The Baby Bean Blog

Moved: Update Your Links and Bookmarks

2006-06-18T21:27:00.000-04:00

This blog has been relocated to here,
i.e. http://blog.ozzilynbean.com

Like many before me, I've jumped ship and gone to Wordpress. Come on over and check out the new place!

It's very exciting over there. For instance, there are pictures of... ME.

Ten Month Letter

2006-06-17T22:32:00.000-04:00

Dear Ella,

You are ten months old now. It occurred to me this month that you have now been outside of my tummy longer than you were inside it. That makes you more…real…in some odd way. You seem more grown up, more independent, more your own person.

This past month you took your first steps by yourself. You still much prefer to hold onto our fingers while you walk, and who can blame you? It’s easier, as long as we go along with wherever you want to go. And if we dare to resist your leading, you become angry.

That’s another thing you’ve really developed this past month—getting angry. Just the other day, you were screaming in anger. Not crying, but yelling, pissed. I was startled, and I have to admit that I was a bit amused as well. You’re very cute when you’re angry. I promise not to ever say that to you. I know I never liked/like it when someone laughs at me when I’m angry. But it’s the truth of the matter in this instance, and hopefully when you’re reading this, you’re not angry, so it’s okay for me to admit it.

Another thing I’ve noticed this past month is that you’ve become less something that I bring along with me—like a backpack—and more like someone who I am going somewhere to hang out with. We have fun together, shopping, or at the zoo, or at the park. Speaking of the park, about two days ago, I put you in a swing for the first time, and you had the time of your life! We also got on a little see-saw, and that might have been even better than the swing. Whenever you are presented with a new thing or a new experience, you smile in happiness.

Except for food, of course. With that, you grimace and look at me as if to say, “What is this? Why have you given this to me? I reject it! Unless it is a pickle. A pickle, I would enjoy a great deal.” I find your love of pickles to be odd. They basically taste like vinegar and salt. Aren’t babies supposed to like sweet things? Apparently, not you. Heaven forbid we give you applesauce. Then you gag and spit it out like we’d just fed you poison.

One thing that has been fun about your advancing age is that you are getting more and more cuddly. When you are feeling tired or shy, you rest your head on my shoulder and often grab my shirt with your hand and pull yourself in close to my body. My heart melts everytime.

I don’t know what you have in store for me this coming month, but I can’t wait to find out.

Love,
Mommy

Falling, or Not So Much

2006-06-12T14:26:00.000-04:00

Ella is getting better and better at this walking unassisted thing, which is great except... The girl does not have a lot of experience falling. You see, I'm always there. Always. I catch her. She doesn't fall. I'm there so much, so close, that one of my friends thinks that Ella's first words will be, "Back off, Mom."

This being so close thing hasn't really been an issue up until now. But now I'm a little worried. If she had learned how to fall earlier, from lower heights, maybe she would be better equipped for falls from higher heights and faster speeds. In addition, if I wasn't so (okay I'll say it) enabling of her walking while holding onto our fingers, she would not go nearly as fast. She's also used to leaning forward on our fingers, so when she walks on her own, she's always leaning forward.

Well, I guess all of this is to say that I'm certain there are some nasty falls in her future. When I imagine other kids learning how to walk, they certainly fall, but they fall onto their bottoms, or they know how to hold out their hands to break their fall, or something like this. Ella looks like she's about to go crashing face first into the ground--or the corner of a table--before I catch her.

If you have kids and you remember this time--learning to walk--what do you think? Am I being paranoid? Or do I have a point?

Eight Months Down, One to Go

2006-06-08T08:08:00.000-04:00

My partner is now 36 weeks pregnant. It's the homestretch if you will.

She never particularly relished being pregnant they way that some women do, but it was not too difficult for her. But now here, at the end, it's getting harder: she's more tired and more uncomfortable. Ella still has this cold/virus thing, and that means that none of us are sleeping well at night. I'm sure that doesn't help matters any.

We met with our doula again yesterday. Have I ever mentioned that we decided to hire a doula for my partner's labor and birth? I can't remember, so if I'm repeating myself, I apologize. We decided to hire one because we felt like there was one of me and two people who might need me at the same time: my partner and Ella.

I have mentioned Ella's food issues, which basically means that at least 95% of what she consumes in a day is breastmilk. Another of her issues is refusal to take a bottle. Those two things together mean that she needs me to be around.

My partner, ideally, would like me to be around, too, but she can understand why I might not be able to whereas Ella cannot. So we hired a doula.

The plan is for all of us to go to the birth center together. As long as Ella is happy playing with the doula, I will be with my paartner. When Ella needs to eat--or just needs a little Mommy time--the doula will be with my partner. Since we're doing this at a birth center, it's a home-like environment, and we can all be together in the bedroom/birthing room or Ella can go to the family room or kitchen area if/when things are too intense in the bedroom. Hopefully, this will work out for the best for both my partner and Ella, and I can be there for both of them when they need me.

There is another upside of hiring a doula--one I had not anticiapated. We've had two lengthy prenatal appointments with Jessica (the doula), including yesterday, and one of the things that's been great about these meetings is that they really give us some time to concentrate on my partner's pregnancy. In general, Ella is the focus of our lives (you're shocked, I know), so having that time with the doula to be about my partner's pregnancy and birth has been really valuable.

Our meeting yesterday was also a reminder of where we are in this pregnancy--close to the end! It's exciting. Perhaps because of yesterday's meeting, last night I had a very vivid dream about the Expected One's birth. It was a boy!

First Steps, or Holy Crap

2006-06-06T04:56:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, Ella took her first, unassisted steps. I'm excited and proud, and I'm also terrified because life as I know it will now come crashing down all around me, and I mean that literally because I still haven't anchored the bookcases to the walls yet.

She certainly didn't walk across the room or anything. It was just two or three steps on her own. However, I heard recently that once they start taking steps, it's only a couple of weeks until they are competent walkers.

Now I'll tell you how it happened, for posterity's sake. She had been tearing around the house with her walking apparatus, i.e. me. She's quite demanding about it these days. She holds her hands out, clearly waiting for me to put forth my fingers, which she uses like handlebars. If I don't do it quickly enough, she narrows her eyes and grunts as if to say, "Come on, woman! Give me your fingers. Do it. DO IT!"

I walk behind her as she cruises from here to there. And she's gotten quite fast. Really, the kid is practically running. Oftentimes these days, she tries to go so fast that she outpaces her feet and would fall down face first except that I'm right there, holding onto her little hands, and I drag her back up to verticle.

So we were doing this yesterday, and she was just going, going, going, no particular destination, just on the move. And eventually, I got tired. Finally, I sat down on the floor and said, "The walking apparatus is tired, little one." She was okay with that for a few minutes, and then she held out her hands and grunted at me. I gave her my hands so that she could pull up, but then I remained sitting. Our coffee table was just about two feet from where we were, and it looks like this:

From Ikea, of course.

All of those cubbies used to be full of my crap, but now they are full of Ella's toys.

So there it was, two feet away. Ella stood there, looking at it. And then it happened. She bounced up and down, bending at her knees. She shook off my one hand that I had offered to her for balance while she stood. Then she did it. First, she lifted up her left foot and plopped it down. After a second or two, she did the same with her right foot. Next, the left foot went back into action and then.... the leaning tower of Ella started to fall, but I grabbed her and set her upright again.

The table was stiill a little ways away, so she took two more steps and then started to fall. I could have repeated this process once more, but I kept having these visions of her falling into the table, and with the table being so close at this point, I might not be able to grab her in time, and then she would of course hit the table right at her mouth, and all those teeth would slice through her lip, leaving her scarred for life and it would be all my fault.

I set her close enough to the table to get whatever toy she wanted.

And that's how it happened. First steps. We'll have to see how quickly this progresses.

And I better keep cracking on that baby-proofing thing.

Gay Nanny!

2006-06-05T12:09:00.000-04:00

I got an email with the subject line "Gay Nanny!" about a week ago. Since I have become terrified of having two infants to take care of, a little help seemed like a good idea. This girl was looking for fulltime work, and my partner and I do not have the resources for that, but it seems like there's a "nanny-share" trend going on, so I emailed her to see if she would consider splitting her time, and if she would, we would be interested in some of it. As it turns out. she was already talking to another woman about working 30 hours a week, leaving 10 hours available. Perfect! Well, perhaps not for my sanity, but for our budget.

She's moving to Philadelphia in the fall, so the gig wouldn't start until then, but that should be just fine as my partner will be home until then on maternity leave. The Lesbian Nanny (let's call her that, shall we?) was in Philadelphia this weekend, however, so we set up a time to meet.

She took the regional rail out to our place, and I met her at the train stop. I'd sent her some links to pictures of us so that she would know what we looked like. Not that the local train stop was hopping at 9:30am on a Saturday morning, but I thought she might like a peak at us. I didn't know what she looked like, though, so as I sat at the train stop and waited, I wondered. How butch? How femme? In other words, what kind of lesbian were we dealing with here?

The train arrived, and people filed off. Mostly middle-aged, very clearly straight people. One 50-ish heterosexual couple even blatantly flaunted their sexuality by walking arm and arm. The nerve! And then she arrived, and I knew exactly what kind of lesbian we were dealing with: Punk Lesbian.

She had dark brown hair that had been dyed platinum blonde at some point because about an inch of the tips remained that color. And I think she might have been sporting a mohawk at that time, because the top and back of her hair was longer than the sides, and that was also the part that was blonde. Besides her hair, she also had a nose piercing and a lip piercing.

In other words, her entire persona screamed one word: NANNY.

I walked her back to our house, and we spent a good deal of time together (with Ella and my partner of course). Lesbian Nanny seems like a nice person and has been taking care of kids for quite some time now. She's also an artist (naturally). And like most people (in my experience) who seem odd on the outside, she came across as a "normal", middle class, suburbia-raised person.

So we're going to offer her the gig. I think that our kids deserve a gay, punk nanny, don't you?

Paying Now for Happy and Quiet

2006-05-31T17:16:00.000-04:00

Well, Ella is sick again. What fun! She's not feverish or incredibly miserable. Just that fussiness that seems to go on and on and on. The biggest problem is that she's super congested, and that means that being horizontal is a no-no, and that means that sleeping for any length of time is a no-no. Lucky me! Now she's having diarrhea. And here I was about to switch to cloth diapers. Thank God that order was delayed.

Ella certainly isn't sick all the time, but she's sick enough to annoy me. I thought that by breastfeeding her and keeping her at home (i.e. not at daycare where germs supposedly abound), she would be relatively illness free. But no such luck. She's been sick three times in nine months.

I looked at her yesterday, and I said, "Okay, enough is enough." I explained the breastfeeding/no daycare situation to her, and then I asked her to account for these illnesses she's had. She refused to answer. Stubborn! I was left to ponder this conundrum without any input from her. I went to sleep last night, no closer to the answer.

Then today I was on the train, heading into the city. She was sitting beside me, and then she lunged forward towards the arm rest, lowered her head, and wrapped her entire mouth around it. She sat there, leaning sharply over, sucking on the arm rest. I saw this and thought about the incomprehensible number of hands that had touched that arm rest and how I could probably count on one hand the number of times said arm rest had been cleaned in the last 20 years. As soon as these thoughts entered my mind, they were quickly brushed aside by my observation of the fact that Ella was happy and quiet. I sat back and let her suck on the arm rest.

HAPPY AND QUIET ALWAYS WINS.

But as I sat back, a curious thing happened. Images began flashing through my mind.

Ella, at Lowes, sucking on the shopping cart bar.

Ella, at Target, sucking on the shopping cart bar.

Ella, at a restuarant--actually, several different restuarants--sucking on the edge of the table.

Suddenly, where she was picking up all these germs was no longer such a mystery.

Giving In to Pink

2006-05-28T20:45:00.000-04:00

I've been opposed to pink right from the beginning. I insisted on completely neutral outfits for Ella. At first, it was pretty easy. Since we didn't know her gender from ultrasound, people who bought us things prior to her birth had no choice but to go neutral. After her birth, anyone who asked us what we wanted or what size she was were told unequivocally that I wanted nothing pink. For the most part, people went along with what I asked. Those who did not ask us what we wanted, without fail, gave us something entirely pink. Those items were never used.

I don't know what, exactly, I was doing. I guess it had to do with labeling Ella a "little girl." I don't mean that in the sense that she was small and female. I mean all that society imposes--that she be sweet, and quiet, and nice, and clean in her frilly, perfect dresses. Actually, I wasn't so much trying to avoid the things she "should be" as I was trying to make sure she could be all the things that a "little girl" should not be: brave, loud, boisterous, strong, and dirty. I wanted her to have all the options.

So there was no pink, and there were no girly things period. Then, on the day my partner adopted Ella, I decided to go ahead and put her in a dress that my partner's cousin had given her. A denim dress with little dogs embroidered on it. It was a dress, but it wasn't pink. So I put her in it, and when I did, I couldn't believe how cute she looked. She was my little girl, in all the best ways those two words together can mean.

And since that time, slowly, very slowly, girlier things started to enter her wardrobe. Not too much. I still overwhelmingly bought gender-neutral things, at this point largely because I saw every purchase as not just Ella's, but also Little Two's, and since we couldn't find out his/her gender, that meant buying neutral. But still, a few girly things entered the wardrobe. And then, a few pink girly things entered the wardrobe. And I had to admit that Ella looked cute in those pink things.

Well, as of yesterday, I think the campaign against pink is officially over. We decided to get a new carseat for her. We got the Britax Marathon. Not only did we get the Marathon, but we got the Marathon in pink with little flowers. That's right. PINK WITH LITTLE FLOWERS. I could have gotten green, or gray, or something else very neutral. But I didn't. I got this:

What can I say? It's over. Pink wins.

Human Food? Oh No. Dog Bone? Oh YES!

2006-05-26T09:46:00.000-04:00

Comedy of Bananas

2006-05-23T21:55:00.000-04:00

So, excited about the new approach of offering Ella finger foods, I ran out to the grocery store to get appropriate food items for her. I got some new stuff that she hadn't had before, but I also got some foods that she had liked in the past. One of them was bananas, which she had never been crazy about, but which she had eaten. The pears would need time to ripen, and the prunes would still have to be stewed and pureed. So bananas it was to be.

I wanted the pieces to be of a size that she could pick up with her fingers. I also wanted them to be smallish, because Ella is obsessed with picking up small things right now. Nothing makes her happier than to sit on our carpet and pluck out the lint. This I like, because it validates my desire not to vacuum more often. So bite-sized banana pieces it was.

I cut the banana into fairly thin slices, about the thickness of a nickel, more or less. Then I cut them into quarters. I did all of this right on the highchair tray because I'm really big on not using more dishes than strictly necessary.

I snapped the tray into place in front of Ella, and then I put the knife in the sink and pulled a chair around to sit in front of her. She was busy pushing the banana pieces around the tray, which was not at all surprising to me. She was having fun. Or was she?

I sat down opposite her, and I went to pick up a banana piece to eat, because I was making this a shared meal so she'd get the idea that we, as humans, eat things other than the liquid which is squirted out of Mommy's nipples. I identified a banana piece, put my index finger on one side of it, and my thumb on the other. Then I tried to pick it up. Notice I said "tried." As I quickly found out, this was almost an impossible task.

I had no idea that picking a banana piece up off of a plastic tray could be like that scene in the Karate Kid where the old guy is trying to catch a fly with chopsticks. Except in my version, I never got to be like Ralph Macchio and catch one of the damn things.

Those banana pieces were little, frickin' Houdinis! You tried to pick one up, and they just squished right out. Although your fingers could not get any traction on them whatsoever, they were like glue on the plastic highchair tray, except it was some kind of glue that allowed them to slide all over the place. It was really quite funny.

I couldn't even pick one up, and here this was supposed to entice Ella to eat. It was kind of like, "Here, doesn't this look good? Don't you want one? Just kidding! Ha ha!"

I finally forced the banana bits onto a butter knife and ate them. Ella watched suspiciously and then demanded to be taken out of the highchair. Can't say I blamed her.

All About Food

2006-05-22T09:45:00.000-04:00

Last week was one of those crazy weeks where I felt sick the entire time, and my partner was out of town, and the baby refused to sleep, and it was just madness, I tell you. Madness! But now it's a new week, and it's time to re-dedicate myself to this blog. On top of that, I'm going to assign a theme to this week, and the theme is food.

I've been meaning to write about food for a while, because it's become something of an issue. Ella seemed really into her first meal. I thought that she was going to just chow down from there on out and not stop. I was actually afraid that she might wean from breastfeeding, and the reason that scared me a bit was because I also intend to breastfeed the Expected One, but that is premised on the fact that I'll still have milk. So the idea that I might be dried up before the Expected One got here was concerning to me. (I'm not going to go into the whole thing about breastfeeding Little Two because that's a post to itself. Basically, both my partner and I will both breastfeed him/her, and this will keep me from having to make bottles all day long and my partner from having to pump at work.)

Well, I need not have worried. Ella is far, far from weaning. In fact, she barely eats anything other than breastmilk. She seems to have no interest whatsoever in the food we offer her. We've managed to go through about ten different foods, and her favorites are prunes and pears. But even those, she'll reject as soon as eat.

At her nine month check-up last week, I talked to the nurse practitioner (who we saw because our regular doctor is out on maternity leave) about what's been going on with food. She said we can move onto finger foods, and I think that Ella might prefer them. She likes to do things on her own as opposed to having things happen to her, like having clothes put on her, or her diaper changed, or food being put in her mouth.

Then I read an article that basically said to let your baby feed him/herself from your plate. (Obviously, it's more involved than that, and if you are interested in the details, by all means, read the article.) So I'm going to do that. The big problem with this method is that I eat a lot of crap, and I would never let Ella eat the kind of sugary/salty/processed junk that I eat. So now I've got to eat better, too. Damn kids.

Nine Month Letter

2006-05-16T18:21:00.000-04:00

Dear Ella,

You are nine months old now, and more fun and more determined than you’ve ever been before. Just the other day, I heard you burst out laughing in the back room, where you were with Ima. You were laughing so hard that I had to call back and find out what was going on. Apparently, Chester was asking for water by pushing his empty bowl around with his nose, and you found that hysterical. I love the ease of your laugh and the ease of your smile.

As far as your determination, I am now more convinced than ever that you will skip crawling. You show absolutely no interest in it whatsoever, and now you can walk with competence while holding onto our fingers. You can stand completely on your own, and you’ve made some efforts to walk on your own, except that when you do that, you don’t move your feet at all. Instead, you lead with your head, and that means that you are not moving forward unless you consider a head-dive to be a forward movement. Of course, we’re always right there to catch you, so the head-dive never completes itself. This is often a scary moment for anyone who happens to be watching. For instance, yesterday we were at the doctor’s office for your nine month check-up, and I said, “She can stand on her own,” and then you stood on your own and the nurse was very impressed. As you stood there, it became clear that you wanted to move, so she said, “She might take her first step. How exciting!” Then you moved your head in the direction you wanted to go, your feet firmly planted, so of course you fell forward towards the hard, tiled surface of the office floor. The nurse gasped as I reached around you and snatched you up, safe from harm. I’ve been successful thus far, but I have to admit that I’m afraid for the day I won’t be there when you do that, because I have very little doubt that day will come. I just hope it comes when there is a nice, deep, soft carpet for you to land on.

One other very noticeable thing that you’ve been up to this past month is growing hair. Every day, it seems like there is more and more of it. It is thicker and longer, and that development could not have come at a better time because you have also figured out how to remove your hat, and now that you know that, it is your mission never to wear a hat again. It is warm enough, most days, for you to go hatless, but I worry about you getting a sunburn on your head. So grow, hair, grow! Fill in and protect your cute scalp from the sun.

We get out most days and enjoy the world around us. You have a tan on your cheeks and nose, and if someone didn’t know better, they might think you were a little farm baby instead of a city girl. Now that we are getting into short-sleeve weather, you will certainly have an official farmer’s tan sooner rather than later. I can’t wait to spend all those days in the sunshine with you.

Love,
Mommy

Basically, My First Mother's Day Annoyed Me

2006-05-14T23:15:00.000-04:00

I wrote very recently that my aunt made the mistake of saying that this Mother's Day was "almost" my partner's first, the almost being because she hasn't given birth to Little Two yet. My aunt had not thought of my partner as being a mother to Ella. I was aggravated by that. No, that's not fair. I was pissed. How could she be so unthinking? So inconsiderate? So ignorant? I mean, how complicated was this? There is a baby with two parents. The two parents are women. Women who are parents are called mothers. Hence, Mother's Day applies to both. Is this rocket science? You, my straight readers, could you have come up with this realization on your own? Or would the thought never have occurred to you that my partner is a mother and therefore entitled to Mother's Day?

So my aunt pissed me off because I thought that the above logic was pretty obvious. But now I'm thinking, maybe I shouldn't have been so angry with her. My partner's own parents didn't think she qualified for Mother's Day! I was shocked. I mean, I can see how someone might not think about my partner if they were "my" people, i.e. my family and friends. But her own family? Not to think this through? Not to realize her role with Ella? I was shocked. These people are completely, 100% okay with the fact that their daughter is gay. They have always been more than welcoming and never been anything less than supportive of our relationship and our little nuclear family. So it's not about that. They're not in some kind of denial.

So rather than basking in the glow of another day on the calendar when I get presents (yippee!), I was rudely interupted several times with stupid people. I would answer the phone, and the person on the other end--my partner's mother or father (who were divorced a long time ago, so these are two totally separate conversations)--would wish me a happy Mother's Day. After some chit-chat, I would get ready to hand the phone over and say something like, "Now you can wish the same to your daughter," and they'd say, "Well, next year." Then I would be forced to correct them, and I was as polite as I could be, but believe me, I wanted to say, "Stop being an imbecil and think for a second!" To top it all off, I think her father actually expects the kids to call one of us Dad! I can't even wrap my head around that one!

I wonder if this is extra confusing to people because my partner is pregnant right now. If she weren't, would people be making this deliniation between who's a mother and who is not? I think maybe not. But maybe they would anyway.

Imbecils!

So, as I said, I spent the vast majority of Mother's Day being annoyed. And in addition to that, I spent the evening lying in bed with a fever and throwing up my dinner. In other words, Mother's Day sucked the big one. Except that I did get a very cool present from my partner, and I also gave her a great one too.

Presents help.

Swimming With the Fishies

2006-05-13T12:51:00.000-04:00

Now that it is the weekend and there is increased staffing at Chez Oz, I am able to tell of the harrowing experience I had this past Thursday.

