The Lover

Our girl has a big heart. She is intense about her love, and takes it very seriously. Yesterday at church, she captivated an older boy. We sit in the "parents of young children" section, where she can roam the back of the church unfettered. There are pews withing 10 feet of this little area, and Gillian immediately scooted up to the back pew and started waiving at two little boys (maybe about 2 and 5 years old) sitting with their parents. She kept trying to stand up and touch the older one's hands, and after a while retrieved her ball from where we were camped out and offered it to him. His dad let him leave the pew to play with Gillian, and he would very gently toss the ball to her and fetch it when she threw it (what a great kid he is, really). Sitting close to him, she got THAT look after about 15 minutes of this...the look that says "right at this moment, I love you with all my tiny being" as she sat facing him. She leaned in for the kiss, and he let her kiss him, and then she wrapped her little arms around him for a hug. I don't know about anyone else, but I was very, very proud of her in that moment for 1) having allowed that depth of emotion within herself; and 2) not being afraid to express herself to That Which She Loves. They continued to play, we all went for communion, and then it was time to go. It felt like her new friend might cry when he came over to give her a hug goodbye (and what a sweet boy to do that-I could tell that it touched Gillian and made her happy that he loved her back). That whole exchange blew me away.

It just begs the question of whether or not we LEARN to love or whether it's inherent. I mean, she adores people, animals, and certain other inanimate things. I find myself wanting to be more like Gillian-she is wide open. Her love flows freely in and out. Her eyes are wide an innocent and give her away every time. When she gets intense, you can feel her little love energy coming at you full force, and it is powerful. She gets quiet. She looks you right in the eyes. She kisses you and/or hugs you and backs away, holding your gaze. She means it. Then the spell is broken and she's off chattering and playing and being a baby. But seriously, there are moments of Yogi-master-wise here-and-nowness that floors me. One of my resolutions this year is to break my heart wide open...to get back to that place. Ironic that the perfect example of mindfulness in my life is a 15 month old toddler.

An aside:

I had mentioned her love of my feet. This morning I videoed a foot love-fest. I can only assume she learned from me kissing her feet all the time. I don't think my feet have ever been so adored my whole life. And she doesn't love everyone's feet like she loves mine. Mine are special. For some reason.

Imitation is the best form of flattery...

Like father, like daughter. Folks, this is just one of the fine skills we are teaching our child. Can't you just see her little synapses multiplying from exploring this new skill?!?

Christmas

Last Saturday we headed down to New Orleans for Christmas. The airport was absolutely crazy (and I usually fly a lot, and this was crazy even for crazy days), and for once, it was a good thing our flight was delayed, or we would have missed it. I believe I have mentioned before how ridiculously one's luggage volume grows with the inclusion of things for Baby. Needless to say, thank God for the overpriced carts you can rent to haul the carseat, the bags, the diaper bag, the laptop, and whatever else you decide you can't live without for 5 days. Anyway, the flight was delayed 2 hours...then we sat on the tarmac for 45 minutes...then we finally got airborne and Gillian-for all the potential circumstances gave her for a good old fashioned meltdown-nursed to sleep and stayed asleep (and stayed latched, with her two top teeth etching permanent toothmarks into my delicate flesh-but far be it from me to excavate the teeth, much less even breathe hard, in a mighty effort to keep her sleeping) for about an hour and fifteen minutes. She awoke like a cheerful little sunrise, and was just thrilled to have our undivided attention for an hour (the remainder of the flight). These days she's totally into lounging back and looking through books with people, and playing with her stuffed animals.

We arrived to a ghost town of an airport in New Orleans, and after watching the luggage carousel for about a half an hour so hopefully, it became clear that our bags weren't there. But, here's the silver lining-the carseat WAS there! At least they lost the right stuff instead of the thing that would cause us to have a moral quandry about how to get to our destination in the rental car. Anyhoo, the bags were coming in on the flight from Chicago that was arriving a few hours after ours, and they promised to deliver it that day to our doorstep. No worries. Then we went to the car rental place. As we waited for the shuttle, it occurred to me that it was humid and warm out. Nice. When we got to the car rental place, we waited for 45 minutes to be helped. With a baby, who, for whatever reason, was in fine spirits. Laughing, and smiling at everybody, and playing a game that involved trying to catch and trying to throw her stuffed dog. It is still a mystery why not one of the five other employees who were standing around volunteered to help us (while the one employee flirted with the guy in front of us for 45 minutes). Then I remembered how I so enjoy the service sector down south, and gave silent thanks that I don't have to deal with it more often.

We arrived at Aunt Mimi and Uncle Dave's 8.5 hours after we left our house that morning. I reckoned that was about twice as long as it should have taken. We got G down for a nap upon our arrival, and she slept a couple of hours. The bags were delivered at 11:45 pm, and all was good in the world.

Our stay down south was wonderful...every day started with a laid back morning drinking tea and hanging out with the O'Leary clan (Sean's dad's sister's family...99% of our family in New Orleans is his mother's family, but Mimi has lived there since college). We ate too much. We drank too much (not in one sitting, but still...). We saw the remarkable transformation of Sean's dad Bill into Santa Claus to deliver gifts to the great-grandchildren on Christmas eve. Gillian got a "Mary Jane" doll that is super special-she is the third generation in the family to receive them (all the girls have one handmade). Suzi's was made by her grandmother; Kim (Sean's sister) has one made by Adee (her grandmother); and now Gillian has one made by her grandmother. It is such a sweet idea, and Suzi says the pattern is in tatters, but still does the trick. Gillian pretty much kissed her all night. She held her own in the insanity of all the other kids, and was undaunted by the yelling, laughing, rough housing, and general chaos around her.

At Audoban park, we saw real live ducks that looked just like the ones on Gillian's treasured shoes, who she quacked at as if she was the Duck Whisperer as they gathered around her to eat the bread she had. I am pretty sure I have never seen her that excited in her entire life (think feet going, hyperventilating, hysterical arm waving while yelling "CACK-CACK-CACK-CACK" like a crazy person).




Grandaddy treated G to some Roman Candy Man taffy (which she wasn't sure what to think of). Of course, we couldn't leave without a Cafe au Lait and beignets from Cafe Du Monde and 30 lbs of crawfish (which cost us roughly 1/3 per pound what we would pay here). The crawfish purchase officially means we are back on for the 5th annual Mardi Gras celebration at Chez Colledge. Hope you all will come!

It was restful and most excellent trip. It was funny to see how excited Gillian was to see all her familiar things when we got home. In spite of my best intentions, I did NOT work on my thesis while down south for Christmas in spite of the fact that I promised the pre-defense draft to my Committee members by the 28th. That means that Thursday night (a work night) I was up till 3:30 in the morning finishing up my references for each chapter...and 2 hours later, got up to go to work. I didn't know I was capable of pulling an all-nighter anymore, but I guess you can make yourself do just about anything if you have no other choice. In Friday's blizzard, I delivered 5 pristine copies to my advisor to distribute to the committee...so, now I am sooooooooooooo close. I just need to remember one thing over then next 11 days: BREATHE.

Winter odds and ends

Today we took Gillian on a toboggan for the first time. She loved playing in it and sliding across the beautiful snow we got yesterday and the day before. Even when she wiped out, she was too excited to worry about it. In fact, she was so wired when we got home that she skipped her morning nap in lieu of running around the house like a madwoman, yapping up a storm. Last year she was oblivious to the majesty, and sometimes cabin fever, winter brings. This year, she is drinking it in like a sponge.

I've been sparse around here lately. As I mentioned, life is just complicated and ultra-busy right now. Needless to say, my fascination with Gillian is still complete, and her fascination with the world is amazing, and humbling to observe. I would call this phase the "Kissy-and-still-not-walking" Phase. She kisses everything...and I mean everything. The weirdest thing is my feet (which is a little strange-I always hope she doesn't decide to give them some lovin' in public...say, church, for example, in front of those other parents who might wonder about us). She coos. She pets them like they're the cat ("good feet" I hear her thinking). She kisses them several times in a row, talks to them, and kisses them some more. She kissed her ball in the kitchen today, after an appreciative pat and a few words. Luckily, Sean and I are both the fortunate recipients of clusters of kisses numerous times a day as well. Gillian is a lovebug, and it is so sweet to see her express that. Oh, and she has gotten so freakishly fast at the crab crawl that she still isn't walking and doesn't seem too interested in it, either. She cruises, she pulls up, but that's it.

