Tropical

Today was a balmy 36 degrees, which, for those desperate among us, is cause to celebrate. Not only was it 36 degrees, but the sun was out and the giant sheets of ice on the sidewalks, roads, and grass were on the thaw. These conditions are prime for getting the baby (and your pasty self) out of the house.

This is the first time I have taken Gillian to the park since she started walking a few weeks ago. I packed her up in her warm jacket and insufficient shoes (now that she is walking, some little boots are in order-anyone have a good suggestion for a new walker-friendly boot? Even better-anyone have any we can borrow for a child with freakishly small feet (12.5 cm)?), cocooned her up in her BundleMe with her pink baby, and we were off. Oh, and I couldn’t find her Very Warm Gloves because I think they were in the car and Sean had the car, so I improvised with some good Old Fashioned cashmere socks over her hands and lower jacket sleeves.

It wasn’t looking promising with the stroller because of the ice mush and still-intact ice rink residual on the walkway, but we eventually made it to a clear stretch, which was nice. About five seconds into that, Gillian decided her stroller was like inquisitional torture and wasn’t having it. What, with all those dogs and other desperate parents out for a stroll with the cabin-fever ridden children, the park was a veritable playland of visual delights that, of course, must be experienced Up Close and Personal. Because she can walk now, and that is obviously so much better than the stroller.




Gillian got to visit with a happy little white dog, another dog named Sinner, a beautiful little boy named Asher and his new baby sister, and we saw a bunch of other parents out and lots of other neighborhood dogs. She saw dogs playing Frisbee on the beach, kids “ice skating” in sneakers on sheets of ice still not completely melted over the grass, and people out and jogging. At some point, Gillian decided that sock gloves were for the birds and proceeded to throw them on the sidewalk after each application (not that her real gloves are much better, because she has figured out how to undo the Velcro at the wrists, and likes to throw them on the ground too). So, I left them off. I figure at some point she will a) realize that in the BundleMe everything stays much warmer, including her little hands, and after a while the stroller starts looking pretty good (clearly this was delusional) or b) realize that having cold hands is uncomfortable and won’t want to take the sock gloves off. But No and No. The Glove Police even issued me a citation because Gillian's hands were cold (in case I hadn't noticed).

Aside from that, it was wonderfully liberating to get out and about in the park. Gillian was terribly excited about seeing all the action outside. Eventually, with the help of a pediatric nurse (seriously..how fortuitous was that? What a nice neighbor!), I got Gillian into her stroller and the BundleMe where her hands could thaw. She stopped screaming and throwing a fit in protest from her renewed restraint about 20 feet from home, but hey, at least she was warm.

Clearly, the stroller days are over. Or at least ten times more painful.

Oh, and let's not get too comfortable. We're in for 6-9 inches more snow tonight. *sigh* I am feeling my Floridian wussness coming on. Will this weather ever end?

Buzzard

It appears we are approaching Part II of the Picky Eating Phase. Gillian is starting to refuse spoon feedings again. Oh, how I have enjoyed her being willing to eat off a spoon these past two months...*sigh* But, that's not to say that even if she eats decently well and wants down from the table that she won't come and solicit food from your plate. If you give her a bite, then she's hooked, pointing and wanting more...and if she doesn't want to EAT more, she definitely wants to play in it. If you have the misfortune of still eating when she's done, there will probably be a lot of whining and pulling at your fingers in an attempt to get you to walk with her. This is particularly non-conducive to a peaceful, relaxing pace of eating (but finish my food, I do, whining and pulling of fingers and all). Last week when I was in one such unfortunate circumstance, she pushed my plate away and said "All Done!", grabbed my hand and said "wok?". The nerve of this kid! At least she knows what she wants...right?

Last night we didn't time dinner well with G's need to eat, so I fed her at the usual time, and our dinner was ready about 30 minutes later. We didn't even bother to try sitting at the kitchen table, and brought the food into the living room on trays. Sean was brave enough to sit on the couch with his. I stood at the desk and ate mine (stood because G can still be sufficiently irritating to eat around if she can get close enough to you). At one point, Gillian helping herself to his food, he said, "How you doin' over there?" I raised my glass of wine in a salute to his sacrifice. Yep-it's like THAT.