It all started a couple of weeks ago. One of moms in my moms group, Tracy, is in training to be a doula. Before you can be certified as a doula, you have to go to a training and then have at least 15 hours of experience with at least three different women in active labor. One of Tracy's friends was pregnant and due on May 5, and Tracy was going to go to the birth and assist in her doula-in-training capacity. Sounds good, right?

But here's the thing. Tracy is in my moms group because.... she's a mom! Of a baby the same age as Ella, a boy named Aaron. So what to do with him? Ask Oz to watch him, of course! And for some unknown reason, when she asked me to do this a couple of weeks ago, I said yes. Sure. Why not? And you know what Tracy did? She took me seriously!

On Thursday, at 6:30am, our phone rings. Time to watch Aaron. Not even, time to watch him in half an hour while we come over there so that you can mentally process this fact through your sleepy, dazed thoughts. Time to watch him NOW. Tracy was already with the birthing woman. Her husband (who had to go to work) was sitting outside of our house with Aaron.

I opened the door, Aaron was dropped off. And then there were two babies. My mind started to implode. WHAT HAD I BEEN THINKING? There were two babies. Initially, it seemed okay because there were two of us adults there too. My partner doesn't go to work until 8am. But my mind kept racing forward to the time when it would be just me (i.e. one) and them (i.e. two). At that point, my brain froze in place and I could not think at all.

I'd been supposed to have lunch with my mother that day, and to do that, I had told my moms group that I wouldn't be there (we meet on Thursdays). As I thought of the logistics of getting two infants on a train, downtown, to a restaurant, and back home, I quickly changed my mind. The idea of being surrounded by five other moms (also a familiar environment to Aaron) seemed like a much better option. I'd do that, which would take up a few hours, but what about the rest of the day?

I convinced my partner to go into work half an hour late, which meant she would be home until 8:30am. As that time got closer, it became clear that Ella wanted to go to sleep, but she couldn't because the presense of Aaron was too exciting. As for Aaron, he was also getting sleepy, and honestly, I had no idea how to get him to go to sleep. That's when an amazingly brilliant thought (if I do say so myself) occured to me: Put them both in the car and drive, drive, DRIVE.

Quickly, I installed Aaron's carseat in our car, then we loaded them in, and I gave my partner a ride into work just to have a destination. I also put everything in the car that we could possibly need for the day, because I realized we might not come back to the house until after the group met. Luckily, both babies fell asleep in the car (big sigh of relief). After dropping my partner off, I decided to head to the King of Prussia Mall. Babies love malls. Lots to look at, no time to be miserable. Sounded like a good solution to kill time before the moms group met up at noon.

I pulled into the mall parking lot at 10:00am. Both babies had woken up, and I was gritting my teeth and getting ready to make a go of it. I put Aaron in our stroller and was about ready to strap Ella into the Ergo when my cell phone rang. It was Tracy! Hallelujah!

Her friend had already given birth. I had to run into the mall to grab a present for my mother, but as I knew exactly what and where it was, Tracy and I made plans to meet within half an hour at a cafe near the birth center where her friend had delivered.

So in the end, I never really had two babies all by myself. My partner was with me until they fell asleep, and the short, short time I had them in the mall didn't amount to much.

Earlier, when I had called my mother to cancel our lunch plans, she'd said to me, "This will be good practice for you, having two babies to take care of." And while it is true that we're going to have two babies here, it's not really the same thing. A newborn and a pre-toddler who have grown up together and know their surroundings, the people who are taking care of them, and how things work in a household is quite a different thing from two pre-toddlers who aren't on the same schedule, etc., etc.

So that experience really didn't seem like practice. Unless by practice, you mean something like rowing out to the middle of a lake, throwing someone over who doesn't know how to swim, and saying, "This will be good swimming practice for you."

Destiny's Shoes

2006-05-12T08:55:00.000-04:00

I actually have a very interesting post to write, but I don't have any time to do it. Oh well, too bad for you.

In other news, I recently found a pair of baby shoes online, and now I wonder if I must buy them. After all, they were named after me.

See Kai Run: Oz

Rolly Baby

2006-05-09T01:11:00.000-04:00

First of all, is it "rolly" or "rollie"? Well, whichever it is, she's doing it, and she does it mostly at night. This is, perhaps, because it is the only opportunity she has to do it. All day long, she's upright working on that walking nonsense. And much like I assume I will feel when she starts walking on her own, I'm starting to wonder if encouraging her to roll over was a good idea after all.

Since we co-sleep, I now find myself, more often than not, feeling the rat-tat-tat of her little hands and feet against me. She used to get me every now and then, but as long as I stayed out of her arm-span, I was safe. Now the concept of "arm-span" is a mute point. She rolls this way; she rolls that way; and before you know it, she's right up against me, rat-tat-tat. And I guess the deal with being the Mommy means that I get all this attention. My partner gets off scot free! Lucky ~~bitch~~ girl.

The good news is that I finally ordered the twin bed to go alongside our queen and thereby increase the sleeping space. In co-sleeping circles, we have entered into the realm of the "super-bed." I like to think that this means I'll be able to get some sleeping space, but I'm very afraid that the little tike is just going to keep rolling after me....

A Sense of Direction

2006-05-07T20:24:00.000-04:00

Ella can stand independently now. It was no fluke two weeks ago. But now that she can do it, she doesn't see much point in it. I mean, what's more boring than just standing still somewhere? Especially when there's an entire world out there to explore and discover and to put into your mouth? So usually when I get her to stand on her own, she'll do so for a short time, and then she'll smile at me and fall face forward into my body. So much for that she says.

Walking, on the other hand, shows more promise. She's not doing that on her own yet, and I am thankful--SO THANKFUL--for that. We are not in any way ready for her to move around of her own volition. But, nonetheless, we cannot deny the fact that independent walking is coming sooner rather than later.

She's been practicing walking for quite some time now. I know I've mentioned many times before that (assisted) standing and walking are her favorite activities. It used to be that she just wanted to walk. We'd give her our fingers, and she'd walk towards us. Slowly, we'd scoot back on our behinds to give her another foot or so to work with. And that was the way it went, from one side of the room to the other, Point A to Point B. Then we'd turn her around, face her back where she came from, and she'd return to Point A and then start the entire process over again. The destination was not the objective. It was getting there that mattered.

Not anymore.

Now she wants to go there. She wants to get to that thing. And she wants to get there quickly, too. No more scooting on our asses. Uh-uh. We are walking backwards in front of her or walking behind her with our fingers out front. Have I mentioned that I have a bad back, and this isn't helping anything? And my partner is 7 months pregnant, and hunching over isn't exactly on the top of her list of things to do?

To top it all off, Ella is not understanding or appreciative of the sacrifices (read: our backs) we are making for her. She has the nerve to get frustrated when either of us does not understand her cues and therefore does not put our fingers/walking apparatus in the right direction. Or, heaven forbid, we actually prevent her from going towards the object of her desire--an open can of paint, for instance. Let's just say that she's not 2 years old yet, but I think we're getting a sneak preview.

Since Ella has figured out that she can play with more things that those things that are within 18 inches of her, it's a whole new ballgame. She wants TO MOVE. She has an agenda. And we, her faithful servants, had better get cracking on this baby-proofing thing.

Eight Teeth

2006-05-05T10:17:00.000-04:00

Back on track. Eight months old, and eight teeth. She's only got 10 days left of being eight months old, so she got this tooth in under the wire. Whew!

In all seriousness, I'm a little bit nervous about what comes next: molars. Babies are supposed to like them even less than the front teeth, and the front teeth coming in hasn't exactly been a picnic. The books say that they get about four teeth every four months once they start. Ella has gotten eight teeth in five months. I'm afraid. Very afraid.

Who's Who

2006-05-04T01:34:00.000-04:00

We've been asked several times what names Ella will call us. Heck, that's a question that we ask our procreating lesbian friends, too. It's fun to hear what people are coming up with and why. So I certainly don't mind the question. It seems like most lesbians out there are using Mom/Mommy for one mother and Mama for the other. More power to 'em. We didn't go that route because those two names are too close, in my opinion. We wanted to use Mom/Mommy, and for the other name, we decided to go with something that doesn't start with the letter M, and that's how we ended up with Ima.

Ima is actually the Hebrew word for "mother," which is funny because we thought of the name before we knew that. I was playing around with the name Mommy and tried reversing the sounds. Instead of Mom - Y, I tried Y - Ma. We liked it, and then later we found out that Ima was a word for mother, and that finalized it for us.

So I'm used to the questions, "What does Ella call you? What does she call your partner?" What surprises me a little is the question we've heard lately, which is, "What with the new baby call you? What will he or she call your partner?" When I say that he or she will call us the same thing that Ella does, i.e. I will be Mommy and my partner with be Ima, people seem surprised. It's as if they expect "my partner's baby" to call her Mommy and then call me Ima. Only, the new baby is not my partner's baby. S/he is our baby, just the same way that Ella is. They are not different. Ella is not "mine," and the new baby will not be "my partner's." They are ours.

It's sort of along the lines of a comment my aunt made recently when she wrote in an email that this year would be my first Mother's Day and "almost" my partner's, the implication being that since my partner hasn't given birth yet, she's not quite a mother. I found the comment extremely insulting, and what surprises me about it the most is that my aunt's husband is not the biological father of their son. He adopted my cousin after my cousin became an adult, and he's been his only father since he was around six years old. If anyone should understand that biology does not make you into a parent--but rather being a parent makes you into a parent--it should be this aunt of mine.

But, apparently, she also has it in her mind that these two children of ours are not the same. For her, I suppose Ella is more my daughter than my partner's, and Little Two will be more my partner's than mine. And if the fact that she sees my family that way didn't make me so angry, I would feel sorry for her that she can't see who we really are and how we love each other and our children.

At Last, It's All Working Out According to Plan

2006-05-02T09:09:00.000-04:00

Before she was born, I didn't have a lot of expectations of what Ella would look like. I had hoped for a few things, like blue eyes. But I didn't expect much. Except for one thing. Blonde hair. I expected her to have blonde hair. Partly because I have blonde hair, although it's quite dark now and might be crossing that line to brown. But mostly I expected it because most white children have blonde hair when they are very young. Even my partner, who has very dark brown hair had blonde hair until she was about 4 or 5 years old. Not every white baby has blonde hair, but most of them do, and so I expected Ella to have blonde hair for a few years too.

So when she came out with hair like this, I was surprised.

Ella, four days old, our first day home from the hospital

And I mean really surprised. It wasn't until I saw that dark hair that I realized just how much I had been counting on blonde hair. My surprise was so profound that part of me, deep inside, actually questioned for the briefest of moments if she was really mine. It feels weird to admit that, but it's the truth.

Several people told me that her hair might change color, that this dark hair might fall out to be replaced by hair of a different color. I looked at baby pictures of other babies, now blonde who'd had dark hair as newborns. I was even startled to look at my own newborn pictures and see that my hair was actually quite dark when I was born. So maybe, maybe, I'd still end up with the blonde baby after all.

Now, I think I can officially say, she's blonde. Her newborn hair has fallen out and is steadily being replace with "real" hair, and the real hair looks blonde.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

See? Blonde hair, just like I ordered.

Something So Small

2006-04-30T20:16:00.000-04:00

I've been buying a few clothes, here and there, for the Expected One that I can't resist. I say it that way because we already have everything we need. Little Two will be born in the summer, just like Little One, so we've got the right size in the right season. And since we did not know Ella's gender before she was born, we've got just about everything in neutral colors (my dislike of pink also contributes to that). Ella was only about 10 weeks old when we found out that my partner was pregnant, so as I've continued to buy things for Ella, I've stayed pretty neutral, gender-wise, so that we would not need to re-buy clothes if the new baby is a boy. The point of all this is that we've got an entire wardrobe for a baby 0-12 months, no matter the gender. But even so, I've still bought a few new onesies and the such.

I haven't seen Ella's 0-3 month onesies for quite some time. She'd outgrown them easily by the time she was two months old (at two months, she already weighed 16 pounds!). I packed them away to make room for the new size(s), and I haven't seen them since. So a week ago, when I bought two new 0-3 month onesies, I was taken aback by how small they are. And we will have a baby that small in just a couple of months. Holding one of those onesies up to Ella, I can't believe she ever fit into them (no matter how briefly).

Standing On Her Own Two Feet

2006-04-27T22:00:00.000-04:00

Today, Ella stood on her own, without my assistance, for 15 seconds or so. It was quite impressive. She was kind enough to do it in a room full of people so that everyone could have the opportunity to bask in her glory. A couple of the other babies in my moms group are already crawling around. "Ha! Crawling! Watch me STAND!" she seemed to say.

Well, actually, she seemed to have very little interest in their crawling except that the crawling babies inevitably came over to where she was and took the toy she was playing with and then crawled away with it. She wasn't distraught. More like, "Wait, what just happened?"

And then there was the aforementioned standing. She sort of looked like she was on a surfboard or something. Arms outstretched, hips jerking back and forth a bit. After about 10 seconds, she was clearly pleased with herself and started to thwack her arms up and down, which she does when she's very excited. Shortly after the thwacking (which perhaps unbalanced her a bit), she started to head dive into the floor, but her hovering mother grabbed her with about six inches to spare and saved that beautiful face.

Speaking of beautiful faces, have I mentioned that her favorite food is prunes?

30 Weeks

2006-04-26T18:05:00.000-04:00

Somewhere around now, my partner is 30 weeks pregnant. I preface it that was because the week counting system is flawed and not because I don't know when she got knocked up. After all, I did it. Anyway, a human pregnancy is supposed to last (give or take) 40 weeks. Those of you who are very astute might have taken note of the fact that the insemination took place on a Tuesday. So one would think that the weeks would change on Tuesdays, yes? But for some reason, the pregnancy wheel puts her weeks ending on Thursdays. I really, really don't get it. So I sort of think of Wednesday as the compromise day, and that means that she's 30 weeks pregnant.

But I digress.

This is quite cool. 30 weeks really sounds like you're on the downslope of the pregnancy, closing in on the end. She's 3/4ths of the way through. Only 10 weeks to go. The baby is coming, and sooner rather than later.

That was enough euphemisms to last you for most of your life probably.

The point is that I will be meeting my second child soon. I'm quite excited.

She Rolled Over Again

2006-04-25T08:48:00.000-04:00

That makes two times now, with about a month long pause between rolling episodes. It's good to take a break, you know, to catch your breath. This roll was the same as the first roll--tummy to back, same direction, same coaxing from yours truly. But I think she might be getting ready to roll on her own simply because she wants to and not because I'm maniacly shaking a rattle over her head and she flips over to see what all the racket is about. Now, when lying on her back, she rolls onto her side all the time with absolutely no provocation from me. So, I assume, one of these days, she'll actually roll over onto her tummy.

In other news, she's getting more and more competent at standing and walking--always with our help, of course. But it's clear that she's seriously thinking about ditching us because she now realizes that all we are is dead weight. I've actually wondered if she will walk on her own before she becomes a competent roller.

Okay, This Has Nothing to Do With Babies

2006-04-23T20:19:00.000-04:00

But as a side note to my previous post, are these not the coolest bookcases you've ever seen in your life?

This image is from an architecture book called 10x10_2. This book was "recommended" to me by Amazon.com because I recently bought a book of the work of an Japanese architect named Tadao Ando who mostly designs buildings using concrete. Peter, Ella's biological father/sperm donor, dreams of building a house made of concrete, which seemed absurd to me and also ugly. But then I heard of this Ando guy, and I decided to check out what concrete was capable of. Still haven't looked at it, so I can't give you my final opinion, but that's how 10x10_2 came into my life, and via that, the above bookcases, which are frickin' cool. I would almost buy that book just to have a closer look at those bookcases except that the damn thing costs $47.25.

Hey, I even sort of managed to make this a little bit about Ella with the Peter reference. Clever, aren't I?

Understanding Wood Paneling

2006-04-22T21:26:00.000-04:00

Even though I'm not the one who's pregnant, I am nesting. I remember the nesting urge when I was pregnant--it propelled me to set up the nursery and complete some home improvement projects. But I wasn't sure it would hit me this time around because I attribute nesting to a hormonal thing, and as I'm not pregnant, I shouldn't have a hormonal thing. But nonetheless, I am having a nesting thing.

As the nursery is more or less set up, I am doing the other activity from last time around--home improvement. I am finally finishing the back room, which needed new dry wall put up and then all those annoying finishing touches like paint and trim. And just to make things more difficult, I put in two built-in shelves. What a hassle. I figure it's best to get it done now as opposed to later. It's hard enough to find the time with one baby let alone two. And having this back room done will mean that we can take a bunch of our crap out of the living room and put it back there, which will free up space in the living room for even more baby crap.

But back to the title of this post. I hung the drywall today. Hanging drywall is not particularly hard, and it's rather satisfying, as you can hang huge pieces which cover vast amounts of space, and then you feel like you're really accomplishing something and accomplishing something quickly. Where drywall sucks is in the taping, and if you've ever taped drywall, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

It's at this point in the process--after hanging and before painting--that I really understand why people put up fake wood paneling. Under normal circumstances (i.e. all other circumstances that are not taping drywall) I detest wood paneling and look sharply down my nose at anyone who has it. But while taping, I think, "Wood paneling isn't that bad after all."

Seven Teeth

2006-04-20T08:10:00.000-04:00

So Ella cut her seventh tooth yesterday. I must say that I think she's fallen down on the job. I mean, she's eight months old, so I expected her to have at least eight teeth. I looked in her mouth yesterday and said, "Stop slacking!" I think my efforts were not in vain, because I think the eighth tooth will be with us sooner rather than later.

Heavy

2006-04-19T18:14:00.000-04:00

I have to say that I've been thinking a lot about my mother and my upbringing lately. I think it is natural when you become a mother yourself, you look at your own mother in a new light. I've certainly heard that refrain from many of my friends who became mothers before I did. And the refrain usually ends with, "Now I can really appreciate what my mother went through, and I have a new respect for her." So here I am, thinking about my mother. But my refrain doesn't sound that way. The more I think about her and my childhood, the angrier I get.

I guess what it comes down to is that before I was a mother, I always gave my mother the benefit of the doubt. I always thought to myself, "Being a mother must be very, very hard. Everyone says so. She did the best she could." Only, now that I am a mother, I don't think she did the best she could. I think she could have done better. I deserved more. Any child deserved more.

I don't want anyone to get the (completely) wrong idea. I wasn't beaten, or denied food, or locked in a small dark room for days on end. Nothing like that. I guess the way I would sum it up is that my mother didn't like me. No, I'm not hypothesizing that was the case. She told me. "I love you, but I don't like you." What the hell does that mean? I would go into all the other ways she displayed to me with actions and not words that she did not like me nor want to spend time with me except for the fact I've only got a limited amount of time to blog these days.

It's bizarre to me to see the dynamic between my grandmother, my mother, and myself repeating. My mother did not like her mother and believed that her mother did not like her. However, my grandmother loved me, and I loved her. As you know, I named my daughter after her. I never thought that specific dynamic would repeat itself. I mean, what were the odds? But now I see it laying itself out for the future. I have to wonder, does my mother have it in her to be the kind of grandmother that her mother was? Honestly, I can't imagine it. But I highly doubt my mother could have imagined it from my grandmother either. The second question is, do I have it in me to give my daughter and my mother the chance to form such a relationship? In that way, I do respect my mother. Somehow, she managed to keep herself out of the relationship between my grandmother and me.

I keep waiting for this anger in me to subside, but it doesn't. Quite to the contrary, I keep getting angrier and angrier and angrier. It's time for me to see someone about this, to get some tips from a professional. But who? I guess I'll have to find one.

Eight Month Letter

2006-04-17T20:03:00.000-04:00

Dear Ella,

You are in a very interesting phase right now. Currently, your favorite item in the house is the dog’s kong (a red, rubber, snowman-shaped, chew toy). As I write this, you are making your way towards it (with Ima’s help) to pick it up. Now you have reached it, and you promptly put it in your mouth to chew on. You know, just the other day, I was in a pet store to buy dog food, and as I walked down the dog toy aisle, I did notice a remarkable similarity between those toys and baby toys. I was thinking this could be a problem because the dogs might mistake your toys for theirs. I hadn’t really thought through that you might mistake their toys for your toys. Well, what can I say. Perhaps I shouldn’t let you gnaw away on an item that has recently been completely slobbered on by a dog, but I’ve always heard that dogs have very clean mouths, and anyway, I’m sure this is good for your immune system.

So this is life with an eight month old. That’s two-thirds of a year, in case you’re keeping track of these things. The weather is turning warmer, reminding me of when you were born at the end of a hot summer. We took walks all fall, in weather much like this, and I pointed out the leaves on the trees to you. Now they are finally making a comeback, sprouting from the branches. And I can’t help but notice how you, too, are sprouting. Yes, in terms of size, but more than that, in terms of intellectual capability. Every day you seem more alert, more engaged, more intrigued by the world. “Aye, yi yi yi,” you’ve been saying a lot. Sometimes it’s a sad sound, and you seem to be saying, “Aye yi yi yi! Woe is me!” More often than that, you seem surprised and a bit overwhelmed, like, “Aye yi yi yi! What will this world come up with next?!”

This past month marked the first time you rolled over. When you did it, you just sort of flipped over from your tummy to your back. You were very matter of fact about it. Like, “Ho hum, I guess I’ll do this to get you to relax, Mommy.” And now that you’ve proven you can do it, you haven’t bothered to do it again. But nonetheless, you seem to be seeing yourself as more mobile. You’ve started turning around in your exersaucer and lunging towards things when you’re in our arms or seated. But by far, your favorite things to do are 1) stand while holding on to our fingers, and 2) walk while holding on to our fingers. You do not appear interested in learning to crawl. “Crawling?” you seem to ask. “Why would I do that? I am a person, and people walk, so I will do that. Now give me your fingers, woman, and let’s get to it!”

This month also marks the first time you met your biological father, Peter. You two seemed quite taken with each other, and I must admit that I hope this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship for the both of you. I don’t know what you will want from him nor what he will want from you, but I hope you can both make each other happy with whatever your relationship evolves into.

You’ve started hugging me back when I hold you in my arms, and I cherish that feeling. I cherish all the days and hours and minutes I get to spend with you, and I am so grateful that I am able to be here with you every day, and I look forward to all the days we have together in the future. And even way down the line, when you are out on your own, and days, weeks, even months might go by without us seeing each other, I hope that this time we’ve had together is still in your heart as I know it will be in mine.