We're still holding at four teeth and still frustrated with her picky eating (Ha! I remember when I would say, "MY children will eat what I give them!" as if I had some control over the matter (maybe when you can actually reason with your child, that rule could work)...the truth is that you get so desperate for them to eat something that you compromise your previous and extremely well-intentioned but uninformed opinions). Right now she likes (and "likes" just means a piece or two might make it into her mouth, not that she gleefully eats a serving) macaroni and cheese (organic, at least), and cheese, and bread, and peanut butter...and veggie burgers mixed with mashed potatoes and peas (the ONLY vegetables I can get her to eat). She tolerates a few bites of eggs every now and then. She LOVES crackers. Every time we sit down to eat, she points to above the refrigerator where we keep them and says "cack-uh, cack-uh, cack-uh!!" Clearly, she can't have crackers at every meal... Today she even peppered whining with some"mamamamamama". Not sure if she means me, or she just likes the sound. Her three words are "Hi", "cack-uh", and "kuhh" (cheese)..."Mama" might be fourth, but I'll have to get back to you on that. She enunciates "K" for kitty (nothing else), "T" for toes, and "buh" for bottle, bulb (Christmas tree bulb), and ball.

Anyway, I never knew what a struggle it would be to get my child to eat. Last week I was so upset after making her something she completely rejected-and threw on the floor- (without even tasting it) that I left the table and the kitchen, smacking away some tears of utter frustration. I took some deep breaths, came back in, and calmly took the tray away...and cleaned up the food all over the floor. Then she started saying "cack-uh!". *sigh*

I guess at the end of the day, some patches are easier than others, and some babies are more easy going in some ways than others. I mean, Gillian has always permitted us to get excellent sleep, and still goes down like a lamb; she is secure in large groups of people, and will venture away from us to check stuff out without a second thought, she occupies herself extremely well and can play for an hour or more with a intermittent visit every now and then, she is affectionate and thoughtful, and really funny and silly. Oh, and she has never pooped in the bathtub. But obviously, our sticking point is her solid food intake. She ate a lot better when we were feeding her exclusively breastmilk...these days she won't take a bottle from anyone but me, she won't drink whole milk, and all she will tolerate in her sippy cup is water (good ol' calorie-free water). When she has days where she eats pretty much nothing, that can be stressful. Anyway, I find myself of having to make a real effort not to let the food issue become a power issue.

That's a quick update. More to follow!

Bye Bye Boobies

We are down to nursing twice a day now. It was inevitable with me working full time. At first I pumped three times a day at work for a few months, then twice a day for a few months, then the past month and a half or so, I was only pumping once a day. When I started getting just 2 or 3 ounces during that session, I decided I was officially over lugging my fraying pump backpack on the train every day (consequently, this coincided with having to start wearing my winter coat...the one where you have to dislocate your shoulders to get the backpack straps on and off). And I decided it wasn't worth the hassle of trying to get into the lactation room at work to wash the parts when I was finished. Pumping just sucks, people, and I have been pumping for going on 15 months, and I am tired.

When I work, G nurses in the morning before I go and when I put her down to bed. Both require supplementing with formula these days, and she seems to care less. In fact, if it takes me too long to let down she gives up and fusses and tries to sit up. She has to be relaxed (hence early morning, later evening) to be in the mood to wait. So, we're naturally waning, our breastfeeding sun is setting, and although it is sad, I have to say the idea of having my breasts back, all to myself, is a happy notion.

But, I have to tell you, the girls aren't exactly the same after working so hard the past 15 months. Suzi said they would be like deflated balloons. I hoped I might escape this fate, as I had heard the same from many other women. Even though I haven't completely run out of milk, I can see the hint of what I'm in for after G is done eating and we are empty. My former firm, round, pride and joy might become more like soft malleable crescent moons. But...I'll wear these butterflies with pride!

Bubbles

Perspective

So, you remember how I thought there was no worse fate on earth than a teething, grouchy, whining, clingy baby? Well, there is something worse. One that is all those things AND sick with her first cold. Unfavorite moments from this week: G's smothering while she tries to eat and crying from frustration of being hungry but not hungry enough to suffer like that, often opting not to eat at all...coughing so hard she vomited the Motrin I just gave her to keep her fever down...the learning curve of nasal aspirators and saline drops (did you know that salt water is the ONLY recommended drug for colds in children between 1 and 2 years old?? no decongestants, no expectorants, just good ol' salt water and good luck to you)...wimpering/crying after a coughing fit because her back and stomach probably ache from all the coughing, and general malaise that made me want to cry-for her and for me and my lack of sleep. In all seriousness, I don't think I have ever felt so helpless as I have the past couple of days.

But, friends, happy news. We appear to be seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Tonight she was her old self-plain delightful, dancing in her highchair, chasing the bubbles Sean was blowing with happy squeals to boot...it's as if God decided to let me have my little Monkey back after a long sabbatical away from home (and for which her stand in was Mr. Hyde). She does not have any more teeth than she had two months ago; this means the past month of teething symptoms have thus far failed to produce.

I couldn't resist this little shirt on the Target sale rack. I thought, "right?".

Thankful

We got home from our trip down to Florida last night. I can say we are in a single piece, in spite of the difficulties of travelling with a toddler, who likes nothing less than sitting still for five seconds, particularly in an enclosed metal tube with 150 other people for two hours.

This trip was bittersweet for me. The first part was very hard, and involved me tying up the last of the loose ends for my brother's funeral. Since no one else appears to be capable of dealing with the finality of his illness, I made calls to funeral homes, discussed procedures and packages, got prices, transported Dawn to see the facility and fill out the necessary paperwork, and got the Hospice minister over to pray with us and talk to us about Jim's service. On my last trip we went to the Hospice facility (where he will go in his last week or so of life) and chose a chapel for his service. In my stronger moments, I'm all about getting everything set so we are prepared, logistically at least, for his death. In my weaker ones, I lament and feel sorry for the fact that I have already lost all my grandparents and parents and now will be the last of my close relatives (although I do have a gypsy sister that I have seen once in the past 7 years). So, for me, this week was all about valuing and giving thanks for the things I have instead of regretting the things I don't. And for making sure Jim and Dawn had one last anniversary dinner (today is their 17th wedding anniversary).

That being said, I am reminded of this little coaster my mom brought home from the convenience store she worked at when I was in elementary school in the height of my adoration of unicorns and horses:

It has survived probably 25 years in my custody. I think I added the fortune cookie message after my mom died. But, as cliche and saccharine as it is, I love it because it reminds me of my journey...my learning to embrace the transcience of this life through the transformation of people close to me to eternity. It's sad, but it's beautiful for people to return home.

Anyway, my dear mother-in-law, Suzi, came down early for the holiday to help me with Gillian (Sean joined us Tuesday, and G and I left Sunday bright and early) and get a little one-on-one time in with her. We stayed right on Jax Beach, just about 10 minutes from Jim's. I really forget the magnificence of the sunrise and sunset in Florida, being away from home so long. From our vantage point:



We enjoyed quiet mornings on our balcony drinking tea and delighting in the antics of our darling girl, who with the added extra attention, seemed to forget all about the teeth that are still not in! Bearing witness to the graceful morning was such a cleansing thing, and such a priviledge.

Sean came in on Tuesday, and we spent Tuesday night with Andy-an old, close friend of his, and his very cool wife, Erin. They have a beautiful little boy named James, who Gillian really fell for. When her passion got the best of her, what could I say? She's a chip off the old block:


On Wednesday morning we headed out to Sean's family's river house for Thanksgiving ("the Farm" because they use to farm cattle there), and picked Suzi up from Grandmama's on the way down. Suzi wanted to make a pit stop at the "Hobby Horse", a children's boutique, to pick Gillian up some Robeez. Gillian is REALLY into ducks these days, and they just happened to have a pair of Robeez with ducks on them. Needless to say, she wore them out of the store. She proceeded to "quack" for at least the next 5 miles, and it is clear she really loves those shoes!

When we arrived at the Farm, a gorgeous piece of property that means a whole lot to the entire Colledge family, Aunt Mimi and Uncle Dave were waiting to greet us. They even had a little gift for Gillian-her first cammis in case anyone wanted to go deer hunting (yes, this gift was tongue in cheek...Mimi said G could now be "Putnam County Chic" and fit right in!):


The Farm is on the St. John's River, at a point where it is a mile wide. It is quiet, and beautiful, and situated among the Cypress trees. It is at the end of a dirt road, Colledge Road, miles from the nearest highway, and very private. When the world is crazy, changing every second, the Farm is what it is, and nothing ever changes there. This is the scene of Sean and Kimberly's infamous "Yard Child" incident-where their mom arrived to see them covered in mud in their underwear happily playing in the back yard. Even more-Sean's father and uncle Shep and Aunt Mimi were born there and lived there until they moved back to the city house. So, there's a million memories there, spanning four generations. We look forward to bringing G and any other children down there to create their own memories...

