You should have seen the look on her face

Lesson learned: three things you should never say in the fitting room of a clothing store:

  1. Are you looking at me? Do you see me? (and, in a really, really bad Robert De Niro) Are YOU lookin’ at ME?
  2. Lookit those cheeks, you chubby thing!
  3. Peeky-peeky-peeky, I see you!!

I’m sure the woman in the next cubby has never been more relieved to see a woman emerge from a fitting room chattering at her baby.

The look of love

There are a lot of wonderful things about mothering a baby not quite four months old. It’s fascinating to watch his personality emerge, bright-eyed and curious and more than a little stubborn. (Fancy that! Who would have guessed it?) It’s equally fascinating to see him growing before my eyes, gaining folds and bursting through footie sleepers each time I blink. And the quest to make the baby laugh has turned into a competitive sport around here, with Beloved as the champion but closely followed by me and even the boys. Lucas loves to laugh, and often at the simplest of gestures.

Considering he’s not quite four months old, he has a pretty impressive arsenal of communication tools. He coos up a storm, talking happily to himself or his hands. He cries with an impressive bellow, and it melts my heart when he sees me coming to give him the attention he is demanding and immediately smiles through his tears. And I had forgotten how much I love the “stick out your tongue” game. I remember playing this with Tristan if not Simon, but Lucas seems to be the champion, and I’m still astonished that it’s a game that can be played with such a young baby. If you stick out your tongue at him, he immediately sticks his tongue back out at you. He’s become so adept at this that it’s become a bit of a salute; when he knows he has your attention, out comes the little pink tongue in a drooley greeting. It’s clear from the sparkle of delighted accomplishment in his eyes that the exchange is intentional, and understood by him as such. I don’t remember how long this phase lasts, but I hope it’s quite a while!

But my very favourite part of mothering this lovely little boy of mine who still wants to be held all of his waking hours and many of his sleeping ones as well? It’s the look, that adoring, worshipful gaze he bestows upon me when I least expect it. He studies my features with intense concentration, as if burning each freckle into his newly-firing synapses, and then a smile sweeps over his dewy face like sunshine on a summer day, and I truly fear my heart might burst. All the injustices of the world are forgiven, all the wrongs are righted, and the universe is a place of blissful joy when I am bathed by the glow of that loving gaze.

How can anyone ever recover from such love? In all my long years of being loved, and I am lucky to say I’ve been loved by the best, nobody has loved me with the shining and silent adoration of my four-month-old son.

Lucas

Lucas at three months

Lucas loves the bathtub the way some people love roller coasters or horror movies; his eyes reflect both delight and abject terror, and he watches me with obvious trust. “This is fine, mum, as long as whatever you do, do NOT let go!”

Three months old

Three months of age is the beginning of the fun stage of babyhood, IMHO. Lucas smiles and laughs, and is beginning to interact with the world. He’s discovered his hands, and is starting to be interested in looking at toys and other things. And today, as a three-month-old gift for me, he slept for an hour in his cradle.

Happy third month, big boy!

The diaper debate

We’ve talked about circumcision and strollers, breast and bottle, slings and baby carriers. So far, though, I’ve avoided the cloth versus disposable diaper question because for me, it was never really a question. I’ve always used the disposables, and thought I always would. I’ve always suspected that even from an environmental perspective, the disposables weren’t as evil as they are made out to be. This past week, the NY Times called it a draw:

The heated debate over the environmental costs of diapers, a roughly $5 billion business, goes something like this: on one hand, the 25 billion or so disposable diapers used per year in this country are bad because they are made with petroleum-based plastics, account for more than 250,000 trees being cut down and make up some 3.5 million tons of landfill waste that won’t decompose for decades. Cotton diapers, on the other hand, now enjoying a resurgence in popularity, cost less over the long run but require vast amounts of energy from the production of cotton, the washing and the distribution. Environmental and industry groups brandishing rival stats and studies have effectively declared a draw. Even an outspoken group like the Natural Resources Defense Council declines to take a trenchant position (“six of one and a half dozen of the other,” a spokeswoman says).

I’ve always found disposables plenty convenient, and my mother swears that the cloth ones back in the day gave me wicked diaper rashes, so I was happy enough with my choice.

