RunningCookingWriting

Say hello and wave goodbye

2007-02-13T09:51:00.000-05:00

It's official: My hiatus is about to become permanent. As I was telling Kate in an email earlier, I'd set today as a mental deadline for either returning to blogging or pulling the plug permanently. Much as I miss checking in with you all, I am really appreciating the space not-blogging has created in my life. My attention span is a little longer without so many fascinating tales to read, and I'm a lot more focused since I'm not obsessively checking for comments all day.

I don't mean to elicit another outpouring of goodbyes -- though your responses to my last post were so nice to read -- but just wanted to let know what's going on over here. So before I close up shop entirely, a few updates for the sake of narrative closure:

~Jelly is still with us, although she is effectively on probation. We are half-heartedly trying to find her a new home, although I suspect she will be ours for whatever time she has left.

~Ess' nine-month checkup was yesterday, and the doctor was very pleased with all her growing. (She's now 16 lbs., 8 oz. -- still a peanut, but one with a very round belly.) Ess is being evaluated by the state child development folks on Thursday since she's still not rolling, crawling or even raising her hands over her head. The doc said we're not being too neurotic, as I'd feared, by scheduling this, but doesn't think we'll come out of it with anything more serious than some physical therapy. And after half an hour with us -- can I tell you how much I love our doctor? -- she pronounced Ess (with great affection) a "happy, sociable, lazy girl." Takes after her mother... at least when it comes to that last adjective.

~D and I continue to talk and talk and talk about work/life balance issues. I actually applied for an editing job at a consulting firm in the Bay State, hoping I could telecommute -- figuring that at least I could make a lot more $$ and quit the freelancing that encroaches on all my free time these days. Doesn't look like that's going to pan out, but at least I've got my eyes open. And it turns out that Ess' daycare has some flexibility, so I can drop her off for an occasional half-day if I'm on deadline, which helps immensely.

~I did yoga! For the first time since Ess was born! It only happened once, but boy was it nice. As was the date I had (inside the house) with my husband last night. Hoping for more of the same in weeks to come.

So there you have it: the end of Run Cook Write. I would love to keep in touch with you; if you're so inclined, you can email me at [redacted]. Just eliminate the spaces and you'll be good to go.

Happy February, everyone, and thanks for reading.

On hiatus

2007-01-27T17:00:00.000-05:00

The time has come for RunCookWrite to go dark for a while. I've been thinking about this for a while, and a long series of conversations with D today about our marriage, stress, money and a host of other fun things has convinced me that now is the time.

One of the things D asked me today is to take time each day to do something for myself, whether that's practicing yoga -- something I've yet to do since Ess was born -- taking a 20-minute walk or reading an actual book. I was never very good at that sort of thing before she was born, and if it's possible I've gotten even worse at it in the last eight months. The strain is starting to show, and not in a good way. (What a surprise, right?)

Time is tight as it is, and I need some way to signal this reprioritizing to myself. And, frankly, I think I need to dwell a little less on all my neuroses, my anxieties and the tyranny of little things. So I am going to take a break from blogging -- from writing and, much as I hate to say it, from reading. I appreciate the community that's sprung up in this little nook of the blogosphere so much, but I need to spend more time away from the computer for the time being. So I am going to try to go cold turkey on reading your blogs, catching up with your lives, wondering what you'll say today. (Well, the wondering will probably continue.)

I'm not deleting the blog -- yet, anyway -- but I'm not going to post anything here for at least a few weeks. Thanks so much for reading, and for offering your comments and support. You're the best, and I'll miss you.

Cashed out

2007-01-26T21:31:00.000-05:00

What a week it's been. Ess had a fever/runny nose bug for a couple days, one of which involved her consenting only to sleep when held and rocked. This was especially nice considering that we'd watched An Inconvenient Truth before bed that night, leading me to have really weird, unsettling, apocalyptic dreams while dozing in the glider with her in my arms. A fun way to spend the hours from 3 to 7 a.m., let me tell you.

As a result of the fever, D and I had to figure out who stays home with the sick kid. His workplace is decimated by sickness and short staffing this week, and I was on deadline with a story. So we each took half a day off and cobbled together our lives that way. I was glad to have gotten the morning shift at work, since by the afternoon I was a bleary-eyed zombie.

Which is pretty much what I am tonight, since I stayed up (until the extravagant hour of 10 pm!) to watch Grey's Anatomy last night and then had the little half-pint attached to my chest from 5:30 on. Oh, and there was some middle-of-the-night Jelly barking in there, too. And on top of a full day of work and a few hours after work wrangling the mostly recovered Ess, I just spent two hours on revisions to the dreaded annuity story. For a brief moment while I was sipping my Guinness and Googling answers to my editor's questions, I was having fun, remembering how much I enjoy the quest for the right answer to a question. And then I realized the question was unanswerable and my nose was runny and my accursed canker sore hurt like hell, and that I didn't actually like hunting down unknowable facts about annuities after all.

So here I sit, carefully sipping water so as not to irritate the inflamed corner of my mouth and pumping one last time before I go to bed.* D had leftover pizza for dinner and is now watching some movie I can't identify. I had Annies Mac & Cheese and am longing for some time spent pondering the back of my eyelids. Oh, and the advice I received from my dentist today about how to prevent further canker sores? Decrease the amount of stress in my life. Ha.

---------------

*Can I tell you how much I am looking forward to quitting pumping? I've decided that I will pump until Ess turns one, and then I will nurse her before and after work and on the weekends until some point to be determined later. The rest of the time she can drink cow's milk or soy milk or, hell, Guinness if she wants, so long as it does not need to be sucked from my body with a motor. So that means just three-and-a-half more months of schlepping this stupid pump around with me, of knowing that every single frickin' night I have to get through a pumping session before I can go to bed, of calculating how long I can be away from the house without becoming one very uncomfortable (and damp) woman. Mid-May can't come soon enough.

Unresolved

2007-01-23T13:14:00.000-05:00

The annuities story is STILL not done. Nor are calls made for the next piece I need to start. So much for counting on long naps from Ess this week... usually I get at least one nap of more than an hour out of her each day. This week? Not so much. (And the productivity plummets when someone insists on blogging rather than finishing that section about index annuities.)

Jelly still lives here. And still pees like crazy. I think we have set a lifetime record for the number of days in a row the kitchen has been mopped. Next step: Attempting to train her to use pee pads. If she's going to pee indoors, at least we could get her to do it in the right place and cut down on the mopping.

The DC trip has definitively been cancelled. Bah humbug.

Canker stores are still, y'know, canker-y. Supposedly B vitamins help them from sprouting up so frequently, but the all-knowing kellymom says to beware an excess of such while nursing. Gah.

Storytime at the library this morning: Met a potential New Mom Friend! Her daughter is a few months younger than Ess and both mom and baby seemed quite nice. I told her about the Monday playgroup we do sometimes, and I'm hopeful we'll see her there or at the library again soon. We introduced ourselves and the kids, but didn't get around to phone numbers. Fingers crossed.

Cuticles: Still razor sharp.

This afternoon's post-nap activity, assuming Ess is willing: A trip to Outletport, where I hope to exchange my JJ Legume jacket whose elastic waist thingy broke for a newer and swankier one. Perhaps a little something like this? We'll see.

Random bullets of 3 degrees*

2007-01-21T11:03:00.000-05:00

--Today's assignment: 1,900 words on annuities, a subject about which I know precisely nothing. Should be fun.

--Still no resolution on the Jelly situation. I had a long talk with the vet the other night; Jelly is possibly in the early stages of kidney disease, or she may have Cushing's disease, which if confirmed could require a surgery that we are unwilling to have performed, or she may have early liver disease. The vet outlined a series of options, none of which sound very good to us. And she did say that euthanasia would be "a valid decision." She also suggested that we would not be remiss to think of the entire family's quality of life, and not just Jelly's. D wants to try a week or two of keeping Jelly gated in the kitchen, to at least contain the accidents, and see how that affects her and us. She peed overnight again last night, which means that at some point today, in addition to writing about annuities and wrangling Ess and helping get a turkey meatloaf made, I have to mop the kitchen. Again.

--If you came near my cuticles, you might require a shield to defend yourself from their deathly sharpness, all the Burt's Bees hand salve in the world notwithstanding.

--And also the canker sores, which I seem to have in some sort of chronic form. Driving me crazy.

--D is going to his parents' tonight to watch the big game. I will be alone with the Sunday Times and the homemade hot chocolate my sister and brother-in-law gave us for Christmas. It sounds like heaven... unless the annuities need attention, in which it's a few more hours of nose to grindstone and then collapsing into bed.

--I really, really need to devote some time to myself, to something other than my job, freelancing, childcare and keeping us all fed and (marginally) clean. Thinking about taking up crocheting again, since my carpal tunnel seems to have gotten better now that Ess is not nursing all the frickin' time. But then I think of the freelance queries unwritten and the emails unanswered and the meals uncooked (not to mention the savings account unoverflowing) and say yes to another freelance assignment.

--Which is why it's such a bummer that the trip to DC we impetuously dreamed up earlier this week seems to have gone up in smoke. Our friends can't wait to see us... but the plane tix went from $99 to over $150 in the few days it took to dither and ponder and make up our minds. And now that quick, relatively cheap weekend away seems more like an unaffordable luxury given the expenses of daycare and car insurance and, oh yes, vet bills.

---

*With wind chill; it just doesn't seem as dramatic to say "Random bullets of 16 degrees"

Dog angst

2007-01-19T12:25:00.000-05:00

I don't think it's any secret that I've become really frustrated with Jelly, our elderly mutt who pees in the house constantly. It's gotten worse lately -- several mornings a week of mopping the kitchen floor at 6:30 am, or of getting out the paper towels and Nature's Miracle again to swab the living room rug or dining room hardwood -- and I've sort of reached the end of my rope. I've been especially concerned about what happens when Ess finally realizes she can move... and scoots right into a puddle of dog pee. And then I've felt horrible about the fact that I would probably be in a very different frame of mind about this animal if we didn't have a baby.

So I've been yammering about it to anyone who will listen. Even our unabashed dog-lover friends have been surprisingly supportive of the idea that it may be the end for her, that perhaps the incontinence is just as upsetting to her as it is to us. D and I talked for a long time the other night and came to the conclusion that if it is not time for The Talk with the vet, we will need to find her another home, because we just can't deal with this amount of chaos in our lives. Or, rather, I am not willing to deal with it.

Somewhat fortuitously, we needed to take her in for blood work in order to get a refill on her arthritis meds. And our favorite, beloved vet tech spent a good long while with me this morning talking about Jelly and looking at the trends in her tests. And, to make a long story slightly shorter, based on all the testing in the past and this morning's blood draw, it looks as though she is in the early stages of kidney disease. They're having me bring in (yet another) urine sample just to make sure that the results weren't indicating that she's dehydrated, and then the vet will call me this evening to discuss next steps.

On the way home from the vet, before we had the results of the blood work, I was hoping that this was the answer we'd get, because it would be clear to us that Jelly's prognosis is not good (due to her age and other ailments, she's not a good candidate for treatment). But now that we've nearly got it, and it looks as though we will have a clear rationale for putting her down, I am heart sick. I have talked so cavalierly about this dog, have been so irritable when she stumbles blindly into my path or stomps on Ess while she's playing. I have literally joked about putting rat poison in her food bowl. And now I feel absolutely awful. Guilty for being so mean, for wishing death on her, for lacking in compassion. I fought to get this dog, and now I can't wait to be rid of her.

I may be getting exactly what I wanted, and it really sucks.

Drafty

2007-01-16T15:08:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I promised you a full post on my reaction to the news that my one-time college roommate is now a hotshot -- and I mean, really a hotshot -- at a magazine for which I would very much like to write. But upon further reflection, yesterday's comment re: jealousy is really all that needs to be said. Especially since said roommate has not responded to my email of greeting and reconnection.

In other news, ye gods, is it cold here in the north country. How cold is it?

So cold that I finally got around to putting the oh-so-attractive plastic insulation on the window above the couch in our living room. The rest of the house has replacement windows, but since this window overlooks our enclosed (non-insulated) front porch it has a nice, drafty old double-hung window. It's not really worth the dough to get a replacement window put in there, but damned if I couldn't relax in front of the Golden Globes last night with about three layers on top of me to keep the chill off.

Thus the decision to finally get out the window kit, which I bought about a month ago, when I was angsting over energy use. Ess is taking short naps today, so in her second 40-minute snooze I finally got the plastic on. How drafty is my house? So drafty that as soon as I got the plastic sealed on all four sides -- yet before I even got out the hair dryer to tighten it -- it smoothed itself out and filled with air.

No wonder I've been so cold.

Still, Ess and I just got a nice walk in before the wind kicked up, which it's supposed to do in a few hours. I put her in the Bjorn, which I haven't worn in quite a while, and wandered down to the bakery for a chocolate chip cookie, then to the beach for a look at the silly dogs who think this is swimming weather, then around the block and home again. Ess' nose was runny and her cheeks are still bright red, but we had a nice walk and my back is actually in decent shape. There's a rolled-up towel under the drafty front door, I've got a full layer of long underwear on and Ess is sporting her new Babylegs, courtesy of Santa.

Finally, welcome to winter.

Freaking out

2007-01-15T13:10:00.000-05:00

(I was planning to write about the intense envy I've been feeling ever since discovering last night that a college roommate of mine is a hotshot at a very well-known consumer magazine, but the following freakout is taking precedence. Green-eyed monster post to come at some point in the future.)

I just went to get Ess from her morning nap. She's been taking monster naps lately -- almost three hours yesterday, 2 hours 40 min. on Thursday, etc. -- so it was no big thing that she'd been down for 2.5 hours. I hadn't heard any noise from the guest bedroom where she naps in the Pack & Play, but I poked my head in to be sure she was ok.