Love,
Mommy

Allison

2006-04-12T19:37:00.000-04:00

I know it's springtime when the children reappear on the block. While I was sitting in the car in front of my house, waiting out Ella's nap, I saw Allison walk down the sidewalk. I couldn't believe it. She's become a pre-teen. Not a little girl anymore. Not a teenager. That ellusive age between that doesn't seem to fit anywhere.

I sat there in the car, my daughter (still feels weird to say that) behind me, and seeing how much Allison has changed made me realize how much I have changed, too.

I've lived on this block for almost 8 years now. When I first moved to Philadelphia, I rented a house across the street from the house we own now. I was single, just (finally) getting out of a long-term, bad relationship. I'd quit my job, and I was more or less living on some money I'd gotten from a settlement from a bad car accident I'd been the victim of. My plan was to try to "make it" as a writer, whatever that means. I guess at the time it meant trying to get published. Which I did here and there.

I also did other things, like buy a 1975 Honda CB360 motorcycle that needed work. I'd been riding bikes for years, and I'd always wanted to learn how to fix them. 1999 seemed like the time to do it. I remember taking apart a carburetor and laying out the pieces of it on an ironing board in front of one of the side windows of that rental house. It looked out on a driveway between my house and the next. In a block of rowhomes, it was the only driveway to be found.

Despite my landlord's greatest efforts (he lived next door to me), the neighborhood kids usually played in that driveway. In our concrete neighborhood of rowhomes and sidewalks, it was the largest open space that was not the street. Allison was one of those kids. She and her brothers (cousins?) ran up and down that driveway again and again, playing some game I couldn't make any sense of. Seemed mostly to be comprised of yelling non-words and chasing each other. But sometimes the game would stop and Allison would stand on her tiptoes to peer through my window and ask me again and again what I was doing. I guess she must have been around 4 or 5 years old then.

The kids disappear with the cold weather, and every spring, they come back out again. Sometimes I wouldn't recognize them; they changed so rapidly then. But the familiar yell of their mother out the door, "Allison! Malcom! Jesse!" would also ring up and down the street, proclaiming the temperature change, too. And I would look around until I saw that dark-haired little girl, now a bigger girl than I remembered.

So here it is again. Spring. And Allison. She was walking down the sidewalk, talking to a boy, and this boy was not one of her cousins (brothers?). The cycle of seasons has brought her outside, and the cycle of life has brought a boy to join her.

Her mother is no longer calling out, "Allison!" She's too old for that now. Old enough to wear black capri pants and walk down the street with a boy.

Seeing Allison today, getting so much closer to being grown-up physically, made me realize how much I've had to grow up in these last 8 years. I've met the person I want to spend my life with, bought a house, bought a station wagon, had a kid, and am expecting another.

Who knew, that spring day seven years ago, as Allison and I looked at each other through my screen window over that carburetor that the future held for us black capri pants and black station wagons? Not me. And I imagine that if, seven years ago, I had leaned down towards that screen and said to Allison, "One of these days, I'm going to see you walking with and smiling at a boy," she probably would have scrunched up her nose, squealed some of those non-words, and ran away down the driveway. And if she had told me about the station wagon, I might have joined her.

In Other News

2006-04-11T20:39:00.000-04:00

My partner is now six months pregnant. It's the last leg of the journey, the third trimester. The Expected One moves around all the time, and I get to feel him/her every day. It's starting to seem like this new little person is, in fact, a little person.

I'll write more about Peter soon, but this was important, too, and needed to be commented upon.

We Liked Him. We Really Liked Him.

2006-04-09T21:01:00.000-04:00

And perhaps more importantly than that, Ella seemed to like him, too. She doesn't allow many people to hold her for very long, but with Peter, she let him carry her as we walked along.

And she sat happily on his lap for a long time while we sat in a cafe.

And when she decided she would rather stand, Ella let herself be supported by Peter on one side and my partner on the other.

All in all, it was much better, much more relaxing than I had even bothered to hope it would be. We all spent about six hours together, and I must say that I am left feeling calm, happy, and quite sure we made the right decision when we picked him to be part of our lives based on so few details.

Tomorrow night we fly home...

Vacation Update: The Return of My "Visitor"

2006-04-08T14:08:00.000-04:00

Naturally, my period has chosen now to reappear. I had a feeling last week that I was ovulating, but I hoped that either A) I was wrong or B) my period would not return until next week. I felt like ovulation happened somewhere around Thursday or Friday of last week, which should have given me until at least Tuesday or Wednesday of next week. Oh well. No use crying over spilt milk, right? It's here now, and I'll make my peace with it. It's almost a year and a half since I had a period, and that's pretty good.

About the trip--it's been great. We've been having a great time hiking Big Sur with Ella strapped onto one of our backs with the Ergo carrier. Some of the spectacular views, she's gotten to enjoy.

Others, not so much.

I hear you saying, "Yeah, yeah, nice pictures. Now get on with the juicy stuff!" Well, my impatient little readers, we have not met Peter yet. That is to happen tomorrow. Don't worry, you know I always share all the dirt with you, my internet people.

Meeting Peter Donor and Dinner with Mr. Could've Been

2006-03-31T19:16:00.000-05:00

Last night, we had an old friend over for dinner. I called him John Doe a while back. He's the guy I asked to make his deposit in a cup and hand it over. At one point, I thought he might say yes, but then he didn't, and it was off to the sperm bank to pick sperm from a list, and the sperm we ended up picking originated from a guy named Peter, which we found out when Ella turned three months old. And Peter is who we will be visiting in about a week. Yep, tomorrow, we board a plane bound for California. After a week in Carmel, we're going to spend two nights in San Francisco, and while there, we will meet Peter.

It was kind of interesting to be having dinner with the man who could have fathered my children right before we leave to meet the man who actually did. John Doe, by the way, is doing well. Since we asked him to shoot in a cup, he's moved to Boston. He's down here for about a week because of an art exhibit featuring some of his paintings.

I'm not going to say that I'm glad he turned us down. He is a really great guy with all the features I would want for the other half of my children's DNA. But it certainly is easier not to have to deal with a human being to get the goods. Well, we deal with the guy who runs the sperm bank, but the goods are already there, ready and waiting to be shipped off to eager, child-hungry women. You know, like us.

So we're off to California tomorrow. I doubt there will be another post here until after we get back, late on Monday, April 10.

Well, I have a million things to do between now and 5:30am when we're heading to the airport. So see you on the flip side.

The Problem With Owning a Life

2006-03-28T18:10:00.000-05:00

The problem, obviously, is that you have the power, the "right," to decide to end that life. Those of you who have been reading me since I started out on the now abandoned Bean Blog, already know a lot about my dog, Chester. If you don't know about him, that doesn't much matter. You now know that he is my dog, and that's probably enough for you to understand this post.

Here's the deal: Chester probably has Cushing's Disease. We haven't run the definitive test for it yet, but I'm sure that he has it. Now the question is, "What to do about it?"

Chester is 12 years old now, certainly towards the end of the lifespan of a Labrador Retriever. However, we have owned him for less than 3 years, having gotten him from an animal shelter in August of 2003. I wanted a dog that played fetch, and that is what Chester loves more than anything. In the time we have owned him, we have spent about $6000 on his medical expenses, approximately $5000 of that being repairs to both of his knees. We spent that money because without those operations, he would not have been able to play fetch anymore, and if that were the case, life would not be worth living for him. That money was hard to spend. We're not rolling around in the stuff. But there was a cut and dry resolution that allowed us to make that decision: get the surgery, dog fixed. Period.

Things aren't so cut and dry now. Cushing's Disease is not something that gets cured--it gets managed. To manage it would probably be in the range of $1000. To add complications to the matter, managing it may or may not improve Chester's quality of life. The high level of cortisol now in Chester's bloodstream--a side effect of Cushing's--is probably the reason he has not been suffering much from his arthritis nor his allergies. Treating the Cushing's will undoubtably bring these issues back to the forefront. Not treating it will mean that his body systems continue to be damaged by the coritsol in his system, including weakening his leg muscles, a side effect I have noticed recently while playing fetch with him.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Both of these repercushions mean that playing fetch will get more difficult.

On top of all this (I know you'll be surprised to learn), we've got a baby on the way. In case you're not keeping track, that will be two babies under 1 year old. Fun! And even more fun with a dog whose health is making him more and more time and energy consuming.

Chester does not seem to be that miserable right now. But as cold-hearted as it is to say, it would be a hell of a lot easier for us to put him down now than in six months or a year. I mean "easier" in a household management way. When we're taking care of two babies, dealing with a dog that is getting sicker and sicker will be the last thing we want to do.

But, as I said, he's not that sick right now. Putting him down now would really be for our convenience, not because it's "his time," whatever that means. But nonetheless, the fact is that his quality of life will deteriorate, one way or the other--treat the disease or not. If we put him down now, he'd go never having been incapable of being all Chester, not a shadow of himself. Or am I just saying that to try to make myself feel better?

What is comes down to is this: my head versus my heart. My head says that we've already done much more for him than almost anyone else ever would. Few would blame us for calling it quits right now.

My heart says that is bullshit. Who am I to decide that he should die? Yes, I am his "owner," but I've never felt that I owned the light within him that means he is alive. I guess what I understand ownership of another creature to mean is that I own the responsibility to act in his best interest.

And on top of that, Ella loves him. He lets her pull his tail. She laughs when he goes clump, clump, clump down the stairs. He gives her big, moist, face-covering kisses. And he looks at her with kindness in his eyes when she grabs his toes.

If Cheeks Are Your Thing, This Is Your Girl

2006-03-24T13:41:00.000-05:00

Sleeping, Part 2 of 2: The Nighttime Situation

2006-03-22T20:01:00.000-05:00

We co-sleep. We started off with Ella in between us, and that's how it was for the first 5 months or so. At first, I tended to stay in contact with her physically while sleeping, but eventually, it became clear that Ella wanted her space. If my partner and I gave her enough space so that she could stretch out her arms and still not touch us, she slept more soundly and for longer stretches. That was great. Except that with a queen size bed, that meant that my partner and I had about 18 inches of bed each, while Ella laid spread out, oblivious, in the middle. Like so:

Okay, in my crude drawing, it looks kind of spacious, but trust me, it wasn't.

That's when we decided to get a crib to "sidecar" to the bed. Basically, we left off one side of the crib and put it up next to the bed. And that's what we've done for the past two months or so. Initially, it worked like a charm. Ella slept soundly. We had the bed to ourselves. When Ella wanted to nurse during the night, it was quick and easy to pull her back into the bed. It was great. Then our sleeping situation looked like this:

Then a few weeks ago, Ella did not want to sleep in the crib anymore. When we moved her over there (sound asleep), she woke up and we had to go through the getting to sleep process again. We were quickly trained to leave her in the bed.

This wasn't so bad for my partner, because she is at that stage of pregnancy where the bed becomes a world of pillows. It doesn't quite marvel the world of pillows I had created during my pregnancy. But she still has time. And anyway, it's been kind of fun seeing my old friends come back to the bed, returned to service. One friend, though, takes up a lot of room. This one:

It takes up about half of the bed. Remember how I was already uncomfortable with my 18 inches of bed space? Well, with my partner set up with just about half of the bed, Ella taking up about two thirds of the remaining half, I'm down to 12 inches or so. Really, I know you think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not. I'm amazed that most nights I manage to sleep--somewhat--in that small of a space, but I do. Sort of.

I guess the point of all this is that even though I do manage to get some kind of sleep on 12 inches of bed, I'd like things to change. Right now, I've taken to sleeping partway in the crib.

But the ideal situation is that I sleep entirely in a bed. A bed that consists of more than 12 inches of space. So we've decided to bite the bullet and buy a twin size mattress to put next to our queen size bed in lieu of the crib. That way, if Ella settles herself into my space on the the big bed, I can comfortably settle myself into the twin bed. And with the Expected One on his/her way, having more space is probably a good idea anyway.

Getting a twin size mattress for the bedroom could solve not only the nighttime situation, but it could also solve the napping situation, as the most likely destination for the crib in the bedroom will be the living room for naps. Maybe. I'm still considering another option as well. The downside of getting a twin size mattress is that I want another one like our queen size mattress. Yep, I want another Tempur-Pedic like this one, and those bad boys aren't cheap. I just remind myself (and the Bread Winner) that we do spend about one third of our lives asleep, and when you think of it that way, perhaps the cost isn't so extravagant.

And that's that for sleeping these days. Hopefully it will all improve soon.

BREAKING NEWS!

2006-03-20T09:59:00.000-05:00

Ella rolled over! Tummy to back!

Sleeping, Part 1 of 2: The Napping Situation

2006-03-19T21:01:00.000-05:00

You might have noticed that the number of posts on this blog have fluctuated up and down through the months. That is almost entirely due to the napping situation. In general, when Ella naps, I am free to accomplish all the things that one can accomplish when one is not holding a baby. When Ella does not nap, I am not free to accomplish those things. Not an unusual state of affairs for a mother of an infant. You might also have noticed that this blog's post frequency has declined in the past few weeks, and now armed with the above information, you might assume that is due to the fact that Ella is not napping. But you would be wrong to assume that. She is napping. That's not the problem.

The problem is that she is only napping on my lap.

Some of you out there might remember when Ella would nap for hours at a time in her swing. One of you even mentioned in a comment that I should enjoy it while I could. And I did, trust me. The swing now sits, forlorn, taking up a massive amount of space in my tiny living room. It hasn't been napped in for weeks. I don't think I've even tried to put Ella in it for a nap for well over a week because it's pointless.

The problem with the swing is that it positions her at an incline, and being partway to sitting up makes her want to sit up all the way. She loves to be upright. Being horizontal is very silly, apparently. So I'll put her in the swing, asleep, and she'll sort of open her eyes a bit, realize that she is so temptingly close to the upright position, and then she'll fully wake herself up, trying to get to a full, upright sit. Bye bye nap.

But she will nap, anywhere from 30 minutes to 2 hours, on the boppy, in my lap, with some occassional help ~~from me, the human pacifier~~ via nursing.

At first, this didn't really bother me. I could watch TV. I could surf the net, read blogs, bulletin boards, email, and the like, while she slept on my lap. It was fine. I made sure to have a full drink beside me before she drifted off to sleep, and I was all set. Initially, I tried to write email--and write posts for this blog, too. But Ella would not allow me to type with both hands, because that involved one of my arms crossing over her face, and that could not be. So I had to do those things one-handed, and after a very short amount of typing that way, I would become annoyed, and I didn't want to be typing posts on this blog in an annoyed state. Well, at least not annoyed because I was typing one-handed.

So while I didn't mind the new napping arrangement at first, it's now apparent to me that it must change. Not just because of writing posts here but also because of all the other things I could be doing during that time.

We do have a crib, but I'm not crazy about the idea of her napping there. I like seeing her face when she wakes up. As I've written before, she generally wakes up with a smile, and I love that smile. Although people all over the world put their babies in cribs and know they are awake because they hear them crying, I just don't want to do that--make it so that Ella must cry everytime she wakes up.

And that's my perogative as her mother. End of discussion.

So what to do then? Well, at first I thought I might get a swing bassinet. The swinging motion does keep her asleep (when she's napping on my lap, I'm in a rocking chair). I thought that might be a good solution because it would keep her horizontal and swinging. But bassinets are designed for newborns, and newborns don't weigh 26 pounds. The highest I've seen one go up to is 25 pounds, and although I'd be willing to ignore the weight limit for 1 pound, obviously Ella will keep on gaining weight, and I don't see the point in buying an expensive item like that if she'll just grow out of it in a month, tops. So that's out.

I don't want to put the crib in the living room, because as I mentioned, our living room is tiny. So I'm thinking about building a bassinet that would be strong enough to hold 30-40 pounds. But that's a big time commitment, and I don't have a lot of time. There are too many other things I need to do with what little free time I have.

So I'm in a bit of an impasse right now. I don't see a solution, but I'm sure one will present itself at some point. And besides, with a baby, nothing remains the same for very long.

Seven Month Letter

2006-03-16T19:00:00.000-05:00

Dear Ella,

This month has been wonderful. You are definitely aging well. You laugh and smile and grab onto my shoulders when I hold you, and that is even better than mint chip ice cream, and if you knew how I tear through that stuff right now, you’d really appreciate the compliment I’m bestowing on you.

You’re getting a very clear idea of what you want these days. Or maybe the truth is that you’ve always known what you want, but now you are getting to the point where you can communicate it. Your thoughts are a bit more transparent. For instance, for your first month or so, you seemed to have two thoughts. The predominant thought was, “This sucks!” “This,” of course, being life in general on the outside. The other thought ran along these lines: “Eating is good.” Honestly, even now at the ripe old age of 31, I can tell you that your initial findings continue to hold true.

About your transparent thoughts. I’ve noticed one in particular, which is a little bit…well, disconcerting in some ways. You definitely feel some ownership of my breasts. They, clearly, are yours. When you see them outside of a nursing context—if I’m getting out of the shower or getting dressed, let’s say—you stare at them as if to say, “What is going on with my food dispensers?” As you get older, you’ll learn that the way to a woman’s heart (including your own) will probably involve the object of your desire looking in your eyes instead of eight inches south of there, where you currently focus your attention.

Speaking of my (okay, okay, your) breasts, you still like to bite me. I try not to deny you the things that you want, but in this instance, I do draw the line, and boy does that ever PISS YOU OFF. My technique when you bite me involves my putting my thumb on your cheek, near the corner of your mouth. The pressure there makes you open your jaws, thereby releasing my nipple from your razor sharp teeth. This, apparently, is wrong of me to do. Very, very, VERY wrong. The screams you produce at this action on my part come close to shattering glass. And I’m sure I’m not actually hurting you because I’ve tried this on myself, and while not pleasant, it doesn’t hurt. So you’re just angry that I’m separating you from your favorite object. While my breasts are flattered, they do prefer their natural state—the one without bite marks.

But enough about my your breasts. You have discovered another love this month, and that is the doorway jumper. After your four month check-up, when you weighed in at 22 pounds, I started getting the jumper out because you’re supposed to be under 25 pounds to use it, and the way you were gaining weight, I figured we had three to four days until you hit that mark. But although being in the jumper was okay with you, you did not grasp the concept of jumping. After a few weeks, the jumper went back into its box, and that was that. But this past month, I decided to get it out again, and viola! You revealed yourself as a jumping baby. (I’m putting that whole 25 pound weight limit thing out of my mind for the time being.) In fact, right now, you are very tired, but you are jumping away in your jumper because you cannot resist jumping in your jumper, even when you are tired and cranky.

You really do get more wonderful and more fun with every passing month. I can’t help but smile when I look at you, especially right now as you are trying out one of your new favorite sounds: mum, mum, mum…..

Love,
Mum

The Big Post

2006-03-13T19:51:00.000-05:00

I've been meaning to write a post for a while now about Ella's size. She's a big girl. At least one of you, my readers, have commented on her cheeks. Yes, they are quite chubby, which is good in a way because if she didn't have chubby cheeks, her face would look very weird sitting on top of that chubby body.

Ella had her six month check-up last week (she's actually closer to the seven month marker than the six). She weighed in at 26 pounds. That's right. 26 pounds. When the doctor shows her weight on the standard growth chart, her growth curve looks down on the 95th percentile curve from far, far above. Her length is 27.5 inches, which puts her in the 90th percentile for length, I believe.

Not infrequently, people come up to me and exclaim over Ella's cheeks. "Oh my!" the woman (it's always a woman) exclaims. "How much does she weigh?" When I tell the nice woman, "26 pounds," her eyes widen and her hand invariably lands on her chest. More often than not, she'll pull over her own child and say, "Here's little Timmy! He's 12 and he only weighs 20 pounds!" Okay, I'm exaggerately a bit there, but I've certainly heard, "Here's little Timmy! He's 2 and he only weighs 24 pounds!"

So my little girl is, in fact, a big girl. It's very apparent at my moms group when I pick up one of the other babies. They're all the same age, within a month. There's a little girl and a little boy who weigh 15 pounds each. When I pick up one of them, if I don't remind myself beforehand, the tiny baby is at risk of being flung into the ceiling as I go to lift him or her, braced for Ella's weight. Seriously, I was holding the little boy once and I had to be careful to make sure he didn't slip through my arms as I was walking. He's just a little slip of a thing, small enough to fall through the natural gap between my elbow and my side. Just last week, he spilled his mother's soup on his pants (the soup wasn't hot), so I lent him Ella's spare pants from my diaper bag. He could have set up camp in there and still had room to invite a friend.

I have found myself worrying about Ella's weight lately. For one, she's 26 pounds and only (almost) seven months old. The convertible carseat I bought for her is only rear-facing for up to 30 pounds, and Pennsylvania state law requires that infants under 1 year old be rear-facing. It seems unlikely to me that she will gain less than 4 pounds over the next five months. I've seen a carseat that goes up to 33 pounds rear-facing and (an ugly) one that goes up to 35 pounds. We'll figure it out, I guess.

Her weight gain has slowed down, believe it or not. Between birth and two months, she went from 9.5 pounds to 16.5 pounds, so a weight gain of 7 pounds. From two months to four months, she went from 16.5 pounds to 22.3, so a weight gain of about 6 pounds. And from 4 months to 6.75 months, she went from 22.3 pounds to 26 even, so a weight gain of only 3.75 pounds.

Ella has never had a drop of formula and hasn't had much in the form of "solids" (her early enthusiasm seems to have worn off, by the way). When the doctor who performed her check-up asked about what Ella ate, she said that Ella should be the poster child for breastfeeding. Nothin' but cream, baby. That's all I make, apparently. But it was great that the doctor was so reassuring about her weight. She says it's nothing to worry about, and that once Ella starts moving around, she'll burn it off.

That made me look at the rolls of fat on Ella in a new way. Are they merely energy stores? And if they are, holy shit she's got a lot of energy available to burn! Seriously, I don't think I'll be able to keep up.

One of Those Mornings

2006-03-08T12:17:00.000-05:00

Well, IT happened this morning. Ella fell off of the changing table. She actually flipped over it. I had her sitting on it (yes, I know I am the worst mother ever). I turned away, and I believe that she leaned forward to play with the tags on the changing pad and then tumbled over the edge. I turned in time to see her land, flat on her back, on the floor with a rather loud THUD. My first thought was OH MY GOD. My second thought was, At least she didn't land on her head. Her head hit the ground, certainly, but she didn't land full force on it.

