"Finally, a tummytime that doesn't suck" and other musings.

We have hit the magical three month developmental milestone. The one where your smiling, charming amorphous blob suddenly has much better neck and head control and is suddenly getting much better at hand-eye coordination. S/he may even be beginning to roll over and give you hope that some day soon sitting up will be on the horizon. This is when it hits you- "OMG! the baby is growing up!!" (insert a fleeting moment of sadness).

For the record, Gillian is NOT rolling over or sitting up, but I'm sure the day is coming. For today, I am more than a little giddy to report that Gillian was on her stomach today for at least 5 minutes before fussing!!! Let me back up, and explain the significance of this to you. Child development experts, pediatricians, etc., etc., recommend something called "Tummytime"-very intuitively, time baby spends on her tummy. This, we are told, should be done often, and regardless if the baby screams bloody murder the entire time. It helps them strengthen and develop neck and head control, and is the cornerstone of crawling. I tried this the first time when Gillian was a few weeks past her due date. Since she spent the entire tummytime with her face smashed into the playmat screaming, I would say it was a bust. I even tried helping her by holding her head up a little, but to no avail. She hated it. I hated it. "Oh, why do they tell us not to let them sleep on their stomachs?" I opined. In the old days, tummytime didn't exist. It didn't need to. So, I would give it another try every now and then to see if she still hated it. She did. Till today. I put her on her stomach, she, in fine form, held her head high, even looked around. It was a whole new world! On her stomach!! It took several minutes for her neck to get tired and fussing to commence, but I was so proud...the stamina!..the endurance! Our girl is a rockstar!

Other Musings:

1) Ever since she learned how much fun it is to have hands, they have been very hot, very sticky (surely a side effect of sticking them in her mouth when there is milk residue in there-I hope), and full of gray lint. I'm not sure where the little globs of gray lint in between her fingers comes from. Or why it is always gray. Or where the dirt under her nails comes from. Or how a baby who never goes outside gets such dirty hands?

2) Since the beginning of February, she has been rubbing her eyes when she's tired. With the her rudimentary motor skills, initially this was a lot like a blindfolded drunk playing darts, but she is quite good at it these days. It's one of those things that looks so familiar and so human, and no one taught her to do it. Needless to say, a tiny baby rubbing her eyes, besides being a clear message of tiredness (we get very few clear messages early on, so this is so fantastic), is especially cute.

3) Hair. It seems to be coming in a little (the aforementioned bald spot is sporting stubble). It is light brown with little gold glints that shine through in the light. And we thought it was going to be white blond, like we both had. Weird.

4) A recessive chin. If you know Sean, you know he has a dimple in his chin that resembles a hole punch...or the indentation of a button on a cushion. He also has a small mole up and to the right of that. So does his sister, his father, his uncle, his aunt, his cousins, etc. We were sure she would follow suit. Instead of the "Colledge chin" she has her grandmother’s sweet little dimples on either side, just under the corners of her mouth. Refreshing.

It's almost March, which is closer to April than almost February. Soon-leaves and warmth and fresh air. A whole new world for The Bean.

The BabySnatcher

For those of you who are already parents, you can empathize. For those of you who are not yet, but may be some day, take heed. There are people in this world (who you might not even know) who have no sense of personal space or propriety and feel entitled in your life to play "extended family member" or "child development expert" unsolicited and unwelcome.

Last Sunday, we had our first real taste of this phenomenon at church. We entered a couple minutes late and were confused to not see the "parents with very young children" pews that are usually at the back of the church. These pews are cleverly placed toward the back exit-in the the case of a meltdown, the harried parents can make a quick escape. A very nice (we thought, anyway) old lady usher (who we had never met, but has seen many times from a distance) pointed to a square area of pews to the left at the back of the church after deftly assessing that there was in fact an infant in our portable seat/carseat. We made our way over to the new parent and young child corral and got comfortable. The Bean was not happy. She was being Fussypants, and was not as intrigued as usual with the songs and stained glass. So, I got out a receiving blanket and draped it over us and nursed her to sleep. She slept for a blissful half an hour and looked like a little angel (gush. I'm entitled. Sometimes).