And there she was, wide awake, smiling. And covered in vomit.

All of the morning's applesauce (or a lot of it, anyway) was covering her shoulders, her sheets and her pacifier. It was cold, so it'd been there for a while. And I never heard a sound.

That's the part that's totally freaking me out -- she sleeps on her back (see: lack of interest in rolling), and it is potentially really dangerous that she threw up and I didn't know it. The only time I was out of earshot for any length of time was right after she went down, when I hopped in the shower. I was in the bathroom with the door closed for 15 minutes tops; it's the room right next to the guest room, so if she'd been wailing I would have heard it. Quieter crying or vomiting wouldn't have carried through the wall, though.

I do know that when I left the bathroom, all was quiet, as it remained for the next 2 hours. And the poor thing was laying in there covered in puke. Granted, if she was miserable she would have cried -- believe me, she is not shy about lettting us know that she's unhappy -- but it is killing me that I didn't look in on her sooner.

I used to shower when she was awake; she'd sit in her bouncy seat and play while I showered. But she's outgrown the bouncy seat, and isn't happy in the Bumbo seat long enough for me to get a decent shower in. And I'm too chicken to shower with her. But now I'm rethinking the strategy of showering while she naps... I guess if I do so, I should bring the monitor down so I can be sure to hear her. And I should definitely check on her more than I do now... I tend to be afraid of waking her up, so I leave her alone for perhaps longer than I should.

Luckily, Ess is totally happy and full of energy now; she's chattering and playing with the pieces of her beloved shape sorter. But I am feeling like I can't catch my breath as I ponder what could have happened. Thoughts of more experienced parents would be much appreciated right now...

Eight months old

2007-01-14T10:55:00.000-05:00

Jan. 12, 2007

Dear Ess,

How has it been eight months already?? You're getting to be such a grown-up little baby... sitting proudly on your own, heading off confidently to daycare (well, at least not dissolving into a puddle when we hand you over), gobbling up solid food and babbling your little heart out.

As usual, it's been an eventful month, with lots of firsts: your first Christmas, your first days at daycare, your first visit to story time at the library, your first head cold, your first stomach bug, your first meat (mmm... pureed chicken. It sort of grosses us out, but you seem to like it quite a bit). And then there was a much-welcomed return to something you tried out a while ago: you slept through the night! Once, anyway, and then you got the stomach bug and there went that idea. But we're hoping it'll happen again soon (may we suggest tonight?).

We ventured out on another trip to New Jersey this month, and we have to say fantastic in the car -- you were easily entertained by your toys, and you took plenty of long that you were naps. We still need to work on the whole sleeping-away-from-home thing, but it sure was nice to have an uneventful car ride (from you, anyway; an unexpected snowstorm on the way back caused us no end of misery). All four of your grandparents, and your doting great-grandparents, were thrilled to spend time with you around Christmas, as were we, though we have to admit that the holiday season was a lot more exhausting than we remember it being in years past.

As far as Christmas goes, you were the recipient of many lovely gifts, including several books customized just for you. They were particularly apt since you're quite the little narcissist these days, loving to look at yourself and laugh. We think you're pretty funny, too, especially when you carry on long conversations with yourself and screech at your ducks in the bathtub.

We have to admit to being a little curious about when, exactly, you're going to realize that you can move. You've completely quit rolling over, and you show absolutely no interest in crawling (despite your mother's attempt to get you in the starting position). You love to sit and play with your toys, and you're also quite fond of standing (with help) and gazing at the world. Everyone assures us that we will not be rushing off to your college dorm to roll you over at night, so I guess it's just a question of when in the eighteen years between now and then you'll figure it out.

A few funny quirks we want to remember: When we carry you upstairs for bed, you grin wildly and crane your neck at the smoke detector at the top of the stairs, which is apparently a very humorous object. You've added a few consonants to your babbling, saying "da da da da" all day long (sometimes even when Dada is holding you!). You adore playing peekaboo, and you've recently begun laughing heartily when you're tickled. You continue to be infinitely more interested in the dogs than you are in us, and we wonder if that will ever change.

Although we are a bit late in posting this update -- as we suspect will happen from here on out whenever the 10th falls in the middle of our now very busy weeks -- our adoration of you has not diminished one bit. We love you so much, sweet girl!

Love,
Mom and Dadadadadada

What not to wear while watching The Devil Wears Prada*

2007-01-13T22:23:00.000-05:00

A black v-neck shirt

A cozy purple shawl

A pair of black, tan and red argyle socks

Baggy red flannel pajama bottoms emblazoned with snowflakes and grinning monkeys on skis

A pimple on your lower lip

A hair on your chin

*Unless you would like to feel even frumpier than you already did

Sing a simple song

2007-01-11T20:36:00.000-05:00

Since we instituted a bedtime routine for Ess several months back, I sing two songs to her as she nurses in the dark. The first is "In My Life" by the Beatles... a relatively coherent version of the first two verses, anyway. I can never remember how it ends, so I wrap up with some humming that seems to do the trick nicely.

The second song is a little thing called "The river is flowing" that I learned in the newborn class I took with Ess. It's simple and short and it works well in what passes for the key(s) I sing in. I like that it's a signal to Ess that we're winding down, that as she finishes nursing and either falls asleep or doesn't in my arms, that it's time to go to her crib.

All was well and good with the nightly concert. But then "In My Life" started to bug me. I was sure I was remembering the words wrong -- I wasn't, as it turns out -- and what's more, the song is aimed more at a lover than a child. On top of which I was bored of it.

As a result, last night I decided to throw a new tune into the mix, something a bit more contemporary that would teach Ess about the music of her mama's youth. D and I had been in the car recently when "Nightswimming"* by R.E.M. came up on the shuffle. I started to sing along and realized that I knew every single word. And, hey, skinny dipping at night is a great topic, right -- even if there is a hint of a conflicted relationship tucked in there at the bridge.

So how come every time I sing it, it turns into "You Are the Everything"?

---

*If you scroll down to the bottom of those R.E.M. links, there are some (unintentionally) funny close readings of the lyrics.

Getting out there

2007-01-09T15:51:00.000-05:00

Today I took a big step (for me, anyway): I gave my number to a couple I met at story hour at the library this morning. Their son is six months old, and they just moved to the neighborhood from way, way out of state. We chatted a bit after the chaos of the Eensy Weensy Spider (and here I thought it was Itsy Bitsy...) and the Hokey Pokey, then ended up walking out at the same time. Feeling bold, I offered the woman my number. She seemed pleased and stopped at my car while I rummaged around for a pen. She didn't offer hers in response, so I sort of wonder whether she thinks I'm a crazy stalker-type person, or if I'll ever hear from her... who knows.

In the last 36 hours, I've been doing this sort of thing a lot. Yesterday morning I emailed my neighbor to see if she wanted to get together with the babies sometime (her daughter is a month older than Ess). I went to the moms' group at the birthing center and chatted with several people, then came home and called the woman I'd met there a few months ago to see if she and her son want to get together sometime. Her landline was not in service, and she's got an out-of-state cell number, so I wonder if I missed that opportunity altogether. Still, I made the call, which was more than I've done in months.

I've been wanting to make friends with some other new moms for a while now; my only close friend nearby with a kid near Ess' age also has a toddler, so her free time is limited (though we do manage to drop in on each other fairly regularly -- we've agreed to a late-afternoon open-door policy, which is a major salvation on those days when I'm going stir-crazy at 3 pm and bedtime is still hours away). This friend also works full-time, so she's not around during the day on Mondays and Tuesdays, when I'm home with Ess. (She works in the schools, so she's home relatively early in the day.)

So I'm hoping that at some point one (or more) of these other feelers I've put out there will result in some fun for Ess and me. As for what finally spurred me to act? It's a combination of a couple things, one of which is the delight Ess clearly takes in being around other kids. (At storytime, she had absolutely no interest in the activities because she was too busy staring wide-eyed at the other babies, several of whom came by to give her toys to hold.)

The other, though, is more significant: I am no longer looking for the Perfect New Mom Friend (tm). I think I've unconsciously been waiting to act until I find someone who is smart, funny and agrees with me on almost everything. And that just ain't gonna happen -- nor should it. So rather than sit in my house alone, reading the Baby ABC book over and over and over again, I'd like to hang out with some folks I like reasonably well. And if one of them turns out to be the Perfect New Mom Friend later on? So much the better.

Wanted: Motivation

2007-01-08T10:13:00.000-05:00

I got one of my two freelance stories done over the weekend. The other was not even touched due to (pick your villain): the transition of Ess' stomach bug from one presenting with vomiting to one in which diarrhea was the main symptom; the endless hours of football on view in my house yesterday; the time-consuming, strange yet tasty dinner I made; a viewing of Little Miss Sunshine (verdict: not bad, but not as good as all the hype).

So now I am supposed to be working on the other one, which I started back before Christmas. Of course, Ess is supposed to be napping now, instead of crying in her crib. And the frickin' dog is supposed to be sleeping quietly rather than whining along with Ess. And I am supposed to be looking diligently at Word documents, rather than futzing about on teh Internets.

But I suck at getting Ess down for naps. (Note: I am not asking for advice here, just venting.) D is the champion at this task; I don't believe he's ever had her cry it out at naptime. I think it's my lack of patience that does me in... I am probably too eager to get her down in the first place, and then not diligent enough about getting her settled before I give up in frustration.

Of course, frustration is easier to come by after a lousy night's sleep. And, yes, that's what we're back to around here. Ess slept remarkably well after the vomiting episode Saturday; she went down at 7 and didn't wake until 3 am. Of course, she woke up again at 5:15 with the most horrific diarrhea-filled diaper I have ever changed, but then she went back to sleep until 8:30, as did I.

Last night wasn't so hot, in part because our normal night-time nursing rules (not before midnight, not until 3 am if she's nursed at 12) have been suspended due to her illness. So I wasted a lot of time waffling about what to do when she woke at 11:30, rather than getting right up and nursing her, which is what I did eventually... and then for whatever reason she couldn't get back to sleep after she nursed at 5-something. So I am tired. And lacking in inspiration.

But in the process of writing this, Ess has fallen asleep. The dog has stopped whining. And my delicious pot of half-caf has finished brewing. So I am off to the wonderful world of tips for small-business owners for as long as this nap persists. Still, if you find a little motivation lying around, send it my way.

One step forward...

2007-01-06T21:52:00.000-05:00

Last night, for the first night in many, many months, Ess slept through the night!! I was taking the night off in the guest room while D was on Ess duty, so I was guaranteed a good night's sleep no matter what. I woke at 4 -- after 5.5 consecutive hours of sleep!! -- and pumped, then went back to sleep until 7:30, when D came down and woke me. It was glorious.

I had high hopes for another great night tonight, although this time I planned to be sleeping in my own bed to enjoy it.

And then Ess started throwing up around 5 pm tonight. This was our first real vomiting experience. Or, more accurately, our first four vomiting experiences. D took the brunt of it -- today's lesson: turn the baby away from you when she starts puking -- but none of it was any fun. It was heartbreaking to watch her face crumple as she tried to figure out what was going on and why her tummy felt so bad.

She hasn't thrown up since about six, which is great. But rather than continuing our sleep training -- she woke last night at 11:30 or so and cried for 10 minutes, then went back to sleep -- I will be going to her whenever she wakes in order to make sure she stays hydrated. It took a bit of coaxing to get her to nurse before bed tonight, so I know she's still feeling a bit crummy, despite big grins as soon as she stopped vomiting.

I don't think one night of good sleep is quite enough to cure D and me of these stupid lingering colds -- can I tell you how tired I am of the congestion and the cough?? -- but I am just glad I am able to get up and nurse Ess tonight. Maybe she'll end up in bed with us, or maybe she'll stay in the crib... either way, I really hope she's feeling better tomorrow. (And that, knock wood, neither of us gets whatever she has.)

What a week

2007-01-05T19:10:00.000-05:00

Well, we survived the first week of the New Schedules. Just barely, though. Our hacking coughs persist, and I have yet to get anything close to a good night's sleep. We seem to have existed these last few days on sheer willpower. Ess has done very well at daycare, and I've been productive when she's been out of the house. But, yeesh, it sure has been quiet here.

As it is right now, in fact. She is in bed for the night -- she had two eensy weensy naps today and was rubbing her eyes from the moment I picked her up -- and D is still at work. He's not expected home until 9:30-ish, so I'm planning a thrilling Friday night of ravioli and sauce from a jar, plus some work on my freelance story that's due Monday. That is, if I don't collapse from exhaustion first.

Or self-doubt. That's the other thing I might collapse from. I've been meaning to write a separate post about my relationship to authority figures vis a vis Miss Ess, but it's sort of seeping out of me now, so here goes. I think perhaps the very biggest lesson I need to learn right now is that I am Ess' mother and thus know what is best for her. And not only that, but that I have a responsibility to advocate on her behalf.

Now, nothing serious has come up that causes this manifesto to spring forth. But I have a bad habit of automatically deferring to authority figures and then bitching about it later. Or, worse, figuring out later that something I've nodded along to actually won't work.

Case in point: In her rundown of Ess' day, our daycare provider mentioned that Ess had been ravenous all morning. So she ran through the three bottles I'd provided, plus three meals, by 12:30(!). So in the afternoon she defrosted one of the backup containers of milk we brought over. Which means that Ess had as much breastmilk in nine hours today as she usually does in the twelve I am gone on Thursdays. I let that one slide, under the theory that our daycare provider is still getting to know Ess. Inside, though, I am totally panicking, because there is no way I can pump 12+ ounces of milk in nine hours. No way. So I spend the whole walk home stressing about milk supply and pumping and yadda yadda.