Last week, a friend told me about gDiapers. They have the same cloth shell and plastic liner of cloth diapers, but there is a disposable absorbent insert that you can remove and flush down the toilet. It’s fully biodegradable in 50 to 100 days, instead of 500 years for a disposable. You can even compost the pee diapers in your own garden compost.

The only part that makes me hesitate is the fact that you have to remove and tear open the disposable insert before you flush it, to help it from clogging up the toilet. And then you have to maintain the outer shell, of course. It seems like a lot of intervention, and I’m basically a lazy person addicted to convenience. I’m all about simplifying my life right now, using any shortcut I can.

They’re a little more expensive than disposables, but seem like an environmentally conscientious middle ground. Have you heard of them or tried, and if so, what do you think?

Pacifier wars

Binky. Sucky. Nuk. Soother. Dummy. Paci. Pacifier. Suss. It has a million names, because it is legion. It is evil.

I have a love-hate relationship with the soother. Back in the day, when I was ignorant and childless, I decided that I’d never give one to my child. “You take an adorable baby and stick a hunk of gaudy plastic in the middle of her face. Who would do that?” Who indeed, grasshopper.

My boys have all been suck junkies. I held off for a couple of weeks with Tristan on the advice of our ped and numerous lactation consultants, because of the sorry mess that were my nipples due to questionable latch. For those weeks, Tristan pruned our pinky fingers while we pretzelled ourselves to accomodate him. He was three before he gave up his soothers, using them to “buy” a Gordon tank engine from a very understanding and patient Toys R Us cashier one memorable day. For years after, he’d look at family photos and point out all his favourite soothers. “Look, there’s the blue one. I loved the blue one.”

With Simon, even though my nipples were more shredded than ever, he had a soother in the first couple of days. I cursed my mother for bringing one into the house, then praised her sensibility when it bought me an extra 15 minutes or so of sleep at a time. I specifically bought the fancy Avent ones not so much for orthodontic concerns but so we could easily distinguish them from Tristan’s. At the time, Tristan was still using his at bedtime and I didn’t want him stealing soothers – which he often asked for and was refused during the day – from the baby. Simon was closer to three and a half when he finally gave it up a little less than a year ago. (!!) Seems like forever ago, and just yesterday.

So this time, I capitulated to the suck demons and had bought not just two but four soothers as part of the preparations for Lucas’s arrival. And the damn things are driving me bananas. I don’t remember this with the other boys, but Lucas is two and a half months old and still can’t hold the soother in his mouth. Every time I wrestle him into sleep (this is a child who does not simply “fall” asleep, he has to be wrestled and thrust into sleep with much jiggling and shushing and wrapping tightly of arms) I have to use one arm to support and jiggle him, one arm to pat his back, and one arm to hold his soother in place until he falls asleep.

If you can do the math, you can see my problem.

If he’s particularly frothed, we play the “I want the soother GIVE ME THE SOOTHER what the hell is this thing in my mouth GET IT OUT what are you doing I WANT THE SOOTHER” game. In and out, in and out. Not particularly fun during the day, and downright crazymaking in the darkness of night.

Speaking of night… I’m loathe to admit this one. You know how sometimes a parent will admit that for the first four months they were so desperate to sleep that they would do just about anything to get the baby to sleep, like sleeping on the recliner with baby draped across them like a sash, and you nod sympathetically but are thinking to yourself, “Sheesh, just put the baby down already. He’ll sleep when he’s tired.” You can call this my comeuppance. I now fall asleep every night perched precariously on the edge of my bed, my arm stretched across the gap to the cradle at my bedside and threaded through the rails so I can hold the baby’s soother in his mouth until he falls asleep. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve woken up thinking my arm had fallen clean off, so profoundly numb it was. There have been nights that we have wrestled for more than an hour over the soother: in and out, in and out. I can’t sleep without it, I can’t sleep with it. Talk about crazymaking!

He’s got a new trick now. Little bugger has figured out which neurons to fire to turn his head (damn developmental milestones) and so he takes the soother while turned toward me, and before I can push my thumb up against it to keep it in place he flings his head to the side with such force that when he expels the soother he sends it flying over the cradle rail where it lands on the floor and takes a wonky bounce, never to be found again.