Part of a Catholic mass, for those of you unaware, is a lovely gesture of peace to those around you. By this time the ushers had come by for the offerings, and little did I know the Old Lady Usher had designs on us for this part of the service. As soon as the Priest said the bit about Christ saying ‘I leave you peace, my peace I give to you.’ , she made her move. She made a bee line straight for our corral, which was no longer our sanctuary. She was like a grey streak with a mission. And that mission was Gillian. At this point, Gillian was still a picture of sweetness all sleeping and serene. Before she came. I saw her coming and thought, "oh, how nice-she's going to wish peace on Gillian and tell us some nice thing about our little bundle of joy". WRONG. She wrangled her out of my arms, pumped her up and down in the air (startling her awake and then scaring her to death with her unfamiliar face and clown-like smiling), saying "HE's so beautiful". Does she look like a boy? Especially when she has that shirt on R. let us borrow that says HOMEGIRL. I guess that's what I get from breaking out of the "girls wear pink and boys wear blue" convention. Poor Gillian didn't know what hit her. I am sure her experience is how I have felt when I am startled awake at 8 am on a Saturday having a heart attack because I am late to work, but in reality am not even working that day.

So, I will be on the lookout this Sunday for the BabySnatcher, and I won't be so dumbfounded this time. No "deer in the headlights" delayed reaction as a crazy lady rips my child out of my arms, shakes her like a martini mixer, and insults us at the same time. No...this time I will have a vice grip on her and will flail my other arm in front of us to break her babysnatching stride if need be. Just know-seemingly nice, stable people lose it over miniature bald, chubby, underdeveloped human beings and will invade your space to get their hands on them. I am sorry to say I have witnessed it first hand.

Conversations with Monsters

Tonight when we were doing our nighttime, before-bed ritual, Gillian started a conversation with one of the monsters on the wall next to the rocking chair. I made the monsters with dryer, left-over clay from my sculpture class before Gillian was even on the agenda. I knew they would come in handy one day (although Sean was dubious, but he knows how I am with my "potential art project" piles and boxes).

So, she has been using them as a diversion when we are rocking to sleep for the night for the past couple of weeks (a diversion to NOT rock to sleep, that is). Even in the dark of the room with just the 25 watt closet light on, she found them fascinating. Particularly, the yellow toothless rabbit-monsterish one. She just started the conversation last night; before it was just inquisitive staring. After looking at this monster for about 10 minutes (I knew it was going to be more work to get her down last night), she began making new sounds. Like she finally got up the nerve to say something. It wasn't the usual cooing. All that thinking to impress him with her not-such-a-little-baby words. Like Oh-goo-waa-wa. Or maybe that is the monster's name. Who knew she would be able to speak Oh-goo-waa-wanese?

Today, no sign of the new language. Perhaps it only works in the monster realm. We'll see tonight.

Real Laughter

So, we heard this the first time last Sunday. Today I captured it on video. Apparently, plastic pelicans are not the only hilarious things in Gillian's life. Precious.

One day it won't be zero degrees anymore.

Right now it's "zero degrees" (says the guy on the weather channel automated "local on the 8s forecast). If you don't live here, you may or may not be aware of the fact that the past month has been frigidly cold, as in above freezing twice (but the majority of days have been spent in the teens or single digits). This phenomenon on at least two occasions has been called a "Polar Vortex", which sounds more like the name of a Star Trek episode than a real life meteorological condition. One especially miserable week it didn't get above 13 degrees, and the highs on a couple of days were at or below zero. Windchills on a couple of days/nights were between -20 and -35. Why did we move here from the balmy, sunny south? We are Floridians by birth, and I am seriously questioning our decision to move here on days like today. We should have been suspicious when November and December could have been spent by the pool with a cocktail (well, not really, but it was very mild) that something was coming to balance it out.

This situation makes conditions for maternity leave pretty unfortunate. I was looking forward to spending my days with the baby out and about at the beach or the park, daily walks to whip myself into shape...or doing anything to keep my muscles from atrophying while the Bean has the benefit of fresh air. I can honestly say that I don't go out in this unless absolutely necessary (like, for groceries or to feel normal and go to dinner or something). Gillian is not a fan of cold subzero wind blowing in her face (lesson learned while walking to playgroup), and pitifully wimpers when exposed while I feel like a neglectful and guilty parent. We have reverted to driving everywhere to at least stay warm (I say "at least" because she also hates the carseat and cries if the car stops moving).

So, I think lots of us are counting down the days till spring (May), or at least decent enough stroller weather to get out of the house (April). I wonder what Gillian will think of leaves, since it occurs to me that she has never seen one. She'll find out in less than two months. By the way, I hate polar vortexes..vorteces?