She cried afterwards. Okay, that's a lie. She SCREAMED. I could actually make out some words in her screaming. My baby's first words! They went something like this: "AHHHHHHH YOU ARE A HORRIBLE MOTHER AHHHHHHHHHHHH YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT ME AHHHHHHHHHHH YOU HAVE FAILED AND YOU ARE GOING TO HELL AHHHHHHHHHHHH." My sweet little girl. She speaks the truth.

She was on the changing table because I was getting her ready to go to the doctor for her six month check-up. We got into the car and headed there, and I kept looking back at her in the mirror. She sort of drifted off and I kept thinking, "I hope she's not slipping into a coma."

We got to the doctor's office, and I confessed how I had let my baby almost fall to her death. (I should make a note of this in one of those books: You know, March 3, 2006, Ella's six tooth. March 8, 2006, Ella's first near death experience.) So the doctor checked her out during the normal exam and she's fine. Whew.

But Ella's trauma was not over yet. A well visit to the doctor means one thing: shots. So then we had to get through that experience, too. No fun. And she bled, my poor baby. We're doing a delayed schedule, so these are her second round of shots. I'm pretty sure she didn't bleed the first time. So now she's got a bandaid on. Rather than rip that off and make the day a trifecta of misery, we're going to try to soak it off.

Okay, the morning is over. Let's hope it gets better from here on out.

Back in the Swaddle Again

2006-03-04T20:44:00.000-05:00

Well, we've had several nights now with multiple night-wakings. We're talking every 2 hours or less. Not so much fun really. When you bring home a newborn, you understand that is the deal. Plus, you're so hopped up on adrenaline and protective momma-bear hormones that you wake up at least every two hours to make sure the tiny baby is still breathing. But after six months or so of consistent, constant breathing, you've come to value your sleep.

The problem seems to be face rubbing on Ella's part. When sleeping, she's been keeping her hands near her face and then rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. Why? I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with this sixth tooth coming in. I've seen the new tooth through her gums for a couple of weeks now, and when it finally cut through yesterday, I had high hopes for a good night's sleep last night.

But no dice.

When she was waking up for the fourth time around 1:30am last night, I slid out of bed and went to the bathroom, figuring I had enough time before the whimpering turned into full out crying. In the bathroom, dazed with exhaustion I thought, "If only I could keep her hands away from her face...."

And then the idea occurred to me. So simple. Could it work?

I went back into the bedroom and got out the swaddle blanket. Ella's eyes were still closed, her hands rubbing her face, whimpering, as I laid out the miracle blanket and prayed for my own miracle. I put her in the blanket and then tucked in one arm and then the other. She hadn't been swaddled for months, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Her eyes stayed closed throughout, but I walked her for a few minutes anyway. Then I laid her down and....

She slept.

For four hours.

Hallelujah.

Makes Sense

2006-03-03T08:41:00.000-05:00

She's six months old, so she should have six teeth, right?

Maybe now we can go back to that thing where we sleep at night for longer than two hours at a time.

Movement..., Take 2

2006-02-23T16:44:00.000-05:00

Last night, my partner felt Little Two move, and she's sure it was Little Two moving. She's felt some things here and there before, but she hasn't been sure until last night that it was the baby. It's a pretty exciting time. And also weird. It was for me, anyway, when I first knew I was feeling Ella move. I wasn't sure it would feel weird in the same way when my partner started to feel Little Two move--since it wasn't happening inside of me--but it does. It really brings it home that there's something in there. Something that can move around. Actually, I guess I should say "someone." I guess the reason for that is it's almost like some sort of communication. The baby isn't trying to communicate anything like, "I'm happy!" or even, "Hey, I can move!" But it is communicating because feeling the baby move is confirmation that s/he is alive and kicking (literally). And as the pregnancy progresses, that will become more and more important.

Okay, I must now attend to the baby that is outside of a uterus. I spoke once of the "tub of inspiration." As it turns out, "inspiration" can be assigned to any device that confines Ella's hiney. For instance, right now, she is in the "exer-saucer of inspiration." And it has, in fact, inspired. Keep your fingers crossed for the onesie. I like this one, so I hope it made it.

Third Prenatal Visit, Take 2

2006-02-22T08:14:00.000-05:00

Last Monday was my partner's third prenatal visit. It was largely unremarkable except for one thing. We got to the part of the visit where the midwife listens to the baby's heartbeat via doppler. She put the doppler on and found the heartbeat easily. There we were listening to it, and then it slowed down dramatically. I thought that the baby had moved away and that we were now listening to my partner's heartbeat instead (there's some big artery down there that gets picked up often by the doppler). Then the midwife said, "In about 15 to 30 seconds, we'll hear the heartbeat get really fast again."

It was clear that both my partner and I were confused, so the midwife explained that the baby was probably lying down on top of the umbilical cord or holding the cord in its hand, thereby inadvertently cutting off its supply of blood and oxygen. Because of that, its blood pressure would soar, and then it would think, "Whoa, I don't feel so good," and let go of the cord or move off of it in an effort to feel better, which would work because then the blood flow/oxygen would be restored, and its heartbeat would come back up.

The midwife managed to explain all that while my partner was on the table. At the end, she said, "Don't worry. It'll pick back up again." I said something jokingly like, "It better, or this is going to be a sad, sad story."

She stopped talking, and the sound of the slow heartbeat filled the room. I began to regret saying my joke because it would not be very funny at all if something bad happened right there as we listened.

The heartbeat was still slow. It seemed like it had been forever, certainly longer than 30 seconds. The room got really quiet until the sound of the slow heartbeat seemed to fill it, rebounding off of the walls and surrounding us.

And then....

Finally.....

It picked up the pace again and began beating fast, fast, fast. It was almost like Little Two was laughing and saying, "Ha! Got you, Mommy and Ima! That was a good one, wasn't it?"

Not so much, Little Two, but I forgive you. Just make sure your heart always beats. That's all I ask of you. Well, let's be honest. It won't be all I ask of you, but it's at the top of the list.

Ella Eats

2006-02-21T08:21:00.000-05:00

Well, she's six months old now, so we decided to give in and give her some food. The poor baby has been trying to get her hands on some of our food for quite some time now. It's been clear that she's been ready to eat. She's shown all the signs--rapt attention while we eat, the ability to sit up, dissappearance of the "tongue thrust reflex." And let's not forget all those teeth. Those teeth are for eating, after all.

So although she's been ready, I haven't been, so I've used the official recommendation of the medical community to wait until at least six months as my excuse for not giving in and feeding her "real" food. But with this passing month "birthday," I don't have that excuse anymore.

On Saturday, we went to the grocery store and bought an organic sweet potato. I decided to start her with some food that has some nutritional value as opposed to the standard rice cereal. Since we've waited for the six month mark, this shouldn't be a problem. After much debate between sweet potatos and avocados, we went with sweet potatos.

First, I ate the sweet potato mush...well, soup might be a better word for it. After I was done boiling and adding water to that thing, there was absolutely NO CHANCE of choking. I was eating it first because we were whetting her appetite, not that her appetite needed much whetting after drooling over our food for a month or so now, but what the heck.

After I had a few bites, I put some on the spoon and headed it towards her. She opened her mouth up and reached out for the spoon to guide it into her mouth. I'M NOT KIDDING. This kid was ready to eat. How much she actually swallowed, I don't know. But it was clear that she had been paying close attention to us all this time, and she knew how this spoon to the mouth thing worked.

Some of the sweet potato certainly went in, but since it was so clear that she was interested in self-feeding, and I've heard that this is a good thing to encourage, I let her participate in that aspect of the event, and her aim was not all that it could be across the board. But all in all, she was quite pleased with herself.

Afterwards, I held her in my arms and proclaimed to my partner dramatically, "My little baby is all grown up! She's eating food! She doesn't need me anymore!"

Really, if I'd had a larger audience, I think I could have been in the running for some award consideration for that performance.

Six Month Letter

2006-02-20T14:09:00.000-05:00

Dear Ella,

Six months. That is half a year! As I watch you right now, grabbing onto a toy in your exer-saucer, turning your head towards me and smiling, holding yourself up, studying the world around you, I can’t help but think about the other letters I’ve written to you, and the things that you were doing then. You’ve come a long way, baby, and six months from now, you’ll likely be as different a baby from who you are now as you currently are from who you were then. (Follow that?) Actually, you might not be a baby at all, but rather a toddler. Yikes. I’m not ready for that, so I’m not going to think about it.

You keep working on learning new things. Just last week, you discovered how to smack your lips together. You are giving me a demonstration of that as I write this. Sometimes you do it after you’ve nursed, and that’s quite cute. “Yummy meal, Mommy!” you seem to be saying. Other times, like now, you just randomly smack your lips because it is fun, so why not?

Another of your most recent skills is intentionally bending your wrist. You hold your arm still, and just bend your wrist up and down, up and down. The last day or two, you’ve added some rotation to the move. Sometimes you do it while holding a toy in your hand. Other times, you just sit there, bending your wrist. “Look at what this thing can do!” you seem to say.

You “seem to say” a lot of things to me. I’m looking forward to when you actually say things, but I’m also enjoying this time when you are so little and so full of discovery. And, frankly, when I can assign whatever thought and emotion I want to you. That's one of the perks of being a Mommy, and my interpretation of you presents you as quite a charming individual, so you shouldn't mind.

I can’t believe that it’s only been six months, and I also can’t believe that it’s been six months already. You are halfway through your first year, and I’ve treasured this time more than you will probably ever know…unless you have kids of your own, and then you’ll know exactly what I mean.

I am prouder of everything you do, each bend of your wrist and smack of your lips, than I’ve ever been of whatever my biggest accomplishment might be. Although I guess that’s not exactly true because you are my biggest accomplishment, and you always will be.

Love,
Mommy

Deja-vu

2006-02-15T18:56:00.000-05:00

In the spirit of kind motherhood, I decided not to title this post, "Same Shit, Different Day." In other words, this ultrasound was remarkably similar to my 20 week ultrasound, even right down to the detail of Little Two sitting on his/her feet, just like Ella did. We've decided to lay the blame for this squarely on the shoulders of their donor, Peter, as he is the common genetic link.

Oh, in case you don't understand what I'm getting at, we do not know if Little Two is a boy or a girl. What a ~~bastard~~ clever little baby.

In other news, the baby looks great. Unlike my ultrasound, we talked to a doctor right afterwards, and she said that the baby was measuring right on target. It had all the parts it should and no extras. So we shouldn't be getting the scare we got with Ella.

And yeah, yeah, yeah, that's the important part. It doesn't matter if it's a boy or a girl, blah blah blah. Of course all that is true. We wouldn't sacrifice that in order to get to know the baby's gender. HOWEVER. [insert whiney voice] Everyone else we know got to find out the gender of their babies! No fair! No fair! No fair!

Okay, enough of that. Now for some cute pictures. Well, cute to his or her parents.

First, we have a picture of the baby's face in profile.

Next, a picture of the baby's hand. I'm not sure exactly why we have this one. The tech printed out two pictures of the baby's face and then a picture of his/her hand and foot. Maybe people are into that sort of thing? Anyway, here it is:

And now the foot. I've outlined it in red so that you can distinguish it from all the other ~~crap~~ stuff.

It was really fun to get to see Little Two. We didn't want to have to wait 20 more weeks to find out what we're having, but that's all right. This time, I shouldn't be unconcious when s/he is born, and I'll get to have that moment people have in the movies when the baby comes out, all covered in blood and gunk, and then a medical professional says, "It's a ______!" That will be cool.

And I still can't freakin' believe we didn't find out.

The Day Before the Ultrasound, a.k.a. Valentine's Day

2006-02-14T20:09:00.000-05:00

It's Valentine's Day, and that is fun and all that, but I've mostly been thinking of today as the day before the big ultrasound. Tomorrow morning, we will get a peak at Little Two and see what s/he has been up to and (hopefully) if we're expecting a boy or a girl.

We did manage to celebrate Valentine's Day to some extent, going to a diner with our friends Carrie and Angel and their 15 month old son Eamon. But back to the ultrasound: Angel thinks my partner is having a girl, and Carrie thinks it's a boy. They've upped the ante between the two of them and have decided to wager a dollar on it. Tomorrow, we will find out (hopefully) who is a dollar richer and who a dollar poorer.

For Valentine's Day, I gave my partner this "I'm nuts about you" keyring

And a promise to buy her Ellen - The Complete Third Season when it is released on February 28th.

She got me the Ergo Baby Carrier. Ella has gotten quite heavy. I've been meaning to write a post about her size, but other things just keep coming up. Anyway, she weighs about 25 pounds now, and my pouch is still good and very convenient for short walks and such, but not for longer stuff. For instance, when we walk from the train station to the ultrasound tomorrow!

And that's the wrap up of V Day. I will post ultrasound info tomorrow!

In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a little excited about the ultrasound tomorrow.

Flashback

2006-02-10T18:58:00.000-05:00

My grandmother died on July 24th, 2004. I was driving up through the Florida Keys when my mother and I got the news on the 22nd that my grandmother was in the hospital with, what they thought at the time was, a stroke. One side of her body was paralyzed, but she could respond to voices by squeezing her hand. My mother and I were on the way home when we got the news, headed towards the Miami airport.

I actually blogged from the airport while we waited for our plane. I remember hoping against hope that she would make it. I knew she wouldn't be the same, that she would probably be paralyzed, maybe even in a nursing home. But I was not ready to let her go (I never would be), and I bargained and reasoned for more time. My grandmother never, ever would have wanted that--to be confined, especially to live out her days in a nursing home. In many ways, what I was asking for was selfish, but that was what I wanted.

I remember walking into her hospital room on the 23rd, and my grandfather saying to me, "She's dying." I was shocked. Just yesterday, there had been no mention of death. But apparently, what they thought was a stroke was just about the opposite. She did not have a bleed in her brain (a stroke), but rather there was a blood clot preventing any blood from getting to her brain. As a result, her brain began to swell. The pressure from the swelling, along with the deprivation of oxygen and nutrients, caused her systems to shut down. The last to go were her vital systems, as they are located at the base of the brain, well protected. It wasn't until the next day, the 24th, that she died.

I think about my grandmother, and what happened to her, and of course my own regrets often. Rarely does a day go by that I don't think of her. But right now, all the memories are so heavy on me that I almost can't breathe. My good friend, a woman I refer to as my French sister, Emily, is going through almost the same thing with her father.

She got the call last weekend that he had been in a horrible accident. He was in an elevator when the cable broke and the elevator car fell six floors. He survived the fall, although several vertebrae in his spine were broken. He made it through surgery and had movement in his arms and legs. Everyone was hopeful that he would make a full recovery, although they knew it would be a long and difficult one.

Emily's family lives in France. She's been here for six years now. She considered getting on a plane and flying home last weekend, but as things looked better, she decided not to do so. I offered my opinion that it might be best to save her time so that she could fly home when her father would come home from the hospital. Then she could be of the most help, as he would require a lot of assistance.

She got the call today. The call said that her father had a blood clot that had travelled to his brain. The doctors say he will be dead within 48 hours.

She's flying home tonight, of course.

It's all so similar, so tragic. I feel like I know exactly what she's going through, and it was the hardest thing I've ever gone through. I'm still not "through" it, and I don't know that I ever will be.

Ella was named after my grandmother. She is a reminder each and every day of her namesake, which is how I wanted it, the only way I could have it. I have to admit that part of me feels a little sad when I look at Ella because of that association. I hope that one day I will just feel joy at my daughter and at the memories--all the good ones--of my grandmother.

Today, though, I can't stop thinking about Emily and what her family is going through. I can't stop re-living what happened to my own family. But I also can't stop being a mother. Ella looks at me with no idea of these emotions swirling through my head and my heart. She wants to play with her toys and see me smile at her and fly around the room, my little airplane baby. Here she is, the next generation. The wheel of life keeps turning, no matter how much we wish that it wouldn't sometimes.

Now Ella Gets to Share

2006-02-08T19:00:00.000-05:00

I read an article that suggests that it is possible that breastmilk can cause cancer cells to go into "apoptosis," which is a fancy way of saying they commit suicide. And the problematic thing about cancer cells is that they normally don't go into apoptosis. They reproduce like crazy and don't die off. As I said, that's the problem. But some research discovered, by accident, that breastmilk makes them commit suicide.

A very good friend of mine, Beth Marie, was diagnosed with ovarian cancer almost two years ago. The five year survival rate of those diagnosed with ovarian cancer is 37%. Those aren't good odds. The reason this is such a dangerous cancer is that it does not display "remarkable" symptoms during its early stages. Therefore, by the time you realize you have a problem, the cancer is already quite advanced. My friend is currently going through her fourth round of chemotherapy.

So I read the article I mentioned above, and when I saw Beth Marie today, I told her about it. Then I said, "I know this is really weird, but if you want breastmilk, I'll give it to you." We talked about it off and on for the rest of the visit. I could tell that the idea was percolating around in her mind.

She'd had a good response to her first round of chemo--the cancer was reduced. She felt optimistic that she's be one of the lucky ones. But the second and third rounds did not reduce the cancer. They didn't even keep it at bay. The cancer kept growing. And since getting that news, Beth Marie has become more angry, more depressed.

She's in her mid-50s, but she is a very, very active woman--far more so than I am, and I'm over 20 years her junior. For instance, two summers ago after her first round of chemo, she went on a 100 mile bike ride. Cancer certainly isn't fair for anyone to get, but in her case, it seems especially cruel.

Beth Marie is not someone who is entirely comfortable with "female parts" and that sort of thing. For her, one of the worst things about having ovarian cancer is all the pelvic exams. Drinking my breastmilk is not something she would normally consider. But the recent CAT scans have her worried, have her almost convinced that she will die sooner rather than later. So by the time I dropped her off at her house so that I could head home, she said she wanted to give it a try. I'm not allowed to tell anyone (shhhh), but she's game.

The way I see it, it can't hurt. In fact, it could be good for her even if it doesn't help fight the cancer. Chemo weakens the immune system, and breastmilk is full of antibodies. Beth Marie has also battled anemia with each chemo (sometimes missing treatments because her blood count was too low), and breastmilk provides a very easily absorbable form of iron.

So I'm going to start pumping, not for Ella, but for my friend. Who knows what will come of this, but we're both willing to try it.

Oz Pays $15 to Nurse Ella

2006-02-07T17:16:00.001-05:00

Ella feels for them. She really does, and frankly, it's a bit annoying. "Them" refers to other babies. Ella has entered that phase where another baby crying makes her cry. This makes it hard to socialize, because socializing now means spending time in places and doing things that are baby-friendly, and what do you find in baby-friendly places that have baby-friendly activities? BABIES. And what do babies do from time to time? CRY.

For instance, in my weekly mom group, generally every baby has a time when s/he cries. Each of the approximately six babies cries approximately one time. Ella used to be like that. One crying session during the group. Now it's SIX crying sessions during the group. Why? Because she still has her own, self-initiated cry. But she also cries when each of the other five babies has his/her crying session.

In my mom group, it's not a big deal. There's nothing formal going on. We're just hanging out at someone's house, talking about this and that. It makes more work for me, as I spend SIX TIMES the amount of time calming Ella from her crying, but whatever. Today, though, I started a new baby-friendly activity: Mom and Baby Yoga.

Granted, Ella was a bit tired and hungry when the class began. Not really in the best frame of mind for this activity. Four of the babies present were about six months old, including Ella. There was also an eight month old baby and a three month old baby.

The three month old baby started crying right at the beginning of class. Her mother decided not to do anything about this. Rather, she just kept doing the yoga while her baby was on her yoga mat, crying. The other babies in the class looked with varying degrees of concern at this little girl. Ella, of course, cried. I, of course, took steps to stop her from crying, namely nursing her.

As the three month old baby cried and cried, I have to admit that I looked at her mother with annoyance. This would aggravate me under normal circumstances--ignoring a crying baby. In this circumstance, it seemed particularly rude. Eventually, her mother gave her a bottle, and she quieted. Her mother, however, looked irritated because she had to stop doing the yoga. My opinion of her dropped further. The point of this class, after all, was to do something fun with your baby, not be pissed off at your baby because she has the nerve to be hungry when you're trying to do downward facing dog.

Eventually, that baby more or less quieted, but, of course, the other babies in the class went through periods of noise-making, too. Actually, two of the moms from my mom group were there, and one of their babies is going through a phase where he likes to make loud noises. Not unhappy noises. Just loud, I'm-trying-out-my-voice noises. These also upset Ella. It's a shame that these phases of theirs (his loud noises, her crying at noises) are co-inciding.

So, basically, I spent the class period lying on the floor with Ella while she nursed and slept. Right at the end of the class, she woke up and seemed to be in a good mood. (The mother with the crying three month old had finally taken her baby outside of the studio room to help her obviously tired baby fall asleep. For some reason, the little girl didn't find lying on a hard yoga mat while her mother contorted her body above her to be soothing.) Of course, this was the point in the class where everyone was supposed to lay down with their babies and have quiet time. After napping for almost an hour, Ella wanted action. So I didn't do that either.

I have a feeling this might be the way all of our classes go (five total), but that's okay. It's still getting out of the house and having an experience. It's occurred to me that this is the only time I'll be able to do this. When there are two of them, classes like this won't be possible. These things are designed for one mom and one baby. So I'm going to enjoy doing things like this with a little baby while I can, even if Mom and Baby Yoga ends up being Oz Pays $15 to Nurse Ella.

I Won't Be Participating in the Knitting Olympics

2006-02-06T18:14:00.000-05:00

This past holiday season, I stumbled across a book about knitting called, Yarn Harlot: the Secret Life of a Knitter. Now, I do not knit. I did not buy the book to read about knitting. Rather, I bought the book because it was written by a blogger. More specifically, someone (Stephanie Pearl-McPhee) who started a blog (this one: Yarn Harlot) and ended up with a book deal. I wouldn't mind a book deal, myself, so I was interested in reading the work of someone who had gotten a book deal via their blog.

The book was good. Very good. It actually made me want to knit. It was funny, sure, but it was also touching, and I found myself wanting to create things for my family to wear: to knit with love and clothe them in that love, the way that Stephanie described her knitting for her family.

My partner has done some knitting, although it's not something she does regularly. I dove into her box of yarn and knitting needles, and I decided that I would knit. A scarf. Something easy to start with. Then next, a beautiful sweater for Ella. Right.