I can’t tell you how many hours of the past two months have been spent pretzelled into various positions as I try to hold that traitorous soother in place, whether with my back pressed against the driver’s side door in the car (one hand on the steering wheel and one hand snaked over the headrest and the canopy of the car seat) or crouched beside the cradle or swing, hoping hoping hoping that he’ll settle into a nap that doesn’t involve using me as a piece of furniture.

I’m always a little bit perplexed by parents who say their baby never took a soother; it’s a concept beyond my comprehension and just a little bit unnatural, kind of like elimination communication. Soothers are as essential to baby care as are diapers, at least in this house.

It seems like Lucas shares my love-hate relationship with the soother. Moreso than with the other boys, there have been times when I’ve wondered if I should just do away with the darn thing now as it often seems to irritate him more than soothe him. Likely because there is no milk coming out of it, I imagine. (I’ve really got to get a few more cuddling positions in my repertoire, because when I assume the “here comes the bottle” pose, which is coincidentally the same as the “here comes the soother” pose, and the “oh for the love of god, just go to sleep already” pose, he gets a little, um, ticked off when no milk is forthcoming.)

But other times, I can’t imagine how we’d do without it. His little eyes practically roll up in his head in blissful relief when I stick the plug in his mouth some days, and his limbs will stop flailing and relax completely the instant his lips close around it. For about two minutes. Until he spits it out. And starts rooting around for it. And then starts wailing for it. And the wails turn indignant when I try to put it back in his mouth. So I take it away again. And the wails turn hysterical with desire for it. Until I give it to him.

Repeat, ad infinitum, all… day… long.

Random thoughts of a baby drop-in drop-out

When Tristan was a newborn, our weekly highlight was a Thursday trip to the Well Baby Drop-In at the local community centre. He’d had weight-gain issues (though not as severe as Lucas’s) and the weekly weigh-ins provided me with an empirical validation that we were in fact doing at least something right. It was also the only time I spent with other moms, as most of my friends at the time were either childless, had older children or were people I met through the Internet. Online friends are great for emotional support, no doubt, but as one of my friends said, sometimes you still need someone to hold the baby while you pee.

Anyway, nothing would prevent me from my weekly visit to the Well Baby Drop-In, even though I was intensely intimidated by all the other moms. It was a lot like high school all over again — seemed (to me, at least) a little clique-y, like everyone knew everyone else and was inviting each other over for coffee or out for a walk. Even though most of them were first-timers too, they all seemed to be more comfortable in their roles as mom-on-the-town — and they all seemed to have better fitting pants, cooler strollers and fancier diaper bags, too. I tried not to care, not to feel inferior, but I did. I’d chat with some of the other moms, but I never felt part of the in-crowd, even when Tristan was an old man of 10 weeks and a new mom would show up with a pink and wrinkly two-weeker. It still seems a little sad that as a woman in my thirties, accomplished and confident in my career and in life, I felt this way.

When Simon was born, there were no weight-gain issues. When you feed every two hours ’round the clock and are so chubby your rolls have rolls, there’s no doubt you’re doing well. And, Tristan was all of 22 months old when Simon was born, so it was more work than it was worth to visit the Well Baby Drop-Ins. We’d go to the playgroups at the Early Years Centre so Tristan could play while I nursed Simon and pondered the limits of human sleep deprivation, but there was never the same feeling of inclusion or exclusion among the moms there — maybe because many of them were caregivers instead of moms, or perhaps I was just too sleep deprived to notice.

So when the ped was finally satisfied that Lucas’s weight-gain was back on track at his two-month appointment and said, “Good work, see you in two months,” I was a little bereft without our weekly weigh-in. I tried to go to the Well Baby Drop-In last week, but we were late arriving and had to leave to pick up the big boys from school before our turn came up. I planned a little better this time, and we managed to get Lucas weighed at least. The public health nurses actually seemed a little put-off by my rather abrupt “weigh him and go” attitude — she asked me three times if I was sure I didn’t have any other questions or concerns, and I kept saying, “Nope, just his weight thanks!” Maybe I looked like I needed help or an intervention of some sort?