Actually, that's not quite true. What I spent the walk home thinking about, in addition to the bottles, was the fact that she fed Ess spinach -- a food we have not yet introduced -- at one of her meals today. On Wednesday, I provided her with a list of what food Ess has had -- at her request -- so this shouldn't have happened. Like the bottle, it's no big deal in the grand scheme of things, and it's part of the adjustment process between the DCP and us.

But what bothers me is that when the DCP rattled through her rundown of Ess' day and mentioned spinach, I didn't say anything. She's a fast talker, and it's sometimes hard to break in, and I have not yet had a conversation with her in which we are discussing anything remotely unpleasant. On top of which she is older than I am... which makes me feel good about her ability to care for Ess, but also makes it more difficult for me to realize that she is not automatically right about everything. So I didn't say anything, and I should have. I thought about emailing her over the weekend, but that is totally the wussy way out, and I don't want to establish a pattern of using email to deal with things I find difficult to say out loud to her. So I've resolved to either call her on Monday or talk to her on Wednesday when I drop Ess off next.

The other incident that I've been pondering happened a few months back, when the caseworker from Child Development Services was here to screen Ess. She's a perfectly lovely woman -- very low-key and pleasant. She and her co-worker sat on the floor with us and Ess, and cooed at her while they did their assessment. And when they were done, they handed her back to me and I asked if they minded if I nursed her. My own baby. In my own home. As if they could've said no and I would have deferred to them? That's just crazy.

And of course they didn't say no. But it's not them, or their reaction, that I'm bothered by. It's my own automatic deferral to the Official People, especially those who are older than I. It's gotta stop, because there is enough second-guessing in this motherhood business without constantly kicking myself over a decision I should have made or a stance I should have taken. I've gotta get a backbone, and soon.

Denoument

2007-01-03T11:34:00.000-05:00

Turns out that my outrage over the denial of my application to join the AP group was totally misplaced; they were doing some year-end housecleaning and denied everyone who hadn't replied to the initial invitation email, which I never received because I didn't understand how their weird bulletin board software works. The moderator explained all this in a very nice email last night. So I actually decided to check it out and see what it's all about.

That is, if I can understand how to use the Internets properly. Too bad Ess isn't not old enough yet to show me these things...

What did they know that I didn't?

2007-01-02T13:25:00.000-05:00

Back in May or June, when I was frantically trying to find local folks with babies about Ess' age, I heard about a local board for attachment parenting types. You have to apply for membership, which I did, thinking that despite the somewhat strident tone of the intro page I might find a friend. I wish I could remember what, exactly, the questions were and how I answered them, because today -- more than six months later -- I got a message stating flatly that I was DENIED. (And, yes, the caps are theirs.)

So I've been wondering: Did they somehow intuit that we would become cry-it-out types? Did they magically peer into the depths of my cupboards and find -- gasp! -- jarred baby food (which, incidentally, we used for the first time on our trip and I have to say part of me is wondering why I bother going through all the work of making homemade food, freezing it and then thawing it later when I could just pop open a jar of organic whatever)? Did they forsee that our co-sleeping days were numbered, or that the slings would fall somewhat out of favor? What hint did I give them?

The whole thing strikes me as funny more than anything else... but I have to admit that I am dying to know why I didn't make the grade (not to mention why it took six-plus months to inform me of that fact).

If this is really how 2007 is going to go, consider this my letter of resignation

2007-01-01T10:11:00.000-05:00

Ah yes, a joyous start to the new year 'round these parts. We had a fantastic dinner last night with my sister and brother-in-law; she made a great antipasto plate and a gorgeous cheesecake, and I made a beef ragu for pasta, complete with grated orange zest garnish. It was lovely. And since then I've been miserable.

It was my turn to take a night alone with Ess; D had offered to do a night by himself on Saturday so I could get some much needed sleep after taking the brunt of the sleep deprivation at my parents' house. She was pretty good for him -- just one, 45-minute bout of crying, and only one feeding -- but last night she apparently just could not settle down, with a relatively constant low-grade whine from 9:30 until about midnight; obviously, I did not get much sleep. She was up again at 2:30 or so, with more whining for a while. And then when she slept in until 7:15 this morning, I couldn't take advantage, as I lay in bed and thought dire thoughts about what fate might have befallen her that she did not wake at 6 am as usual. I couldn't quite get myself out of bed to go check on her, so clearly I wasn't that worried... but it was not a restful way to spend that extra hour. I wish I could stop my thoughts from wandering down those dark corridors in my brain.

Today my cold is worse, with D's cough having come to roost in my chest and my brain feeling slow and wonky. I should really be doing the dishes piled up after last night's feast, but I burned the back of my hand on the oven last night and apparently ignoring it was a bad idea, as I have an oozing little wound there which makes dish-washing somewhat unappealing. What's more, Ess and I are likely not going to get out today, between our colds and the miserable conditions outdoors.

All of this whininess is exacerbated by the beginning of the first week of our new schedules. D's part-time paternity leave has officially ended, and he is back to work full-time. But in order to minimize Ess' time in daycare, he has opted to work four 10-hour days. With commuting time and the occasional errand, that means he's going to be gone for at least 11 hours most days, which I am not looking forward to. Tomorrow, for example, he works from 9 to 7. So he'll be around to spend a little time with Ess in the morning, but will leave by 8:40 or so and be back after she's in bed. That makes one loooong day for the two of us. The same is true for him on Thursdays, which will continue to be Daddy and Ess days while I am gone for 12 hours.

I know lots of y'all have arrangements like this and I'm sure it will all work out just fine, but it's a big change for our little family. I will no longer be able to pop my head out of the home office to hang out with D and Ess for a few minutes on a whim; I will work here by myself all day, then rush over to daycare to fetch her when my days ends and then put her to bed on my own. I don't know how we're going to get dinner made, or when D and I will get to have much of a conversation, but I know we'll work those things out. It's just hard to contemplate on this icy gray Monday, with a hacking cough and a whiny, runny-nosed little peanut who really does not want to take a nap.

Of snot and snowstorms

2006-12-31T13:44:00.000-05:00

We had the misfortune of making our way home from New Jersey yesterday. We were making record time (taking the Merritt Parkway rather than I-84 between Hartford and White Plains makes such a big difference...) when it started to snow lightly. We'd just gotten on 495 in Massachusetts and thought nothing of the snow. And then, a few miles later, we watched an SUV roll over right in front of us. We didn't see what caused it to roll, but it seemed slow and fantastical as it toppled over on the shoulder. Everyone around us hit the brakes, which caused us to skid and fishtail. We recovered and went on as several cars stopped to assist the occupants of the SUV; its top remained intact, so I am hopeful that its occupants were ok.

But that episode put us severely on edge for the rest of the drive. It literally took an hour to go 30 miles; there was just a dusting of snow on the ground at that point, but apparently it took the plow operators by surprise, since we didn't see sand or salt for quite a while. Conditions were miserable; I counted 11 accidents -- all of them fender-benders after the rollover -- between Worcester and Portsmouth.

So we were happy to roll into our snow-covered driveway in one piece several hours later. Instead of a record-breaking trip home -- we were slated to get here in about 6.5 hours -- we chalked up an eight-hour-plus journey. And we were exhausted to begin with; while we were at my parents' house, Ess came down with a head cold that caused major sleep disturbances (read: one night I didn't get to sleep until 3:30 am). Which meant that my immune system finally gave up and let D's germs do their work. His cold of last week is still lingering, with a nasty cough and a round of weariness. So the three of us make a pretty picture today, sniffling and coughing and crying when our noses are wiped (I'll let you guess which one of us that phrase describes...).

Still, I wouldn't have skipped that trip for the world. It's so nice to hang out with my parents and to watch them adore every little thing Ess does. My grandparents do much the same; my grandfather in particular is just awed to spend time with his great-granddaughter (though he was scandalized by the fact that we actually trust the monitor to tell us if she is crying -- he kept offering to go down and check on her and sort of sniffing at us for neglecting her). We were a bit hobbled by the colds and the lack of sleep, but we got to see some friends, if only briefly, and to have the traditional opening of gifts and eating of (post)Christmas breakfast with my parents.

And by the time we called my parents yesterday afternoon to let them know we'd gotten home safely, they'd decided that they're going to come up for a visit on their spring break. And a visit that involves no driving on our part, and the possibility for a normal sleep schedule on Ess' part, sounds mighty fine to me.

Respite

2006-12-26T22:04:00.000-05:00

Today was a brief interlude of calm/preparation before Christmas: Part II kicks in tomorrow, when we head to my parents' for a few days. Our living room and dining room are full of piles -- suitcases, the car seat with fun and exciting toys already attached, the bag full of presents. The cooler has been dusted off, the sandwiches are made, the coffeemaker just needs to be turned on. We're really hoping that Ess travels better than she did when we last made this trip in mid-October. But we're prepared, I guess, if she doesn't.

And, really, we couldn't blame her if she's not up to seven hours in the carseat (with breaks, of course). She's just been a dream for the last few days -- happy, social and engaged. The picture above gives you an idea of her temperament these last several days (also please note the giant bottle of beer and excellent Italian cookbook among my presents -- does my husband know me well or what?). It doesn't show off her very fashionable little velvet and satin pantsuit, courtesy of my sister and brother-in-law, but you get the idea... In this shot, she's happily gnawing on the ribbon that her fancy helicopter was wrapped with; presumably someday the helicopter itself will be of interest to her.

So it's really just been a whirlwind of cooking and wrapping and talking and eating these last several days. I got into a classic Christmas funk on Friday, feeling sad that few friends were around and that my family was far away. But D and Ess snapped me out of it -- as did, bizarrely, a late afternoon trip to the insanely crowded grocery store -- and I really enjoyed the next several days. Saturday night D's parents came over; we ate stuffed shells and watched "Meet Me in St. Louis," which was fun if a little slow. (The night before, D and I had watched "The Family Stone" -- totally predictable and formulaic yet still enjoyable, particularly if you like Luke Wilson like I like Luke Wilson.)

On Christmas Eve we must've done something in the morning... probably wrapping and organizing. Oh, yes, D was sick -- he'd come down with a bad head cold that moved into his chest. He had a horrible cough that made me concerned about bronchitis or worse, so I talked him into going to the quick care clinic to see if he needed antibiotics. He did not, and was cleared to attend a gathering that afternoon at his aunt's house. D's extended family doesn't get together very often -- I'd only met this aunt, her children and their kids once, at a funeral five years ago -- but it turned out to be a very nice event, calm and low-key. D's cousin's six-year-old son made it his mission to entertain Ess, which he did in fine fashion, fake-slapping himself in the face and falling down dramatically on the living room rug, over and over again. She was totally entranced. And I had an entertaining conversation with him and his eight-year-old brother about Santa logistics (best question: what if you are good all year long, but then on Christmas Eve you are really, really bad?).

We came home to trundle our sleepy girl off to bed, then recommence wrapping and cooking (I had to marinate the beef for our Christmas dinner beef bourginoine, which I'm sure is spelled wrong). Finally, at about 9:45, we collapsed on the couch, me with a glass of the pinot noir the meat was marinating in, D with a dose of Nyquil he poured into a shot glass to be more festive. We sat together in the light of the Christmas tree, reconnecting, talking, going over the day's events. It was quick but very cozy, one of the very best kind of moments we've shared lately.

And then on Christmas we opened stockings, made breakfast (omelets with fancy goat cheese and amazing bacon and roasted red peppers) and opened presents. D and I managed to both buy something the other had really wanted (a wine book for him, a T-shirt from our local kick-ass bakery for me) despite the time and money crunch, which was very cool. His parents came over for appetizers, dinner and more presents; they bought a handful of things for Ess and a contribution to her college fund, as well as a couple things for us and a very nice check. Though I've had my issues with my in-laws in the past, and likely will again in the future, we spent a really relaxing three days with them. Ess clearly loves spending time with them, and they with her. And I really appreciate the lack of excess gift-giving on their part.

So now it is time to do this all over again, complete with a Christmas-morning re-creation at my parents' and visits to NJ friends and a lot more eating. (Not to mention a lot more excess; my parents are not known for restraint in the gift department.) It's unlikely that I'll post while we're down there, but we'll be back Saturday night. Hope you all have plenty of days off, a chance to get some fresh air and, if your diet is anything like mine has been recently, a green vegetable or two amidst all the chocolate.

Merry Christmas!

2006-12-25T09:40:00.000-05:00

(And Happy Monday to everyone else.)

The final countdown

2006-12-22T10:55:00.000-05:00

I'm working until 2 or 3 today, and actually getting stuff done, somewhat to my surprise. Even more to my surprise: I've been able to do a few interviews; having sources be available on the last work day before any holiday is rare and getting rarer.

D. came down with a bad, bad cold yesterday; he is on Ess duty until I'm done, and swears he can muddle through. Right now she's taking a long nap, though, and he's watching a movie on the couch. Good news for both of them. I'm a little worried about how his illness will affect our (extremely minimal) Christmas plans... and our planned trip to NJ next Wednesday. And I REALLY hope that Ess doesn't catch what he's got. I will have to work very hard to be a grownup, and not a whiny little kid, if we have to skip seeing my family for the holiday. And, yes, I am in fact borrowing trouble and I should really stop.

I started the wrapping last night. And, of course, began with the presents for my parents, which don't actually have to be wrapped until after Christmas. But they were all in one place, which was near the wrapping paper and tape, and so they got done. We only bought Ess one real present -- a beautiful helicopter from this place -- plus an ornament, and I'm pondering whether we should even bother wrapping them. But of course we will and she will try to eat the wrapping paper and totally ignore her swanky new toy.