Two Auspicious Events

I believe I have mentioned that Gillian, like her father, sleeps like a lead brick. Or maybe I haven't mentioned how hard she sleeps, just how long she sleeps (which is still, knock on wood, happening). Before bedtime, after she is already down for the night, I go into our bedroom and pump. The pump is right next to her head on my bedside table, and with all the "er-eee-er-eee-er" sounds nary a stir from her. Amazing. So, last night we got to test my theory that if a freight train went through the bedroom, she could sleep through it (or maybe not a freight train, just something really loud). Enter the fact that our box spring has fallen off the frame on Sean's side twice in the past few days. Apparently, in the 30s when they made this bed, full mattresses and box springs were about 2 inches wider...not wide enough to be a modern queen side, mind you, just wide enough to be an annoyance getting a modern full side mattress set to fit on. It is a beautiful antique bedroom set of mahogany, so the bed frame is wooden...and we thought we were clever when we screwed a stainless steel wall corner to the inside of each side so the full mattress wouldn't fall through. Without going into detail, let it be known that I never thought the stainless steel piece was quite wide enough to provide a completely reassuring slumber, but I digress. So, the point is, when we went to bed last night- "CLUNK! THUD!" the boxspring fell through the frame to the floor. CURSES (silent)!! We both immediately looked at G. Nothing. Now, what should we do to try to pry the box spring back up through the frame, particularly with the creaky headboard (which is problematic under certain circumstances)?. Well, we took a deep breath and I tried lifting the mattress while Sean tried pulling up the box spring. "SCREECH!!!", said the headboard. Gillian leisurely stretched, sighed, then nothing. We decided we had to lift the mattress off of the frame and lean it over the footboard to really deal with the box spring. More knocking from the headboard. Nothing from G. After much prodding and grunting, and cursewords (under our breath, of course. don't you remember our New Year's Resolution?), we managed to unwedge the boxspring from under the frame. After a few screeches and knocks, and the entire frame hitting the floor in a series of thuds during the prying out, we repositioned the box spring on it's precarious perch (maybe a 1/2 inch actually ON the metal on each side) on the metal frame attachments (yes, we certainly were clever). To this, Gillian sleepily opened her eyes once, stretched, sighed, and was still. We moved the mattress back, climbed into bed, and we all went back to sleep. Gillian officially sleeps like a lead brick. I have empirical evidence to prove it.

Second Auspicious Event. Yesterday was bath day. I usually get in the tub with Gillian because I think we have more fun that way-she can move around in the water and I can not worry that she is going to drown. I knew it was going to be extra fun (no sarcasm this time) because I laid her on her back on my belly and she laughed that cute baby laugh when she realized she could splash when doing her full body smile (that is a smile while kicking ones legs and flailing ones arms). Bath time is a family affair, so Sean pulled up his wooden "camp/festival" jam chair and the games began. T gave us this really cute little pelican and sea animals bath set when you can manipulate the pelican's mouth to "eat" the sea animals, which are very cute little plastic floating caricatures of a shrimp, a crab, a fish, and an octopus. When the pelican eats one, it comes out his bottom (kinda realistic, I thought). So, Sean started swooping the Pelican down to gobble up a sea creature, then pulled him up above the water, made him chew up the sea creature, and splash!, out came the unfortunate casualty to PLUNK! into the water. Well, this was clearly too hilarious for words, or even a regular baby laugh. Gillian gasped, giggled, belly laughed, and out and out hooted with delight. It was the most beautiful moment!! (more like 10 minutes, because we kept doing it because 1) she loved it and 2) we were highly entertained by her reaction). Enter evidence of punctuated equilibrium in Gillian's cognitive development. Also, enter the same for the depth of love we are drowning in.

As I sat around last night feeling damned grateful, an old favorite poem came to mind:

She is standing on my eyelids
And her hair is in mine,
She has the shape of my hands,
She has the color of my eyes,
She is engulfed in my shadow
Like a stone against the sky.

Her eyes are always open
She will not let me sleep.
Her dreams in broad daylight
Make suns evaporate,
Make me laugh, weep and laugh,
And speak without anything to say.
-Paul Eluard

Reflection

With all the ad nauseum coverage of the tragic death of party girl Anna Nicole Smith, I am reminded of my own days of wild abandon...when I knew nothing of consequence for my actions. Now that I am not only a bonified adult, a parent no less, I remember those days fondly. People that never grow out of that phase get tagged with labels that are mostly unkind. Maybe it makes people feel uncomfortable that some people never become more inhibited as they age (never leave Neverland?), maybe that honesty is too much. Or maybe the discomfort is the cause of all the derision and judgement. After all, we often only pay attention when people fall. Maybe it's part of the human condition that that the tragedy of others makes us feel better about ourselves-some people's lives are as fascinating as a train wreck that we can't bring ourselves to avert our eyes from.