I had this whole vision of myself. I would be the kind of mother who knits...and all that entails. Warm hugs. Baking. Smiles that radiate understanding and unconditional love. Yes, this scarf was the beginning of my evolving identity as a mother.

My partner showed me how to knit, and I sat down on the couch to actually do it. I was working on one row, my first row, and as I did so, Ella sat on my partner's lap, grunting, squeaking, making noises until I looked up at her, and then a huge smile would break across her face. This repeated again and again as I slowly made my way across the row. Grunt, look up, smile. Squeak, look up, smile. Of course I kept looking up. I could not resist that smile, nor could I deny its message: "Look at me, Mommy! Don't look at the knitting--look at me!"

Of course I had started reading Stephanie's blog. A couple of weeks ago, she had an idea: the Knitting Olympics. She invited all knitters out there to compete. The "rules" were simple: you must start and end a project during the 16 days of the upcoming Winter Olympics. You picked the project, based on your skills. The only requirement was that it must be a personal challenge for you to complete during the 16 day timeframe.

I thought about it. Maybe I could try to do something. But I realized that it was impossible. The point of the Knitting Olympics is to challenge yourself with knitting. To pick something that will consume you, something that will drive you, something that you will drive yourself to do, something that will require all those hours in a row.

Squeal.

Look up.

Smile.

I would not have that kind of time. Not anytime soon. Every time I looked up and saw that smile, I realized that my idea of motherhood had evolved again. Ella did not need a knitted sweater from me right now. What she needed was me.

So no knitting for me. That hobby will have to wait. It will wait with the other hobbies I've already cultivated, hobbies that are also on hold until later.... Later. A year from now? With Little Two on the way, two years might be a more realistic goal.

So no Knitting Olympics for me this year. But I should be able to participate in them next time around. That should give me four years. By that time, maybe my Olympic project will be that sweater for Ella... or maybe for Little Two. S/he, being younger, should also be smaller, right?

The Menstruation Free House

2006-02-02T20:10:00.000-05:00

I've been meaning to comment on the fact that we have two women, aged in the late-20s to early (sniff) 30s, and neither of us have had our periods for many months. That's just kind of cool. I wanted to mention it now because Ella will be six months in less than two weeks, and that means we will be starting solids. Once I'm not "exclusively" breastfeeding, it's only a matter of time until my period returns. Could still be a long time, of course. But it could also be right away.

But for now, we have two adult women of child-bearing age, and neither are menstruating! Naturally because of the current and future children, but nonetheless, it will probably never happen again. I don't think we'll be crazy enough to do it like this twice. (Although you never know...)

Since I Call Myself a Photographer

2006-02-01T08:30:00.000-05:00

Or I did, and I think I will again one day when the kiddos are older. Anyway, I read a number of "motherhood" themed blogs, and a couple feature regular, beautiful pictures of the children of the author. (This blog and this one come immediately to mind.) Although I have posted pictures of Ella here, they are of (what I call) the "snapshot" variety. So last weekend, I decided to take some pretentious "real" photos of Ella. Overall, I was pleased with the results, especially since it was the first time I've really photographed a baby (in the portrait sense of the word).

Without further ado:

A smiling photo. I actually had to take this on Sunday. She was not in the mood for smiling on Saturday.

My partner likes this one a lot.

I really like this one.

Although this one is my favorite (my partner is not such a fan for some reason).

And of course, who can resist a laughing baby?

Second Prenatal Visit, Take 2

2006-01-31T10:35:00.000-05:00

So much is going on, that things just slip through the cracks. Last Thursday, my partner had her second prenatal visit. Not much happened at it. We got to listen to the heartbeat--it was in the 130s. Have you heard the old wive's tales about heartrate indicating a baby's sex? Well, it goes something like this: over 140 (150?) it's a girl. Under 140 (150?) it's a boy. Of course, someone did a study of thousands of babies and found out that there was no difference in heartrate between boys and girls, but silly things like "proof" don't dissuade those who believe in such things. And....Ella's heartrate was always in the 150s, and as you know, she is a girl. Little Two's heartrate was....drum roll please.....in the 130s. Hopefully we'll find out if the heartrate myth is true in this case on...

February 15th! Yep, we've scheduled the "level 2" ultrasound, and that's the date. Long time readers will recall that Ella refused to reveal her gender at our 20 week ultrasound. We expect Little Two to be more cooperative. OR ELSE. (Yes, I do like to make empty, meaningless threats.)

And as I mentioned before, my partner did decline the quad screen, so that means no genetic testing for us. Well, actually, the ultrasound is some sort of genetic testing in a way. The point is not to find out the gender but rather to make sure that everything is okay with the baby...and to check for markers for various genetic problems.

That's pretty much that for the visit. They really aren't that exciting. I can't remember the last one I made a point of writing about during my pregnancy. I'm pretty sure I wrote about the third. But the fourth? Perhaps they will be more exciting with this pregnancy, although I guess I would hope that they aren't. Normal and boring is very good with pregnancy and babies. "Excitement" is almost always the worrisome variety.

"They" All Look Alike

2006-01-27T13:12:00.000-05:00

We've all heard the statement that "they" all look alike. Sometimes we hear it in a mean way, directed at people from another race. Other times, it's a more innocent statement, like, "All babies look alike." I used to think that one. Of course, once I had a baby myself, I realized how different she really does look. I saw other babies, too, a lot of other babies. Without really trying, I entered a world where babies were everywhere, and I realized that babies actually do look quite different from each other. Nonetheless, the concept of "they" looking alike has cropped up a few times for me the last couple of weeks.

The women in the "play group" Ella and I go to (I use that term loosely since 5 month old babies don't actually play with each other) all gave birth to their babies in or within a week of August, and all except one of them got their prenatal care and gave birth through the same birth center. Because we've all been on the same schedule, it wasn't surprising to me to discover, upon our first meeting back in September or October, that two of the women had gone through the same birth preparation class as had my partner and I. But a couple of weeks ago, it was pointed out to me that one of these women was in the same "orientation" seminar that my partner and I went to before officially deciding to use the birth center.

When this woman, Laura, said that she remembered me from the seminar, I was surprised. I hadn't remembered her. Then the thought ran through my mind, "Well, she remembers me because I was part of a lesbian couple, and let's face it, all those straight couples look alike." I laughed to myself as I thought it, but there was some truth to it. There were probably ten couples there, all of us white, middle classes, late 20s/early 30s, perhaps a little bit earthy-crunchy and/or artsy-fartsy (we were, after all, choosing to go outside of the mainstream, forgo a hospital birth [although ultimately, as you know, that was where I ended up] and use a birth center). We all did look alike, except my partner and I, who probably stood out a bit because we were two women instead of a man and a woman.

I searched my mind, and after putting together the things I knew about Laura now, and the things the various couples had said during the seminar, I was able to recall her...vaguely. I remember someone saying something about being afraid of hospitals and how her mother had worked at a birth center, and those things are true about Laura, so that blurry face in my memory must belong to her.

"They" looked alike. All those straight couples. Would I have remembered a lesbian couple better? Yes. I know this because there actually was another lesbian couple at the orientation, and I have a better memory of them than I do of Laura and her husband, even though I've spent far more time with Laura (I haven't seen the other lesbian couple since that night).

Which was why I was surprised when I was having lunch with a friend of mine on Wednesday, Angel, and it happened to me. Angel and her partner, Carrie, have been our friends for a while, and from time to time, I have lunch with Angel. We were at a diner, Angel, me, and Ella, when another women that I know a little walked in. This woman, Sharon, knows Angel pretty well through Angel's job. Sharon approached our table upon recognizing Angel, and they started to talk.

It was clear that Sharon was confused about who Ella was--she kept assuming that Ella was Eamon, Angel and Carrie's son. Angel and Carrie's 15 month old son. If you know anything about babies and toddlers, there aren't a whole lot of similarities. Eamon moves around, makes noise, is more proportional in body size. Oh, and he's a boy. Now, people are often confused about Ella's gender because I dress her mostly in neutral clothes (in case #2 is a boy, I don't want to buy things twice), but this day, she was wearing a yellow outfit that had little pink flowers all over it. It was a gift from Ella's step-grandmother. Really, you had to be hard pressed to think she was a boy (even though one of the waitresses did make that mistake--how, I don't know).

Angel kept saying, "That's not Eamon," to Sharon, sort of in the middle of the conversation, when she got a chance, but Sharon wasn't grasping it. And I kept trying to say, "I don't know if you remember me...." but she was talking to Angel. I'm not trying to make her sound rude or oblivious. She was standing in a diner on the way to her table, not focusing, etc.

Finally, though, I managed to say, "You might not remember me, but I used to go to Beth Ahava," and suddenly, she really looked at me. As it turns out, I was not Carrie, which she had assumed from the beginning, and Ella was not Eamon. She looked at me; she looked at Ella; and she said, "Oh! So this is your baby!"

Right!

It was weird because Sharon is not "they." She is one of "us" (i.e. she's also a lesbian). I was surprised that she thought I was Carrie, although it had happened a couple of times before with other people when I've had lunch with Angel. Carrie and I do not look particularly alike, in my opinion. We're within 4 inches of each other's height, and we both have short hair. But Carrie's hair is cut differently, it's a true brown, and it's naturally wavey. My hair is dark blonde and completley straight. Carrie wears glasses. I do not. Our faces do not look that alike, except we are both white and in our 30s. Our weights are pretty similar.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this story. I guess I just wanted to comment on this recurring theme in my life lately. What does it all mean? Not sure. I guess I could go all philosophical and decide that the universe it trying to teach me something about noticing what makes us all different and what makes us all the same. Yeah, maybe that's it. Maybe that was the point of this whole post. I am very deep, very thoughtful, and I've always got a plan.

Uh-huh.

Just in Case You Didn't Believe Me About All Those Teeth

2006-01-25T08:22:00.000-05:00

Finally Doing Something About Ella's Cradle Crap Cap

2006-01-24T10:00:00.000-05:00

Ella has a skin condition--extremely common to newborns--called cradle cap. I haven't done anything about it so far because what I've read about it describes it as non-irritating to the baby and--importantly--temporary.

I'm not one to be super hung up on appearances. I thought, "Well, newborns get this, so what's the big deal that she has it?" Only, at five months, I don't think she qualifies as a newborn anymore, and it's still there. I've waited for it to go away on its own like it's been reported to do, but it has not obliged, so we're taking action.

It's a form of eczema, i.e. dandruff, so I've read that you can wash their hair with dandruff shampoo to get rid of it. We've done that twice now (last Thursday and Sunday), and it seems to be getting better.

When people meet Ella, many comment on her "red hair." She doesn't have red hair, but the yellow patch of scaley skin on the top of her head gives a red glow to her light brown hair (which I think is transitioning to blond). I'm looking forward to when this stuff is finally gone and the top of her head no longer looks like that of a lizard.

Outed at Playgroup

2006-01-23T11:37:00.000-05:00

No, not as a lesbian. That's hardly a secret to anyone. Rather, I was outed as someone who is teaching her baby to read. Yes, that's right. I'm teaching Ella to read, and I've been doing it for two months. Here's how I was outed.

One of the other moms in my group, Robin, invited me to go Christmas shopping with her last December, and I took her up on it. I feel comfortable with her, and I had just started the reading program with Ella, which I was excited about, so I decided to confide in Robin. I told her that I had gotten this book called How to Teach Your Baby to Read and that I was trying out the method. Surprisingly, Robin had actually been given the same book by a friend as a shower present. I asked if she had read it, and she said no because she had assumed it was for older babies/children.

When I told Robin that I was teaching Ella to read, I mentioned that I hadn't talked about it with the group because I was afraid that I would be ridiculed. Everyone would assume that I was trying to pressure Ella into being smart and/or "robbing her of her precious childhood." I thought that because that's the general reaction I get from people when I do mention that I'm doing this. (I suspect that those of you reading this right now have similar thoughts.)

Because I had told Robin about my fear of ridicule from the other moms, I was surprised when she "outed" me at the playgroup last week. She didn't point her finger at me and state ominously, "I WANT YOU ALL TO KNOW WHAT OZ IS DOING TO THAT INNOCENT BABY GIRL." No, she mentioned it during the course of a story she was telling about going to storytime at her local library. But nonetheless, I was outed, and I got the reaction I suspected: disapproval. No one got up in arms or shunned me or anything like that. But it was clear from their comments that none of them would do something as mean as teach their babies to read.

I find the perception of babyhood to be very interesting. Babies learn an astonishing amount almost by accident. They aren't taught to see things or hear things or touch things. They learn by experiencing. They aren't taught to crawl or walk or run. They learn by doing. But some things, they are taught. They are taught that nursery rhymes and fun and colored plastic things are toys.

Yes, I believe that they are taught that. For instance, I have two different baby books. One of them has cartoon drawings of Sheep in a Jeep. The other has actual photographs of Baby's Day. Ella looks at both of them. But she is more interested in the actual images of babies than the cartoon sheep. A 3 month old baby, a 4 month old, will look at anything you put in front of him/her. You tell the baby what is fun by the way you approach it and the way you handle it. I can give Ella a toy to play with, and she'll play with it. But she is just as happy to play with a spatula. Babies are very smart. They learn, as Ella is learning, what are "toys" and what aren't. What I am excited and happy that she plays with and what things I disapprove of her playing with.

Peek-a-boo is a game that I play with Ella, and just like I play that game, I also play the reading game. She doesn't know that I am "robbing her of her childhood." She thinks that we are having fun looking at words. She also likes the homemade "books" I make her of breeds of dogs with photographs of actual dogs just as much as she likes the "official" children's book That's Not My Puppy.

So now that I have been outed to the other moms in my playgroup, I figure I should out myself here on my blog as well. So now you know. I am so mean to my daughter that I show her words and tell her what they are in hopes that she might, one day, be able to read them and understand written language. Oh, and I also speak to her in hopes that one day she'll be able to listen and understand verbal language. Try not to judge me too harshly.

I Inadvertently Supported "EC"

2006-01-20T11:07:00.000-05:00

I'll start this story at the beginning because that's the kind of long story teller that I am.

A couple of months ago, I heard of a baby product called BabyLegs on one of the (very normal, mainstream) parenting websites I read regularly. BabyLegs are essentially leg warmers for babies. Their designs were kind of funky, and I was sucked into the premise that BabyLegs would stop "Gapiosis: The space between the sock and the bottom of the pant, often accentuated by being held in arms or by being placed in a carrier, stroller, or buggy. Protect their sweet little legs from wind burn and chill. Buy BabyLegs!"

What can I say? I'm a sucker. And I'm obsessed with keeping Ella warm. Nonetheless, I learned about BabyLegs right around Christmastime, and with all the holiday stuff going on, actually purchasing BabyLegs slipped through the cracks.

Ella's cousin Georgia is turning one in February, and I thought some BabyLegs might be a nice present for her as she lives in Wisconsin. And this would be my perfect opportunity finally to buy some for Ella, too. I opened the BabyLegs site and went directly to the Buy BabyLegs page. I had looked at the "Brown Bag Boutique" option before, but the word "temporary" put me off. So I went to the next option: The EC Store.

The EC Store looked reassuringly non-temporary. I placed my order and purchased two pairs of BabyLegs for Georgia and two others for Ella. All and all, an easy and pleasant internet shopping experience. But I had wondered ever since clicking onto the site: What is "EC"? I'm pretty internet savy. I know most of the lingo, especially the parenting-related internet lingo. But I'd never heard of EC before. Maybe the website would explain what EC meant.

Indeed, it did.

I started out with the About Us link and read this:

The EC Store caters to the needs of families practicing Elimination Communication, the gentle art of responding to a baby's elimination needs. Whether you use diapers full-time, part-time, occasionally, or never, you'll find great products here to help you enjoy this wonderful aspect of parenting.

Something tickled the back of my brain. "Elmination Communication"? Wait a second. That couldn't be.... Could it?

Indeed, it could.

I next clicked on the What is "EC?" link (probably should have started there, eh?) and found what I suspected. It was something I had heard about once, a while back, before I'd given birth to Ella. As it turns out,

EC stands for Elimination Communication, also known as Natural Infant Hygiene or Infant Potty Training. It's a wonderful way to respond to a baby's natural instincts to stay clean and dry. EC reduces diaper use, reduces diaper rash, can lead to earlier potty independence, and so much more.

In case you don't get it from that description, parents who practice EC do not diaper their babies. That's right. No diapers. None. At all. (Or none sometimes if you only do it "part-time.") The premise is that you can watch for your baby's cues that it has to go and then take it to an appropriate place to "eliminate." Apparently, all Babies Are Born Potty Trained!

Well, I can get onboard with a lot of theories. I know I parent differently than many of my friends. I think babies are more capable of understanding more than the mainstream gives them credit for. But EC? Nope, can't quite get onboard with that.

The EC Store website is run by a WAHM (Working At Home Mom), and I was thanked for my purchase because my purchase helped a mom be able to stay at home with her kids. So, in essence, my purchase helped facilitate the EC lifestyle.

Now, I'm not saying that I wouldn't have purchased the BabyLegs from that website if I had known in advance what the website was about. I believe I would have. But...

Frankly, I wonder if I'll be able to look at Ella's BabyLegs without thinking about "EC."

What Is This Fresh Hell?

2006-01-19T09:53:00.000-05:00

When I wrote that Ella was cutting not one, not two, but three teeth at once, I stated, "'I'm complaining, but it really hasn't been THAT bad. The first tooth caused more angst than these three seem to have." Well, let me revise that statement. She's miserable, so I'm miserable (a hint of that fact was in the trouble I had getting her to nap yesterday).

She doesn't want to go to sleep.

She wouldn't sleep for more than two hours at a time last night until she was put in her swing.

The biting continues.

There's that strange mouth agape thing going on.

And honestly, she's not that much fun to be around when she's well-fed and well-rested.

I shudder to think but.... Is it possible that more teeth are on the way? From what I've heard from other mothers of older babies, the unhappiness of teething is generally over once the teeth have cut all the way through, and all four of these are out. I've looked in her mouth. I don't think anything is going on with her bottom teeth, but there might be some action going on with her upper teeth--the ones beside the ones in the middle.

Good lord. The Little One was watching me eat a taco last weekend, completely transfixed as if I were teasing her by not offering her any, and I jokingly said, "Silly girl, you can't eat a taco! You need teeth for that! Ha ha HA."

Well, it looks like the last laugh is on me, because the onslaught of teeth came on like nobody's business and now I wonder if she'll have a full set by the time she's six months old. I can see her now, ripping a taco right out of my hand and chomping down on it.

Am I Wrong?

2006-01-18T13:18:00.000-05:00

I've mentioned before that we now have a portable DVD player that we use for car rides. We pop a Baby Einstein video in there, and there is no screaming. In fact, Ella generally falls asleep within about 10-15 minutes. Those Baby Einstein videos have a "repeat play" option which means that the movie repeats and repeats and repeats forever, and that means that if Ella wakes up, it's still playing and she goes back to sleep. Hallelujah! Even though I try to limit her TV watching, I feel okay about this because it's either watch Baby Einstein or scream, so I'll take Baby Einstein. No contest. So I'm not asking if I'm wrong about that.

Today, however, the Little One was refusing to sleep. She was tired enough to be miserable, but not so tired that she would fall asleep nursing. Presenting nursing as an option anyway, "Oh, come on, you know you want it," and thrusting my boob in her face, only made her bite me. Imagine that. And with four teeth, that's nothing to mess around with.

So she wanted to be walked to sleep. Only my back still hurts, and I could only walk her for a short time before I just couldn't do it anymore, and she was still awake. Then it hit me. The swing, the portable DVD player in her lap..... she wouldn't be able to resist......

And she couldn't. She's sleeping now. Which is quite nice, don't get me wrong. But I do feel a bit like a lazy parent. Speaking of which, it might be time for my nap, too.

Mouth Agape

2006-01-17T12:52:00.000-05:00

This started yesterday:

At first I thought she was just yawning a yawn that had no end.

Or perhaps she was very interested in something.

Or startled.

I assume it has something to do with teething.

Five Month Letter

2006-01-16T20:28:00.000-05:00

Dear Ella,

You’ve really gained a lot of skills this month. You’re grabbing things like a champ. What’s funny about the grabbing is that the object is seized in your little hand and then brought to your mouth. You don’t turn it around to observe it. Or move it to the left or the right. No, right to your mouth it goes. And if you happen to let it go when it’s at your mouth, it just sits there, on your face, and you stare at me or Ima as if to say, “Now what?” Just as I waited and waited for you to turn your head to the right, now I’m waiting for you to take things off of your face. Mainly because I worry about you covering your face with your blanket and then suffocating. Sorry if I seem a bit paranoid, but you should already know that about me because of the Four Month Letter I wrote to you last month.

You’ve gotten three new teeth over the last four days. Yes, you read that right. THREE NEW TEETH IN A FOUR DAY PERIOD. That brings your tooth total up to four teeth. Four teeth by the time you turned five months old. Well, okay, you got me. The upper right tooth isn’t quite all the way in yet. But you get the idea. You’ve got as many teeth as your friend Eamon, who is 14 months old. And also as many teeth as your cousin Georgia, who is 11 months old. You’re ahead of the curve.

That’s not the only area where you are ahead of the game. You can also sit, unsupported. Very impressive. And you can stand, too, holding onto my fingers or onto something else. Again, kudos to you, little one! But you have no desire to move independently. Sitting and standing in one place, that’s good as far as you’re concerned. But rolling over? Nah. I try to show you how to do it. I roll you from your back to your tummy. From your tummy to your back. But if I just leave you on your back or your tummy, you make no effort to change the status quo. Sometimes I put a toy out of your reach, hoping that will encourage you to roll. But you take that situation very well—philosophically, one might say—the toy being out of your reach. You look at it as if to say, “It’s a shame that we can’t be together right now, but apparently, that’s the way it is.”

Just yesterday, you seem to have found your voice. You’ve been able to cry from birth, of course. And in this last month, you’ve really developed a good laugh. But yesterday, you started talking for the sake of talking. More than just the odd “coo” here or there, you seem to be speaking full sentences, paragraphs, and last night I think you told us all a story. It had a lot of highs and lows, that tale: aaaaahhhhhhhAAAAAHHHHHaahhhAHH! Today, you’ve continued with the story. Your fingers crammed into your mouth, usually looking up at the ceiling, you add onto the tale: OoooooooooOOOOOOoooooo EEEEEEEEEeeeeEEEEE! You’ve really got me at the edge of my seat wondering what will happen next. I have a feeling that the heroine, Ella, saves the day.