So, to the childless reading this entry-enjoy those wonderful days of being able to eat with two hands and in peace. I use to take that for granted, but not anymore. Gone are the days of savoring each bite, a nice adult conversation, and maybe even a little romance. I feel like I have A.D.D. when I am trying to eat with a friend and I have Gillian, or even worse, if we both have young children. Every other sentence is interrupted by retrieving toys, acknowledging what the child is trying to get across, or damage control (moving everything out of their reach, trying to keep the crayons from being ground into the table linen or table surface, etc). There is no such thing as fluidity in conversations at tables with young children, and it is almost not worth paying to eat out if you can't relax and enjoy it. Ho-Hum.

Worth a thousand words

I have noticed that Gillian likes to arrange the passengers in her little toy car like this:

Coincidence? Mama is sitting in the backseat, and baby is driving the car. Now I'm feeling all philosophical. Because YES, she sure is driving the car. She probably will be for the rest of my life. The direction of our lives has shifted since she joined them, and our ship is being steered always with her welfare and happiness in mind.

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Besides being particularly emotionally vulnerable at this moment, something G did today made me incredibly sad. She wanted to walk, and hold my hand while she walked (even though it is documented in video footage that she is perfectly capable of walking by herself). We made the usual route around the house (laps, as it were), and I noticed that she wasn't saying "Bababa...bababa" like I first thought, but "Papa? papa?" So we called him and I put him on speaker, and she kissed the phone and waved at it. I told her that Papa was at work today. A while later, she wanted to walk again, and started trotting down the hall toward the back door, saying "Papa?" She got to the kitchen, clearly expecting him to be there and looked confused when he wasn't. She went to the back door, the one he comes through every time he comes home, and tried to open it herself, saying "Papa? Pa-pa??", convinced he was home. This is when I, the emotional sap, got a huge lump in my throat and got that quick tear-sting and felt so very sorry that Papa wasn't coming home right then. This relatively benign experience got me thinking about how much it must break a mother's heart to see her children experience disappointment and sadness, and how I never realized how much that is going to really, truly suck till now. I took for granted my mother's patience in dealing with me and am overcome with feeling sorry about all the times she must have ached in private watching me hurt (and God knows I did plenty of hurting). 'Cause the world isn't all kittens and sunshine, and one day our precious girl is going to start noticing that not everyone is interested in loving her the way we love her. In fact some people are ugly for the sake of being ugly, and on purpose. Heavy stuff, this motherhood thing.

Endearing little ditties

The past month G has been developing in leaps and bounds, and her language skills have exploded. It makes life easier all the way around when you know exactly what she wants. Walking gives her an obvious sense of accomplishment (obvious because of the giant grin on her face while en route), and I think she really loves that we understand what she is saying a lot of the time. A few random examples of some recent developments:

1) Today for the first time, she gave a command instead of just pointing and naming. I went in to get her in her bed this morning, and she was laying on her back chatting with her stuffed animals. I talked to her a little while and decided to tickle her a little. She squirmed and shrieked in mock protest, and then took her little hand, wagged her finger at me and said, "No, no, no!" Now, Gillian's nanny taught her that. When she lunges for Silvia's cell phone or indulges in other naughtiness, Silvia wags her finger and says "no, no, no, Gillian!" (in a far from stern voice...). Interestingly, we have noticed Gillian catching herself about to do something she shouldn't (like start pushing keys on the computer keyboard), and wagging her finger and saying "no, no, no" as if reminding herself she is about to do something she is not allowed to do. Beyond being super cute, it is fascinating to watch all this develop.

2) Another little thing we have noticed is that after we soothe her she pulls back and gives us a kiss and pets our faces gently. This happened twice on the Flight From Hell when Sean held her wrecked little body as she whimpered after a Big Tantrum. In spite of the fact that she was mad, she appreciated his love and pulled back and gave him a sweet kiss and pet on the face. Wednesday when she fell in the kitchen and hit her head on the tile and I picked her up and held her while she cried, she did the same thing. It's nice that she appreciates that we love her, mid-tantrum or in pain or whatever.

3) She nursed the last time on January 21st, and I pumped the last time on January 26th (also the date she had her last bottle with breastmilk in it). This was sad, but at some point, I guess you have to let it go, particularly if your child can't be bothered to wait for letdown (G would sit up and point at her bottle (which we had to supplement with of she would have starved-I wasn't producing much the last month) and ask for it). Now, every now and then, she points at my breasts, says "booo", lifts my shirt, and takes a peek. I guess she wants to make sure they're still there. She has never tried nursing again, but always kisses them, gives an appreciative pat, covers them up, and is on her merry way. As if to say, "thanks for all that work for all those months! just wanted to say Hi!.