We have very little in the way of plans for the next few days. Tomorrow morning I would like to write one of the freelance stories that are due in early January, but if D is still sick that's not going to happen. I also need to pick up a few little things for some friends we're planning to see in NJ (or for their kids, anyway), and we probably need to get something for our new daycare provider. And tomorrow would seem to be the last opportunity to do so.

Sunday we're supposed to go to D's aunt's house... a side of the family with whom we have very little contact. D is totally unenthused about going, but I convinced him that it will make his mom happy and, really, what's a couple hours once every few years? I'm actually looking forward to the large group gathering, since it will distract me from the fact that I'm missing the seven-fish dinner and related festivities at my grandparents' house.

And on Christmas D and Ess and I will spend the morning here by ourselves, opening presents and having breakfast -- omelets, maybe? His parents will come over later for beef bourginoine, which satisfies my need to make something slightly fancy and also satisfies his dad's desire to actually eat something that I cook (a true Mainer, he is a meat and potatoes man with very unadventurous culinary tastes). D has to work on Christmas, which we hope will mean that he just carries a cell phone... but there is a chance that he will have to go in to work, which would be really lousy.

So that's that. I really need to spend some time thinking about the positive things about having a quiet Christmas; talking to my sister, who is en route to NJ as I type this, made me realize that, much as I love the holidays at home, there is a fair amount of stress involved. Not to mention the uncertainty of how Ess will sleep at her grandparents' and the chaos of traveling with a blind, deaf, incontinent dog. So, yes, a quiet Christmas is ok. Just forgive me if I seem to repeat that sentiment over the next few days as I try to convince myself that I believe it.

Katie Couric better watch her back

2006-12-20T20:29:00.000-05:00

Well, perhaps that's overstating it a bit, since I apparently couldn't be bothered to sit up straight (note to self: the back of the chair is for decorative purposes only; do not actually lean back on it) and since my habit of looking at the ceiling when I'm thinking appears as eye-rolling on TV. But all in all, my four minutes of fame went quite well.

It was a bizarre experience, though. I showed up at the studio 45 minutes early, as instructed. I briefly met the producer -- who looked all of 12 -- then sat and waited in the darkened lobby. And waited. And then waited some more. I played with my new cell phone, talked to my sister, called my mom and waited some more. I only checked my appearance twice, which I think showed admirable restraint.

Speaking of my appearance: Holy near wardrobe malfunction! Somehow the shirt I carefully ironed and then set aside, to be put on just before I left the house, gained grease spots on both breasts. Where this came from I have no idea, but I discovered it at the last second and ran around the house shrieking like a maniac until I found a sweater that was clean and relatively unwrinkled.

In any case, when they finally escorted me into the studio, I chatted briefly with the hosts, hopped up on the chair and yammered away as they asked a handful of questions. They were interested in things I was taken aback by, and completely missed areas I felt certain they'd mention. I never said the magazine's name (the hosts did, more than once), and I totally missed a point I really wanted to make. But when I came home and watched the tape with D, I was surprised at how well I think I did. Got a nice email from my editor this evening saying he's proud of me, which was awfully sweet of him. And I've got another line on ye olde resume.

Now if only I could get my pulse rate down.

Random gerunds of Monday night

2006-12-18T21:12:00.000-05:00

Munching: On Christmas cookies, an insane number of which appeared at my house this afternoon courtesy of a cookie swap at my sister's work. So I did nothing, and got a whole plate of cookies. It is fabulous and also quite evil.

Anticipating: A good night's sleep, something that -- through no fault of Ess' -- we haven't gotten in several days. We went to a Christmas party Friday night, then spent Saturday and Sunday staying up late with an old friend of mine who was visiting from the west coast. Asleep before midnight is the goal tonight, and I hope to beat it by at least 90 minutes.

Disbelieving: The fact that I spent much of that party discussing kids and careers and wuas totally fascinated by all of it. We did not get to real estate, but we could have. When did we turn into our parents?

Hoping: To finish my Christmas shopping tomorrow. Astonishingly, we got the cards done and the tree decorated last week. Most of my shopping is done, which is a huge relief.

Appreciating: Old friends. I hadn't seen my friend K for three or four years, and we didn't do a great job of keeping in touch since the last visit. But she is among my oldest of friends; we have seen each other at our best and at our worst, and -- a key factor in turning childhood friendships into adult relationships -- we have disagreed and gotten over it. It's a shame we live on the exact opposite sides of the country, because I'd love to see her more.

Stressing: About the fact that I have to appear on live TV later this week to talk about a story I wrote recently. There was a reason I did not choose broadcast journalism, so this strikes me as more than a little unfair. But my editor asked, and so I will go. What will I wear? How will I stop myself from gesticulating wildly while I talk? And, I say again, what will I wear?

This post brought to you by the letter B

2006-12-17T13:11:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the lack of posting lately... Christmas preparations, work, and a visit from a high school friend have combined to keep me far from the blogs. In any case, this is the meme where you post 10 things you like that begin with your assigned letter. My letter came from ppb, who thought B would be good because of the Baby. So here goes. And if you'd like to play along, leave a note in the comments and I will assign you a letter.

1. Blogging! I am finding that I miss the pressure of NaBloPoMo to post every day; it was a really good exercise, and now I've quickly returned to my lackadaisical posting schedule. But my point about blogging is that I'm frequently overwhelmed by the generosity of this community, something I'd never expected to find.
2. Baby, the. I am not one of those people who gets all squealy about babies in general, but I have to say that the one napping in the next room is pretty frickin' amazing.
3. Beer. Mmmmm. Can't wait to try the homebrew that a friend just passed along as a Christmas gift.
4. Bacon. We were out to brunch this morning and I had an amazing dish -- potato gnocchi with spinach, hollandaise and thick-cut bacon. Yum, yum, yum.
5. Beatles, the. An easy one, to be sure, but they really never go out of style, and it's so much fun to play them for Ess. I sing her "In My Life" -- a garbled version of it, anyway -- every night before bed.
6. Beach, the. It's not summer to me without a few days spent in a beach chair, with a sandy butt and a jug of eventually lukewarm water. I am so lucky to live within walking distance of the beach. It soothes my soul in a way little else does.
7. Beef. When I started eating meat after 5 or 6 vegetarian years, I began with turkey sandwiches, which were what I'd been craving. And then went home at Christmas and my mom had made meatballs. And that was the end of my ban on red meat. We try to buy local, grass-fed beef, although it doesn't come in all the cuts we use, but I am surprised at how comfortable I've gotten cooking it.... to the point where we probably ought to eat a little less.
8. Bocce. Another sign of summer -- the clink of the heavy balls as they meet, the chorus of groans when a throw goes astray, the friendly arguments over whose ball is closer. It's going to be a few years, but I can't wait to teach Ess how to play.
9. Beets. A surprising discovery of adulthood (and CSA membership). I LOVE a salad with greens, beets and goat cheese. It's a totally different vegetable than the canned slimy things I ate as a child.
10. Bed. Covers with some heft to them, a nice cushy pillow, a good book or magazine article and I am in heaven. In fact, I think a nap is in order right now.

Random bullets of addressing Christmas cards

2006-12-12T21:12:00.000-05:00

How did I end up knowing so many people who live in Ohio? Does it have anything to do with that John Gorka song "I'm from New Jersey"? (Sample lyric: "It's like Ohio, but even more so.")
Next year, I am getting pre-printed return address labels.
And possibly figuring out how to print labels from my address book.
Although I still refuse to capitulate to the tyranny of the pre-printed photo card with no room for a handwritten message. We will painstakingly hand-write the same two sentences over and over to all of our friends and like it, by god! (And, yes, a glass of wine helps this effort immeasurably.)
Curious how the card list has grown lengthier since we have a photo of a little cutie-pie to show off...
...Although I did heed the words of some columnist or blogger I read once who griped about getting holiday cards that just include pictures of the kids; the theory is that your old friends are more interested in seeing your kid if they can see an updated photo of you, too... post-baby weight, receding hairline and all. (Not, of course, that either of those would apply to us. Ahem.) We opted for a family photo at a scenic locale (the nearby beach) with vaguely holiday-ish clothing (I'm in a red sweater, D's in a cream-colored Irish wool sweater, and Ess is decked out in her Swedish Childrensson Xmas dress and a fuzzy white hat).
And now that all 60+ cards have been addressed, return addressed and stamped, I have absolutely zero willpower to write messages on any of them. Can barely hold head up to finish my wine.
Someone remind me what it is we enjoy about the holidays?

Heat miser

2006-12-12T10:57:00.000-05:00

Although my mind is filled with little more than variations on the question of how I can get Ess to sleep more -- yes, we are in two-steps-forward, one-step-back land with the Blerber method -- I want to write the post that's been spinning around in my head for the last few weeks. It was moved to the top of the mental "posts I should write" list when I read about jo(e)'s white cloths, which her family uses instead of paper towels.

We are conservation-minded around these parts... at least I am, and D goes along willingly whenever I propose a new conservation measure. We bought the Prius, after all (though in retrospect financing it with a home equity loan rather than an auto loan was really stupid... and this from someone who writes about personal finance...); we pay extra for green power; we recycle like crazy; we belong to a CSA, which not only provides us with fresh, local, organic vegetables but also cuts down tremendously on the amount of petroleum used along the way. I try to combine trips, to walk rather than drive when feasible, to print on both sides of the paper I use in my printer. And lately I've begun trying to unplug appliances when they're not in use... a task that creates more inconvenience than you might think.

So all of that seems reasonable, and quite likely more than the average bear does to conserve energy. But lately it seems nowhere near enough. In part, I'm obsessing about this stuff for financial reasons; with daycare bills starting up in three weeks (ye gods), we need to pinch our pennies even tighter than we have been. But I think parenthood has also created some urgency on this issue for me. I want Ess' world to be better than the one I grew up in. I certainly don't want her to have to deal with the doomsday scenarios of life after peak oil.

Herewith, some conservation measures, and some quasi-related home/health measures, I am pondering implementing:
~Plastic insulation on windows. We do this every year on the living room and bedroom windows, to keep the rooms warmer without having to turn up the thermostat. Gotta get the kits today. And, yes, they're plastic, but they work.
~An insulating cover for the hot water heater. I've been meaning to get one of these for a while and have never gotten around to it.
~Installing compact fluorescent light bulbs in as many fixtures as appropriate.
~Seriously decreasing the number of resealable plastic bags we use -- for sandwiches, for the half of the avocado Ess didn't eat, for the onion I only used half of. But I recently threw out most of our plastic containers since they'd gotten all bubbly and gross and I was worried about the plastic leaching into our food. Glass containers with lids are on my Christmas list, and I bet my mom will get them for me. That is one small step... and then there are the 400 others outlined at Leery Polyp, which just make me want to crawl under the desk and take a nap because I suspect she is right, but how much time and money do I have to restock my kitchen?
~Perhaps implementing jo(e)'s white cloth method. The main thing we use paper towels for, however, is cleanup of canine bodily fluids. I am not at all sure that I am comfortable using a white cloth in my kitchen that has also perhaps swabbed the dining room floor of dog urine (or, in last night's example, cleaned my rubber-soled slippers of the poop I stepped in on the way back from the compost pile in the dark). Hot water and bleach would do it, I guess, but that's a big mental hurdle to leap.
~Umm, there were others but they're totally escaping me right now.

So there you have it. Seems as though we need to spend money to save money, which is tough to ponder this time of year. I'm curious what y'all do -- whether you have any conservation tips that are working well for you, how much money you can imagine shelling out to save dough in the long run, that sort of thing.

Long post and linkage courtesy of Ess, who has now been napping for one hour and 45 minutes.

Seven months old

2006-12-10T20:43:00.000-05:00

Dear Ess,

You are getting to be such a big kid! This month you've taken to solid foods with a vengeance. You love everything we've presented you with -- rice cereal, sweet potatoes, bananas, prunes, avocados, butternut squash -- and when we don't have those prepared quickly enough for you, you bang on the high chair and grunt at us as if to say, "Feed me!" We're really enjoying preparing your food and watching you gobble it down.

In just the last several days, you've become a very proficient sitter. You especially like to sit on the couch and play with your toys... or sink your hands into Rocky's fur. She tolerates it for now, but we suspect that once you become mobile she may be spending a lot more time upstairs. You've also begun shrieking at the dogs, who don't know quite what to make of this high-pitched noise coming unpredictably from such a small creature.

You're much stronger this month, spending lots of time on your tummy reaching for toys, shaking them and sticking them straight in your mouth. Your dexterity is impressive, as is the fuzz that's starting to appear on your head.

This month has been an adventure for all of us when it comes to sleep. You'd gotten quite frustrating, little girl, wanting only to sleep in our arms at night and not in your crib. So after trying every sleep-training method known to man (or at least available on the Internet), we decided to see what happened if we let you cry. Perhaps unwisely, we began this method the night of the surprise party for your father's 35th birthday. And it was hard to listen to you cry. Very, very hard. But you know what? It worked. You learned that you can fall asleep without us, and that nighttime is not time for playing. You've been sleeping much better these days, usually waking up around 1 or 2 and then again around 5. Your parents can now function a little better, which is a big relief, and you seem quite happy in the morning, which is also a relief.

In other sleep news, you've begun taking long, luxurious naps most days -- yesterday, for example, your morning nap lasted from 9:30 until noon! The only problem is that, just when we begin to count on a lengthy nap, you go back to a day of 40-minute snoozes. Oh well.

This month, you hosted your first party (with Mom's help); although you're starting to get a little wary around new people... or even favorite and beloved people who don't happen to be Mom and Dad... you really enjoyed watching the kids play when we celebrated Dad's birthday. You've also been out to dinner a few times, and you've gone grocery shopping nearly every week. You go into a sort of trance at the grocery store, where you gaze at the shelves full of products and spend the shopping trip being very quiet.