What was most surprising to me was how intimidated I was to be back in a waiting room full of new moms and babies, and I found myself again sitting by myself in the corner, too shy to join in any of the conversations going on around me. Once again, they all seemed to know each other and were making plans to strollercize together or to go to the stroller-screening at the cinema. (I’m so glad to live in the kind of neighbourhood that has these things, even if I don’t avail myself to them!) On one hand, the whole thing left me feeling a little lonely and isolated again. Even if I were to start chatting with some of the other mothers, I wouldn’t really be able to socialize with any of them during the day. We’re finally letting the nanny go at the end of this week, and Lucas’s and my days of quiet leisure are at an end as Tristan and Simon will be home with me starting next week. It didn’t seem like any of them had older children at home, and there seems to be a vast chasm between mothers of new babies and mothers of older children sometimes.

On the other hand, though, I was a relieved to not be those new, inexperienced and frightened mothers anymore. I remember how much I looked forward to the interaction with other moms at the drop-in when Tristan was born, and how lonely I was on the other days I stayed home. I remember how eavesdropping on the conversation of other moms was so satisfying, even if I didn’t say anything to myself. “Oh, she’s having a hard time with nursing, too… it’s not just me.” And, “Oh, her baby is only sleeping two hours at a time? Tristan is sleeping all night, I guess I should be grateful!” (Snicker. I had no idea how good I had it at the time!) I’m glad now to have more confidence in my mothering skills, if not my social skills.

The best news is that Lucas continues to gain. He’s up to 12 lbs 14.5 oz, which is a gain of 20 oz in two weeks. The norm is 0.5 oz to 1 oz a day, so he’s doing some great work catching up. We still have two weeks left before Lucas is too old and “graduates” from the well baby program. If I’m feeling especially social, I might drop in next week or the week after to check his weight gain once more. Or maybe I’ll take the time to catch up on a few blog posts – mine or yours. While I may sit in silence when faced with actual people, for some reason I’m never too shy to comment in the blogosphere…

If you build it, they will buy it

This is how I picture it.

Lucy is a business student, doing a one-week internship with a company that manufactures baby gear. After spending most of the week contributing to the company’s success with tasks as challenging as making coffee and filing year-old shareholder reports, she is asked by the production design manager to fax some design specifications for a new stroller over to the marketing department.

Curious, Lucy reads through the entire document. She doesn’t have kids herself, and by the time she’s finished reading through the design specifications she wonders if maybe once you become a parent you lose your mind.

“Market research tells us that the next hot parenting trend will focus on upscale strollers,” says the first paragraph of the introductory notes. “In consulting with other industry researchers, we have determined that parents will buy strollers that incorporate the latest advances in technology. They will want a high-end stroller with luxury finishes.”

Some of the key design features of the new stroller include:

  • computerized navigation panel with GPS
  • faux-leather seat liner with heat and shiatsu massage modes
  • iPod docking station with hidden speakers
  • drop-down DVD player built into the sunshade
  • lilac and vanilla or green tea aromatherapy options

Lucy, emboldened by the fact that it’s the last day of her internship, asks her boss if she can ask him a few questions about the design. “Sure,” he replies, “but you have to be quick. I’m on my way to a meeting with the marketing team.”
Continue reading “If you build it, they will buy it”

You were right!

It’s on days like these that I truly love my one-year sabbatical in SAHM-land. I started the day with a coffee date with Andrea, who gets sweeter every time we meet. She took the most gorgeous photos of Lucas… I stole this one, but you should pop on over to her site to take a look at the rest, and I’ll wait for you to get back.

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See? Great photos! And great conversation, too! Reminded me that I really have to get out to see my bloggy friends in person more often.

Then, I headed over to Milkface to see what y’all were on about — and you were right! What a great little store. There were three other moms there trying on slings when we arrived, so I got the chance to eavesdrop on the best sling recommendations for a 5 lbs week old baby (!!) and an 8 month old wiggler, and watched one mom wriggle her baby into a sling worn like a backpack.

And I brought home this Maya wrap to try out. It’s like the bright colours were calling out to me!

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Lucas had been fussy in his baby-bucket car seat carrier, but as soon as I slipped him into the sling in the store he settled right in. He tolerated it for 30 minutes or so last night while I unpacked groceries and puttered around the kitchen, too, which is about 28 minutes more success than we’ve had with the Baby Bjorn. So far, two thumbs up for the Maya sling!

And thanks to another darling friend, I have also been loaned one of these fancy-ass swings for as long as Lucas will fit into it:

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With blue skies and warm temperatures forecasted for the whole week, I feel like Lucas and I are getting a fresh start and ready to take on the world! Or at least the laundry. Hey, ya gotta start somewhere.