4) Gillian loves to wear Sean's knit winter hat and brought it to me last night because she wanted to wear it (and I love when she wears it because it is ridiculous and cute). So I put it on her. A few minutes later, she pulled it off held it up to me and said, "hat. Papa." It is soooooooooo nice that she says Mama and Papa now and means US. But it was interesting that she noticed that the hat belonged to Sean. Also last night, when I was holding her she saw my work ID badge on my pants and pointed and said "mamama". I took it off and gave it to her, and proceeded to kiss, pet, and hug my photo. This made me happy. I felt validated. It is a nice thing that after 17 months, she knows who makes her feel safe and loved and she shows me affection. It is odd that for a very long time she said "mamamamama" and "dadadadada" without context (at about 6 months). Then she knew who we were if we said "where's mama" or "where's papa" (looking for us or pointing; around 11 or 12 months) and didn't say mama or papa for a while, and now she says it and means us.

5) Obviously, we are moving past the hitting a little. We decided to not make a big deal out of it and just remind her to kiss, pet, or hug whatever it is she is hitting. Early on she discovered that hitting = "NO!" from us, which did not deter her from the behavior (and our response amused her). So, instead, we have tried to get her to supplement a more acceptable alternative behavior (giving options seems to work for us). Her baby dolls, for some reason, and the cats seem to be what she likes to wail on. The cats don't allow her near (most of the time), and we have limited time with the baby dolls. Overall, she seems to be back to her sweet self, and the little demon baby seems to be on the outs (at least for now).

And today IS SUNNY. So, it's 27 degree out and not exactly beach weather, but after this dreary, miserable, frigid, and VERY SNOWY winter, I'll take cold and sunny. I mean, 27 actually feels pretty warm some days (all relative I guess). Now, if it would just get warm enough to melt all this dirty snow before we get more snow, that would be fan-tastic. (this is probably the second winter since I have been here where I have been asking myself, "WHY did we move here again?" QUICK-hurry up April and remind me!).

The day that (almost) never ended

My GOD I am tired. What a crazy and emotional week I had topped off with the worst travel day in human history (ok, a wee bit dramatic, but in my (personal) human history). I sometimes think God likes to throw in a little extra something to see how much you can take when you smugly decide *this* is the worst it can get. Oh, no. Be humble and thankful for the relatively pitiful level of misery you have on your plate at any given time because It Can Always Get Worse.

So, the trip to Florida was as good as it could have been. The flight down had us counting our blessings for this wonderful, dear little creature who is our fabulous child. She read books on the plane. She spent 45 minutes transferring stickers from the top of one of her hands to the other, and onto our hands (I highly recommend this or band aids around their fingers for some quality busy time). She colored on paper I taped to the tray table. She took walks up and down the aisle smiling that beatific glowing joyous grin and waving and cheerfully exclaiming "HI!" to everyone she made eye contact with. We humbly accepted the sea of compliments, smiling and nodding when people said, "wow, what a happy little baby!", "she is SO well behaved!", "what a precious angel"! They might as well been saying, "Thanks for DOING YOUR JOB and keeping that kid quiet, so I could peacefully enjoy my [insert] nap/crossword puzzle/Dan Brown novel/Wall Street Journal/saccharine poorly written love story about sexy beefy pirates and beautiful virgin captives". Bill and Suzi met us at the airport to take Bug down to The Farm where we would be staying that night while Sean and I went over to Dawn and Jim's to visit with the family. Even though Gillian refused to take a bottle or sleep on the plane (and she got up at 5:30 in the morning, and by the time we made the hand-off it was noon), and Bill and Suzi decided to stop by her Great-grandmother's house, where she also did not sleep, and was still a delight. Dancing and clapping and talking and laughing and singing. Apparently, up till she got to sleep at 2:30 (8 hours after she woke up), she was the model child.