The house from the dock:


G visiting with her Nonni and Grandaddy:


Uncle Shep arrived with his wife Eleanor, and a giant burlap sack of fresh Oysters, which folks ate raw or cooked off the grill. Wednesday night was a night for catching up, and the whole family was there. Sean and his cousin William (G's Godfather) played tunes by the fire, we ate well, and there was plenty of meaningful conversations and joking going on. Gillian slept in the same crib that Sean did when he visited the Farm, and ate in the same high chair. Coming from a family with no tradition or sense of closeness, Wednesday and Thursday felt like a soft, warm blanket. I am 100% sure that I want to raise my children that way.

Thanksgiving Day dawned beautiful and clear. The sun came over the river like lava, spilling orange fire everywhere.


Everyone woke up at their own pace, and Dave started frying the turkeys around 9:30. Gillian loved being the center of attention, and hammed it up every chance she got. She was shameless in her flirting with her handsome cousins, who lavished her with attention (let me be the first to say there is nothing sweeter than a bunch of young guys being cute to make a baby laugh).

G with Mama and Papa (note: duck shoes)

G surrounded by admirers (who humored her during their pool game by letting her put their respective balls in the holes):

G by a tree:


Dinner was warm, delicious, and wonderful (though I skipped out on part of it to put a very sleepy G to bed).


The afternoon was for quieter conversations after a big meal, eating brownies, blondies, or pumpkin or pecan pie, or skeet shooting. I gave it a go, because I had never touched a gun, but it is safe to say I don't think I'll ever be a sharp shooter!


We got up early Friday morning and had to say goodbye to everyone, which was very sad. Our flight home was easier than the flight there because I could get up and walk G (on the way there, a lot of turbulence made that out of the question...ironic that Sean was there to share the pain on the easier flight!).

Reflecting on the trip, I feel like I understand something important that gives me peace about Jim-he found his place like I did in the arms of a real family. Dawn's family loves Jim, and have banded around him like a fort all these years. He was the orphan they welcomed into their family, just as Bill and Suzi welcomed me into theirs. He has had 17 years with a wonderful woman, and 16 with his beautiful daughter. He has fought like hell to be here, to savor every single one of those years. Life is impermanent, to be enjoyed in this moment, every second we have. We get the pleasure of living it with people we can love and who can love us. We get the pleasure of experiencing amazing things that are given perspective by things that aren't..things that ache. So, Cheers, Jim. Godspeed. And thank you, my family, for giving me a place to Be.

An aside: Gillian definitely misses her family!

Reaffirming my Faith in Humanity

I remember when I was pregnant that you really couldn't count on anyone to give up their seat on a train or bus for you, even if an obviously-pregnant you looked hot, miserable, and were putting pressure on the small of your back to ease the pressure. Death of chivalry? Nah. Just a lack of common courtesy. It's the same reason that all the 20-something businessmen avert their eyes and pretend they don't notice when an 80 year old woman with shopping bags gets on the train. They should stand up immediately and offer their seat. But they don't, and for that, they SUCK (I want to say as much as I try to guide the elderly person to my seat while staving off the oblivious folks that inadvertantly try to take the seat I am trying to give to said elderly person).

Anyhoo, today I had to go to the doctor, and Gillian had to come with me. My Metro Lite stroller doesn't feel so light now that I have a 19 pound baby and a 20 lb stroller to carry up and down the stairs at train stations that don't have elevators. But, a magical thing happened. At EVERY leg of my journey, a kind and wonderful man offered to help me carry Gillian up or down the stairs at the train station or in or out of the bus, or held the door for me. Big, scary, meaty men were playing peekaboo and waving at Gillian with big silly smiles on their faces each of the four legs of our trip, and she charmed all the boys in the waiting room at the doctor's office. She brought out the sweetness of every single person we met today with her unabashed flirtatiousness. How could someone NOT have a little happy rub off on them after seeing a delighted and pure little light like G's?

So, I want to say "Thank you, Universe!" for our wonderful experience. Although I could have managed by myself, it was so fabulous to have a little help...and as a Mama travelling solo, I so appreciated every act of kindness!

Wrecked

Do you ever have one of those days where your baby just wears you out and you feel like you could sleep for a week? Gillian has been having one of those days every day for over two weeks. Remember her fever? Seems that it was related to teething. And here we are. Still teething. And she is wearing us out. We are tired.

See, when Gillian is teething, she follows you around the house and whines, pitifully clutching your legs because she wants to be with you. Every single second. Maybe not EVERY single second, but almost. She is miserable. Even with enough Baby Orajel, Tylenol, and Motrin to kill a small horse. She is pulling at her ears, as she has been for the past few weeks...and it's not an ear infection, per the doctor. I don't see any teeth via my very brief glimpses as I try to peek when making her laugh (since there is obviously no worse torture than trying to take a look at her gums). So, I am wondering how much longer is this going to last? And, more importantly, will we survive till then? Gillian's alter ego is alive and well, and my glimpses of my happy, sweet, laid-back baby girl are few and far between these days. Last night's Friday night dinner date hearkened back to another hellish teething moment, and was traumatic enough for us that I can honestly say we won't be going out to dinner again until these teeth come through (I say TEETH instead of TOOTH because it just can't be possible that all this is the result of the movement of just one tooth). Then there's the face grabbing/pinching/poking and the "tear everything off every shelf" that is both uncomfortable (for us) and a recipe for the house to be a disaster area every day.

For now, we look forward to nap time. When we get a break-a couple of luxurious hours of the baby's sleep-it gives us time enough to recharge our batteries so we can make it through the rest of the day. But lately-one short nap instead of two long ones. So, no break. Then....ah, then, there's dinner (an on-going struggle). Here's an example of what dinner is like:


She is not interested in food. Again. Plenty of it ends up on the floor. Food is definitely more fun to play with. The latest trick is scraping it into her lap, ensuring at least most of it goes a) on her clothing, b) on the floor, or c) both a. and b. Exhausting. And messy.

This is not to say there aren't plenty of great things going on, but I am actually pretty grouchy after a rough day. Since I have been preoccupied by more than I want to discuss right now, I haven't been managing my videos properly. So, for Nonni and Grandaddy, here are a few keepers to tide you over till next weekend:

1) Gillian is pulling up and actively using the walker she got for her birthday:


2) Gillian is cruising fairly efficiently:


3) She is (and I finally videotaped it) still into brushing her teeth (of course, we are not allowed near her mouth, so it's all her):


4) And she is doing some imaginative play with giving her bath toys a ride in a plastic intertube, complete with a simulated motor sound:


There is more (learning body parts and stacking blocks, for example), but *yawn*...I am only imagining that next weekend on the plane will be one of the more unpleasant experiences of my life (and everyone elses on the plane, unbeknownst to them). Because of my brother's condition, I changed my ticket and will be leaving a few days before Sean and taking G. So, Good Luck to me. Are there such things as mommy vacations?

*sigh* and *sigh*

Things you NEVER want to hear

Gillian has had a fever the past couple of days, and we assumed this meant she was having her first cold. We count ourselves pretty lucky to have avoided a cold for 13+ months, and I credit good old fashioned breastmilk for that (she still gets lots of it-remember her liquid diet?). I have been home dissertating this week, and as usual, have gone a little off the deep end with focusing a huge amount of work in a very short priod of time, because honestly, who has time to work 40 hours a week (+ commute 10 hours a week), raise a baby, and write a dissertation? That is why I am working until the wee hours of the morning every night this week-because I took the week off my day job to get closer to finishing my time-suck-not-even-fun-anymore-activity-that-is-school. So, I was feeling pretty excellent about my writing progress yesterday, and as such, had found a good stopping point to leave the coffee shop and go home and feed the baby before her nap at 2. Sean and G were at the grocery store picking up a few things when I got home, and then I got a awful call, "Michelle something is really wrong with the baby...she is just staring blankly at me and isn't responding..." this after she was shaking, and now she was ashen and pale and very ill. He was afraid she was dying. When I saw her, I understood why. She was very pale, her eyes had purple circles, and she wouldn't look when you said her name. I rushed her upstairs and took her temperature- 103.5, the highest we had ever seen with her. She was shaking. She was grunting. When I tried to nurse her she bit me-several times. It was like she couldn't even remember how to nurse. She made me bleed, on both sides. I called the doctor. Sean ran back to the car. We sped to the clinic thinking we would get seen faster there than the ER. Not fast enough, but it was faster.