You’ve saved many a day so far. Your smiles and laughs are the best sights and sounds in the world. I have a suspicion that no matter how often or how long you smile at me, it will always make me feel wonderful inside. When I see your smile or hear your laugh, I just can’t help but smile back at you, my love seemingly uncontainable.

I’ve heard that babies are their cutest at five months old. I can believe it, because you are certainly adorable. Every time I think, “How could she get any cute than this moment, right now?” You go and do it: the next week, the next day, the next minute, you are even cuter, smarter, stronger, braver, and I somehow I love you even more, and I don’t know how I can keep loving you more and more because surely my heart must burst. The only explanation is that loving you is making my heart bigger.

Love,
Mommy

Two, Three, Four Teeth

2006-01-15T10:57:00.000-05:00

It's been one of those weeks when you're experiencing severe back pain and your ALMOST five month old baby cuts three new teeth. The first tooth made its appearance a little over a month ago. That's a respectable distance between teeth, don't you think? A month, a month and a half, something like that. Well, that tooth was the lower right tooth. It's twin, the lower left, finally cut all the way through yesterday. It's out. The top left tooth is about halfway out, and the top right tooth has one point that's made it out of the gum. The rest of both of the top two teeth are clearly visible beneath a practicably non-existent covering of gum.

I'm complaining, but it really hasn't been THAT bad. The first tooth caused more angst than these three seem to have. And I guess getting three out at once, basically, means that the total time spent teething will be less in the end. That's what I tell myself. The one problem with all this teething is all the biting that has come along with it. But I expect that the two top teeth will be completely out within a day or two, and then I won't have to be so afraid of nursing time.

Sidelined

2006-01-12T14:29:00.000-05:00

I have a bad back. I hurt it over ten years ago when I worked at a bookstore. I remember it clearly. It was a small bookstore: only one employee worked at a time. We got books in a couple of times a week, and whoever was working unpacked them, separating the special orders from those books to be stocked. There was a box, kind of large, and I needed to move it. So I bent down, from my waist, and attempted to lift it up. I heard and felt a POP in my lower back, followed by pain, not only in my back but also down my legs.

I'm not one to run to the doctor, and that was no exception. I toughed it out, although the pain shooting down my legs did prompt me to call my doctor a few days later. Predictably, I got an appointment for the next week, and by that time, the pain down my legs had abated, and I felt a lot better. The doctor told me to take some Aleve for the pain. She had no other advice.

I wish I'd gone to a chiropractor then, when the injury had occurred. I wish my doctor had recommended that course of action, or I wish I was the kind of person back then who would have just gone. But I didn't, and because of that, my back is permanently hurt. I had an MRI on my back a few years ago, and it showed deterioriation of that disk in my lower back, deterioration due to the fact that it has been out of place all this time. It has been out of place so long that it has worn down into its new position and refuses to return to its correct position.

It could be worse. I'm not in constant pain, thank God. But a few times a year, my back "goes out," and I am in pretty intense pain for a few days before, for whatever reason, it feels better again. Pre-motherhood, I would take it really, really easy during those days of pain. Now, that's not quite an option. Ella loves me, I'm sure, but she is not so generous as to play quietly by herself while I ice my back for 20 mintues out of every hour.

My back went out last Saturday. My partner was home over the weekend, so I could relax as much as possible, but she went to work on Monday. She hadn't been gone for an entire hour before I really hurt myself. I was playing with Ella, playing in a way that I thought was safe, and then I heard it again, the sound I hadn't heard for ten years: POP. It was followed by the pain, and I found myself on the floor, calling my partner and saying, You've got to come home.

I had some left over percocet from my c-section, and I took one of those, and then I took another. I was high as a kite, but at least my back felt better. I was still in pain, but it wasn't crippling. A trip that afternoon to the chiropractor revealed that I had re-injured my back. My partner had to stay home for most of Tuesday, too. Wednesday, she went to work, and she did again today. I'm doing okay. It helps that Ella has taken two very long naps.

I got really scared this time around. From the extent of the pain, of course. But I was also scared because I want to be a certain kind of mom: the kind that rough houses, and carries her babies with her everywhere, and can do anything. I want my kids to look at me without a doubt that I can lift them up to that tree branch or that I will catch them if they lose their balance. I want that when projects to come up, they will say confidently, "My mom can do that!" I was scared that I couldn't be that mom afterall.

I want to be that mom.

So I need to find the time--no, I need to make the time--to take better care of myself. I need to start exercising and doing yoga and providing as much muscular support to that weak back of mine as I can. I need to get on that...as soon as I can get off the couch without wincing, that is.

Irish Twins!

2006-01-02T13:45:00.000-05:00

As I mentioned a few posts ago, we've started telling people about my partner's pregnancy now that she's out of the first trimester. This weekend, we told my partner's family and my mother. The best, most accurate response came from my partner's twin sister who has a 10 month old daughter. She can actually visualize what her life would be like with her daughter AND a newborn. Her exact words on hearing of the impending arrival of Little Two were, "That's very courageous of you." Yes, indeed.

Six months from now, we'll have two babies under one year old: Irish twins. When I realized that was our future, I wanted to change the URL of this blog to http://irishtwins.blogspot.com . I wasn't overly optimistic that it would be available, so I typed that URL in and found, as I suspected, that Irish Twins! already exists.

"Kelly" describes her blog as "a Journal about [her] second pregnancy." So maybe that's why it ends with the birth of her second son. But I fear that the reason it ends there is not because the blog had served its purpose but because THERE IS NO TIME TO BLOG WITH IRISH TWINS.

I guess I'll find out in about six months.

Happy New Year, everyone.

Morning Joy

2005-12-30T10:28:00.000-05:00

When Ella wakes up in the morning, she squirms with her eyes closed. She cracks her eyes open, closes them again. She stretches. She opens her eyes and closes them a few more times. Then she really opens them: it's official, she's awake. And she looks around, and frankly, an expression of confusion settles on her face. What has happened? she seems to be asking. Where am I? What is going on? And then I smile at her and say, "Good morning, sweet girl," and her eyes focus on me for the first time, and then a huge smile spreads across her face. It's like she's saying, "Hello, Mommy!" Then she looks all around her, the smile still there, as if to say to the world, "Ah, I'm awake! How fabulous!"

I wonder when you lose that, when that feeling of, "Another day to tackle! Great!" that Ella seems to have fades away. When do we get it in our heads that morning sucks, that we'd like to just sleep some more and not deal with the day that confronts us? When I get out of bed, I invariably groan and sigh. I've got to change my attitude so that Ella will not learn from me that she shouldn't greet each day with joy.

Spreading the News About Number Two

2005-12-29T10:28:00.000-05:00

So we've (finally) started to tell people about my partner's pregnancy. When we started telling people about my pregnancy, it was pretty important to me to start with my mother. She'd really been wanting a grandchild for a long time, and it seemed fitting to start with her and then expand outwards to friends and neighbors. I felt pretty strongly that I had top say in many things regarding my pregnancy, such as when to tell people and who to tell, whether or not to do the quad screen, etc. etc. And now that my partner is pregnant, I think that she has top say in these things for her pregnancy. So we're doing it her way.

We heard the heartbeat at her first prenatal visit on Friday, December 23. I thought it would be a great Christmas present to start telling people on Christmas day, starting with (I assumed) her mother. But my partner said no. She got it in her mind that she wanted to tell her family on New Year's Day. I shrugged my shoulders. It was her call.

She had Monday off from work, and we decided to go and visit some former neighbors of ours, Angelo, his wife Alice, and their kids plus Alice's mother. They all moved on up a few months ago and left our quaint little neighborhood of row homes for a 4 bedroom spread on a nice piece of land. They are renting one of their former houses on our block (they had two--one for Angelo, Alice and their 18 year old son, and another where Alice's mother and daughter lived), so we've seen them a few times when they've come by to check on their house, but we had never been to their place, and they've invited us several times. So on Monday, we decided to go.

And my partner decided that we would tell them about the pregnancy. Not her mother, or her sisters, or our close friends, but our former neighbors. What the heck.

Telling Alice basically meant telling everyone on our block. She might not live here anymore, but she's got a phone and she knows how to use it. So we basically told the neighborhood by breaking the news to Alice.

Last night, we had dinner with our friends Angel and Carrie. They have a son who is 9 months older than Ella. Every time we've hung out with them the past couple of months, I just stare at their son, Eamon, and Ella and think to myself, "This time next year, we're going to have one of him and one of her," because that's about the age distance that Ella will have to Little Two. I have to admit, sometimes it makes me shudder.

We told them, and it was very satisfying. I finally got the reaction I've been expecting from everyone we've told thus far: a wide-eyed look of confusion. They are our friends with whom we've gone through just about everything together and at just about the same pace. Started dating around the same time, moved in around the same time, got "hitched" around the same time, started trying to get pregnant around the same time, and finally, had kids around the same time. They know where we've been, where we are, and where we're headed better than most people. Actually, probably better than anyone.

I think the plan is still to wait until New Year's day to tell my partner's mother and the rest of her family. And I think we're waiting another week still to tell my mother and our close friend Emily, who I call my French sister (Emily is in France and won't return until January 7th, so we're waiting to tell them both at the same time).

And then it will officially be out there for everyone to know. Little Two is on the way!

"Someday You Can Tell Your Therapist All About How We Made You Watch Porn in the Car on Christmas"

2005-12-26T08:42:00.000-05:00

Have I mentioned that Ella is not a fan of the car? There has been screaming in the car. I mean real screaming. Not fussing. Not crying. Screaming. The kind where she's screaming so hard that it makes her cough. It doesn't happen all of the time. We try to arrange our car trips so that she is fully fed and kind of sleepy before we start. Then she'll usually fall asleep after a few minutes of crying. But that can sometimes backfire if she's a little too tired, and then we get the aforementioned SCREAMING.

Last night, on our way home from my mother's, Ella started getting worked up. At first we thought that maybe she was hungry, so I pulled over, parked at a gas station, and nursed her. She was hungry. After nursing a bit, she calmed down and was happy. We thought, Good. Now we'll get back on the road and make it home. It's about a 40 minute drive total. We had about 30 minutes to go.

We put her in the carseat. Fussing. Then I turned the car on and she started to scream. It wasn't a crescendo, going from fussing to crying to harder crying to screaming. It was full out screaming, zero to one hundred in one second flat. I drove about a block down the road and pulled over. I had an idea.

My mother had given me a portable DVD player for Christmas. Although I tried not to let Ella watch a lot of TV in general, her love of TV had not escaped me, and I thought that watching a DVD might be enough to keep her from screaming all the way home. But the DVD player battery had not been charged. Was it possible that it would have come with a car adapter? Manufacturers are so cheap these days, I doubted it. But I stepped out of the car into the rainy night, popped open the trunk, and pulled out the box. It truly was Christmas--it came with a car power adapter!

My mother had been telling me for months that she was going to get Ella Baby Einstein DVDs for Christmas, so we had held off on buying any ourselves. I'd been tempted several times, but my mother said she was buying the complete set, so I didn't. Then Christmas came around, and were there any Baby Einstein DVDs? No. None. Nada. Zip. Why? I'm still not sure. So we were left with the DVDs my mother had gotten for us. For my partner, she had gotten Season 2 of The L Word and Season 4 of Queer as Folk. For me, it was seasons 5 and 6 of Seinfeld.

The trunk was packed full of presents. My mother really went overboard with gifts for Ella. I was lucky that the bag with the portable DVD player was right in the front. I briefly passed my hand over the other bags, looking for the Seinfeld DVDs, but I didn't find them. There were other bags in the passenger seat, so I hoped they were there. Ella was crying, and I wanted to make it better as soon as possible, so I closed the trunk and got back in the car to begin the very difficult task of removing the DVD player from its ironclad plastic housing without a pair of sissors or even a knife. But proof that adrenaline can give you herculean strength was proven as I ripped open the inch-thick plastic WITH MY BARE HANDS.

Ella kept screaming, and I passed the DVD player back to my partner and took Ella, hoping that some nursing might calm her down again even though I didn't think she was hungry. It seemed to do the trick, and she stopped screaming, although she looked at me suspiciously. She had a feeling the car torture wasn't over yet, and she was right. I handed her back to my partner, who started to put her back in her carseat, which cued Ella to start crying again.

I looked for Seinfeld in the bags in the passenger seat, but I couldn't find any quickly and the crying was escalating. Right in front of me was the bag that contained the L Word and Queer as Folk DVDs. I grabbed the first one, the L Word, ripped off its plastic (just the saran wrap variety this time), and threw a DVD into the backseat. I started driving, and as I pulled onto the street, I heard my partner say, "Someday you can tell your therapist all about how we made you watch porn in the car on Christmas."

The L Word isn't porn, per se, but let's be honest, some of the scenes get pretty damn close. But she's young. She won't remember. And if she does, we'll tell her those women were wrestling. That's it, wrestling.

Now it's time to go to Target and get some Baby Einstein DVDs.

Happy Holidays!

2005-12-24T18:41:00.000-05:00

First Prenatal Visit, Take 2

2005-12-23T20:55:00.000-05:00

Today was my partner's first official prenatal visit. We actually saw a midwife a week ago because she had this weird thing going on where she couldn't pee. But today was the first real prenatal visit. It was kind of like a blast from the past. It was just about this time last year when I was at the birth center for my first visit.

By far, the most exciting thing to happen was that we got to hear the baby's heartbeat for the first time. Of course, that's the highlight of every prenatal visit. It's that confirmation that the baby is in there doing its thing.

So the first big decision is upon us. Well, you know, besides the big decision to try to get pregnant in the first place. It's whether or not to do the quad screen, which I wrote about during my pregnancy. I ended up doing it last time around. It was important to me, although also quite stressful. My partner and I talked about it some tonight, and she thinks that she will not do it.

I remember agonizing about the decision to do the screen or not. I was worried that something could be wrong. I'm not worried this time around for some reason. Maybe it's because everything turned out okay with Ella. Maybe it's because I'm not carrying this baby--maybe I thought that I would cause there to be something wrong with the baby. Since there's no chance of that happening this time, I don't have to stress.

Well, I give my partner's opinion on this matter more weight than my own. Much like when I was pregnant, my opinion carried more weight. She thinks she doesn't want to do it, and that's fine with me.

But enough about all that. I would rather close this post by saying that I've already gotten the two best Christmas presents that I'll get this season: In no particular order, there is the fact that Ella is doing better, and the magic of hearing the rat-tat-tat of Little Two's heart...

Yippee! I'm Sick, Too!

2005-12-22T16:28:00.000-05:00

You might think my post title was sarcastic, but I actually mean it. Ever since Ella came down with this thing, I've been praying that I would get sick too so that I could beat it and then pass the antibodies onto her via my breastmilk. My partner got sick almost right away, and I looked at her jealousy and then berated myself: Stupid healthy body! I want to help my little girl anyway I can, and if that means getting sick, then I want to be sick!

So now I am. I don't seem to have it as bad as my partner did though, which is good. I just need it a little so that I can create those antibodies. I don't know if the fact that I started feeling sick yesterday is contributing to the fact that Ella seems to have turned a corner from yesterday to today. Could also be that the bad part of this thing has just run its course. There's still a rattle in her chest, and she's still congested, but it's just...better.

The intensity of her illness, and my complete focus on her, has pretty much pushed the reality of Christmas out of my mind. I keep reading these posts on these other blogs about the frantic race to get everything in order by Sunday. Time seems to be running out for everyone. I am pretty unprepared and somewhat uninterested. My baby--and her breathing--seem to be the only things on my mind these days. I guess I'm lucky that she's only 4 months old, because she won't remember this Christmas.

It will be fine, don't get me wrong. There just hasn't been any build up to it. I remember waiting and waiting, on the edge of my seat, counting down the days for Christmas. As a kid, of course, but also as an adult. I certainly want to give that to Ella in the future. This year I kind of feel like, "Oh right. Christmas. Sunday. Better make a note so I don't forget." But next year I'll make it meaningful. Right?

Bronchiolitis

2005-12-20T19:34:00.000-05:00

So it's not just a cold. Or maybe it was. Now it's bronchiolitis. The doctor thinks Ella has had two viruses: the little, non-scary cold last week, and this very scary respiratory infection that started on Saturday. Basically, she's just well enough not to be in the hospital, and that's good. I am thankful for that.

Bronchiolitis sounds like bronchitis, and it's kind of the same thing except different. Bronchitis is a respiratory infection that affects the bronchi, the main air passages to the lungs. Bronchiolitis is a respiratory infection that affects the tiny airways, called the bronchioles, that lead to the lungs.

She responded well to a medicine called albuterol sulfate which we give to her via a nebulizer. The smallest size mask is still too big for her, but we're making it work as best we can.

We give the medicine to her every four hours when she's awake. If we put ESPN on in the background, she's a pretty good sport about the ten or so minutes it takes for the nebulizer to turn the albuteral into mist. Ella particularly likes football highlights. Ah, she's my girl alright.

The nights are the worst, as she seems to have more trouble breathing then. We boil water almost constantly, and the house is like a suana almost, there's so much moisture in the air. We also run cool mist humidifiers, but I don't find them very effective, which is why we've also got the boiling water going. I can't count how many gallons of water we've boiled in the past three days. Our windows are covered in condensation.

My partner is also sick with this thing. In adults, it just manifests as a cold--nothing too serious, although of course unpleasant like any cold would be. The upside of this is that she's felt bad enough that she's stayed home the past two days. Having her around to help when we've taken Ella to the doctor (which we've done the past two days) and to let me get a nap in has made all the difference. I only sleep 2-4 hours at night.

Bronchiolitis is supposed to run its course in 10-14 days. She should be a lot better in 3-5 days. She does seem a little better today than she was yesterday, although I can still hear noise in every breath she takes.

It's hard being a mother. It's really, really hard. Harder than I could have imagined. I can't wait for her to be better.

The First Thing I Will Teach You

2005-12-17T17:37:00.000-05:00

The first thing I will teach you is to blow your nose. That's top on my list. Before walking or talking or how to hold a crayon or even give peace to the world. Those are all cute tricks, don't get me wrong. But first, I will teach you to blow your nose. And boy will that make your life easier. And mine too, so I don't have to stay up at night, listening to you try to breathe through all the snot and gunk that is inhabiting those little, tiny sinuses of yours.

So I will teach you to blow your nose, and it will be a fun game where we blow our noses at each other, maybe with bubble-blowing stuff over our nostrils. And we will be happy and well and laugh and point at the nose bubbles floating in the air. Then one day you will get another cold, and I will say, "Let's play that fun game again," and we will, and hugh chunks of stuff and rivers of snot will come out of your nose, and I'll oooh and aaah at the tissue, just like I do when I undo your diaper, so that you'll know you did the right thing and how proud I am of you.

Four Month Letter

2005-12-16T22:04:00.000-05:00

Dear Ella,

Today we went to a place to get the oil changed in our car. While I was waiting, the girl behind the counter was talking to me about the pouch I was carrying you in and about you in general. As I was paying, I said that having you made a big change in my life, and she looked a little queasy and said that she didn’t think she would ever have a baby. I guess she didn’t want her life to change. I’m so glad mine did.

You are the most important thing to ever happen to me. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything. Even when you bite me. Which you’ve done. Several times now. And your tooth, your tooth which is about three months early—three months I would have been happy to wait—is quite sharp. Some might even describe it as razor sharp, and by “some,” I mean my left nipple. You sense that it is in a weakened state, and rather than being generous, you’ve decided to attack it. Even that has not lessened my love for you.

You have a cold right now, and yesterday I managed to convince myself that your cold might be whooping cough. I was so consumed with this idea that I imagined the worst case scenario in which you died, and I didn’t know how I could go on, just the idea of it. I made an emergency appointment to take you to see the doctor later that morning. Hearing the panic in my voice, Ima—who correctly did not think anything serious was wrong with you—offered nonetheless to come home and accompany me to the doctor’s office. I said that I didn’t need her to come home for that, but I might need her to come home so that I could have a breakdown, because I was completely poised and ready to have one.

Except I couldn’t. I had you to take care of. I had practically convinced myself that you would die, and as I looked at you, you looked back at me with your sparkling, joyful eyes, so full of life. You think that would reassure me, but nothing did until the doctor told me all the reasons why you didn’t have whooping cough. It is just a cold.

When I called to tell Ima that you were fine, you just had a cold, she was not relieved because she always knew that to be the case. I said to her, “I can really get myself worked up, can’t I?” And she said, “Yes. You’ve become a complete hypochondriac ever since you became pregnant. You didn’t used to be this way.”

And she’s right. As soon as you were there inside me, I started to protect you and worry about you and anything that might harm you. I avoided any potential hazard. I even turned away raw cookie dough! That’s how much I love you. I love you enough to turn away raw cookie dough. And I think that says it all.

Love,
Mommy

She's Still Wearing the Same Pair of Socks

2005-12-12T17:39:00.000-05:00

We started out this morning with our standard winter outfit:

Onesie
Sweatshirt
Pair of Sweatpants
Pair of Socks

Now follow the carnage.

Our first sweatshirt was the gentian violet sweatshirt (see yesterday's post). It's already been stained with the purple, so it's what she wears when I first put the stuff in her mouth, and therefore it's at its worst. Later in the morning, I had to go out, so I changed her out of the extremely stained purple sweatshirt and into an only slightly stained sweatshirt.

1 Onesie
2 Sweatshirts
1 Pair of Sweatpants
1 Pair of Socks

Right before we left, she erp-ed on her new sweatshirt. I know some mothers who change their baby's outfit after every spit-up. If I did that, I'd need 20 sweatshirts instead of 5, and I'd still do laundry every other day. I decided that, although the erp was impressive, it had not soaked enough of the sweatshirt to make it dangerous for her to wear out in the cold.

After we got home, she nursed and spit up again. The previous spit up had dried. This new spit up was rather soaking, but since we weren't going out again, she could live with it, especially since the onesie was dry beneath it.

Later, she spit up again, hitting both the sweatshirt and the sweatpants. My personal spit up limit per item of clothing is somewhere around 3 or 4, depending on the amount of spit up per episode. This seemed like enough. And the sweatpants had gotten a very good dosage, and since it didn't have a layer beneath it, they had to be changed too.