Visiting with the family was really nice. The service was beautiful, heartfelt and sweet, and we cried and we laughed. It was very healing and therapeutic...we watched old home videos and their wedding tapes (which officially memorializes the hair and fashion blackouts of the mid 1980s, including my own. Sean at one point exclaimed, "Jesus, how many mullets were at this wedding?!?" (just a note: I got rid of my mullet in 1986). We told stories of Jim in his heyday. Some were silly and surficial, and some were intense and goosebump instilling. Everything was good. Bill and Suzi came to Jax to support me, Dawn, and Amber. That was unexpected, but still very welcome. The also enjoyed a full day with Gillian, who is clearly the joy of their lives. And thankfully, she was well behaved during that visit. I sometimes think that they think we are delusional when we say she is being a little terror, since she is always a perfect little angel around them. She is obviously savvy enough to know that this relationship (with grandparents) is worth keeping as pristine as mountain snow. And she just adores them to death. When I handed her off at the airport to two people she hasn't seen in 7 weeks, she couldn't be bothered to even kiss me good-bye. She was too busy singing to Nonni. So much for separation anxiety.

Sleep was rough for Gillian on this trip. It just wasn't possible to protect it like we normally do with where we stayed and our schedule. She went to bed late and woke up early, and he bed was in our room. The first night she went down at 9:30 eastern (a not unreasonable 8:30 central) but woke up at 4 am. She proceeded to stay up for three hours before going back to sleep. So, we got about 5 hours of sleep. When you cry a lot, you need to sleep to get rid of the sandpaper eyes you will inevitably get, but that didn't happen that night (the night before the service). The bright side: I was awake for the sunrise and went out and wrote my little piece for Jim on the dock. That is a really great place for soul-searching, thinking, reminiscing, or whatever other deep thing you feel inclined to do. The next night, she was up until 11 pm and woke up at 6:45 and refused to go back to sleep. AND THAT WAS THE TRAVEL DAY FROM THE DEEPEST BOWEL OF HELL.

Anyway, after a simply beautiful trip, we were scheduled to return home yesterday. We were running a little late, but thanks to Sean's Lead Foot, we made it to the airport with 55 minutes to spare before the flight left. We returned the car and ran to the bag check to find we have missed the bag check cutoff of 45 minutes by THIRTY SECONDS. But, John from United was a generally nice person and gave us a break. Whew. We checked the care seat and two other bags, and more leisurely strolled to the easy security line, bought some $8 bottles of water, and continued on to the gate area. We got there at 11:40, 30 minutes before the flight was scheduled to leave. They should have been boarding. They weren't.

I didn't freak right away. I went up to get a gate check receipt for our umbrella stroller (a $15 wonder if there ever was one-we have gotten ever penny's worth over the past 8 months), and heard the pilot getting off the plane say something about "a wheel's up time of 3:17". Huh? Oh yes, a few minutes later they came on the loud speaker and said the flight was delayed THREE HOURS because of weather into Chicago (travelling in and out of here is a serious pain), we would board at 2:45...but we would get home, and Gillian would get back to her usual sleep schedule, at least. The reason? more SNOW. We have had an unbelieveable amount of snow this year. I am sick of it, especially after a visit to Florida. So, I left Sean to have some alone time with the airport wifi, and I took Gillian to Chili's where I paid $5 for a kid's plate of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, deciding to hoard the last jar of baby food/last of the oatmeal Just In Case (and thank God I did that because there was an "In Case" this time). I ate a relatively decent salad, and was sufficiently happy with our food and Gillian's behavior. We took our time. We returned to the waiting area where there had been no update in an hour and a half. We let Gillian walk around. She was practicing some mad balance skillz walking all over the place. She flirted with everyone, and at one point walked off with a young Sailor's hat on and his container of Tic Tacs, shaking them like a maramba in her Mardi Gras beads. Everyone sighed and was charmed by her sweetness, her charisma, and her joy when she passed by or stopped for a visit. I walked around with her for a while, and then I have a turn on the computer while Sean entertained her and followed her around the gate area, where she held court with her new admirers.