When your child gets sick that fast, you are helpless to some extent, and that is utterly terrifying. The doctor we saw wasn't our regular doctor, who might as well be the Brad Pitt, he is so popular, overbooked, and generally charming. I believe the guy we saw was a resident. A nice guy, but he really needs to work on his doctor-patient communication skills. These are things you should never say to your patient that he said to us yesterday:

"I would be happier if her urine dip would have been positive for a UTI, because then at least we would know the cause of the fever, which could be really serious. Or maybe it could just be a cold."

"We wouldn't know for sure if it's RSV with a blood culture, but you would know it if she has trouble breathing, or stops breathing, or something. But she probably doesn't have RSV."

"What she had was a febrile seizure. It's not that serious. Unless it lasted more than 15 minutes. Did it last more than 15 miunutes? It doesn't normally cause brain damage, so try not to worry too much."

"We'll do a blood culture to check for bacteria to make sure she doesn't have a blood infection. We should get the results in 24-48 HOURS." (to this, I sarcastically snorted, "I HOPE it's not serious").

Anyway, poor little G got a catheter to get a clean urine sample to check for a UTI, which is apparently very dangerous in infants, got her ears checked, and got a general once over. After getting a good dose of Motrin, she was looking a little more alive and was able to nurse (and I get the Rockstar Mom Award for letting her try again even though my nipples were throbbing, bruised, and hating her). The doc ordered blood work as well. Now, the blood draw was like a PTS trigger for G and I. I had to hold her little arms while two nurses put a turnicate on her to take blood, and they saw her little IV scars from the NICU and said (in the tone of a Jerry Seinfeld joke) "she's done this before". One nurse was a mess. She didn't know how the needle went into the tubes, and she dug around Gillian's arm with the needle before even feeling around for a good vein to stick. This was just awful, and she ended up having to give up on taking blood in that arm because all she was doing was bruising her. Now that Gillian was hysterical and in pain, the nurse who actually had a clue quickly tied G's other arm, found a vein, and deftly took the blood sample. Here's what I would like to share with the medical community, in case they don't know it, IF YOU ARE NEW TO PHLEBOTEMY, YOU DON'T PRACTICE TAKING BLOOD ON AN INFANT, particularly MY infant. The incompetant, or undertrained nurse should have been let loose on those other two strapping adult males in the waiting room of the lab, not on my droopy, sick, and generally uncomfortable baby girl.

The good news is that her fever broke this morning between nursing her at 5 am and when she got up at 8:30 (her sweat-drenched sleeping clothes told us that). So, what is the mystery fever all about when G has nary even a sniffle? Teething? If it's teething, I would hope she is getting 4 at once to justify a fever like that one. Anyway, she is back to her silly self today, and we are grateful that she is ok. Whew.

Brrrrrrrrrrrr.

In true Chicago fashion, we went from beach weather this weekend to radiator weather today. I often wonder why we are deprived of 60-70 degree temperatures in transitional seasons (Fall and Spring (my favorites) are far too short, in my opinion). Now, our current 54 degrees isn't exactly frigid, but as usual, the 20 mph wind (with the obligatory 30 mph gusts) makes if feel that way. Either way, I stopped to consider as G and I headed out for what has become our Wednesday ritual, that it takes a couple more minutes to get ready when it's cold. At first thought, this wasn't really a big deal, because what's a few minutes? Then I started thinking about a few minutes a few times a day for the entire winter and I realized that I will spend approximately 27 hours from now until April bundling and debundling Gillian to brave the winter. If you consider the idea of getting her in and out of the snow bib when it is seriously frozen in January and February, you can tack on an hour or two more.

In the back of my mind the past few weeks, I have been thinking about what to do to keep Gillian's hands warm in the cold. I can imagine she would tolerate mittens as well as she tolerates vegetables, and I would spend the better part of each walk retrieving the discarded mittens from the sidewalk. Today I layered her and then tucked a blanket around her body, wondering how long it would take for her to free her hands and for them to turn to ice cubes. Remarkably, she did not attempt to free her hands, even when barking at the dogs that crossed our paths (usually this requires forward bobbing and arm flailing on her part). This might have been due to the Gold Fish coma she was in, but I took it to mean that she was aware that it was cold and she realized the blanket kept her hands warm. It occurs to me that I take for granted that babies aren't dumb...they must have some amount of instinct that would make it sensible to keep their hands somewhere safe.

So, today is COLD. The northeast wind was creating ocean-like breaking waves at the desolate beach, and we were the only ones there besides a few crazies body surfing in wet suits (not even the guy learning to play the fiddle was there today). Still, I couldn't help but feel that a sunny Fall day makes things crisp and fresh and new, and that crispiness made Gillian and I both giddy-happy.

It is really strange to think that Gillian will grown up in a completely different lifestyle than I did (and that, generally, is very, very good). Besides the obvious differences in growing up in a big city, more what I was thinking is that she will know what snow is before she is 25, sledding and snow angels will be a staple of fun in the winters (I made my first snow angel at the ripe old age of 30), and she won't be a weather pansy (after 6 years here, I am slowly coming out of this, myself). Maybe she'll be one of those people we south floridians would look at in November in the 60 degree weather, wearing a t-shirt and shorts and think, "what a lunatic, to dress like that when it's obviously FREEZING!" I like the image of her flying down Mount Trashmore at 2o miles and hour on a disk sled, completely unafraid, or throwing snowballs at her Papa, or putting on her snowboots to go out and play. The winter will add an entirely different dimension to her life that she wouldn't have if she grew up in Florida. That's not to say I don't long for Florida long about mid-January, when I'd give anything to be sweltering in 100 degree heat and 99% humidity, but for what it's worth, in my Fall buzz, I am romanticizing winter. Ask me how I feel again in a few months.

Feeding Miss Gilly: A Memoir of Hardship

You may have heard me bemoan the misery that is feeding Gillian. Here we are, 13 months after she was born, and she could still give a fig about food. Sometimes I start going to dark places in my psyche when I am especially frustrated trying to feed her solids, like daydreaming about forcefeeding her. Interesting what you start thinking about somewhere between the 5th and 100th piece of food that hits the floor. Today, I almost had to go for a walk. Almost. Somehow I found my calm voice and kept the utter irritation off my face to prevent her from learning which buttons to push to illicit a response from me. No one really ever told me the amount of psychology that goes into the seemingly simpler aspects of parenting, like FEEDING.

Today started like any other day. When we went into the kitchen to eat breakfast, I had high hopes (even though G has been hardly eating anything solid the past week of so (unless Goldfish count, which she would eat all day long, if I would let her)). I cut the tiny slit in the top of her yogurt and inserted the straw (because God knows, she won't let a spoon held by me within 100 yards of her mouth), I pulled out the cup of defrosted blueberries from the frozen bag I found at the grocery, hoping to delight her...blueberries are her favorite thing in the whole world, but are sadly out of season as of the past two weeks. So, I paid A LOT for a 1 lb bag of them from the frozen food aisle, all proud that I found her Favorite Thing on Earth AND justified because they would last virually forever because they would stay frozen till eaten, despite the cost. Erg. Ya. And a banana, and some grapes, and some Cheerios. Here's how it went down:

1) Yogurt (organic, delightful, and tasty) smoothie: one suck, then slapped away (mind you, she LOVES Pear...but not today)
2) Blueberries: rejected. Gagged on. Fished out of mouth seconds after entering and thrown on the floor in disgust. OUR LITTLE CONNOISSEUR CAN DISCERN FRESH BLUEBERRIES FROM FROZEN BLUEBERRIES, AND THANKS MOM, BUT THEY ARE NOT EVEN CLOSE TO BEING IN THE SAME UNIVERSE. Anyone around here want an expensive bag of blueberries for cooking?
3) Bananas: a couple token bites to keep me hopeful, but then flailing arm sends them flying in all directions.
4) Grapes: no token bites. Just dropped over the side of the tray one by one.
5) Cheerios: eaten here or there, but mostly thrown around, knocked off by her waving arms, or stashed in her pants*
6) Oatmeal that I cooked hoping she might be really just in the mood for something else to eat, and rolled into bit sized balls: flared nostrils, plucked from lips like it was rat poison. I ate the rest of it for her.
***Throughout: Sippy cup tossed to the floor 5 times. Then it stayed there. She pointed and whined at it until she found something else to throw somewhere else.