You celebrated your first Thanksgiving a few weeks back, and last night you came along as we bought your first Christmas tree. We're not sure a visit to Santa is in order this year given your nervousness around strangers... we'll have to see. Although the holidays are largely lost on you, we've been surprised to see that you actually almost enjoy the cold weather. You get bundled up in one of your fleece suits and go out for a walk almost every day; the cold air shocks you into a stunned silence, but after a while you start looking around and smiling (especially if Rocky's along).

You've gotten to see quite a bit of your Maine grandparents this month, which seems to make you awfully happy. And yesterday you got to see your New Jersey grandparents via webcam for the first time. It took a lot of work (and muttering under the breath) on your mother's part to get the camera set up, but it was a lot of fun once we got it working. Like the rest of us, they were amazed at how big you've gotten, and how interested in the world you are.

It's hard to capture in words how amazing you are, and how very much we love you. But you are, and we do. It may sound a little sappy, but we've already gotten the very best Christmas gift we could imagine. We love you like crazy, Boo Boo.

Love,
Mom and Dad

How not to start your day

2006-12-09T08:06:00.000-05:00

7:15 Get up when Ess wakes. Find her playing and smiling in her crib, snuggled up with her Taggie. When you change her diaper, realize that prunes are perhaps best served at a meal other than dinner.

7:25 Head downstairs. Put Ess in bouncy seat; realize that the frequency with which she's sitting means this won't be a baby containment option for much longer. Open the kitchen door and discover a puddle of pee on the floor. Thank whichever deity is responsible for the idea that Jelly gets locked in the kitchen at night, and that Ess is not yet crawling.

7:27 Pick Jelly up and carry her into the backyard. Discover that your zeal for not letting heat escape from the house means you have pulled the back door tight behind you. It is locked. You are wearing red slippers, blue pajama pants, an orange shirt, and a pink cardigan, and nothing else. D is still in bed. It is approximately 18 degrees out.

7:28 Knock insistently on the back door. No answer. Ponder which neighbor will be least likely to make fun of your outfit should you need to borrow the phone, and how likely it is that Ess will topple her bouncy seat over in her attempt to sit upright in it.

7:29 Go to driveway and bellow up at the bedroom window.

7:30 Gratefully re-enter the house, courtesy of your wonderful husband. Lock the dogs
out of the kitchen and clean up the pee. Feed the dogs and put Ess down on her tummy in the living room, where she can watch them eat.

7:35 Put Rocky out in the yard. Watch her through the kitchen window for the telltale signs of coprophagia. Listen to Ess whine about tummy time. When Rocky assumes her hunched, guilty position, open the window and shake the treat jar to lure her back inside.

7:36 Rocky completely ignores you. Mutter curses under your breath. In same outfit as above, go into the backyard (note that back door is now unlocked). Trudge through the snow in slippers to corral disobedient shih tzu.

7:37 Return inside. Leave snow-filled slippers at the door. Ess is whining. The kitchen still smells like pee. But you have a massage appointment at 10:15, and a dinner date (rescheduled from last weekend) with your husband. Determine that this is all kind of funny, and crack open the laptop.

I love you, sweater

2006-12-08T08:44:00.000-05:00

Living up here in the frozen north, sweaters are a fact of life, along with silky long underwear and a hat that covers your ears. So I have acquired a collection of warm, woolly sweaters of which I am quite fond. And right now I am mourning the fact that nursing/pumping makes it impractical to wear them; I just can't deal with that much bulky fabric jammed up under my chin several times a day.

So this year I have become a proponent of the cardigan. I only have a couple, so they are seeing extremely heavy wear these days, especially today's little gray wool number. The cardigans are practical and warm enough, I guess, but I sure do miss my sweaters. Maybe next year....

On a separate wintry topic: I really need to buy some winter boots (the kind for trudging through snow and navigating the icy back deck). I typically wear my hiking boots through winter, but they're not weatherproofed, nor are their treads particularly well suited for snow. I've been meaning to buy real boots for years, but the thought of slipping and falling with miss Ess in my arms has me convinced that this is the year. My only question? What kind to buy that will keep my feet warm and dry for not too much money. Any ideas, friends?

Safe food vs. scary food

2006-12-06T15:47:00.000-05:00

I bookmarked two news stories today and was trying to decide which one to write about... then I realized that they're actually opposite sides of the same coin.

Side the first: A Seattle woman who was trapped in a snowbound car with her husband and two little kids for nine days was able to keep the girls alive by breastfeeding them, despite her own lack of nourishment. I'm glad to see the media reporting on this angle, especially given some of the furor over breastfeeding in recent weeks. I think a story like this does a lot more to spread information about the positive effects of BFing than any number of nurse-ins. (Thanks to Zoot for the heads-up on this saga, which I hadn't heard about. And here's hoping that the husband, who left to find help, is found safe and sound very soon.)

Side the second: The e. coli outbreak at Chalupa Ding Dong (sorry, I can't resist; Phantom and Songbird have infected me with their imaginative aliases, of which this is but a poor imitation). Given the recent spinach debacle, I wonder when we are going to start talking about the problems in the corporatization of our food system, particulary as it relates to agribusiness. Rather, I wonder when those conversations will move from the rarified circles of food bloggers and the buy-local crowd into the mainstream. (Yes, Michael Pollan wrote about this topic for the Times Magazine a while back, but I'm not sure that counts since he is the king of buy -- and eat -- local.)

All that said, Chalupa Ding Dong is my fast food weakness. I got addicted to it when I lived in, of all places, the southwest, where real burritos and enchiladas were everywhere. But Chalupa Ding Dong was super cheap, and so I ate their (then) 79 cent bean burritos like they were going out of style. Luckily for me, the only one nearby now is in the mall food court, which I do not frequent all that frequently. But I can tell you at which exits between here and the state of my birth have a convenient Chalupa Ding Dong; we've stopped at all of them at one time or another. So I understand, I think, the diners who are eating there despite the outbreak. But I'm coming to the conclusion that I may have finally lost my taste for Chalupa Ding Dong. What fun is a guilty pleasure, after all, if it may land you in the hospital, or worse, and when it supports the very factory food system you claim to abhor? (And that is causing American vegetable farmers to lose market share to overseas growers who are flooding the market with el cheapo produce?)

So there you have it. Wonderful, amazing food that saves lives -- and, really can you get any more local than your mom's breast? -- and frightening eats that kill people. With so many links that you might think Jody had written this post (although her prodigious linkage puts this mere smattering to shame).

Can't find nothing good on the radio

2006-12-05T15:15:00.000-05:00

I was on my way out to lunch with a friend and her seven-month-old this afternoon when I switched to a different radio station than the one I normally listen to. My radio hierarchy is NPR, then the local adult alternative station, then whatever else.

Rarely do I venture off those first two. But NPR was playing the Gates hearings, and I was in the mood for something a little more rhythmic. The adult alternative (or roots or Americana or whatever they've taken to calling the music I listen to) station was playing an hour of reggae, and I was in the mood for something less repetitive. So I ended up listening to another local station, one that plays hits from the 80s, 90s and today, with a playlist designed to "get you through your workday." Not something I normally go for, but they were playing something good... an old Til Tuesday song, I believe... and so I kept it tuned it.

And then at the break, they played one of their pre-recorded promos. These things are not known for their subtlety or wit, but this one, intoned by a silky female voice, blew me away:

"WXYZ: Almost as good as chocolate and credit cards."

Umm, credit cards?? I can see how you'd want your radio station to rank right up there with dark chocolate and free money, but debt? High interest payments? Subsidizing giant corporations while you live paycheck to paycheck? Not to mention the implication that if you listen to this station, you're a woman and therefore you like to eat sweets and spend money you don't have. Gah.

I always knew that corporate radio was evil, but this has me totally speechless.

Attack of the gerunds, Monday edition

2006-12-04T15:57:00.000-05:00

Craving: Sleep, glorious sleep. We are using the Sleep Method That Shall Not Be Named, and while we are seeing some progress, it is exhausting in the process. I got two, two-and-a-half hour chunks of sleep last night, which is simply not enough. And then settled down to nap when Ess did this afternoon, and instead of the hour or more she's been napping lately, she was down for 35 minutes... which D called in the middle of. She's now down again -- after just an hour and a quarter -- and I've decided to not even bother trying to sleep. Here's hoping that tonight we see some improvement...

Regretting: The hasty decision I made about which photo to use for our Christmas cards. A friend shot the photos and then uploaded them to the Blodak Gallery... which meant I couldn't download them myself and apply the limited amount of Photoshop magic I know. So I picked one quickly that night and submitted the order. Since then, I've looked at the shots online a number of times, and there's one I like a lot better -- there is actually light on our faces, we look happy, and even though Ess isn't looking at the camera, you can see her face and her adorable Swedish Childrensson dress (Jennie, it's the one I sent you). But the prints of the other shot arrived over the weekend, and we will make do. Apparently I am not alone in experiencing this phenomenon this year...

Wondering: Where the hell my Christmas spirit has gone to. I suspect its absence has something to do with gerund the first, but it's tough. Ess and I went out to do a few things this morning, including a quick trip to my favorite kitchen store to get a decent knife for my dad, who's admired our chef's knife a few times. Christmas carols were playing in the store, which was full of people bustling around with their shopping lists, and it just did absolutely nothing for me. I don't typically go nuts for the holidays, but I like them... and this year I feel nada so far. But maybe that will change once we get the decorations out and buy the tree next weekend.

Anticipating: A visit from a high school friend who has lived on the west coast for the last several years. She doesn't get back east very often -- I think the last time was four years ago -- and we aren't great at keeping in touch in between. But we always connect really well when we do see each other. She's going to stay with us the weekend after next, and I can't wait to introduce her to Ess and talk to her about motherhood (her son is nine already!).

Gazing: Upon our new, 27-inch flat-screen TV, which was my parents' and grandparents' combination birthday and Christmas gift to D. I didn't much care that since our old TV had broken we were watching a small screen, but my husband the movie buff has practically been in physical pain. We inaugurated it with a viewing of Clerks II over the weekend; while I am a huge Kevin Smith fan, I've gotta say that this one was underwhelming. And, yes, I am enjoying the new, bigger TV... although it does sort of dominate the living room now.

Hearing: A wee girl waking from her nap, so thus endeth the gerunds for today. Blogger's being wonky, so I'll come back and add links later, presuming this even posts in the first place...

Surprise!

2006-12-02T10:34:00.000-05:00

Today D turns 35. So last night I threw him a surprise party that was incredibly successful. I'd been plotting and planning for weeks... all of which was thrown into chaos when it turned out that he took yesterday off instead of working until 5 as originally planned. But my brother-in-law heroically offered to take him out for a couple beers, so my in-laws and my sister and I were able to get the house in order with plenty of time to spare. Bizarrely so, in fact, because even though I had only an hour between when he left and when guests were to arrive, we ended up standing around with nothing to do for 20 minutes.

In any case, D was thrilled with the surprise; he says he's still kind of wired from it today. It doesn't hurt that far-flung friends have been calling to say hello since last night; right now D is on the phone with one of the kids (who is now probably in his late 20s) we used to work with when we lived in the southwest. And if my advance information is correct, the phone will continue to ring all day, and the e-mails will keep pouring in. It's so much fun to watch; we've been fairly isolated from all but a few people since Ess was born, and lately that has really been getting D down. So it's very cool to reconnect with people, and to see the pleasure he's getting out of it. He totally deserves it.

Tonight, my in-laws are babysitting and D and I are going out to a fancy restaurant by ourselves. This is financially ill-advised (though not ruinous by any means), but I'm taking advantage of the opportunity to treat ourselves. Frankly, I'm also glad that D's parents will be dealing with little Ess after bedtime... I will have to fill you in on the latest in the sleep saga when I feel a little better about it all.

In any case, half a year of parenthood has certainly had its ups and downs, and created a certain amount of stress in our relationship. So it feels so good to be able to do something nice for D, and to see him enjoy it so thoroughly.

On top of all that, we've got a fridge full of beer, more wine than we started out with and a bunch of leftover chili (sadly, my sister's stuffed shells were so popular that I never even got a bit before they vanished). It's sunny (if windy) here, and Ess has been napping for almost two hours. All in all, a very good day.

Sneaky Pete

2006-12-01T12:57:00.000-05:00

D's birthday is tomorrow. I have more than one sneaky, secret thing going on, and I have come thisclose to letting the cats out of their respective bags more than once. The time for secrecy is coming to an end, but as the hours tick by I am finding it harder and harder to keep my big mouth shut.

He rarely reads this blog, but on the off chance that he checks in today or tomorrow morning, I will keep my silence for now. Details to come over the weekend. And if anyone can lend me some discretion in the meantime? It'd be very much appreciated.

What I learned during my NaBloPoMo

2006-11-30T06:10:00.000-05:00

Posting every day is not as difficult as I thought it might be, once I got in the habit (and got over my hangup about posting during work hours).
That said, I did post a few clunkers just to get something up.
But the pressure of posting every day also made me look outside my own navel for topics at least a few times... NYT articles on moms who like their liquor chief among them. I've been wanting to write those kind of posts for a while, and it was nice to have the impetus.
In addition, as Laid-Off Dad noticed, I think it did help my work-related writing to be spewing out words on a daily basis.
And it certainly did goose my traffic... at least a little bit. Actually, what I mean is that my traffic became more consistent, rather than having peaks and valleys.
But, with the exception of a few crazy souls who are attempting to comment on every NaBloPoMo blog, I didn't see any comments from new folks. Which means Jody is probably correct about the fact that the only people using the NaBloPoMo randomizer are other NaBloers.
And in my own experience, the randomizer is cool... but I didn't add any blogs I found while using it to my blogroll, or even to my feeds.
I hear that some NaBloers (which sounds kind of dirty, doesn't it?) are going to continue this crazy thing in December. And I think I might sign up. Crazy, no?
And also? I really, really like prizes. I like winning things. I win radio call-in contests sometimes. So I am hoping that somehow among all the hundreds of participants, I win something. I'll keep you posted. (Ha, a little blogging pun to leave you with. Perhaps someone at this computer needs a bit more sleep? Or some coffee? How about both?)

