second day at what I’ve begun to think of as “Camp Whitworth”. Evie and Jim are taking him to their house on Thursdays now, and I can already tell he’s going to relish these days. Last week he was a bit off his game from an interrupted nap and some tummy issues, but still, he got to stay in his jammies for most of the day and had Grandma all to himself for several hours, so it couldn’t have been all bad.

Today, a much perkier Simon headed over to the Whitworths. He played hard. He napped hard. When Evie brought him his lunch, he used the word “turkey”. When she put on his coat, he said “bye-bye”. He also at least imitated the words “clock” and “duck.” I’m eager to see if I hear any of these tomorrow. I’m guessing at a minimum that “bye-bye” is a solid addition to the vocabulary, and “turkey” or “duck” won’t be far behind given his typical lunch menu and all the ducks in his books.

He also spent part of his day at a play area inside the Whitworth’s church where he scooted and moved about in stimulating and, importantly, padded surroundings.

By dinner he was pooped, so we grabbed a quick meal at the Whitworths, rudely left them with dirty dishes, and had Simon in his PJs and tucked into bed by 7:30. I can’t wait to hear what he gets up to at Camp Whitworth next week.

While I’ve been busy yammering about Chrismukkah, Simon has been busy experiencing new things and mastering new tricks.

Sunday night, as we were leaving the Whitworths, Simon said “bye” for the first time. He didn’t wave, but I think he meant what he said. This followed the first time his word “dat” came out clearly as “that”. There’s been some disagreement in these quarters as to the meaning of “dat”. Evie was sure Simon was asking “what’s that?” I thought he was looking for Percy and Tristan and “dat” meant “cat”. But now, hearing him clearly say “that” as he points to items around him and in books, it’s starting to look indeed as if he’s using a relative pronoun as an interrogative. Crazy. I really have no other explanation, but I still don’t believe it.

Sometime this weekend Simon also took control of his sippy cup and drank himself. I’d be more excited, but he followed up by tossing the sippy cup across the room, so clearly this new trick is a work in progress.

Monday, Simon had his first experience with a popsicle. I was treating myself to a watermelon fruit bar, and Simon seemed intrigued. So I licked the bar and then gave it to Simon to lick. He put his mouth on it, then grimaced with a scrunched up face from the cold. A baby dilemma followed: He loved the flavor but was shocked by the temperature. He’d lick and scrape his teeth over parts of the bar all the while squinting and pulling his head back from it. At his funniest, he pulled back before actually making contact with the treat. It looked for all the world like an air kiss.

Today we had another first. He stacked a block on top of another for the first time. To celebrate, Matt and I took him out to dinner at Jockamos, where nutrition was tossed to the wind as Simon dined on a cereal bar, mac and cheese, potato chips (another first), and cherry pudding cake. We ended our night by walking over to a nearby apartment building to admire the lights, giggling as Simon pointed and said “lide” a million times, and then returned home for our usual bedtime ritual of milk, a book, some Chopin, and cribtime.

Attached is a picture of Simon Saturday night enjoying his first piece of mandel bread.

One of the presents I received at my family Chanukah party Saturday night was a book called Chrismukkah, a humorous guide to the make believe hybrid holiday. Last night, once we got Simon settled into bed, hauled in all our new loot, and broke down most of the packaging, I eagerly grabbed a cup of tea and some mandel bread and tucked into the book.

In the early going, I realized that while the book was tongue-in-cheek, this Chrismukkah thing was bigger and more serious than I realized. You can buy Chrismukkah cards, for example. The TV show The O.C. once aired a holiday episode called “The Best Chrismukkah Ever.” The word even appears in some dictionaries. Who knew?

I’m inclined to scoff. I mean, come on. Is this necessary? Is the solution to the so-called December dilemma really to send out cards featuring Santa lighting a menorah? Does anyone need a gingerbread house decorated with dreidels? Shouldn’t the Chanukkah bush remain a joke?