I want to give her a good talking to. I try sometimes, but all she does if grab my face and makes some of those Pebbles sounds she makes ("poor mommy, knickers in a twist, you'll be ok", she says to me). In the end she doesn't know what, "Now Gillian, haven't we discussed your propensity for aerial food experiments and decided that these morsels of delight do more good in your stomach than sticking to the tiles?" means. But she does think it is Heee-larious when I get all serious.

So, I gave up. Did she eat more liquid because she didn't have breakfast? Nope. Is the only thing she devoured like she was starving to death all day carbohydrates? (Gold fish and little graham crackers)? Yep. Was dinner any better? NOPE-but it sure was more of a mess. So, everyone known my hangups about her weight with the whole preemie thing, but it's more than that...is she ever going to stop relying so heavily on milk and formula?!? It's so much nicer when we all sit down and actually eat together...

There are few things more depressing and demoralizing that trying to come up with a healthy menu for your baby and then having it completely fail-not only do you not have the satisfaction of knowing that it is at least appreciated a *little* bit, but you also have the pleasure of scrubbing the food off the floor around her high chair after said abysmal failure (and GOD it is hard to think of something interesting to feed her every night). In the end, it is becoming clearer that this mortherhood thing is a truly thankless job. At least she was charitable enough to give me a little love before bed to let me know it's not personal.

*lately, G has been hoarding things behind her when she plays and stuffs food between her diaper and the highchair at meals. Sean came up with a scenario that she is, in fact, stashing food in her diaper to sneak to Tigger and Bunny after I put her to bed. The dialogue he hypothesized was most entertaining, but I am too exhausted to expound upon it here.

Skillz

So, Auntie Kim, you might be extra proud of this!


And I am ever more fascinated by her expanding vocabulary and my ability to relate to her verbally...

GOODnight and other musings

The current phase G is in is mostly awesome. She is imitating cats, dogs, and cows. She answers with said trademark animal sound if you ask, "Gilly, what does ___ say?" She will look for and retrieve an item if you ask "Gilly, where's your ___?" I even think she might be trying to say "belly", which sounds a lot like "bey", when she points at my belly or her own belly. Gillian also recently started chasing the cats in her odd crabcrawl way (which is freakishly fast, by the way), and giggling quite happily as they frantically avoid her. This game I love. I am sure Needy Peepers is in for all the attention she ever dreamed of. and then some.

At night, she no longer is asleep when I put her down after feeding her. Instead, she likes to sit up, her legs on either side of my waist, and lays her little head on my chest and snuggle...sit back, and talk to me a little (including pointing out a belly), lay back on my thighs and look/point at things on the wall, and sit back up and cuddle...this usually goes on about 8-10 minutes. Then I ask, "Gilly, are you ready to go nite-nite in your bed?", and, get this, she points at her bed...and then I stand with her next to her crib and say, "do you want to visit with Tigger and Bunny and go nite-nite?" (Tigger and Bunny are bedtime-only pals), and she leans toward/reaches for the crib! (obviously, this fascinates me) From what I gather from sounds through the door, after that she listens to her mobile and talks to her bedtime pals for a few minutes and that's it. She likes going to bed. And WE LIKE THAT SHE LIKES GOING TO BED. The other night, our neighbor was over, and Gilly looked at me, yawned, and started crawling toward her room. I asked "are you ready for nite-nite?" and she stopped, looked at me, and continued down the hall and into her bedroom. I thought, "THAT was far too easy...what's the catch?" No catch. She was tired and knew she wanted to go to bed.

The drawbacks to this phase: 1) 95% of food on the floor; 5% of food in her mouth; 2) do you know how hard it can be to get your child clothed and her diaper changed when there are clearly much more interesting things to do than sit still and get one's diaper changed and clothes on? Both of which are small prices to pay for the mostly joyful days and nights we have had of late.

Aerodynamics

Lately, Gillian has been carefully studying aerodynamics and it's relationship to gravity. She conducts most of her research from her high Evenflo perch at 9am and 6pm daily. Generally, the test runs begin with how many times water-filled plastic can hit the floor, and how many times people can be trained to retrieve it (it's science and sociology, people!). Next is foodstuffs. She generally prefers to use denser vegetables in lieu of the airier and more valuable carbohydrates, for obvious reasons. Even when they are delightfully seasoned and cooked to perfection. And she holds eye contact with her observers as she first dangles the item over the edge, then drops it.

The experimental design is not limited to the Evenflo perch. It is also interesting to conduct data runs at the grocery store with General Shoulderbag Items. I bet no one could predict that a writing pen could impact linoleum no less than 2000 times in 45 minutes! (needless to say, not having the pen for said experiment was not an option (if that one time trying to pry it from her tiny vicegrip fingers is any indication).

We hope that this empirical endeavor concludes shortly. Tomorrow would be good.

An Ode to Strong, Fabulous Women

Today my friend Roxanne, Annikah's mama, ran 26 miles in 90 degree heat to complete the Chicago marathon. She ran it even though after 21 miles, they canceled the marathon because "there were no more ambulances for people dropping from heat stress" (one man died from it, and another 250 were hospitalized); she ran it because she had trained long and hard-logging many hundreds of miles a month, and she couldn't not finish; she ran it so one day her daughter would know that you can achieve any wild dream, any goal, you set your mind on achieving. Roxanne- you are crazy- and courageous, and such a person of conviction, and I admire you, and respect you so much and feel lucky to know you.

Sarah and I were talking about what an awesome story it will be for Rox to tell Anni. We talked about what strong female role models can do for a child. Maybe it will make some impact of our children to know their moms had a baby in the middle of their coursework and still managed to finish their PhDs. Maybe it will make them secure and confident to be brought up in a home where people achieve the things they set out to do. Moms who are artists, or musicians, or poets...moms who go out into the world and make it better through their work or their charitable contributions to society; women who dance; women who pursue their passions unabashedly, and unapologetically. I am blessed to know so many amazing women, and it makes me peaceful to think that they are contributing offspring to this planet-surely, their children will bring some balance to this wild world of ours.

Clearly, this is the answer to the questions I asked Friday. We are the solution to the endless diluge of bad messages weaving through our society, and purposely or indirectly targeting our children. We should strive to be what we want our children to become every day.

Our girl's got rhythm

So, we borrowed Roxanne's idea to take G to Didier Farms (along with Francie and her folks), which might have been the single most exciting thing to ever happen in her life...being surrounded by baby goats in the petting zoo, in particular. Gillian was inspired by the happy 60s tune piping through the place, and began by clicking her tongue and doing the ultra low groove to the beat of "Love Me Do".

I have to say, Didier Farms is a virtual toddler fantasy land of delights. And incredibly kitschy for adults.

Prostitute Action Figure or Happy Meal Toy? You decide.

I was desperate one night in one of my "If-I-run-errands-after-Gillian-goes-to-bed-I'll-be-alot-more-efficient" mindsets and given the fact that it was 9:30 (pm) and I hadn't had any dinner yet, and there was a McDonalds right there... I decided to get something small because I was dying. It had been a few years probably since I had McDonalds, for obvious reasons (like, every time you eat there it takes a year off your life), but I figured quantity (small) could make it less damaging, so I ordered a Happy Meal. It's not as happy now as it was the last time I saw it-they use to have fun little thin cardboard boxes with puzzles and games on it and the famous arches for handles, and some McDonald Land cookies in the shape of Ronald and the Burglar and the other characters, and of course, The Toy. They use to have cool toys...remember those reindeer stuffed animal/beanie babies that Christmas in the 80s? Well, mine came in a paper bag with no fun stuff to do on it, no cookies, and THIS awful thing parading as a child's toy.

So, given the fact that I have a daughter, and here I had this little mini-barbie-rollerderby-hooker in my Happy Meal, the ride to my next errand stop was a time of somber reflection. How will I EVER cultivate a healthy body image for my daughter in a world full of Bratz figurines and shows like The OC? I mean, her skirt is so short her hoo-ha is almost showing, she is showing some serious torso, and she has a red streak in her bleach-blond hair. Do I want my 5 year old begging me to wear mid-drifts, miniskirts, and thongs? Wouldn't you think that McDonalds, who has historically marketed themselves as family friendly, would choose a more wholesome toy for their Happy Meals? I wish they had given me the boy meal with the car in it. I wish I had never seen this blasphemous piece of Americana in something specifically targeting little girls. Maybe the answer is a unisex toy?