1 Onesie
3 Sweatshirts
2 Pairs of Sweatpants
1 Pair of Socks

As evening approached, I decided to do the dishes that were piled into the sink. I set up Ella in her infant bathtub, which is too small for her to bathe in but is a good, snug place for her to sit and observe. As I was doing the dishes, I heard a suspicious noise and wondered if a poop had occurred. It would be odd because she's already had one poop earlier today, and she only poops once a day, maybe only once every other or third day.

After I finished the dishes, I investigated, and she had pooped. The close confines of the bathtub had forced the poop to shoot up her back. The onesie took the brunt of it, but it couldn't save the sweatshirt or the sweatpants.

2 Onesies
4 Sweatshirts
3 Pairs of Sweatpants
1 Pair of Socks

Now it's time to do laundry.

I Love You the Purplest

2005-12-11T09:45:00.000-05:00

It's funny. With a baby, perhaps especially the first baby, everything is so amazing, so noteworthy, and yet there is so little time to make notes of all the worthy things. Sometimes I think about this blog in context of what I've not been able to write about, and that missing content far outweighs the stuff that makes it here. A lot of the time, I'm surprised that a major storyline in my life with Ella has been omitted entirely in favor of some other tidbit or plotline. For instance, besides a brief mention here and there, I haven't written anything about my struggles with breastfeeding, and breastfeeding is possibly the most important thing I do with Ella each and every day.

Before I had Ella, I knew many, many women who'd had breastfeeding problems. Most of the problems seemed to center around either 1) the baby's inability/unwillingness to latch on and/or 2) the mother having a low, oftentimes inadequate, supply.

I was worried about this because breastfeeding was very important to me for three oustanding reasons. First and foremost, it's the best thing for a baby. Secondly, formula is very expensive and breastfeeding is relatively cheap and (if it works) quite easy and portable. And last but not least, breastfeeding mothers tend to lose babyweight quickly and easily, and once the weight is lost, you can consume an extra 500 calories a day. That's half a pint of ice cream EACH AND EVERY DAY without weight gain. Yippee!

As I mentioned in my birth story at one point, the only thing that went right from the beginning was breastfeeding. Ella latched on like a champ, and she started gaining weight on her third day. My milk came in on the third and fourth days like gangbusters, which presented a little problem as my breasts and nipples were so swollen that Ella couldn't latch on the fourth day, but we made it through that, and life was good. I felt so lucky. I'd escaped the breastfeeding curse.

Only, as it turns out, I haven't. My curse is just different.

A little over two weeks after Ella's birth, I started experiencing pain in my nipples and breasts. It quickly became extreme pain, so bad that tears came from my eyes when I nursed. A little research revealed that we had thrush, which is a yeast infection of the nipples and baby's mouth. It took a few different drugs, but I finally got on Diflucan and that cleared it up pretty quickly. I'd probably gotten it as a result of all the antibiotics that were administered to me during labor because I was Group B Strep positive.

I felt happy and relieved. Breastfeeding was back on track. Then a couple of weeks after that was over, I came down with mastitis, a breast infection. Mastitis consists of pain in the breast, often a clogged milk duct or more, and a high fever, chills, and other flu-like symptoms. That knocked me completely out for two days as my temperature hovered around 102 degrees and higher. Finally the antibiotics kicked in and brought down the fever. After about a week, all was well with the breast infection.

However, my previous experiences with antibiotics (during delivery) left me afraid that I would come down with thrush again. I ate lots of live-culture yogurt and took acidophilus in pill form in order to recolonize my digestive tract with good yeast. After a week or two went by without the apparent return of thrush, I started to breathe easier.

Then I got a milk blister. It was extremely painful. It also formed over the exit of one of my milk ducts, thereby causing all the milk to back up like a clogged duct. I popped the blister myself and all the milk poured out. I felt so proud of myself. I'd had another breast problem, but I'd solved it myself without medication! Good for me!

But then it wouldn't heal. It kept coming back. And then I developed a crack right above where the blister was. Extra pain. I started applying Bactroban (mupirocin) to the nipple, and it seemed to help some, but it still never healed. Sometimes it got close to being healed, but then it would just slip back to its previous state of existence, i.e. pain. Last night I realized that I'd noticed the blister before Halloween. That means that it's been close to two months that I've been dealing with this to no avail.

I started wondering if there wasn't an underlying cause to the blister and crack. Thursh can cause these ailments. Perhaps I'd had thrush ever since I'd taken the antibiotics for mastitis.

This time, I decided to turn to a homeopathic remedy for thrush that has been reputed to be extremely effective and quick. It's also reputed to be extremely messy. It's an antifungal called gentian violet, and I'd read that the purple of it gets everywhere. Now I know that people weren't kidding about that.

Yesterday was the first day I started this treatment, which is to last for 4-7 days. It needs to go both on the mother's nipples and in the baby's mouth. So I put some on my nipple and then had Ella nurse, thereby applying it to her mouth. Half of her face was covered in a purple stain. Today, I decided to do it the other way in hopes of minimizing the purple staining: put it in her mouth and then had her nurse, thereby applying it to my nipple. The result was still impressive, although (believe it not) far more modest.

My little girl. Luckily, she's too young to know what I did to her. Of course, I do have the picture to show to her down the road.

Future Ella: "You didn't take me out in public like that I hope."
Future Oz: [insert evil laugh] "Oh yes. Yes I did."

When I saw her like this for the first time, and everytime since then, the title of a children's book leaps to my mind: I Love You the Purplest.

And I do. I really do.

Fashion Model or Anthropologist?

2005-12-08T15:22:00.000-05:00

So today was photo shoot day. As some of you might know, I've dabbled in photography, mainly wedding photography, although not since I became pregnant and lost the ability to kneel down. Actually, I could always kneel down. It was the getting up that was tricky. Now that I can get down and get up, I've got this little critter who will not allow me to go on 6-12 wedding shoots. But enough about the good ole days. Back to the present. I'll begin again.

So today was photo shoot day. As some of you might know, I've dabbled in photography, mainly wedding photography. [Stop. Edit tangent. Go on.] I've done a couple of shoots of adults, but never of children, unless you count Ella, whom I have taken hundreds of pictures of. I'd been thinking that portraits of babies and children would be a nice sideline to the wedding photography. You know, when the critter(s) will allow that. So I was curious to see how the whole thing worked. And I was also a bit nervous because my partner and I were to be in some of these photos, and I've never actually sat for a professional before.

Ella's current awake/sleep cycle basically consists of being awake for about 1.5 to 2 hours and then asleep for anywhere from 20 minutes to 3 hours. How much sleeping she will do is a mystery that only the sleep fairies know the answer to, and they won't tell me ahead of time. Trust me. I'VE ASKED.

Ella woke up at 7 am this morning and then predictably fell back asleep around 8:45am. I thought, Wouldn't it be great if she would sleep until 10? Or maybe even through the car ride and right up to the time of our shoot at 10:30? Wouldn't that be great? WOULDN'T IT? The sleep fairies took note of my request and prompty woke Ella up at 9:20am. Speed the clock forward, and yes, she was destined to be tired 15 minutes after arriving at the studio.

I looked at my partner and said, "Maybe this will be one of those times she's awake for 2 hours."

"Right," my partner said optimistically. Then crazily she added, "And be happy that last half hour."

I looked at her through narrowed eyes. "If that happens, pigs will be flying out of my ass, and I'm sure the photographer will take pictures of that rather than a smiling, happy Ella who'd been awake for 1.5+ hours, simply because the photographer will not realize that Ella's happy awakeness is actually far more unlikely than the pigs which just flew from my ass."

"Good point."

But what could we do? No matter how hard we try, Ella will not bend to our will, sleep when we wish, be awake when convenient, nor adopt the mood of our choosing. Perhaps the next kid will, right?

We arrived at the studio with Ella's cheeks rosey, not from the brisk air outside but from the crying she did in the car because THE CAR IS THE DEVIL. Nonetheless, we forged ahead.

I must pause here and say that the photographer, Susan Beard, was fabulous. Actually, this isn't a pause but rather the beginning of the rest of this post. Susan was fabulous. Let me tell you how hard she, and her assistant Allison, tried to make Ella into the smiling, happy baby we will someday remember exclusively, and with the photographic proof of said baby, we will tell Ella that she never cried LIKE THAT. THAT of course being our grandchild(ren).

Susan, for her part, made strange, high pitched, vibrating noises which I'm sure ellicted giggles and smiles of glee from every other baby that ever walked/crawled/was carried into the studio. At the same time, her assistant called out Ella's name, clapped her hands and--I couldn't make this up--waved pom-poms around like a cheerleader.

This was funny stuff. I know I was cracking up. The best part was they kept it up for about an hour.

Ella did begrudgingly give up a few smiles, mostly in the beginning. As the shoot wore on, the expression on her face changed from being amused to wondering what kind of strange land she had wandered into. I almost expected her to get out a little notebook--perhaps pulled from one of the POCKETS IN HER PANTS (don't get me started on the pointlessness of pockets in infant sized pants)--and maybe a pen, and start taking notes.

"In this tribe," anthropologist Ella would write, "it is apparently customary to live in a darken room with randomly flashing bursts of light. Also, the prevailing social norm is to dart back and forth, talk in a falsetto, and wave objects around--usually glittery objects."

Ella took all this behavior in with a quiet, observational expression on her face, the kind found on those who have spent a lifetime in academia pursuing one meaningless degree after another. You know, confused about what they are doing, why they are doing it, and how it is that they ended up doing it.

I hope the photographer got some good shots. Well, I'm sure she did. And even if we only end up with a couple of good ones, that's all that matters.

My Picture of Family

2005-12-07T13:27:00.000-05:00

As of yesterday, my partner is 10 weeks pregnant. That's significant for at least two reasons. For one, that means that 1/4 of her pregnancy is over: only 3/4 to go! The other reason is that baby #2 has officially crossed the line from embryo to fetus. Fetus means "little one."

Little One is actually what we call Ella most of the time. We had a hard time getting used to her name, especially me. For my partner, the difficulty was in conceiving of the baby as a real person who needed a real person name. For me, it was mostly about my Grandma and having a hard time using her name for someone else--even though naming Ella after her was very important to me.

I am an only child, and I have to admit that there's something a little unsettling, a little confusing, about the impending arrival of baby #2. It's outside of my familiarity (a fancy word for what you know, i.e. your family). How does a family unit work with two children? It's hard enough to figure out how one works with two parents, something else I didn't experience growing up.

Tomorrow, we are getting our picture taken by a professional. It was important to me to capture what we have right now. The two of us and one child. I can understand that. I can feel it. I am in touch with it emotionally. But even still, even though the picture will show just the three of us, baby #2 will be there, inside my partner's stomach, a little one, just like the Little One sitting on our laps and in our arms.

I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea from this post. I always wanted to have at least two children. As I said, I grew up an only child, and despite what this post might lead you to believe, I don't think it's a good way to go. I would have loved to have a sibling (I think), and my intention has always been to have multiple children.

But now as it's happening, I admit that I wax nostalgic for something I never even wanted for myself. Nonetheless, I feel like maybe Ella is losing something. I guess she's losing my childhood. A wry smile crosses my face as I write that because it's just crazy. The last thing I would wish on her is my childhood.

So welcome, Little Two. In some ways, you are the death note of my remembrances of childhood...and I suppose my remembrances about motherhood too. But thank God for that. That has been a long time coming, even though now that it's here, the letting go is bittersweet.

After tomorrow, I will have a picture, not only in my mind but also in a photo album somewhere. A picture of the short time I had to say goodbye to my past and hello to my future.

Ack! Teeth!

2005-12-05T16:35:00.000-05:00

Someone has been rather cranky and drooly lately. I don't want to name names, but this person's first name starts with E-L-L-A. She's been drooling for a while now. At least a couple of weeks. But her good mood didn't vanish until a few days ago. I thought it was because this past weekend involved some long car trips--Ella is not a fan of the car unless the conditions are JUST RIGHT--and being away from home, and just being generally unsettled. Then yesterday, my partner put her finger in Ella's mouth, and Ella chomped down on it. As my partner felt around, she noticed a hard bump in Ella's lower jaw, right in the front. Then last night, I felt it too. Definitely a hard bump. Could it be a tooth coming in? Undoubtably, but how long would it take? And could its presense be creating all this unhappiness?

YES, GODDAMMIT, YES.

I had a hard time believing that a tooth could be causing problems this early. Ella isn't even four months old yet. The baby books say that kids don't usually start getting teeth until 6-7 months. But after today, I believe. It's been misearble.

Ella refuses to sleep for any more than 45 minutes at a time, and that's when I'm lucky. Just last week, she took naps that lasted 1.5 to 2 hours. When she is awake, she's only happy for about 20 minutes. She used to stay awake for about 2 hours at a time, but now she crashes shortly after an hour. Probably because of the lack of good napping. Then there's also the nursing. And nursing. And nursing. Did I mention the nursing? She's been nursing. A lot.

Finally, this afternoon, I put my finger in her mouth again and felt the hard bump. It felt very hard. I tried to get a good look at it, but she was not interested in letting me just look in her mouth. Finally I figured out how to trick her into letting me look at her gums. I rubbed my finger back and forth over the hard bump, which she seemed to like. While my finger was to the side of the bump, I could look at the bump itself, and the pressure of my finger kept her jaw open and the lower lip pressed down. I saw that there's white in that bump. It's a tooth, and it's on its way.

Let me just interject here: I AM AFRAID FOR MY NIPPLES.

I wonder how long this will last for. I went to Target a week ago when the drool machine kicked into action and bought her five sweatshirts so that I could change her top two to three times a day as they get soaked with drool. I tried using a bib, but dear Ella still doesn't have much of a neck, and with thicker winter clothes on and a bib, I almost couldn't see her face. I hope that when the tooth comes through, the drooling might slow down some. It's almost gotten to the point where my day isn't over until I've done a load of laundry.

I can't wait for this tooth to come in and for this to be over. Yes, I know there's about 20 teeth to come in, but hopefully we'll get some time off in between so that my happy little Ella can return to me.

Milestones

2005-11-30T08:45:00.000-05:00

For those who don't have kids, babies go through developmental steps that are called milestones. For instance, some obvious milestones are crawling, walking, and talking. But there are a whole bunch of others, and each month, a baby masters a new skill, a building block for the future. The first milestones mostly have to do with vision: the ability to look at an object for X amount of time, the ability to follow an object for 90 degrees, the ability to follow an object for 180 degrees, etc. Smiling and laughing are also milestones.

You read about milestones, and of course as a parent, you spend a lot of time watching your baby to see if she will do the next one on the list. Take smiling for example. Naturally, parents love this milestone, because nothing is better than seeing your baby smile at you. Nothing. But it's hard to know when the baby has really reached this milestone, because babies make the smiling face almost right from birth. But it isn't in response to anything, just practice. Watching a sleeping newborn is like seeing an actor warming up--one expression after another fly across their faces in random order.

So you sit there with your baby, picking your nose, let's say. And then the baby smiles. Mid-pick, you stop. Is my nose-picking funny? That could be funny. I could see that. My baby finds it funny that I pick my nose! For the rest of the day, your in up your nose to your elbow, trying to get that smile again, but no dice. So was the baby smiling because your nose-picking was funny? Or was it just one of those emotions that crossed her face for no reason?

Eventually, one day, you see a smile and you know for sure that it's genuine, not happenstance. Ah rejoice!

And that's how it goes. Seems straight forward when you read the baby books. She'll smile! And you put a check mark next to that milestone. But it's all murky and grey, and you just aren't sure until one day you decide that this smile is definite. Maybe she's been smiling at you "for real" for a week or two, but you discount those smiles and arbitrarily assign the first official smile to September 21, 2005.

The next milestone on Ella's horizon is intentional grabbing. Babies are born with a grabbing reflex. You put something in their hand, like your finger, and they grab onto it. Not because they think, "I'd like to hold that finger," but because when something touches their palm, their fingers close. A few months later, their motor skills are sophisticated enough that they can look at something and think, "I'd like to hold that," and then actually do it.

Ella has been grabbing onto my fingers and pulling at my shirt when she's nursing for quite some time now, a precursor of "real" grabbing. The last few days, she's been playing a lot with a "taggie" blanket that her aunt gave her, which looks smiliar to this one:

She holds onto it. She stares intently at the tags. She pulls it towards her and pushes it away. But is she doing all of that on purpose (besides the staring, of course)? Or are her arms just moving randomly? Is she just holding onto it because it's there?

I watch her do these things, and I know that intentional grabbing is right around the corner. Or maybe it's already here. I guess that's a call that I'll make one of these days. One of her grabs will end up being the one that counts. And somehow, being her mother gives me the right to decide which one it is.

Hello, I Had Your Baby, Won't You Tell Me Your Name?

2005-11-28T13:02:00.000-05:00

As some of you might recall, the sperm bank we chose to use releases the name of the donor when the baby turns 3 months old. Yes, Ella hit the three month mark on November 16th. We got the donor's name on the 18th. Let's call him Peter. The 18th was a Friday, and my partner and I took the weekend to talk about what we wanted to write to him. We got a physical address, phone number, and email address. We decided to email him, so we sent him an email on Monday, November 21. Basically, I wrote that we had Ella and another one on the way and what we wanted from a relationship with him. We also included a link to some pictures of Ella that I had online.

It took him a few days to write back. On Thanksgiving morning, I opened up my email to find a response from him. He started out very wisely by saying that Ella is gorgeous. Then he went on to write a bit about his life. It sounds like he's led quite an interesting life. Made a bunch of money in real estate and then took trips to places like the Himalayas and some mountain in Brazil. And he also rode a bicycle across our fair country. In my periods of unemployment, I mostly watched TV. Peter, apparently, trains for 3000 mile bike rides. To each his own.

When I stopped to think about it, it was quite weird to be making his acquaintance. You know, he's the father of my children, and I didn't even know his name two weeks ago. Now I get to learn about him. A little backwards. Thankfully, he seems to be an interesting guy.

He seems to be an earthy-crunchy type, which I sometimes claim to be but when it comes down to it, I prefer indoor plumbing. I mention this because he does not have an internet connection at home nor does he have a digital camera. But he can get online at work, and he says a co-worker has a digital camera, so we hope he'll email us a picture of himself sometime in the near future. As for his looks, he wrote: "Two separate people have noted a slight resemblance to Clint Eastwood when I smile, wearing contacts, in certain lighting conditions, after they get to know me a few years."

I like him already.

Shrimp Baby

2005-11-22T11:20:00.000-05:00

Yesterday we had our final ultrasound with the fertility doctor. Everything looked great, so now we're off to regular prenatal care at the birth center. The ultrasound was of baby #2 at 7 weeks, 6 days. It looked like those shrimp type things they show in the pregnancy books. It was kind of strange to see on the screen the same things that we see in the books. I was also surprised because at my ultrasound at 7 weeks, 4 days, Ella did not look so shrimp-like. She was more of a long oval. On the other hand, we got to see the beginnings of her spinal column, which we didn't see with baby #2. It's probably all just a matter of angles.

Anyway, it was very cool to see the newest one yet again, especially since we won't be seeing him or her again for another 12 weeks or so at the 20 week ultrasound. And without further ado, here's the pic we got from this ultrasound:

It's not the greatest view. We saw better while we were there. But it's the one the tech printed out for us. Just in case you like to visualize things, the baby's head is at the top.

Three Month Letter

2005-11-16T06:46:00.000-05:00

Dear Ella,

You are three months old today. I think back to what I wrote about you last month, and it really brings it home to me how much more grown up you are now. Those hands that only haphazardly fluttered by your mouth are now under your control. You cram your hand in your mouth at will now. The individual fingers, well, that’s another story.

A new development is drooling. This is a fun, fun game for you. You collect saliva in your mouth and then use your tongue to push it right out. What fun! You’ve noticed my obsession with wiping the drool off you chin whenever I can, and generally you are very tolerant of it. Of course, you drool much more and more often than I can keep up with. Especially when you combine your drooling talent with your hand control. Nothing quite like a hand in your mouth to slime with drool and then getting to wipe that hand all over your face. Sometimes when the light hits you right, the glare from the coating of drool on your face is almost blinding.

Drooling is certainly a fun game, but the most amazing thing you’ve done this month—in my opinion—is laugh. It’s happened twice now, and it is the most incredible sound. You should also know that it’s a weird sound. When you first did it on November 11, I was playing with you, blowing zerberts on your tummy and on your cheeks. You had that wide open smile of yours that makes your eyes curve into beautiful upside down crescents. And then this noise came out of you. Obviously, mere letters cannot do it justice, but it was something like this: “Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh ha ha haaaaa.” I was so excited by your laugh that I laughed back at you. For one, we were having fun. But also, that was such a strange sounding laugh that I couldn’t help but laugh at it. I never knew that laughing was a socially constructed sound. Now I do. But I’m so happy that I got to hear this raw, unmodified expression of joy from you. I plan on remembering that sound for the rest of my life.

You’re almost a pro at holding your head up now, although you still have a strong desire to look to the left. When we went out to Minnesota this past month to visit Ima’s side of the family, I had to point your body across the room so that you would, in fact, be looking directly at the person sitting to your left. But this past week or so, you’ve been experimenting with looking to the right. You have a love of television, and I use that against you. I start out with the television on your left, and you instantly lock your eyes on it. Then, in my swivel rocking chair, I start moving to the left, which forces you to move your head to the right to keep the TV in your sights. Once your head is pointing to the right, I stop. Yes, I use the television against you, but someday you’ll thank me. After all, there’s a whole world out there to the right.

You are a wonderful baby, and I am so enjoying this time we have together. As we found out this month for sure, you have a little brother or sister on the way. She or he will be right there at your first birthday party, which is quite unusual. It’s also quite unusual that you were right there when your sibling was conceived, but we’ll discuss that when you’re older.

I love you, little one, and your amazing blue eyes. I can’t wait to see what you’ll do next.

Love,
Mom

I'm Talking to the Mom in the Mirror

2005-11-15T15:18:00.000-05:00

I haven't written much about our trip to Minnesota to visit my partner's family and introduce Ella to a bunch of folks. Basically, a good time was had by all, and the only reason the event hasn't gotten much ink is that there were other important things to write about, like Ella's adoption and my partner's pregnancy. The trip got squeezed out. Maybe now is the time to address it.