I was getting pretty worked up about this nonsense when I began to look around me. Tonight I curled up in bed with a blanket Evie gave Simon for Chanukkah, all the better to stay warm while enjoying my book, my Chanukkah menorah, and a Christmas-themed episode of WFPK’s Sunday Bluegrass. And last night I gave my nephew Nathan some double-sided origami paper and told him I’d keep him supplied if he’d make me some balls, stars, or cranes to put on my tree next year. I’m also seriously considering adding the books The Jolly Christmas Postman and Bear Stays up for Christmas to our ever growing library. If that’s not celebrating Chrismukkah, I don’t know what is. (And frankly, the silliness of Chrismukkah  is positively refreshing compared to the unbridled bitterness of all the December dilemma couples featured this weekend in the New York Times.)

On to the “ukkah” part of the holiday: Last night Simon had a bang-up time at his Bubbie’s house for her annual party. He had big smiles for everyone, he played in all the gift boxes, he happily gobbled up my apple sauce (but, alas, tossed the latkes), and he nearly ruined the dreidel game several times by reaching for the gelt in the middle. The evening was punctuated by baby smiles, baby giggles, and baby shrieks of delight.

Last year I was very happy when Simon had smiles for the party and was colic free for the big day. This year, there are simply no words for how much fun I had watching him fully engage in the party. If we keep this up, it will truly be the Best Chrismukkah Ever.

For the first time in the 13 ½ months Simon has been home from the hospital, I’m going to be away from him for more than 4 hours today.

Thursday has been “Grandma” day for nearly a year now, but until today Evie has always come over to watch Simon at my house. She does everything for him, so I get to work as much as I need to, but I also get the comfort of hearing their day proceed around me. And of course, I can always peek into the next room for a quick hello or kiss. Simon’s proximity is a kind of security blanket.

Today for the first time, Evie came over and picked Simon up after his breakfast. He’s going to spend the entire day at her house, and Matt and I will go over at dinner time to eat together and pick him up. I think Simon is ready. He loves his Grandma, he loves his Papaw, and he loves their house.

But am I ready? We’ll have to wait and see.

Last weekend, I brought organic whole milk and a bisphenol A-free sippy cup over to Evie’s. Last night, to prepare for the big day, I went out to restock some key grocery items and purchase a second crib aquarium. Without me or Matt around, I think he’ll need this gizmo to get himself to sleep today at nap-time.

This morning, in addition to nursing him and making him pancakes, I also loaded up everything he might possibly want to eat into a bag, packed up another bag with clothing changes and a day’s worth of Fuzzi Bunz, made sure Dirty Duck and a paci were packed, and threw in a padded pack-and-play mattress cover for good measure. If Evie had driven over with her larger truck, she might have ended up with our pack-and-play just to be on the safe side.

They were out the door by 9:45, and I was looking around my strangely empty house by 10:30. By 11:15, I was listening carefully for sounds that Simon was getting up from his morning nap. And by noon, I was thinking about lunch, thinking about the fact that I would not be preparing Simon’s lunch, and was telling myself that I did not, did not, DID NOT, need to call Evie to make sure all is well. Because I will not, will not, WILL NOT be that kind of mother.

Unless, of course, packing up three day’s worth of food, sleeping equipment, and two back-up pacifiers already makes me that kid of mother.

Epilogue: As I type this now, it’s 10:00 p.m. and Simon is asleep upstairs. His day went fine, he had a good time, and I stayed off the phone. I think Simon and I can both be proud.

Have you ever had a moment when it suddenly dawned you that you have suddenly become the living embodiment of a stereotype? Mine came just a few days ago. I was reading a friend’s holiday wish list, filled with small and not-so-small luxuries and items related to her hobbies, when I began wondering what I’d put on my own holiday wish list. Immediately, I thought of Smart Wool socks and new underwear.