But, I could go on for days about the waify, sickly, anorexic gold standard that we see in commercials and magazines, and movies... it even infiltrated the latest season of Survivor-did you see poor Courtney trying to cut a rope with a machete this week? It might have been laughable if it wasn't so completely tragic. What were the show's producers thinking to choose a contestant who is starving without the trials of the game show? What message does this send to adolescent girls dying to be thin?

Ok, so maybe some of this post is a bit melodramatic, and alot tongue in cheek, but I really do worry about how to navigate the mindfields of the external world while trying to provide an atmosphere conducive to Gillian creating a beautiful, strong, and healthy self-image. One that doesn't require showcasing a smoking hot bod to have any vestige of personal value. Either I am getting super conservative in my old age, or I remember being 15, or I am now the parent of a little girl (or all of the preceding). Either way, I can't appreciate this fad. At all.

16 lbs 9 oz of pure love

Gillian had her 1 year appointment on Monday. It's a bit of hopeful angst that leads up to a doctor's visit...you hope the doctor is pleased with the overall development of your baby, you hope she is gaining weight well, and you hope that she is excelling developmentally. It's really quite strange how the milestone issue weighs on you, even though you know every baby develops at her own pace. I mean everyone wants to think their baby is super smart or super able...and if they don't measure up, maybe it says something about the job you are doing as a parent, and if they do, then it's clear you are doing an extra fine job as a parent. Right?

It happened that I had to take G to the visit (and take off work), which is just fine because if ever there was an anal-retentive Type-A-bordering-on-neurotic Mama, here I am. I have way too many questions to NOT be the one taking her. And the same way I enjoy therapy, I enjoy taking my daughter to the doctor (well, except the immunizations part-we could all do without that). With Gillian, I just want to have my beliefs/theories verified by my super-fabulous doctor, and I could talk about her all day to anyone who will listen, and he's getting paid to listen (and not by me...could it get any better?).

During her exam I felt a lot like the construction worker in "One Froggy Evening"-you know, that Bugs Bunny cartoon where the guy finds this frog with a cane and tophat who can sing and dance, tries to exploit him for money...except the frog simply acts like a frog in front of other people. I answered questions about G's development and eating habits (still annoying), but she sure wasn't interested in showing off any of her fabulous skills. In fact, she even acted afraid (of a latex glove puppet Dr. C. lovingly made for her) when we were there, and she is never afraid of anything.

So, my unease and tinge of frustration for her not being her charming self got me to thinking about why I was feeling the way I felt. Do I want her to be walking and talking and eating like a 5-year-old to prove how advanced she is? Do I want to rush past this precious, sweet stage where she kicks her little legs in pure delight when I walk in the back door after work and gets that brilliant smile on her face, because that's the best she can do to say "i am so happy to see you!"? I'm pretty convinced that reaction is better than words... Why do we put such value in milestones? Is it some ego boost for us as parents, or are we happy to see our children becoming little people? Maybe we, as their parents, simply rejoice in their accomplishments as we undoubtedly will the rest of their lives...

But, when I sit and think about it, I don't care if she isn't drinking only from a cup yet, or pulling up, or trying to walk. I don't care whether or not she is associating words and objects. I want her to be a baby right now, and I don't want to push her to be anything else. When she's 17 and she's broken my heart, and I can never have these days back, these days where she is still my precious baby, will I be sorry she walked at 18 months instead of 12? Or will I think about the cherished moments like the ones we spend every night in the bath and nursing to sleep in the rocking chair? I already feel like she is growing up too fast. I already feel like she looks like a little girl and not a baby anymore. And it's sad...and bittersweet.

Just a bit of self-indulgent fluff

Can I just say how much fun it is now that we try to make EACHOTHER laugh?

Our (mostly) Fabulous 'Hood

We made a conscious decision two years ago to buy a big condo in this neighborhood in lieu of a house in the suburbs or even a house in a neighborhood further inland. The idea of being landlocked frankly made us both feel like we might smother, so we decided to stay here, in Rogers Park. True, it's not a perfect neighborhood, but it has character (and characters, for that matter). The truly great things are 1) the diversity/people (I think it's the most ethnically diverse neighborhood in the country); 2) the proximity to the lake and the lake parks; and 3) the proximity to public transportation (Metra or the El). So we stayed here because we love it here. I was reminded of how much I love this neighborhood (and why) Wednesday.

Wednesday was a truly magical morning. It was beautiful, and cool, and breezy. Gillian gleefully ate a huge breakfast, which always puts me in fine spirits, and I was giddy to get us out and enjoy the gorgeous weather. We got in the stroller and headed out. There was a great breeze to blow through our hair, the sun was out, there were beautiful flowers poking through fences for G to try and grab, and the park, the fabulous park that is just 2 blocks from our house, was enchanted.

In the early morning, the park and the beach are so quiet. The sun was glinting off of the lake like a million diamonds, and everyone you passed gave you that "happy-enjoying-the peace-and-quiet" smile. If you don't live here, you don't know the luxury of having a place like this so close to home. A place where you collect beach glass instead of sea shells, where you can play soccer, tennis, barbeque, and go swimming three minutes from your house, and where there are 10 ft of magnificent glaciers on the shore in the winter... Anyway, here are a few pics of the heart of our neighborhood:

Sharing

So, G's big thing lately is sharing. It is very nice of her to offer me half gummed pieces of banana and the last of her blueberries. She is delighted when I accept and quickly offers another.

The sweetest thing so far that she has offered me (well, besides her kisses) was last night: drops of water she tried to catch between her little fingers at bathtime.

Happy Birthday, Baby

What is this day with two suns in the sky?
Day unlike other days,
with a great voice giving it to the planet,
Here it is, enamored beings, your day!

birth day with Papa

birth day, eyes open


Keep walking, though there's noplace to get to.
Don't try to see through the distances. That's not for human beings.
Move within, BUT DON'T MOVE THE WAY FEAR MAKES YOU MOVE.

My first visit with her-Day 2

Hands

belly distended-magnesium sulfate, day 2; I am still swollen

IV in arm bound; right hand bruised from unsuccessful IV insertion; still, she had a beautiful little face


Love comes with a knife, not with some shy question.
Love is a madman, working his wild schemes,
tearing off his clothes, running through the mountains,
drinking poison, and now quietly choosing annihilation.

You've been walking the ocean's edge,
holding up your robes to keep them dry.
You must dive under and deeper under,
a thousand times deeper! Love flows down.

Let the cords of your robe be untied.
Shiver in this new love above all, above and below.
The sun rises, but which way does night go? I have no more words.
Let the soul speak with the silent articulation of a face.

with her beautiful blanket, knitted by a volunteer, streeeetchh...


Taking ownership of our child, navigating our fear and the wires for kangaroo care-the anchoring of her tiny hands and feet in Sean's chest and tummy hair was the impetus for her first nickname, "Monkey"

Our daily ritual-5 or 6 hours of just breathing together




Silliness, and without the NG tube for the first time!


A thousand half-loves
must be forsaken to take
A whole heart home

leaving the NICU at last...after 7 weeks and 2 days; she weighed 4 lbs on the dot


At home, where she belongs, infinitely loved


The best gift, ever.


Fast Forward 1 year:





Hear blessings dropping their blossoms around you. God. -Rumi

"Crawling"

This post is called "crawling" because Gillian doesn't really crawl, exactly....she kinda crawls, but mostly scoots around. Amazingly, she is getting quick enough to follow me around. Even more amazingly, no matter how recently the floor was mopped, there is enough cat hair to knit a sweater stuck to her diaper by the time I change it.

We are in ernest going to have to really start paying attention to what's on the floor, because Gillian is finely tuned in to details and likes nothing better than a little present on the beaten path, or even on the side of the beaten path. Little presents go in her mouth. Examples of things I had to fish out of her mouth in the past 24 hours:

1) wood chips from the bottom of Sean's shoes
2) a piece of plastic that broke off the pull cord for the blinds (I went after where I saw it go, and by the time I turned around, Gillian had another piece of it in her mouth)
3) cat food
4) A God-knows-how-old blueberry
5) small wad of cat hair from some an inconspicuous corner
6) small clump of lint from the laundry room when she was helping me fold stuff
7) dental floss (the trashcan in the bathroom is now a problem I hadn't forseen).

Anyhoo, life certainly is more interesting now that I have to be hawkishly vigilant every second lest my child choke to death on something completely tasteless, but interesting enough looking to try anyway.

Another milestone-her first top tooth has come through her gums. I wasn't hallucinating! Maybe my intuition is becoming more tuned in...YAY-the recent whining and low grade fever had immediate results.