Drinking for two

2006-11-29T14:00:00.000-05:00

Ah, the New York Times takes on drinking and motherhood again. This time, though, it's in the form of a well-reasoned personal essay about drinking during pregnancy. The author, who I believe is a Times staffer, writes about her own decision to drink moderately during pregnancy -- something I should say that I totally agree with, having had the occasional half-glass of beer or wine in my third trimester. (And now having an occasional whole beer or glass of wine while breastfeeding, which, I might add, is totally sanctioned by LLL, though I always feel faintly rebellious when I do so.)

She notes that her desire to have a drink with dinner was strongest when she was eating out. And although the piece does deal with the fact that the general public looks askance at pregnant women who have a drink, she doesn't mention any uncomfortable instances with her own drinking in public. That's the very thing that kept me from having a beer at a restaurant while pregnant, though -- I just didn't want to deal with any nasty looks or muttered comments. I'd take a sip of Darren's and then push it back across the table.

When I was admitted to the hospital with pre-term labor a few days before Ess was born, one of the first questions the nurse asked was whether I drank during pregnancy. Panicked, I said, "Yes, I had about this much" -- thumb and index finger about three inches apart -- "beer last night."

"That's fine," the nurse said, and laughed. "I'm only interested if you had a fifth of vodka on a regular basis."

But of course that message -- that moderate drinking is probably just fine after the first trimester -- simply does not get transmitted to the public. I understand that public health messages by design are simple and clear; there is not room for complexity in just about any marketing campaign. That's why co-sleeping is universally discouraged, for example, because it's too difficult to explain concisely that it's safe if you're doing it correctly and you're not impaired. When I was griping about the AAP's advisory against co-sleeping a while ago, a friend who worked with teen moms mentioned that if it were reversed her clients would simply hear "it's ok to sleep with your baby" and snuggle up with the kid like the living teddy bear many of them wanted in the first place... quite possibly with disastrous consequences.

And then of course there's the American fear of litigation. So of course no one is going to say it's ok to have a glass of wine while you're pregnant -- what about the liability if something later happens to the baby? Who can you sue? I felt like a real dunce when I realized that all the warnings on kids' products -- like the prohibition against carrying the bouncy seat with the kid in it, or the one against putting the car seat anywhere but the floor -- are just about limiting liability, and have very little to do with how the average household actually uses the products.

All of it makes the work of parenting that much harder, I think, as you tease through the legal lingo and the conflicting medical studies to determine your own take on each issue. But I guess that's what adulthood... and parenthood... are all about: figuring out what makes sense for your family. And my family is definitely happier if I get a glass of porter every now and then.

It's 4:31 pm and it is pitch dark outside

2006-11-28T16:23:00.000-05:00

Not much to report today. Ess had her six-month checkup, and the doctor was very pleased with how she's doing. And she said we need to just hang in there with the sleep disruption... which I knew, but which was good to hear from someone in a position of authority, too.

Ess had four shots, and at the moment seems to be doing fine, though she did conk out for about an hour right after the appointment. Right now she's laying on her back on the floor, going crazy with a rattle and Larry, her stuffed gorilla. She's also cackling at the dogs. I am never so grateful for their company as when they make a little girl laugh during tummy time.

There's lots of other stuff going on around here, none of it exactly bloggable at the moment. My Super Secret Christmas Project involves use of Photoshop, which I've never used before. And it also involves using Microsoft Word to perform desktop publishing functions, which is making me wish I had access to Quark or something... although that would likely involve (a lot more) cursing. D is also hard at work on a desktop publishing project for Christmas... and I'm going to have to format his, too. By that time I should be an old pro, but in the meantime I am futzing around with section breaks and styles and columns and it is driving me crazzzzyyyyy. Especially because every time I go through the document to double-check it, the Microsoft gremlins have screwed up some other thing that was previously hunky-dory. All I can say is, the recipients damn well better like this thing or I am going to spend Christmas huddled in a corner, weeping quietly.

Ess' tolerance for amusing herself seems to be diminishing rapidly; stupid Larry just isn't that exciting of a companion, I guess. And the dogs are begging for dinner, which doesn't get poured in their bowls for another hour... so that means I've got 60 minutes of pushy pooches underfoot while I try to entertain this kiddo. Fun times.

One of the joys of working at home

2006-11-27T13:13:00.000-05:00

I got to witness this at lunch time today. Someone has become a big fan of food in general, and sweet potatoes in particular.

It'll be on all the runways next year

2006-11-26T13:55:00.000-05:00

As part of the ongoing effort to get Ess to sleep a little better, we've decided she needs a lovey. She showed a little interest in the Taggie a friend passed on to us -- it's a piece of fleece about eight inches square, with little loops of ribbon all around it. To aid in the attachment process, I've been tucking in between us every time she nurses. Then I figured, what the heck, and stuck it down the front of my shirt.

My surprising realization? Having that cozy piece of fleece against my belly and chest makes me awfully nice and warm on this chilly Sunday afternoon.

I just hope no one drops by unannounced.

A whole night's sleep

2006-11-25T16:32:00.000-05:00

Yep, last night I slept wonderfully, from 10:30 to 7 am. Only up at midnight and five am.

Of course, this was not because Ess had a wonderful night, but rather because my amazing husband decreed that I was to spend the night in the guest room while he attempted to wrangle the wily (and wakeful) child. The night before, I'd taken care of her solo while D was in the guest room, and It Did Not Go Well. I won't bore you with a blow-by-blow, but suffice it to say that some time around 12:30 I yelled in my crying baby's face "Shut up, why can't you just shut up?" I scared the crap out of her, and out of myself, and so the two of us spent a while crying together. I was an absolute wreck yesterday, convinced that I'm not capable of raising this child, worried about the part of me that wanted to hurt her while she screamed, despairing that it would ever change. Thus, my exile last night to the guest room with the door shut and a fan on to drown out any sounds from upstairs.

D did not have a great night with her last night -- she really, really hates being transferred back into the crib lately, where it never used to bother her -- but I got a solid night's sleep and was able to pump in two sessions almost all of what she drank overnight. My cold is much improved today as a result, as is my mental state. It doesn't hurt that I got some errands done this morning, and started the decluttering of the house that's been needed for months. This afternoon we put on some fancier clothes and ran down to the beach so a friend could take our Christmas picture, and tonight we're having pizza (again) while D and a friend watch the big Midwestern Catholic School game; I'll be on the PC, working on the Super-Secret Holiday Project and, perhaps, sipping a beer.

I'm under no illusions that Ess' sleep schedule is going to change any time soon. But it's amazing how much better I am able to handle that uncertainty with just one good night's sleep behind me.

The blandification of our whole situation*

2006-11-24T14:44:00.000-05:00

So here it is Black Friday, that glorious day of conspicuous consumption, traffic and stress, all in the name of kicking the holiday season off right. Ess and I spent it at the auto dealer, where we were getting an oil change and a two-months-overdue inspection. Sitting there, in a particularly unlovely part of City by the Sea, I watched two episodes of Family Feud on the giant flat-screen TV that dominates the waiting room. Did you know that the guy who played J. Peterman on Seinfeld is now the host? I can't tell whether his smarminess is real or knowing and campy. Either way, it wears thin after about five minutes.

On the way back, knowing Ess was due for a nap, and that the drive home was just long enough to knock her out, and realizing that my extreme sleep deprivation has made me crave the fattiest and greasiest of foods, I went through the drivethrough at Yellow Humps, which now takes credit cards for your dining convenience. I hadn't been to a Yellow Humps in quite a while -- maybe a year or so? -- but the taste of that "burger" and fries, along with a watery Coke that had just enough caffeine to perk me up, was instantly familiar. Ess fell asleep before we even left their parking lot, and I scarfed down the food as we drove down Lots of Trees Avenue, a misnomer if ever there was one. Auto body shops, franchise stores and gas stations are interrupted by a funky little stretch of locally owned ethnic eateries, then it's back to a drug store here and a donut chain there.

Before I knew it, I was driving by the park and my burger was gone. Did I remember eating it? Not really. The salt from the fries still dimples my lips, though the Coke did nothing to quench my thirst. Ess was soundly asleep, so I drove my usual keep-her-napping route, down to Surfers Beach and back along the coastal route of the road race I've run a few times. I passed tidy little Capes, marshes glinting in the sun, a cottage under construction near the beach and a cove where mist from the waves splashed high in the sky. Ess slept and slept, and so we drove up hills and down, through neighborhoods and the community college, past one locally owned business after the next.

I sipped the remains of that Coke, with the Yellow Humps logo emblazoned on the side, and was grateful once again for the locally grown apples, and locally made butter, in yesterday's apple pie, for the fantastic bakery around the corner from our house, for the luxury of paying a premium for locally grown food, for the once-a-year reminder that mass-marketed, highly processed food may fill the stomach, but it doesn't satisfy the soul.

-----

*Title comes from a lyric in Greg Brown's incredible song/spoken word piece "Eugene," from his new album The Evening Call, which hasn't left my car's CD player for a week now.

Grateful

2006-11-23T18:15:00.000-05:00

This time last year, I spent the entire weekend huddled on the couch, trying desperately to avoid throwing up and not succeeding very often. I was miserable.

This year, I am exhausted and verging on delirious; Moxie's description of a head filled with hot sand is becoming more apt by the moment. And yet as I type this, there is a sweet little girl two rooms away, kicking at her jungle gym and squealing at her dogs and her daddy. She grins when she sees me, and she flaps her arms with delight when I pull my shirt up to nurse her. She buries her head in my neck when she's tired, and she leans back against me as she curiously surveys the whole world.

And then there is that daddy of hers, that husband of mine, whose love for us is palpable. He is generous and thoughtful and largely too good to be true.

We have much to be grateful for this year -- material things, yes, but more importantly family and friends and furry creatures. But most of all, that much desired, much dreamed of, beautiful little girl. Ess gives Thanksgiving a whole new meaning.

Falling apart

2006-11-22T14:09:00.000-05:00

Physically, that is. Well, perhaps mentally a bit, too.

Last night Ess was back to her recent sleepways -- two hours, from 10 to midnight, in which she wouldn't go all the way back to sleep but wasn't fully awake, either, just an unhappy, tossing-and-turning, whimpering little girl. She came in bed with me, D went to the guestroom, and she woke in her unsettled fashion every hour until the wee hours. She and D went off to his weekly staff meeting and I gave myself permission to go back to sleep, even though my workday was due to start at 8 and it was already 7:45. I figured I'd sleep for an hour or so, then get up and do my work. I'm the only one on the magazine staff working today, so why not take advantage, right?

I woke up at 10, bleary-eyed, disoriented, starving and grumpy. Oh, and did I mention still congested and coughing? In the shower, I spent some time aiming hot water at this really irritating red, infected lump that appeared under my right arm the other night. I think it's just an ingrown hair follicle, but it is sore and gross, and its location, right on the edge of the armpit region, is slightly concerning. My one consolation: I had an appointment with my ob/gyn this afternoon for a pap, so I figured she could take a quick look at it and let me know whether it seemed odd to her.

So I muddled through the first 300 words of my story, frittering away time here and there, and then headed off to the ob. Wouldn't you know it, the bridge was up. So I sat there, watching the minutes tick by as an oil tanker headed out to sea, and my cell phone rang. The ob had to go deliver a baby, so can they reschedule me for two weeks from now? Of course they can... and there goes my sanity check on whether I should be worried about this arm thing.

After a quick trip to the grocery store for pie supplies, I am back at my desk. D is collapsed on the couch, Ess is napping and - damn - I've got to get pizza dough going in the breadmaker for dinner tonight. And somewhere in there I need to finish this fireplacing story; otherwise, it will be one more weekend involving work for me, and that's something I'd really like to avoid. But my immune system is apparently shot, my brain is working half-strength at best and I am totally unmotivated. Fun times.

I promise, I will be thankful tomorrow. Today, though, I am all about teh whine.

Cue the chorus of heavenly angels

2006-11-21T16:16:00.000-05:00

Well, someone's advice must have worked, because Ess was only up twice last night. Meaning I got five hours of sleep in a row. Hallelujah.

So I'm back at work today, with a slight fever and a very raspy voice, but upright and functional nonetheless. I'm fairly worn out here at the end of the day, and not much looking forward to doing the last few hours until bedtime by myself, but I think we will survive.

One thing, however, is guaranteed: We are getting takeout from the Thai place up the street tonight.

A conundrum

2006-11-20T09:22:00.000-05:00

I don't know what to do about this sleep situation with Ess. She's been sleeping in her crib, in her bedroom, for the last three months, and I've been getting up in the night to nurse her in the glider in her room, which is right next to ours. That has been manageable when she's up one to three times a night, but it's no longer feasible when she's waking five or six times (not to mention when I have a fever).