Socks and underwear! Can you imagine? I fell in love with Smart Wool when I splurged on two pair a few weeks ago. They are soft and warm and non-itchy, but alas, they are also expensive. And really, who wants to spend big money on socks? I don’t. As for the underwear, well, mine have come due for replenishment, and who really wants to spend money on that? So there you have it: The top of my holiday wish-list includes items best described as breathable and non-allergenic. How exciting, and how stereotypically Jewish.

Immediately my mind wandered to a fabulous Saturday Night Live episode from 1989, “The Night Hanukkah Harry Saved Christmas,” a skit featuring Phil Hartman* as a laid up Santa Claus worried that Christmas may be have to be called off. Just as all looked very bleak, in comes his old friend Hanukkah Harry (Jon Lovitz), promising to stand in Santa’s place and deliver presents to all the gentile boys and girls.

Flash forward to a house with two small kids (Mike Myers and Victoria Jackson) staying up late, eagerly awaiting the arrival of a red-suited, button-nosed man bearing Barbies and pellet guns. You can imagine their surprise—and disappointment—when instead they are greeted by a black-suited, Jon Lovitch-nosed man bearing socks (“8 pair!”) and slacks (“You’ll grow into them.”) The little girl then gives a little speech about what she’s learned from this experience:

“Well you know how we’re always jealous of Rachel and Josh down the block ’cause they always get Hanukkah presents for 8 nights? Well maybe these are the kind of presents they get, so we shouldn’t be jealous!”

And there you have it. The very funny portrayal of a stereotype I have not only internalized, but also projected onto my own child. Because all the while I’ve been planning to order Simon a personalized sled for Christmas, and even though my own childhood Hanukkahs included toys like Barbies and Lite-Brites, this year for Hanukkah I’m getting Simon books, baby legs (kind of like socks, only footless and longer), and booties. Well, kid, I guess you should just be grateful you are still too young to wear underwear!

*Rest in peace, Phil. The world is a less funny place without you.

I write today to offer advice no one is likely to need. But just in case and for the record…

If you’ve had a recent bathtub oopsie with your baby that may have scared him, it’s probably not a great idea to try a shower next. We did, and the result was that we had to turn off the shower pretty quickly, sit a scared baby in the tub while it filled, and watch him ball up his hands and shiver due to the (a) fear and (b) coldness.

The last time I saw Simon look like this, he was about a week old and we were giving him his first bath. It wasn’t pretty then, and it isn’t pretty now. Tonight’s bath will be nice and warm, very deep, and involve lots of toys. And mommy’s grip on him like a vice. We simply can’t afford to mess up bath time three times in a row.

I might have just put Simon off his bath for a few days, as we had a minor accident yesterday morning that badly scared him.

Mean mommy—that would be me—decided it was time to scrub behind dirty-baby’s—that would be Simon’s—ears. Simon decided he was having none of that. So he bucked and twisted and arched to get away from me. And he succeeded! Alas, he also succeeded in falling on his back in the tub. I was there. We have a full-length, padded mat in the tub. The water was not very high. So Simon was not in any real danger. But the fall scared him, the water being all around him scared him, and his inability to get back up scared him.

In the few seconds it took before I had my hands on him and could raise him to a sitting position, Simon’s eyes bugged, he sputtered with a bit of water in his mouth, and he grew positively blotchy with fear as he wriggled on his back. When something similar happened at the pool this August, he recovered quickly and resumed playing. But that was over three months ago. The older Simon gets, the more cautious he gets. I suppose it’s a byproduct of increased understanding and intelligence.

Anyway, even after I righted him, he was scared and wanted out. He cried and rubbed his eyes, and his skin never lost its fear-induced blotchiness. He also kept reaching out to me and crying “mama”, which was endearing and heartbreaking in equal measures. I finished washing him as fast as possible, swaddled him in towels, and held him close while he got the final bits of trauma out of his system.

All is well now. But tonight is bath night. So we shall see if all remains well.