One day Gillian will test our limits-her own and the ones we set in this household. It is a tricky balancing act to let her become who she is meant to be, while providing some reasonable amount of protection and boundaries. Given the fact that I plan on giving her my journals, it will become clear that I was no saint as a young person. I have no regrets about where I was then and who I have evolved to be. I want my children to know that there is absolutely nothing wrong with gasping for life as if you are choking...feeling so incredibly alive that every single moment is worth remembering. All the girls that were there with me in those moments have become more responsible, too. We are wives, and moms, and homemakers, and teachers, and scientists, and clinicians...but those seeds are alive and well inside each of us. I want Gillian to know what it is to stand on the edge, so that she never feels like she didn't really live, in whatever capacity that is (even if it means streaking through Pizza Hut with granny sunglasses and capes on during the dinner hour :-). I guess I'll just hope that she is self-aware, secure, a critical thinker, and never screws up enough to really regret anything she does. My wish for her is that she embrace herself completely, knows real love, that she dares to dream big dreams, that she is brave enough to run after them, and that she is tenacious enough to never quit until she is satisfied. Oh-and that we are strong enough and trust her enough to stand aside and let her.

The Hair that Wasn't

Or was, then wasn't, and that we hope will be again. Like the other RPMs (that would be Rogers Park Moms, my mom and baby group), I was convinced that whatever parental incompetence or neglect that resulted in a bald spot in the back of a baby's head would not happen to MY baby. I would hold her, never ignore her, and she would not spend so much time on the back of her head that it would even be possible for her to rub her hair off. Well, I was delusional. It happens to all babies to some extent.

It is fairly common for babies to lose at least *some* of the hair they are born with and some time in the first year of their life, they will start growing in their real hair. The Bean was born with a head full of dark brown hair, but it started to thin by a month after she was born. The bald spot started to evolve about the time she got home and stopped wearing a knit cap all the time (when she was big enough that she wouldn't lose too much heat out of her head). Since babies sleep on their backs in accordance with modern wisdom and the looming paranoia of SIDS, every time they turn their head from side to side, they are rubbing off their precious hair.

Enter Gillian's recent favorite habit. We like to call it "The Stevie Wonder". When she's leaning on your bent legs or laying on her back, she will look toward one side of the room, then the other, then back, and forth, and back, and forth and...you get the point. I was worried that she had some issues, but she CAN hold your gaze if she's engaged, and she has a long attention span. So, I think maybe she's scratching the back of her head when she does that. You know, the itchy skin on the GIANT bald spot she has created. The one S. calls the "inverted monk" 'do. So, now when she does the Stevie Wonder, I use a little reverse psychology. I cheer her on and say "Rub off that hair, keep going, that's it! Rub!" Surely, in an effort to rebel, she will quit doing it just to spite me. I hope.

With a sigh I think we must be destined for her to be a cue ball for the near future. I guess we'll just make sure she wears a cute, stylish cap in the company of non-parents so no one will see the evidence of our 'incompetence and neglect'!

Hungry eyes

No one ever told me that there would be times when I would feel objectified by my infant. When she would writhe in agony, arching her back in protest, whine dramatically as if she had been starved for weeks, until she saw me pull up my shirt (whining lessens, eyes become shiny and alert), unbutton my bra (chop licking begins), and bear The Boobie (all out staring, tongue out, excited to the point of hyperventilation). I can't help myself. I am offended by her blatant selfishness and carnality. It is especially offensive if she just ate 45 minutes ago. I want to shout from the rooftops "I AM MORE THAN TWO BREASTS, YOU BEAST! I HAVE A MIND AND A SOUL, AND DREAMS AND ASPIRATIONS!!"....oh..um...then I remember. She is an INFANT and a little over TWO MONTHS OLD (cognitively). Not only does nursing satisfy hunger, but it soothes mind and body..so it is vital, and cozy, and warm. But, it is true that there are times when you resent your ever-hungry-wanting-to-nurse infant who doesn't care if you need to massage your data a little better, or do the laundry, or take care of that bill, or talk to another adult FOR FIVE MINUTES. *sigh* I wish I had a contraption to just attach her and go about my day. Hmmm...maybe I should patent the idea. It worked for the Baby Einstein lady.