These days, she's still starting the night in her crib, then coming into our bed whenever I can't stand to get up anymore. Last night, that was at midnight. So for the rest of the night I didn't have to get out of bed to nurse her... nor did I get very much sleep. Because for all the nice things kellymom and other breastfeeding sites say about co-sleeping, it just does not work very well for us. D and I are both cramped and uncomfortable (particularly when Ess wedges herself into my armpit), and it takes me forever to go back to sleep once she's nursed. And that's another thing; while I am getting better at nursing on my side, it's never been particularly comfortable, in part because there's just not enough room in our queen-sized bed for me, Ess, D and a pillow under my back. As much as I'd like to invest in a king-sized bed, it's not feasible financially -- nor could we get it up the steep, narrow stairs in our house. And, lastly, I think co-sleeping doesn't work well for us because it encourages Ess to wake and nurse more often than she would if she were sleeping alone.

Lastly (for real this time), I really treasure the room in my bed, the child-free space, the ability to read before I fall asleep and to talk to D late at night. I don't want to give that up again.

So I am at a loss about what to do. The answer may be to do nothing, since presumably I will start feeling better in a few days and eventually Ess will return to her normal sleep habits (she says hopefully). In the meantime, though, I'm curious if you guys have any ideas.

101.4

2006-11-19T17:23:00.000-05:00

That explains why a simple head cold is making me feel so lousy. Kate, I think we really do have the same thing.

No sleep for the weary

2006-11-19T07:35:00.000-05:00

Holy crap, am I exhausted. I have no idea what's going on with Ess' sleep habits, but they have totally gone to hell in the last couple days. As she was recuperating from her cold, she went back to what's been the latest schedule: up 3x in the night. But Friday night and last night, she was up every couple hours. So she is nursing every 2-3 hours around the clock. I feel like I can't catch up; even with a nap during the day, I am getting seriously sleep-deprived. My cold just keeps getting worse and I feel frickin' horrendous.

Last night, when it was midnight and she was already up for the second time, I brought her into bed with us. D went to the guest room when she woke up at 3:30 (after three hours of sleep in a row - these days, that's something to shout about), and Ess and I muddled through the rest of the night on our own. Several times she sort of half woke up -- eyes closed, but crying and tossing and turning. Wouldn't take the pacifier, but would consent to being nursed back to sleep.

And then Jelly started barking. And barking. And barking. I kept waiting for D to get up and take care of her -- he's a very light sleeper and was just a few rooms away from her. But that didn't happen. Ess woke up from the barking, and I managed to get her back to sleep. And then Jelly barked some more. Eventually Ess woke up for good, and the two of us came downstairs to release Jelly from her kitchen prison.

I wish I knew what was up with the constant nursing. She doesn't seem to be teething, and she's been able to spend a fair amount of time with me during the day. The only thing I can think of is that my supply is low due to my cold; I didn't get very much when I pumped last night, so perhaps that's the problem. So I'm drinking Mother's Milk tea and eating oats (ooh, maybe I'll make oatmeal raisin cookies this afternoon...) in hopes of bringing it back up. But the other possibility is that this is developmental; she's close to the 26-week leap described in the Wonder Weeks, and sleep disruptions are one of the many fun and enjoyable signs that the leap is imminent.

In any case, D and his dad are going to the movies this afternoon, and we decided that he should take Ess along; his mom will babysit so I can get my freelance assignment done. They'll be gone for four or five hours, so I'm hoping that I can finish my work relatively quickly and spend the rest of my alone time sound asleep.

Teh Internets sure are quiet today

2006-11-18T14:28:00.000-05:00

And that's a bummer, because I have caught Ess' cold and am moping around feeling crummy. On top of which there is a shortage of reading material 'round here... especially if you pretend not to notice those New Yorkers stacked up next to the couch.

D and I had a long talk/discussion/argument this morning on topics I should really write about -- ye olde gender roles, division of labor, time for fun, alone time, money, etc. (boy, now that I look at the list I think we took every discussion we ever had and rolled it into one omnibus version, complete with a prologue of "make the baby nervous because she hears the tension in your voices"). But I am totally lacking in energy and will have to write about it anon.

And I think this counts as my lamest NaBloPoMo post yet.

Rub a dub dub

2006-11-17T12:24:00.000-05:00

Last night when I got home from my marathon day at the office, I scarfed down some dinner and put Ess to bed. And then I took a bath.

Perhaps this does not sound unusual. People take baths all the time; my mother, for example, swears by the restorative value of a nice long soak. But they've never done much for me. Perhaps that's because I've never before been tired enough to really appreciate the nice hot water, the bubbles and the time alone. I usually get antsy in a bath, wondering what the heck I am supposed to be doing while I'm laying there. Baths just didn't seem very productive.

Last night, though, the bath was heavenly. I soaked for a while, surrounded by some fancy bath products F and S got me for the birthday before last, and finally finished the New Yorker from about three weeks ago (the one with the incredible, depressing Lorrie Moore story that Becca wrote about, which prompted me to ponder drowning myself in that scented six inches of water if only to avoid the misery of a divorce like the one it depicted). I only got out when it was time for Grey's Anatomy (which, are they ever going to stop with the heartstring-tugging subplots about injuried babies and/or little kids?).

In short, I am a convert to the glory of the bath. And I think motherhood is what did it to me. That, and the onset of the cold I seem to have caught from Ess. (She is doing much better but still has a low-grade fever, so D is taking her to the doctor for a once-over this afternoon.)

Damn it, I did it again. I have been trying to make my posts short and focused, so that they are about just one thing, like a proper blogger would do. Instead they careen all over the place and I end up telling you what I had for lunch (PB&J) and how I feel right now (tired and bitchy) instead of just focusing on the bath. Grr.

A meme of sleep deprivation

2006-11-16T15:56:00.000-05:00

As seen at Rev Dr Mom's and APL's, the one-word meme.

1. Yourself: exhausted
2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend: married
3. Your hair: curly
4. Your mother: compassionate
5. Your father: unique
6. Your favorite item: painting
7. Your dream last night: sleeping
8. Your favorite drink: beer
9. Your dream car: hovercraft
10. The room you are in: small
11. Your ex: forgotten
12. Your fear: obscurity
13. What you want to be in 10 years: happy
14. Who you hung out with last night: Ess
15. What you're not: well-rested
16. Muffins: blueberry
17: One of your wish list items: housekeeper
18: Time: 3:45
19. The last thing you did: interview
20. What you are wearing: breastpump
21. Your favorite weather: sunny
22. Your favorite book: life
23. The last thing you ate: ziti
24. Your life: full
25. Your mood: harried
26. Your best friend (s): wise
27. What are you thinking about right now: work
28. Your car: prius
29. What are you doing at the moment: multitasking
30. Your summer: dreamlike
31. Your relationship status: lovely
32. What is on your tv: nothing
33. What is the weather like: foggy
34. When is the last time you laughed: today

Call in the lactivists

2006-11-15T15:00:00.000-05:00

Have you heard this story yet? A breast-feeding mom was kicked off an airplane for refusing to "cover up" with a blanket offered her by the flight attendant. Astonishing. Given Vermont's NIP law, seems like the airline's going to be in hot water. Serves 'em right.

*****

Sick kid update: Ess is still feverish, though she's doing a bit better today. Last night was miserable; I'm working now and don't have time to go through the blow-by-blow (lucky you!), but see my comment at Wednesday Whining if you're curious about the details. Suffice it to say I will not be declaring her cured at 5 pm again anytime, since I now know that fever peaks at night. Oops.

A wonderful sound

2006-11-14T17:38:00.000-05:00

Ess' squealing laugh from the other room, where her beloved daddy, now returned from work, is making faces at her.

She's still got a slight fever and a pathetic little cough, but she is much improved. Though she still refuses to be put down, at least she is content with D, and not just me. And I'm grateful he was able to get out of work early and join the sick parade.

And due to her three-hour nap this afternoon(!) I was able to snooze for an hour myself and watch all of Ordinary People, which I'd never seen before. (Good flick, to which American Beauty, The Ice Storm and especially Good Will Hunting owe a sizable debt -- the Robin Williams character in the latter basically is Judd Hirsch from Ordinary People.) I find it curious that having a sick baby allowed me to give myself permission to laze around the house and watch a movie, rather than bustling about doing various things. Not that I want her to be sick more often, but it was a pretty decent way to spend a day.

Now, if she will only sleep tonight...

Recipe for a long day

2006-11-14T09:22:00.000-05:00

Wake up at 5:15 to sounds of baby awake in crib.

Nurse baby for 40 minutes in vain attempt to get her back to sleep.

Give up, turn the lights on and realize that baby is not just warm due to cozy pjs.

Discover underarm temp of 99.6, and realize that she's been coughing on and off for the last 24 hours.

Cancel lunch date.

Call doctor.

Listen to baby scream every time husband tries to put her down to get ready for a nap.

Watch the clock approach 10 am, when husband is to leave for the day.

Yawn, and then yawn some more.

Manic Monday

2006-11-13T14:43:00.000-05:00

I don't know what's going on today. I am certainly not any more well rested than usual, thanks to Ess' wakings at 1, 3:30 and 5:30. But I've got a lot of energy, and have gotten a lot done so far today. To wit:

Emptied dishwasher
Washed pots and pans from last night's dinner
Put away Ess' clothes and mine from the giant laundry pile D did last night
Finished the sweater dagwood won in the raffle for Annika
And put it in a box
And taped it up
And took it to the post office(!)
Washed the bathroom mirror
Found (in the little container where I keep my earrings, of all places) the "missing" silver earring from my favorite pair
Packed the diaper bag
Ordered a refill of Jelly's eye meds
Bought coffee at the indie coffee store, just hours after finishing the last bag (a giant accomplishment, considering that it usually takes me days to get there...)
Checked in with work
Did a couple super-secret things related to upcoming holidays/festivities
Spent an hour at the moms' group without causing bodily harm to the woman, with a son one day younger than Ess, who every fireplacing week coos, "Don't worry, Ess, you'll catch up to P someday soon"

When I started this list a few hours ago, I was planning to continue my accomplishments with a full-on assault on the dirty bathroom. And perhaps find a workable solution for the Iraq situation, end poverty in America and vacuum Ess' room in the interim. But instead I want a nap.

The perils of the momtini

2006-11-12T14:55:00.000-05:00

I've been meaning to write about the New York Times' latest motherhood trend story, but was delayed a few days by ~~falling-down drunkenness~~ insane sleep deprivation. In case you haven't heard, Cosmopolitan Moms looks at the apparently new trend of a bunch of women having a glass of wine together while their kids play nearby. And I can not for the life of me figure out why this merits mention in the newspaper. (For example, it totally fails the "Hey Martha" test, in which a story is so interesting, unusual or surprising that it causes Joe Reader to call to his companion and say, "Hey Martha, you gotta read this.")

Yes, the Thursday Styles section tends to include even more ridiculous upper-middle-class trends than does the Sunday section. But what baffles me here is how absolutely pedestrian this story is, and how far from new I imagine it to be. Maybe I'm in denial or haven't read the right parenting books, but I can not imagine what is so shocking about a group of friends having a drink while their kids play. What am I missing here?

Yes, the story includes stories of serious drinkers -- women with alcohol problems who drank because of isolation and boredom (sounds just like The Women's Room, doesn't it?), and another who drank so much during an afternoon playgroup that she passed out with the babysitter and her seven-year-old locked outside the house. But beyond those with alcohol problems, what is the harm in this situation? Is it the simple idea that there might be more to a woman's life than her kids?

As I re-read the story, it seems that the judgment comes in the fact that this drinking is taking place in the afternoon, ie, not at proper cocktail hour. At least I think that's what the problem is. Because as Melissa Summers, the blogger who's mentioned in the piece, notes, there are all kinds of environments in which parents are having a drink while their kids gambol about (umm, has anyone heard of restaurants?).

More importantly, though, there is an awfully big difference between having a drink with friends and getting shitfaced. And I'm not sure that's a distinction this reporter made clear enough.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one...

The holy grail...

2006-11-11T12:22:00.000-05:00

... has once again become more than two or three hours of sleep in a row. Last night was truly miserable. Ess was wide awake and un-frickin-happy from 11 pm to 1 am. Every time I got her back to sleep, I'd wait 10 or 15 more minutes and put her in her crib, whereupon her eyes would open, she'd toss and turn and whimper, then cry. Eventually she ended up in bed with us, where she nursed and tossed and whined and, every once in a while, slept. I got very little sleep; D got marginally more. We had a nasty little argument in the dark that was just a product of stress and exhaustion. It's all fine this morning, but we are both dragging.

I don't know what's going on with Ess. She's rubbing her eyes a lot (day and night), but we think that's just tiredness since she naps so briefly and then has slept so poorly the last several nights. She's too old for the 4-month sleep regression and not old enough for the 8-month regression.

I know that the solution is likely to just wait until she grows out of it. But I gotta say, with multiple freelance assignments hanging over my head and the desire to, like, have fun every now and then, this particular period is just killing me.

But. I have two of my three freelance thingies done for the weekend, and the third is a mere 400 words. I have promised myself to be done with it by 1 pm, which means I'd better take advantage of D and Ess' absence and get to it. And then D will go to the gym, and one of us will go grocery shopping. And, I hope, somewhere in there will be time for a nap.

Six months old

2006-11-10T20:56:00.000-05:00

Dear Ess,

We can't believe it, but you have been here with us for a half a year now. Astonishing.

As usual, you've spent this month busy growing. In the last week or so, you seem to have started teething -- you're drooling a lot, and chomping on our fingers whenever you get the chance. Unfortunately, you've also gone back to your old sleeping patterns at night, in which you're up three to five times over the course of twelve hours or so. We're hoping this is temporary. It certainly helps, though, that you are so gleeful when we come to pick you up in the morning and at the end of your (still very brief) naps. The glee on your face on those occasions, we believe, is only eclipsed by the joyful laughs you've recently prompted by looking at yourself in the mirror.