Around 3, 15 minutes past when they said we were going to board, we were told that O'Hare was closed for snow removal, and that nothing was going in or out. There would be another update in "an hour or so". I kept checking out http://www.faa.gov/ to see what the deal was (real time) because it made me feel more in control of the situation. At least my frustration could be founded on up-to-the-minute truth. Thankfully, Gillian fell asleep in her $15 stroller as Sean wheeled her around Concourse B hoping she might go to sleep eventually. He brought her back and we leaned her up against the wall, wheels locked, to try to avoid a pinched nerve in her neck from being slouched over. At 4:30, another update: YOUR FLIGHT HAS BEEN CANCELLED. Oh, and that flight that was supposed to leave at 5:15 that you were thinking you could get on? DELAYED TILL 7:30. We freaked. What should we do? Spend another three hours waiting to leave and not being guaranteed we could? Try to retrieve the carseat and get to a hotel and start over the next day? Initially, I decided to get on the 7 am flight the next day and had one guy go find our carseat. Then after talking to Sean and his mother (on the phone) we decided to get on the 7:30 flight. We gate-checked the carseat. We went back to good Ol' Chili's for an overpriced dinner where I had a massive beer that I had clearly earned. I was emotionally wiped out. Eyeballs like pockets from the subsaharan desert, and desperately in need of a nap. But we decided to rally. We went and had terrible service and decent food at Chili's and it cost us a fortune (Gillian had that last jar of baby food I had kept mixed with dry oatmeal and sucked it down). Gillian was good but hit the wall about 10 minutes into our 30 minute wait for the check. Sean took her and walked and I waited. And waited.

We headed back to the waiting area, exchanging smart-assed commentary with other passengers from the earlier flight about our experiences, and Gillian resumed her charm fest, walking around like she had been walking for years (except the flailing arms and semi-stiff legs) for the last hour and a half of our wait. Around 7:30 we boarded. We had decent seats at least, and had a whole row to ourselves. Then we were told there was a tornado warning in Jacksonville, and "[we] hope we can get out of here before the rain starts". We sat on the runway for a half hour. My bag of tricks was spent in the previous 9 hours in Jacksonville Airport, and Gillian couldn't walk the aisle. She screamed. She arched her back, and cried real tears, and howled and choked in protest. She was beyond exhausted, and wasn't interested in any fixes we tried. She wanted to WALK, dammit. We tried to shush her, and rocked her, and tried to give her a bottle (which she swatted away like a gnat). We took off around 8 pm, at last, rain, tornadoes, and snowstorms all. It was a perfectly miserable trip home. Gillian was so overtired that she could NOT sleep. We had about an hour of quiet/charmingness (her flirting with neighbors through the seats) and an hour and a half of blood-curdling screechy crying which shouted "TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN-I AM ABSOLUTELY UTTERLY EXHAUSTED AND CAN'T CONTROL MYSELF ONE MORE SECOND-THIS IS MY FRUSTRATED CRY FOR SLEEP". It was very very long trip. Most of the trip we couldn't move around the cabin because of turbulence. That was unacceptable to Gillian. At one point, to keep her from trying to scoot under Sean's legs for escape, which she had been trying for 20 minutes, hence the screaming and thrashing about, and sat her in my lap facing outward (a tip from Megan) and let her thrash and cry. I cried too. I was way too wrecked for this challenge, and felt terrible for what we had chosen to do to this poor little baby. But, thankfully, we landed. Gillian fell asleep 5 minutes before we landed. And her reputation as The Most Well-Behaved Toddler That Ever Flew the Friendly Skies went down in a blazing inferno.

That wasn't the end, though. Baggage claim took somewhere around 50 minutes. It took the train 20 minutes to come and another 25 to get us to remote parking. We got home at 12:30 am, about FIFTEEN HOURS after we arrived that the airport. We put Gillian to bed and crashed out. Needless to say, we have both napped all day. In our own beds.

Life will never be the same

So, from Development Central, something miraculous to lend a bright spot to my life. Kinda like Sean said yesterday when I was sitting here with my heart shattered, "Gillian, come over here and give your Mama somethin' beautiful to look at". Just all kinds of sunshine. And God knows we could all use some sunshine these days.



I have to say, this makes me happy in a sad kind of way. My little baby in a real life toddler now.

And then...

He was gone.

James Robert Anderson
February 3, 1967-February 6, 2008

There she goes....

New thing: Walking (assisted) constantly. Like, you're laying on the ground and she scoots over and grabs your hand or finger, and tries to pull you up to a standing position. When you get up to a standing position, she leads you up and down the halls, through the rooms, around the dining room, and back again. All. day. long. I have to say, it's about time she takes an interest in walking (she is almost 17 months old), but it's a little sad. She even took four steps at a friend's birthday party the other day. Oh, and she is really into her sunglasses (that she has previously had no interest in). So, she's pretty much a toddling, shade-wearing, beaded, yapping little bundle of energy. Our baby is getting so big!