I leave you with a video of the zigzag scoot (which you saw a little of in the pen video below). It's not glamorous, but it works. And we're all pragmatic around here. Oh, and she is a very chatty girl, obviously.

The unfortunate thing about piecemeal motor skills

Growing is fun, and frustrating, judging by Gillian's general disposition as she learns new things and acquires new skills. She is now waving and pointing with purpose (the pointing is exciting for us, because now we can name what she is pointing at, which I assume will help with word-object associations). She likes nothing better than beginning a fresh morning with raiding her toy basket-it's like Christmas every day how she delights in pulling things out one by one, examining it intently, then putting it aside to pull out the next thing.

The recent challenge for her is that she has figured out how to sit up from a lying down position BUT cannot lie down from a sitting position. Since she learned to do this in her crib (we caught her red-handed holding onto the leg of one of the animals in her mobile, which was going "click-click-click" instead of rotating and playing music, sitting up and mighty proud of herself), it presents a problem. Especially when a) she doesn't feel like going to bed when she really should (she will sit up to play as soon as we leave the room, and then there is no way she can go to sleep, and re-entry to lay her back down gets her all excited thinking she's getting rescued); b) she wants to go to sleep but is sitting up and doesn't know how to lay down; and c) the very nice mobile is very long, and even with lowering her mattress, she can still grab it and eventually, we assume, she will break it.

This morning was very painful. She woke up very early and sat up and had to be put back down in a laying position; she woke for a second time at 4:15 (very early for her lately) and after nursing, we put her back in her crib. Within moments, we heard the tell tale "click-click-click" which told us she was not only sitting up, but torturing the mobile. I went in to try laying her back down and rubbing her back. Instead of being soothed to sleep, she pulled her knees under her belly and pushed up to sitting right there in front of me and raised her arms up and started pontificating. About what, I'm still not sure. I picked her up and brought her back to bed, where she yapped and yelled and sang and played with my hair and kicked both of our backs (we hoped by ignoring her, she would settle down). No dice. We tried giving her more milk. Nope. We tried rocking her and giving her more milk and putting her back in her crib. When I left a little after 6, she was in there yelling and yapping and singing, two hours+ after she awoke last. Probably as she was sitting up. And even if she wanted to go to sleep she probably couldn't. This will be one of my unfavorite phases, I can tell.

And to top if off, whining and low grade fever are back. Teeth or threat of teeth imminent. At least it seems like it. But, I have learned a little humility here- he who thinks he knows knows not and is delusional. Particularly in parenthood. It took 2 months between her first sure teething symtoms and teeth with the bottom two, so I'm not holding my breath.

Through the looking glass

There is this really cute baby that follows Gillian everywhere, but that we can only see when she is in front of the mirror. Gillian is intrigued, entertained, and delighted by her. And she likes to give her kisses...

A Different Kind of Dinner

So, we have been struggling with the fact that our very petite little girl has been stubbornly refusing solids for weeks now. From us. By Spoon. These last two items are the operative concepts here. We have discovered that our girl is exerting her independence and has been trying to tell us she doesn't NEED, or more importantly, WANT us to feed her anymore. After all, she is a whopping and mature 9 months adjusted age, and can do things for herself now.

We started by letting her play with her dinner without wiping her face and hands in between and trying to stay too tidy (which she hates). After the third meal where the plate of pureed mush hit the floor (on purpose) we decided "no more purees". She isn't using the spoon except to play with, and all purees do is get ground into the highchair, her skin, and her hair. She doesn't eat any of them, as far as I can tell. So, no more "baby food" purees. Gillian has decided they make better paint than food.

We have opted for soft or quickly dissolvable food for breakfast and dinner, resist the urge to wipe her off till the end, and don't try feeding her anything (she will turn her face away even if you try to feed her a piece of something off your finger, but will fish it off the tray to feed herself). The result? No more fussing when we strap her into the highchair, and more food getting into her than when we try to feed her. That's not to say she's eating a lot, because she is still incapable of super efficient hand-to-mouth activity, but more is getting in there.

New Game

Like a kitten, Gillian has begun assigning lifelike traits to inanimate objects (in this instance, the remarkable ability to jump from her hands over and over and over). This began with a little game we made up called "slippery fish" in the bathtub, and as you can see below, has morphed into a game she can even play with the most unsuspecting writing pen.

Just Fabulous

Gillian has had a wonderfully late awakening today: 6:30. We got almost 6 hours of sleep before the tell-tale chatter started when G wanted her breakfast. I went to pick her up-and Lo and Behold....Poop. Everywhere. Did you have any idea, Those of You Who are Not Yet Parents, that bananas have weird and magical threads that are wirey and black when they come out the other end? Anyway, there was oddly grayish-green poop leaking out of the left leg hole of her diaper, all over her jammies...the weird and magical black wirey threads dancing around in the dark...all over her bedsheets. It took 6 wipes to clean her up (including her hands, which instinctually grab at her dirty nether regions when the diaper is removed), and then I took the 5 lb diaper and put it in the diaper pail. We tag-teamed the mess and Sean removed the crib sheet, scrubbed down the mattress cover (thank GOD for the mattress cover), and put on the new sheet while I washed the baby's hands with soap and then fed her.

So, People with No Children-you ask, "how's it feel to be startled awake in the wee hours of the morning (although 6:30 is luxuriously late), after months and months of it happening, like you didn't expect it? How does it feel that when you are startled awake, there is a sea of poop to clean up before you can get the baby fed, and ultimately, get back to the matter at hand-namely, sleep?" It is definitely a challenge to clean up the baby bleary eyed and exhausted...not to mention, after she woke up for the day, a couple hours later when we went to her, she had pooped again, which also leaked, sullying the other clean crib sheet we had. That wasn't the end of our poopy day. But at least the third time was a charm-it went square into her pants, where it should have gone. Thank God.

Gillian stopped eating solid foods about a week ago, or so. My pureed organic delights-wasted...butting up against her stubborn, pursed little mouth (I might get a few little baby spoonfuls in before she starts blocking me). We aren't sure how to proceed with this. She is so tiny, weight-wise. She was in the 15th percentile for preemies at her last doc visit for weight (not even 15 lbs). She should care about solid foods by now...we worry thay she isn't interested in an important skill she should be learning to acquire. Eating from a spoon and chewing and swallowing is necessary in life. She was eating 1/2-3/4 of a banana a morning and 6 ice cube sized portions of food each night...now, nothing. Maybe a few bites before the stubborn, pursed mouth sets in. What have I learned? My will cannot overcome that of a baby..a "not-even-15 lb" baby. She has enough will for all of us. And she is winning this battle, because if I fight her, she will become more stubborn to do what she wants to do. I know this because she is just like me....payback is hell. My mom is laughing somewhere for the appropriateness of it all.

As for the nanny-Friday was twice as bad as last Monday, because it was twice as long. Gillian cried and cried and cried and cried. Poor Monkey. Today Nanny came over for a few hours and played with Gillian at our house. No crying, no tears. We hope that today will make tomorrow easier away from home with Nanny.

Still working on editing my million videos for your viewing pleasure. At this rate, it will be Christmas before I finish August. *sigh* and *sigh*...

Apparently, Hell is also for Nannies

Kinda reminds me of that snappy little Pat Benatar ditty. Today was Gillian's first day with the Nanny over at her buddy Francie's. It was not good for anyone involved. Unbeknownst to me or to Sean, Gillian's separation anxiety is alive and well...her happy little attitude fooled us into thinking the transition to the world of childcare would be a cinch, especially with her good buddy Francie being there to play with, at Francie's house where G has been many times.

Allegedly, the day went like this:

1200: G gets dropped off after her morning nap and lunch and diaper change. We decided to do a half day to "wade in slowly" (ha!). Sean leaves.
1205: Gillian starts crying
1205-1434: Gillian cries and cries and cries and cries and cries. Then she cries.
1435: Gillian passes out from sheer exhaustion, having cried for 2.5 HOURS nonstop
1535: Gillian wakes up and realizes she's not at home, sees the strange (and exceedingly kind) lady, remembers this is not all just a bad dream, and starts crying again.
1536-1650: See 1205-1434;
1700: Mama arrives to pick Gillian up, who is still doing the hyperventilaty-shaky-sigh-that-smacks-of-a-serious-crying-episode. Seeing mama, Gillian is suddenly happy, kicking legs and waving arms, smiling at everyone, and waving at Francie and the cat.

