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.

A blessing and a curse..

So, having a baby girl is fun. Particularly dressing her. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY ABSOLUTELY DARLING LITTLE PIECES THERE ARE OUT THERE TO PUT YOUR GIRL IN? In spite of the fact that Annikah and Roxanne could single handedly clothe Gillian with the cutest loaner wardrobe (and pretty much did for about 5 months or so, till we hit SUMMER time), I have done some serious damage this summer. And fall is just around the corner, but I have to say that warm weather clothes aren't nearly as cute as all those little sun dresses. And bloomers. Can you imagine? Bloomers, on a baby? Sooo cute.

Case in point (Curses http://www.gymboree.com/ and your 60% off sale and Gymbucks lures!!):

The best we can hope for is another girl to put these precious, and short-lived, outfits on!

Taking it all in

The weekend before last, I took Gillian to the zoo. Andrea was a great sport and came along for Gillian's first peek at the animals. Mostly, she didn't get it. Slow moving animals that may as well be painted on the rocks or backdrop didn't interest her (and seeing as how her depth perception is still developing, who could blame her?). She DID like the weird larger-than-our-cats-but-smaller-than-a-puma cat-like animals...they made her hyperventilate. She also liked the monkeys, whose playful swinging was riveting. I would say, in general, the zoo for a 8 month old is a bit of a stretch, but if it's as fabulously free as the Lincoln Park Zoo (http://www.lpzoo.com/) then it's worth every dime. Personally, I find zoos depressing, but I have a feeling this isn't my last trip taking Gillian to see the animals.

Gilly and the Monkeys:

And then we went to the beach last weekend and went in the lake for the first time. Gillian didn't care for the waves as we sat with them lapping up to her feet (they made her wimper pitifully), but was more than happy to sit in her stroller, in the shade, lounging with her feet on the tray.

Not Good Enough

Dear Breasts:

It has come to my attention that The Baby is no longer satisfied with the quantity of milk you are currently producing. You have consistently failed to spontaneously produce more milk using Stella the electronic surrogate these past three months while away from said Baby 40 hours a week. Given this unfortunate situation, we were forced to resort to Formula yesterday for the first time. Formula, as you know, is the ultimate symbol of failure for control-freaks like me, who wish to always do everything THE BEST...no, better than that. Who wish to do everything perfectly all the time. God knows that simulated milk is not the same, not as good, and not as healthy as the ultimate "Liquid Gold" that is breastmilk. This situation involves realizing one's humanness, and is remarkably unpleasant. Failure is not in the vocabulary around here, and failing to provide for The Baby, who refuses to eat solids as frequently or in the quantities of other babies her age (oh, to my utter frustration), while understandable, is unacceptable. What's that, you say? You have fed her completely for almost 11 months? NOT GOOD ENOUGH. What? Other babies get formula their entire infanthood? Your point? Not on my watch.

Now, you girls step to it. There's a baby to feed.
The Management