We got to see my partner's twin sister, her husband, and their eight month old daugther. Okay, at eight months, their daughter weighs less than Ella. You might be asking, Is Ella huge? Is her cousin tiny? The answer to both of your questions is a resounding, Yes! Ella is off the charts one way, and her cousin is off the charts the other. It was very strange to see these two babies together. Here was Ella, basically a sedintary baby, being that she lacks the ability to move her body from one spot to the next, and her overall control of her limbs and head was spotty in general. Then there's her cousin, who was like a pogo stick, boucing everywhere, grabbing things, doing it all. She's not quite crawling, but that's just around the corner, and I feel sorry for her parents.

We also got to see various aunts and uncles, as well as my partner's grandparents. Thank God for my boobies. As soon as Ella got fussy, I plugged her mouth with a nipple. Very convenient, and the sucking instinct pulled through without fail. This was also wonderful for the plane and train rides involved with getting to Minnesota and back. The car was a bit trickier. If you've ever had the experience of nursing a baby in a carseat, you can sympathize with my bruised ribs. But it was worth it. Anything is worth it to stop her from crying. I find myself often asking God why I didn't get one of those babies who automatically falls asleep in the car.

The thing I take away from the trip, personally, is an experience I had while we were visiting with one of my partner's aunts and a cousin. Ella was a bit fussy, and my boobies hadn't quieted her for once. So I was trying to entertain her in the small apartment (this aunt and uncle live in a really cool co-op).

Ella had just become interested in looking in mirrors, and there happened to be a long mirror along one of the kitchen walls at the countertop level. So I stood her up on the countertop (she'd also just started liking supported standing), and as we faced the mirror together, I looked at Ella's reflection. As her eyes met her own eyes, I said, "That's Ella." When her eyes moved up to meet the image of my face in the mirror, I said, "That's Mommy." I did this again and again since she seemed fascinated by these mirror people. Then once, as I was saying, "That's Mommy," I looked away from Ella's reflection and at my own reflection. I was momentarily stunned. That's Mommy? Surely you jest.

I still find myself thinking about that moment, looking myself in the eye while I unwittingly said, "That's Mommy." I am Mommy, and it seems very strange. I am just the person who gets to spend all day with this wonderful baby, holding her, nursing her, loving her. Yes, I know I am that person, and I can look right in the mirror and say it. But Mommy? Too strange. Entirely too strange.

Amen, Sister

2005-11-14T11:02:00.000-05:00

My mother then told me that I never acted that way, that I never threw tantrums. I don’t know if she was saying that I was a good kid then or just a really bad mother now.

--from this post on dooce.

I read that and laughed out loud, because I can't tell you how many times my mother has said, "You never cried like that!" I never cried? Really? Come on! "No, you didn't. You never cried. You were a happy baby." Was I from another planet, perhaps? Or maybe just another species? It is simply not possible that I never cried.

I find it especially hard to believe that I never cried when I think back to what a cry baby I was in elementary school. I'm not going to point any fingers, but I had reasons to feel insecure and unloved and we'll leave it at that. No matter, it's all different now that she's a Grandma. My mother loves Ella, and dotes on her, and practically rips her out of our arms whenever she gets the chance. Frankly, I see her with Ella, and I predict that Ella and I will have a conversation down the road where I steal lines from Bill Cosby: "You don't understand," I'll tell Ella, "she wasn't like this when I was a kid. You're looking at an old person now who is trying to get into heaven."

I Can See Your Heartbeat

2005-11-10T16:26:00.000-05:00

Today we went in for the next ultrasound, and we saw the new baby's heartbeat! We weren't expecting to be able to see it. It's still early (6 weeks, 2 days) to be able to see a heartbeat. We just assumed we'd see it next week, and that this week we'd just see a bigger, perhaps more oval, dot. But no, there was a heartbeat. It was kind of weird. There was the bigger dot and then this pulsing dot sort of beside the dot. Kind of like it was outside of the body or something. I asked the ultrasound tech about it, and she said that at this point, the baby is basically all heart, so that's why it looked that way. At the next ultrasound, it should be inside the body, like it was when we saw Ella's heartbeat at 7 weeks, 4 days. Now that I think about it, the still dot beside the beating dot might have just been the yolk sac and not the baby at all.

Anyway! It's great that things are going so well. Once you can see a heartbeat, the chances of miscarriage drop to 5%. We could go in next week for another ultrasound or just wait two weeks. If all goes well with the ultrasound in two weeks, my partner will "graduate," and she'll head off to standard prenatal care. Since these appointments make my partner late to work, we decided to skip the ultrasound next week and just go to the last one in two weeks' time. We both feel really confident about this pregnancy. For me, personally, I wonder if I feel confident because it's not me carrying the baby or because now that I've done it successfully, I'm not as anxious. Who knows? But it's nice not to be worried the way I was when I was in the first trimester with Ella.

Okay, newest one, say cheese!

Swing: the Baby Drug

2005-11-09T12:29:00.000-05:00

The swing puts my daughter into a coma from which she cannot wake up. She's been in the swing for about two hours right now--during which time I had the most fabulous nap and then ate lunch--and now I know she wants to wake up. She's even nursing in her sleep. But she can't escape the soothing rhythms of the swing. When I'm ready to "allow" her to wake up, I turn the swing off, and within minutes of coming to a standstill, she stretchs, her eyes open, and I have an awake baby. She looks a little zoned out like, "What happened? Where am I? Why haven't I been making Mommy constantly entertain me for the past two hours?" Sometimes I feel like I am a bad mother for using the swing like this. Othertimes I get down on my hands and knees and kiss it.

Another One Bites the Dust

2005-11-08T09:20:00.000-05:00

Now we're down to two dogs, Chester and Will (my shih-tzu). I ended up deciding to give away my miniature dachshund, Chloe.

I've had Chloe for six years. This one was a hard decision. Harder than my choice to find a new home for Blue.

Chloe hasn't changed. And neither have I. That's the problem. That dog knows how to find my last nerve and then sit on it, wagging her tail. She's like that girl in high school who has a heart of gold but is lacking some social skills. She's very, very annoying, but you keep forgiving her because she doesn't know any better--and she is truly a sweet girl. That was Chloe to a T. There wasn't anything wrong with her, but she just...well, PISSED ME OFF. And I don't like the way I responded to her when I was pissed off. My partner doesn't like it either.

So when I went to pick up Chester from his dog-sitter last week, I asked Harold (the dog-sitter) if his wife was still looking for a little dog. When my partner and I had our commitment ceremony three years ago, Harold and his wife (whose name I can't remember to save my life) watched Chloe and Will and one of my mother's dogs (this was pre-Chester and Blue). His wife loved Chloe. Just thought she was a great, great dog. And she still thinks that. When Harold mentioned to her that I was looking for a home for Chloe, she couldn't wait to get her hands on her. That makes me feel good.

This decision is harder because I've had Chloe for so long, and I do love her. But it's also easier, too, because I know the people she's gone to, and they are really great people, and not just great people, but great dog people. Chloe will be fine there. I worry about Will, though. The whole reason we got Chloe was to be a friend for Will. And she was his best friend. Whereas Chloe prefers people (and preferrably a person's lap) to anything except meaty treats, Will prefers Chloe to anything--even including meaty treats. But I have to put my baby before my shih-tzu, so bye-bye to his friend.

We can visit Chloe whenever we want. We'll probably bring Will there for a visit soon. All last night and today, he keeps coming up to me as if to ask, "Where is she? Where's my favorite toy?" I don't have the heart to say the words to him, "She's gone." I just pet him and pretend like I don't know what he wants.

I took this picture of Chloe and Ella, and I always imagined that one day when Ella was old enough to understand, I would show this picture to her and say, "Look, you were just as little as Chloe once. Now look how big you are!" And of course Chloe would be right there so that Ella could see how much she'd grown. I guess we won't have that moment now.

My Baby Girl Looks Good in Blue

2005-11-06T20:48:00.000-05:00

It's quite the conundrum. I noticed it for the first time on adoption day, when we put her in a dress--a denim dress. We put it on, and her blue eyes just looked so intense. I was actually taken aback by how much blue suited her. But besides having her in blue dresses, putting a girl in blue is just begging for mistaken gender and then outright criticism. And that's what happened today.

My mom got her a blue striped shirt from the Gap and some blue pants. We went ahead and dressed Ella in the outfit. Again, her eyes were brilliant. We ended up going out to eat, and as we were sitting in the restaurant, waiting to order, I said something to Ella about how she was masquerading as a boy, and my mother and my partner said no, she was just wearing blue. I said, "Yes, but everyone here thinks she is a boy because she's wearing blue."

They said no, she had a very feminine face. The words had just left their mouths. They were practically hanging in the air when the waitress arrived. Seeing the baby, she exclaimed and asked, "How old?"

I said, clearly, "SHE'S two and a half months."

The waitress looked confused and then said, "She? But you've got her in blue!"

I looked at my mother and partner and said, "See? I told you so." It was worth it just to be able to say I told you so.

Adoption Day

2005-11-03T10:32:00.000-05:00

As I mentioned before, the plan was for my partner to adopt Ella. Actually, by some strange quirk of the law, for one of us to adopt her, we both have to. Yes, last Friday, October 29, 2005, I adopted my own baby. I found filling out the forms, trying to get permission to ADOPT MY OWN BABY to be quite amusing. I just kept imagining what would happen if they turned me down. I supposed I would say something like, "Oh well, I guess I'll just keep her as my natural born child then. SHUCKS." Since we live in Philadelphia County, we are not required to have a home study. But friends of mine who live in Montgomery County were required a home study. I find it baffling. I mean, if the social worker comes out and doesn't think their nice house in the suburbs is good enough, what could happen? The baby is going to live there anyway. But perhaps it's time to move on from these musings. None of the above happened anyway.

When I would mention that Friday was adoption day, people did something very strange--they wished us "good luck." I'm not sure if they didn't know what else to say or if they didn't understand that this was a formality. The whole court process took about five minutes and the result was a forgone conclusion. We went into a room that was like a corporate conference room. The judge and court reporter were just sitting at a rectangular table. No impressive wooden furniture or anything. Then she asked each of us the following questions:

Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God?
What is your date of birth?
Where were you born?
Where have you lived for the past five years?
(And I think, I'm not sure) Have you ever been arrested?

In addition, we were also asked:

Is the child's name Ella Bean?
Will the child's name be Ella Bean?
What was the date of the child's birth?
Where was the child born?

And that was it. The end. I think it might have even concluded with something very official sounding from the judge like, "Okay." And then they gave Ella a stuffed dog, a beagle, I believe. We had brought a camera so that we could have our picture taken with the judge, which we did (my partner wanted that). And then we left. Quite a breath-taking five minutes, I'm sure you can tell.

Snide remarks aside, it is nice. Really, it's the first legal recognition of our family unit. If I am Ella's legal parent and my partner is Ella's legal parent, then we are a legal family unit, unified by our baby. She's pretty amazing that she can make that happen for us considering the current political climate. As a nod to the conservatives running the country, we put Ella in a dress, in public, for the first time.

Here's Looking at You, Kid (Take 2)

2005-11-02T20:45:00.000-05:00

We got back from out trip last night (I'll write more about that another time) and showed up at the doctor's office early this morning. We were just supposed to be there for bloodwork--to confirm the pregnancy and make sure that my partner's progesterone level was high enough. I had wondered if we would also get an ultrasound, because I got one at this time with my pregnancy. The difference being that I came in for the requisite bloodwork the week before, which we were unable to do this time because of the adoption and our trip. Anyway, I wondered if they'd just go ahead and give us an ultrasound, so I was pleasantly surprised when we were escorted into the ultrasound room. Later we learned that the nurse made a mistake--she'd thought we were just there for a standard ultrasound to measure a follicle, not to confirm pregnancy. Anywho, we went in and got our first look at the next baby! Now you can see the dot that will become our second child:

Yep, that's our kid, that little black dot in the middle of the gray fuzziness. And the ultrasound tech saw the yoke sack, which means that we're past the blighted ovum state. In other words, things are looking great so far. We go back for another ultrasound next week. I didn't have a six week ultrasound with my pregnancy because that fell over Christmastime, and the doctor was on vacation. It will probably be too early to see the heartbeat next week. I'll probably just be presenting you all with a larger dot.

It was very exciting to get this ultrasound. Our first look at the new baby. It does make it more real. My partner definitely felt that way. Ella was in the room with us. I told her that it was very unusual to get to see your new brother or sister as just a dot. She didn't seem impressed.

So, Seriously, She's Pregnant

2005-10-27T08:54:00.000-04:00

Now her period is officially late, and a home pregnant test this morning came up with a line that is suitably dark enough to reassure my partner. We had assumed that we would go in tomorrow morning for a blood test, but we can't get a good time for it. Tomorrow is pretty booked up already. In the morning we have a court date for Ella's adoption by my partner! It feels very special to be legally solidifying our family unit at the same time that we are expecting to add to our family. Then tomorrow afternoon, I have to take Chester to the place he stays when we go out of town. Then early tomorrow evening, my partner's cousin and her boyfriend are arriving from Chicago and we're all going to a party that night. Saturday, we're off to Minnesota to introduce Ella to my partner's family. We'll be back Tuesday afternoon. So she won't be doing the blood test until Wednesday morning.

So much is going on right now. Honestly, I'm still dazed and confused about this pregnancy. I feel a bit like Mariah Carey when she was interviewed about her second album and she said that it felt like a continuation of her first because she finished the first album and went directly to working on the second album without a break. (Don't judge me for liking Mariah back then. Those albums were pure pop, baby. PURE POP.) And I feel exactly the same way. Didn't we just end the pregnancy thing? And now we're right back on that pony? And it also feels like Ella basically never has been nor ever will be an only child. The next one is already there, percolating.

A big difference between this pregnancy and the first one is my view of the future. Don't get me wrong. I am so excited about this, and I can't wait to meet this baby and fall in love with him or her. But at the same time, I look forward to that day very differently than I did to the day that Ella would be born. Honestly, I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I was pregnant. I don't know if any first time parent does, especially if they are like me and had practically no experience with children beforehand. So my thoughts about her arrival were pure excitement. The reality of taking care of a baby is that she basically consumes all of the hours of the day. When she cries, I jump to her aid. I focus all my attention on her, and I follow her lead completely. How will I be able to give the same kind of devotion to our second child? I'll have a 10 month old to chase around the house and feed and love and play with. How will it be possible for me to jump to our second child's every cry--or to Ella's every need--while caring for both? I can't help but think, and fear, that both of the children will be somehow slighted by the attention given to the other.

At the same time, I know that can't be possible. Most people have more than one child, and they figure out how to love all of their children completely, no matter how many children there are. I've read the online posts of many women who are expecting their second child express the same concerns that I just have, and the mothers with more than one always write back and say something along the lines of, "Love is not finite. The more children you have, the more love you will have for your children." I hope that's true. Well, I know that will be true. How I will manage the practicalities of providing the physical displays of love that children need is still pretty foggy in my brain, however.

Holy Crap, She's Pregnant!

2005-10-25T07:11:00.000-04:00

So we didn't wait all the way until this morning for her to take the test. She took one last night. She went upstairs to take the test, and then she came back and said, "Well, I don't think I'm pregnant." "No line?" I asked. She shook her head. I said, "We'll see. It's still early." Her period is not due until Wednesday.

I knew that she could still be pregnant, but I doubted it, so I felt a little disappointed, and so did she. We both focused on Ella, and although we were disappointed, I don't think we were devastated. I asked her how she was feeling, and she said that she was a bit upset because she didn't "pass the test." I thought that was quite funny, but then again, she did only get one question wrong on the SATs, and that one question still bothers her.

Five minutes later, we were both upstairs and she was changing Ella's diaper while I was doing something or the other, and I went into the bathroom to wash my hands. I came out, and she said, "Did you look at the stick?" She hadn't waited the full 3 minutes you're supposed to wait before reading the test when she'd looked the first time. I said, "Oh, I forgot." I can't remember my own birthday now that Ella's here (I mean that literally), so it's not surprising to me that the test had already slipped my mind. I went back to the bathroom and picked the test up from the edge of the tub where she'd left it....and there were two lines! The reference line was dark, of course, and the second, pregnant line, was quite faint, but it was there.

I went back into the nursery and said, "I see a line." She came over and looked at the test stick still in my hand, looked at the faint line, and then asked, "Does that count?" I said, "Yes, it counts! Was it there before?" She said, "Well, yeah, but I thought that was just coming up to show you where the line would be if you were pregnant or something." I said, "Honey, there is no 'line to show you where the line would be if you're pregnant.' That line is the pregnant line, and ANY line means that you are pregnant!"

We both looked at each other. She was holding Ella by this time, the diaper already changed, and we hugged around the baby awkwardly. Frankly, we were both stunned. We had this look like I imagine a straight woman would have. You know, she's got a two month old baby and then whoops! She's pregnant again already! The look in our eyes was almost like, "How did this happen? Didn't we use protection?" Of course, we didn't, and we know exactly how this happened, but all the same, we weren't prepared. It just seemed like something we did to save ourselves a $300 storage fee, and now we're getting another baby out of it? WHAT? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? And perhaps more importantly, WHAT HAVE WE DONE?

Nonetheless, we have done it, and now we have to see if it sticks. As I wrote here and here when I tested before the arrival of my period, this pregnancy is still very fragile. She could get her period and therefore have experienced a "chemical pregnancy." (Read links for more details.) Her period is expected tomorrow, if it shows up. On Thursday morning, if it's still not here, she'll take the last test left in the box and then we'll call the doctor to go in for the official blood test.

Holy crap. She's pregnant. I'm going to be a mother! Again! We hope.

Test Tomorrow

2005-10-24T09:07:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow morning my partner will take a home pregnancy test before going off on a business trip. I'm feeling rather relaxed about it. I was getting myself kind of worked up last week, but now I feel pretty calm. I'm inclined to think that she is not pregnant. She had been tired and feeling nauseous early last week, as I mentioned before, and my hopes really shot up. But I think she just might have had a bit of a bug. Several people I know felt a little off early last week. She's felt better since then, although she's still been tired, but there's no shocker there. Babies tend to make adults tired. Something about not being able to sleep anymore.

But anyway, on my agenda for the day is a trip to the drug store to buy a home pregnancy test. We'll know one way or the other tomorrow morning.

Seven and a Half Hours

2005-10-23T11:30:00.000-04:00

That's how long Ella slept last night. It was amazing. And very exciting. But it was also bittersweet for me. This was really the first glimpse of adulthood from her. My little baby is growing up....so fast.

I've Got Two in Diapers

2005-10-21T08:55:00.000-04:00

Foxymama asked me how the dogs are getting along with the baby, and it is something I should address because--funny title of this post aside--it goes to the question of what changes when a baby enters your life and the choices that you end up making.

When Ella was born, I had four dogs: two little ones and two big ones. I haven't written about the little ones much because they are little and basically sane. The big ones, on the other hand, are big and missing a card or two in the deck. One of the big dogs, Blue, I've written about a couple times. Chester has gotten a lot more ink.

Blue was always a cause of concern for me when I thought about bringing a baby into the house. Blue has bitten me, my partner, and my mother. Not hard bites. He never drew blood. And I understood that he bit out of fear and uncertainty rather than true agression. So I was willing to work with him, which I did, and to his credit, he hadn't bitten anyone in a year (we've only had him for two years). But he is still anxious. Very, very anxious. And very high maintenance.

When we brought Ella home, all of our dogs were elsewhere, being taken care of by my mother and my friend Beth Marie. We had a plan to get them back on a staggered schedule. We got Chester back first, three days after we got home. He was fine with the baby, which we expected because the family that had him for the first 8 years of his life had kids. Chester pretty much chilled out and took it easy, even with the chaos of a new baby and inexperienced parents trying to figure things out.

Three days later, we got Blue back. Blue did not chill out. Instead, he got very worked up. When Ella cried, he got concerned and tried to push his way towards her. When we paid attention to her, he tried to get in the middle so that he would get the attention. When we walked Ella, he followed at our heels, so close that he bumped into us. And Chester, who had been content to lie down and relax, fed off of Blue's anxiety and took to pacing with Blue and mimicing other of his behaviors. My stress level went up. Way up. Taking care of Ella was all I could manage. I did not have the emotional or physical resources to meet her needs and assure Blue that all was okay. Within a couple of weeks, we made a decision: it was time for Blue to find a new home.

We found a family in New Jersey who wanted him, and after meeting them a couple of times, we drove Blue across the Delaware River to his new family. They like him, a lot. They say he's doing fine. But I still worry about him. I wish that I had a friend who was willing to take him, because then I would really know what kind of people he was living with. Although this family in New Jersey seems nice, they could be anyone or anything. I barely know three things about them. I have been keeping in contact and getting reports on how Blue is doing--at least as much as I can. Talking to my friend Beth Marie yesterday, who asked about him, I realized I haven't gotten a report on Blue in two weeks. Time just keeps going by.

That brought our dog total down to three, which was much more manageable. And then Chester started to display some incontinence issues. He's always had some, but the accidents had been limited to a very specific time: right after he had played fetch and was very tired. Part of the reason his incontinence was manageable, too, was that I was able to read his cues and jump up to let him out when he felt the sudden urge to go. With Ella, I can no longer do that. I cannot be at Chester's beck and call and Ella's, and sorry Chester, Ella wins that battle, and she wins it every time. So Chester started leaking. More and more.

I was about at the end of my rope. I could not imagine finding a new home for Chester. First of all, he's the only dog who likes me best. He's my dog. The others prefer my partner. Secondly, he's 11 years old. And his health is declining, although he's still in great shape. Who would want to take on such a dog? No one. And again, I wouldn't want to give him up. But I also cannot spend my time letting him out every half an hour and also cleaning up his messes when I can't jump at his command. So Chester is now wearing diapers, too.

They're not serious diapers. Just there to catch the leaks. They look like this:

But they've made all the difference in the world. I know that Chester's problem will continue to get worse, and we might have to move to something more substantial at some point, but for now, we've found a good solution.

The decision to find a new home for Blue really highlights how parenthood has changed my priorities. I used to make a lot of sacrifices for my pets. I would sacrifice myself quite a bit, both my personal happiness and my financial well being. But I'm not willing to sacrifice my time with my daughter or what is best for her. So Blue had to go. For now, we've found a solution for Chester, and I hope we can continue to do that in the future. The face is that there is only so much of me to go around, and the vast majority of me goes to Ella.

I heard an actor interviewed once, and he was asked how having his first child changed his life. He said that he and his wife had a dog before their baby, and the dog had practically been the center of their life. Their dog was their baby. Then their child was born, and all of a sudden, their dog was just their dog. I think about that often. It's true. Very true.