Well, not exactly like this, because somehow she ate two bottles in there (there was at least a 15 minute reprieve from screaming and crying between these two meals), but the poor Nanny basically had to carry Gillian all day because "if [she] put her down, she would scream" (instead of the crying that never ended, obviously so much better). Gillian was also so upset that she acted out, which I have NEVER seen her do with us or other children-pulling Francie's hair and kicking her when she tried to come over to play.

On top of it all, Gillian's sad plight made Francie cry. In stereo. I can imagine that would be a lot like hell. Nanny is a dear, dear person. I couldn't stop apologizing for not seeing this coming, but I didn't see this coming!

So, we have to work on getting G use to staying with other people besides Sean and I, and somewhere besides our own house. There will be an abridged day on Friday that includes a few Papa pop-ins/visits while G gets use to the Nanny, and a special visit of the Nanny to our place on Sunday for a few hours to play with Gillian. Hopefully, by Monday, it will be more like purgatory than hell. We'll work our way to a Paradise of Happy Babies from there, one [baby] step at a time.

Fly Piece

Gillian completed her second round trip to Florida via airplane today. We went to visit my brother Jim again. By some miracle, my sister and her boys came too. It was the first time we had all been together in 7 and a half years (since Sean and I got married).

It was a rich visit-the grandchildren of my parents together for the first time; Jim having both his sisters with him; Gillian and her cousin Evan's first trip to the ocean; my niece Amber and I sitting at the breaking seashore at night talking...I forgot how the warm air blows off the ocean, and with no lights on the beach, the clouds look white against the sky and the breaking waves are incandescent and magical. Jim had found a video of our family at Amber's first birthday-that is the only video I have of my mother (and I only have a few photos of her). That is so precious to me-to see her alive and happy to be a grandmother for the first time. I can almost imagine she would be so happy to celebrate Gillian's first birthday with us next month. Jim is less well than when we saw him last month, and the video is invaluable and bittersweet to me for him being in it-it captures him as a young father. He was playing the same games with Amber that we do with Gillian, and beaming with pride at her burgeoning self, like we do. He was young, and beautiful, and funny, and well. It made me sad to watch him watch that video, bedridden and paralyzed, and dying..remembering when he could be a real husband to his wife and and active father to his daughter. How do you reconcile death at 40 years old? How do you make peace with God for the unfairness of it all? How do you go quietly, leaving behind your young wife and daughter, and trust that it is all happening the way it is intended? I have moments of anger, and bitterness. I find myself trying to make sense of his horrifically slow, agonizing death and this tragic, painful way to slowly lose someone from our lives. It is so obviously cruel, and it tests my faith (see the Inductive Argument from Evil) and my ability to endure the loss of yet another person close to me.

Gillian won't remember Jim the way he is now. I will show her this video I brought home to copy. She'll see images of her grandparents (my parents), and Jim busting with living and with joy, celebrating the little life of my niece, just beginning. That will be the most she knows of them, the saddest part of this for her. But Jim said something profound to me. He said "I thank God every day for Dawn and for Cancer. Dawn because she is my life, because she really loves me; cancer because it taught me how every single day is precious." I can't wrap my head around that..as much as I struggle to. It's so cliche and convenient to say that is what his dying is teaching me, but the truth is, I will only realize the value of my days on this earth, really value them, when I am faced with the reality that they don't have to continue. I want to tell you that I feel deep in my gut that every day is a gift, and I know that it is, but I don't know that it is. I still find myself taking moments, precious moments, for granted. I still find myself preoccupied by meaninglessness. I have not mastered living in this moment. I am not yet entrained in mindfulness.

I could tell you about Gillian's adventures on the airplane; about her holding up her tiny little arm and orating to the masses in an amazingly loud voice for a good bit of our flight- her "Fly Piece", as it were; about her peaking through the chairs to the man in red behind us like she found a delightful secret hidden there, and it was him; her inexplicable desire to kiss and touch the little girl sitting next to us; about my absolute exhaustion after my emotional week trying to keep my wiggling and ever more curious and mobile daughter engaged for two long hours today on our flight home by myself (and keeping everything out of her reach...unfortunately, in spite of these efforts, an entire glass of water and accompanying ice made it onto my lap half way home). And all these things are so incredibly sweet, and she did so well, but they are overshadowed by this looming sadness.

General Update

I keep meaning to post our mobility evolution in motion pictures, but keep not having the time to edit the 40+ videos I have taken since my last DVD burn for the fam. In lieu of that fascinating progression, I will have to update you on our most recent developments sans photos and video (most exciting (to me) to least exciting):

1. Gillian is mobile. Not in the traditional sense. Not all cute and up on her knees, palms down crawling, like G's buddy Francie. Not unorthodox and still super efficient like G's buddies Elliot and Annikah, with their "no damage to the knees" crab crawl. She does the Commando slither, like all her buddies have done before getting more mobile, but she also does the Zigzag Scoot. The Zigzag Scoot is one leg out in front, one leg behind, neither of which really get off the ground. The back leg pushes her forward, the front leg grasps the new position and steers her direction. Her arms do most of the work, and although this is not the most expeditious method of getting around, but she can get from point A to point B just fine. Consequently, we are slowly babyproofing. Funny how she makes a beeline for the nearest thing I don't want her to touch, eat, or stick her precious little finger in.
2. Gillian can now drink out of a sippy cup with a plastic straw. This is exciting because the first incarnation of sippy cup she was using had a silicon top a lot like a bottle nipple shaped like a sippy cup lid. It leaked like mad. It had to be tipped almost upside down for the water to come out. Gillian choked on it a lot because the water came out too fast. Now she can hold the cup herself (it doesn't have to be tipped upsidedown for water to come out), can suck as much water as she wants, and never gets too much. This autonomy is just fabulous. Oh, and she prefers a couple of ice cubes in her water (we enabled this preference by giving her strawfuls of ice water when we eat out).
3. Gillian is at the beginning stages of pointing when she sees something of interest. Once this skill is honed, it will be great because it will help us identify what she perceives as awe-inspiring things.
4. Gillian likes to play ball (rolling back and forth). This is tremendously exciting for her, and for us.
5. Gillian has learned how to pet the cat without ripping her hair out. The cat, in return, has become more tolerant of Gillian's affection, and doesn't high tail it to the other end of the house when she sees Gillian's belabored approach. (Yay and Yay, because she loves animals).

Odds and ends: Lots of drooling and a bit of whining these days. No tooth in sight, that I can see. Oh, and she WILL eat three meals a day if she's nursing all day. If she gets bottles, she won't. So, the quandry-how do we get her to take her bottles and eat the solids? Nanny-share starts a week from Tuesday. That is a little scares me a little. It's sad, and freeing. She's growing so fast....

We're getting old

Last week, we went to Great Lakes Naval Base and visited the JAG. No, I am not being sued or going to court for some infraction of the law (although that might be more interesting and give me street cred). We went to the base to draft a last will and testament, a living will, a durable power of attorney, and designation of healthcare surrogate. I never knew that there were really four documents that are part of this solemn package, but there we were, talking about the fact that we don't want to be administered food, water, or life support if reduced to a vegetative state. This, in itself, is a tremendous downer-to make decisions about what you want if you become terminally ill or die. But we realized unless we wanted some kind of Jerry-Springer worthy drama when we die where Gillian might become a pawn for cash, we needed to get on it. So, we did. Most importantly, we named her guardians if something should happen to us, and we set up a trust of our assets for her in the event that we die (so, whoever gets custody doesn't get her money, not that we're worried about Bill and Suzi going to Vegas on us, but still...). Clearly, as we build wealth throughout our lives, our financial plan will change, and we will do more to tax shelter our worth (if you really read about the amount of your money the good ol' government takes from your family at your death beyond the current exemption, you will likely get steamed-since they have already taxed that money when you made it and before you invested it; but..with a good estate planner, you can be clever about protecting your assets).

Anyhoo, we had a lot to think about. Who should be G's trustees? Who do we really trust to manage her inheritence until she receives it? The guardianship was a no-brainer, thankfully. What do we want in the event that we are terminally ill? How hard should our family try to save us or just keep us alive? Not only do you designate the Power of Attorney, Healthcare Surrogate, guardians, and trustees, but you have to designate alternates. Folks, the pickins are slim on alternates. These are heavy choices.

Monday we go back to sign in front of two witnesses to make the whole thing official. I am considering a safe deposit box for these important papers and our financial documents as well. Just to make sure everything is in the same place.

I just don't know when the most important decision of the day went from what kind of beer to drink with our pizza to who should decide to remove our feeding tube. Somewhere before the baby and after the first house and marriage, I think. Not that the beer question isn't an important one. We are just getting old.