Rain and reptiles on a Saturday afternoon

I vividly remember the first time I took then two-week old Tristan out of the house by myself. It was the day my mother left after a week’s visit, and I was weepy with her departure and Beloved’s return to work and unsure how I’d manage to take care of the baby all by myself. I put him in the stroller and walked, with Katie the dog, around the block. It seemed a momentous achievement. The next day, we walked all the way to the grocery store across the park. My confidence grew and I became comfortable with all manner of expeditions — until the next child arrived.

When Simon was born, he was almost a month old before I ventured out with both boys by myself. We went to WalMart, and I can still recall the barely-repressed panic I felt. What if Tristan (then 22 months old) bolted? What if Simon howled? I had toured Europe by myself for four weeks in 1995, and that trip to WalMart was the far more daunting expedition.

Already, I don’t really remember the first time I took out all three boys by myself. It was likely the grocery store, too. And we love to walk around the block together. We all had dinner at Dairy Queen about a month ago while Beloved was working late — I thought that was pretty brave of me, and we did fine. And yesterday, we left Beloved at home to catch up with some work while I took the boys out for a perfect rainy-Saturday adventure exploring the wild creatures at Little Ray’s Reptile Zoo.

I have to admit, I had backup. It was my friend Yvonne who came up with the idea for a trip to Little Ray’s, and since she is also the mother of three boys aged four to ten, she’s quite familiar with all things reptilian. About every three minutes, you could see one of us doing a mental head-count — one, two, three, four, five, and where is child number six? Oh yeah, in the stroller having a snooze. Talk to me again when Lucas gets mobile and see how confident I am to venture out in public!

Anyway, if you are looking for something a little out of the ordinary to do on a rainy day in Ottawa, I can’t say enough nice things about Little Ray’s Reptile Zoo. There are plenty of creatures in cages, terrariums and aquariums — most of whom I was quite happy to see behind glass. Tarantulas, scorpions, lizards and geckos and other little creepy-crawleys. But they also have some really impressive large animals, like the tank with two eight-foot alligators. Yowza!

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They have a couple of mammals (possums and skunks) and some gorgeous birds like this parrot

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What’s really cool, though, is the fact that every 20 minutes or so, they have an interactive show of some kind. Here the boys had a chance to pet an albino something-or-other snake.

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Simon and I passed on the tarantula, but Tristan was fascinated!

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Speaking of fascinating, it was weirdly chilling but very cool to watch this constrictor (not the same one we were petting above) make a tasty lunch out of a dead rat.

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The boys got a kick out of feeding kale to these three tortoises.

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And of course, the evidence that a good afternoon was had by all! (Look closely, you can even see Lucas napping in the baby mirror!)

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The patter of the “wildlife educators” is priceless and alone worth the price of admission. I could write a whole post full of the fun and trivial stuff I learned, so we’ll definitely be going back for another visit, or maybe enrolling the boys in one of Little Ray’s day camps this summer. Of course, I should have seen this one coming: ever since our visit Tristan has been campaigning hard for a snake as a pet. However, since Beloved shares Indiana Jones’s sentiment on the subject, we won’t be getting one any time soon. I’d let him have a snake before I let him have a tarantula or a scorpion. Maybe just not one quite this big!

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I wish I could remember what kind of constrictor this one was. Lookit the size of him — he’s easily thicker around the middle than my thigh, and that says a lot these days!! (As I was framing this photo, I couldn’t get that old line from Seinfeld out of my head: “The dingo constrictor ate your baby!”)

Sling vs baby carrier

In your comments on the post about how Lucas doesn’t like to be put down, a few of you mentioned how slings saved your life. I have a second-hand Baby Bjorn carrier that I used on and off for Simon, but Lucas doesn’t seem to like it. Mind you, we’ve only tried it two or three times, but he doesn’t seem to appreciate his face being smushed into my chest and I’m not sure how old they have to be before you can switch them to forward-facing. It’s a great way to get the vacuuming done, but he doesn’t tolerate it for much else.

I also have a home-made hammock type swing I made for Simon, but I think the fit is a little off and while I used it a couple of times, I actually found Simon liked the Baby Bjorn better.

So did you find the sling much better than the baby carrier? Is it worth spending the $$$ on one of the fancy ones?

Help, getting desperate!