The past month has been marked by big trips for all of us: yours to New Jersey to see your grandparents and great-grandparents, and ours to the Gritty City theater while you were babysat by your paternal grandparents. You got to be adored, entertained, and loved during every waking moment of your trip. (We got to see the most disappointing movie in recent memory on our little getaway.) It was on your NJ trip that you started to come out of your shell a bit; now you are coyly smiling and showing off your personality to people in virtually all social situations.

You are becoming more fascinated by the world around you, especially when it comes to books, Thursday trips with Dad to the bakery, traveling in the hip-carry with Mom, and watching a certain black-and-white dog blowing off steam. All the while we become more in love with and more fascinated by you.

We love you, sweet baboo.

Dad and Mom

Tangled up in blue

2006-11-09T13:18:00.000-05:00

You know it’s a bad day when listening to Blood on the Tracks – the best breakup album of all time, IMHO – cheers you up. Not that I’m pondering any sort of breakup. More like a meltdown, which I had at 11:30 last night as Ess began what was to be a long night of fitful sleep. I sat there, rocking her and crying in a fit of self-pity about my lot in life.

Things are somewhat brighter in the daylight, and with a few (a very few) more hours of sleep, but I am still overrun. I am feeling the weight of an awful lot of responsibility around our house, and it doesn’t take much – like, say, a teething, wakeful little girl – for that weight to become oppressive, as it did last night.

I don’t want to complain about D; he is a wonderful father, a great partner, a fantastic companion. But our careers have worked out such that I am the one with the opportunity to make more money here and there via freelancing; he gets the occasional offer to be on call for the social service agency he works for, but that’s $100 a few times a year. And so when it comes to extra money for things like last month’s car repairs, or the deposit for daycare, or the annual car insurance payment, I am the one who feels the urgency to take on extra freelance assignments in order to cover the bills. (We have the cash in savings to pay for these things, but our savings are nowhere near the three months’ worth of expenses I’d very much like to have on hand, so I try to replenish the account as quickly as I can. And that seems even more urgent with Ess around.) He works hard, but he is salaried, and so his paycheck is his paycheck.

I’ve got a couple assignments in the works right now, plus another one that I’ll probably accept today. If we had more cash, I’d turn the new one down in favor of some weekend time to myself. Instead, I’ll accept it, and then spend the next couple weekends negotiating with D for time to work. I really don’t want to resent the fact that we made time for him to go to the gym last weekend, but there it is: I do. Especially when the time we made for me was for work. My sole moment of freedom? A trip to the grocery store.

And then there is Ess. Besides the obvious fact that I’m the only one who can nurse her, there are times when I’m better at soothing her without nursing. The episode that led to my tears last night was one of those. I’d nursed her to sleep about a half hour before; when she woke, D went in to calm her. He patted her tummy, gave her the pacifier… nothing worked. So instead of picking her up and rocking her, he called to me over the monitor. As soon as she was in my arms, she quieted. So I sat and rocked her back to sleep and felt sorry for myself. His rationale for not picking her up? The previous night when he’d done that, she’d gotten more upset rather than less. I hate, hate, HATE being the “expert” on Ess – it’s a role I fall into far too easily – but felt compelled to point out that the previous night she was hungry, which is why being picked up by someone other than me didn’t work. Argh.

On top of that, I am in charge of the bill-paying in our house. Which has the effect of making me also in charge of the worrying about money – another role that comes to me far too naturally. We’ve talked and talked about ways in which D can be more involved, but it always ends up that I have to broach the subject first. Case in point: Our stupid dead crabapple tree, which we’ve wanted to remove for a couple years now. Our neighbors were having some tree work done earlier this week, so I called D to see if I should ask them about our tree. He said yes. We talk about a financial threshold of a couple hundred dollars. Tree guy says it’ll run us $250. I say fine.

Last night, it occurs to me that we have no need to spend this money right now – there are those bills, and the approach of Festivus, and the impending daycare bill… But why does it have to be up to me to think of this? Why couldn’t D have suggested we wait when I called to ask him about it? (Answer: because he was in the middle of work and didn’t really think about it, just agreed to whatever I was saying.)

So when I’m already wallowing, this feels like just one more thing I have to take care of. I am tired and resentful. I want a nap. I wish I could stop my brain from whirring with all the bills and the obligations and the this and the that. I wish social workers were paid a lot more money so this wasn’t an issue. And, sometimes, I wish that little tiny girls could get nursed by their daddies.

Irony

2006-11-08T19:15:00.000-05:00

At 7 pm on a Wednesday night after a nine-hour workday,

While pumping the breast that has a painful plugged duct,

I am working on a freelance assignment.

The phrase I type into the search engine?

"Work-life balance."

My comeuppance

2006-11-08T11:53:00.000-05:00

In talking to various people about our attempts to get Ess' naps straightened out, I've said on more than one occasion, "Hey, at least she sleeps well at night, so I really have nothing to complain about."

So it will come as no surprise to you that the wee girl was up, count 'em, four times last night. And instead of nursing and dropping off like she usually does, she was restless and jumpy. I don't think she was too hot, though it's a possibility. Instead, I'm putting my money on teething. The spitup has really decreased in the last couple days (which I know has nothing to do with teething), but in its place we have seen a prodigious amount of drool. And a lot of chomping on whatever comes near her mouth. This morning when I got out of the shower, D was standing in the dining room holding her, while she chewed on his index finger with a blissful look on her face. So much for sleep, glorious sleep.

And just in case you were looking for narrative closure on the last post, yes, the incumbent won. And the neanderthal came in second. But together the third-party candidates drew more votes than anyone but the incumbent, which I'm hoping sends a message about our increasing intolerance of the two-party ridiculousness. And, yes, I am too tired to think of a better way to phrase that.

The Nader effect

2006-11-07T14:27:00.000-05:00

Please, longtime readers, do not be shocked by the appearance of politics on my blog. Though I generally avoid the subject due to my profession, I am a citizen, too, so I have a couple thoughts (which will be vaguely worded so as to avoid easy Googling) on today's activities.

Today we elect a governor in my fair state. The incumbent is widely unpopular. His major-party challenger is fairly far to the right. And of the three third-party candidates, two are actually quite credible. So D and I found ourselves having the Nader conversation last night. Though the incumbent is expected to win, the third party candidates have been surging, raising the question that their supporters will siphon votes from the incumbent, leading to a victory by the neanderthal.

So, what to do? Neither of us fancied voting for the incumbent. Nor did we enjoy pondering the possibility of the neanderthal running the state for four years. But I am tired of voting to be safe, voting out of fear of the scary Other guys. I wanted to vote for the person I think would do the best job -- a radical concept, I know. So I spent last night poring over the third-party candidates' websites, and we made our decisions. If our votes for one of these women means that the incumbent loses and the neanderthal wins, so be it. Our legislature is solidly in the incumbent's party, and we can survive four years. But I'll be damned if I'm going to let the major parties continue their fear-based monopoly on our democracy.

And, with that, we return to nap and nursing blogging.

Solving the daycare dilemma (we hope)

2006-11-06T11:02:00.000-05:00

In January, as I believe I've mentioned on, oh, eight or ten occasions, our situation here changes. D goes back to work full-time and Ess goes into daycare. We'd also been thinking that I would add a day at the magazine. So we started looking for daycare in earnest, thinking that we'd need three days a week.

Turns out there is a new daycare on the next street over that came highly recommended by a friend who is also a doula. We visited last week and loved it. The owner bought this house, right next door to the local elementary school, with the sole intention of creating a small daycare facility in it. It's clean, bright and cheerful; there's a quiet sleeping room, and an arts and crafts room, and a room for dress up and another for working on fine motor skills (the provider lives elsewhere). She feeds the kids whole foods at mealtime and, rather than a curriculum, which I think is a little silly for wee ones, she has a general rhythm to the day that changes depending on what the kiddos are into.

So a few days after our visit, we let her know that we would like to take Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays. And she told us that the morning after we visited, someone who'd visited the week before had put down a deposit, and that she now only had Wednesdays and Fridays available. Given that I'd known about this place for a month and hadn't called, I was beating myself up rather ferociously about missing our chance.

So we called another daycare, this one recommended by someone D knows professionally. (Argh, Ess is waking up after a stellar 20-minute nap. What am I going to do with her??) We visited this morning, and it was Not Good. It was smelly. And when we arrived, the woman who runs it, along with her husband, was by herself in a small house with eight children under the age of four. And when one of the little boys dropped his bottle on the floor, she cleaned the nipple with a wet wipe (hello, chemicals...). It was clear pretty quickly that this is not some place we would be comfortable sending Ess. Panic city.

In the interim, I'd checked with my boss about the status of my request to add another day, something he'd been the one to propose originally. I thought it was a done deal, just a matter of getting the bean counters to sign off on it. Turns out, though, that like bean counters a lot of places these days, our bean counters aren't feeling particularly generous. While a final decision has yet to be made, it's looking increasingly unlikely that I will be able to add that day. Which means I need to keep freelancing on my days "off." And that we may only need daycare for Ess on Wednesdays and Fridays -- the very days the place in our neighborhood has available.

So we're taking a gamble and putting down a $200 deposit at the neighborhood daycare. If my extra hours come through, we'll worry about Tuesdays then. At least we know that for two days a week, she will be well cared for, and nearby at that (meaning, among other things, I will be able to run over and nurse her at least once a day, and possibly more often than that).

I have no idea if we are making the right decision, but this course of action seems like the best one at the moment. And that's the best we can do right now. And since the grumbling has escalated to whining, I suspect wailing may not be far behind, so I'd better hit publish while I can.

Weary

2006-11-05T10:42:00.000-05:00

D is wrangling Ess, and it's time for me to start the second freelance assignment of the weekend. It's a clip job, meaning there's no reporting involved, just repurposing of generally available content (the beauty of personal finance writing), and it's just 575 words, so it should be easy. But I am dragging this morning.

Ess nursed like a fiend yesterday -- not any more often than usual, but for quite a bit more time at each session. She's usually a one-side-per-session girl, but yesterday she wanted both sides almost every time. And then she was up twice in the night, the first time for about 40 minutes instead of the usual 10 or 15. (It was worth it, though, to see her so constantly engaged and smiley at my sister's house for dinner last night; it was so much fun to watch her shriek at Crazy Lucy the giant pooch and smile at everyone throughout dinner, at what is usually a particularly cranky time.)

We've been trying to figure out how to get her to consolidate her naps; she's still taking four or five naps of anywhere from 20 to 40 minutes each day. I'd love it if she eventually moved to two or three longer naps. So we're experimenting with letting her cry a little in the bassinet when she's awake after a brief snooze; if she's just grumbling, we leave her there, but if she starts to wail we fetch her.* So this morning, while D was at the gym, I put her down asleep at about 8:30. Went upstairs to get clothes for the day, and by the time I came back down I could hear her babbling away. It had been a grand total of eight minutes -- extreme even for our little no-napper -- so I went ahead and got in the shower.

When I got out, she was grumbling; she continued to whine and whimper for a while. When she got herself worked up enough to cough, I went and got her. It'd been 45 minutes since I put her down, and at most she got a few minutes of sleep. So I nursed her, on both sides, for a loooong time. She eventually fell asleep nursing, and after a few minutes I tried moving her to the bassinet.

No dice. As soon as I got up, her eyes popped open, and she gave me her typical post-nap grin. In a fit of denial, I set her down in the bassinet and wrapped her blanket around her. She wiggled and grinned, and so I got her up. She's now had approximately 10 minutes of sleep in the last 3.5 hours. So between the nursing, the nap strike and the fact that I am feeling overworked in general, motivation to work is hard to find. Except that the annual car insurance bill came a few days ago, and so this check will be nice to have. Google, here I come.

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*I'm pretty sure I don't have to say this, but just in case any trolls are lurking here, please know that I will delete any nasty comments about our decision to try this approach.

Getting and spending

2006-11-04T20:06:00.000-05:00

Since I got the first of this weekend's two freelance assignments done a few hours earlier than expected, Ess and I headed over to Bullseye and the Evil Baby Superstore. We've been buying diapers at EBS, since we've still got gifts cards that we've been hoarding, and I wanted to check out buntings for the car seat and stroller, plus we needed breast milk storage bags and... something else... Oh yeah, single-serving formula to have in the diaper bag and the house in case of emergency (ie Ess is starving and I'm not in the vicinity, nor is any thawed milk).

So with Ess in the sling (so cozy!) we trundled around and did our shopping. I was astonished at the cost of the bunting -- $35 -- and brought it home with misgivings. Jo(e) has written on numerous occasions about how little you really need to take care of a baby, and that thought was ringing in my head as we quickly strolled the aisles of EBS' palace of consumerism. Thanks to the comments at Ask Moxie in response to my question about keeping Ess warm this winter, I've also been pondering buying some Babylegs. But the fact that the only place they're sold in Maine is at precious little boutique downtown gave me pause; clearly they're just yuppie folderol. (No offense to any Babylegs fans out there...)

So after some thought, I realized that the solution for keeping her warm this winter is simple (and exactly what Moxie recommended): a snowsuit for walks, and a sweater and a blanket on top of the carseat for car rides. And if we need to go for a walk before we get a snowsuit -- which I'm determined to get used, either on eBay or at a local thrift store -- we can just put a pair of our own socks on over her legs, to protect her little calves from the wind whistling up her pant legs. It won't be color-coordinated, but who cares.

The key phrase in that last paragraph is the first one: "after some thought." In our country, the easiest solution to pretty much any problem is to buy something. I feel as though it takes more work to not buy something, or to spend less. So often I get wrapped up in some problem, obsessed with it, and so I dash out and buy something, when it turns out that the best way to proceed would have been to wait and see if I really needed it, to look around the house and see what we have here that could work, to think a bit.

Two recent examples: One of the many things piled on the blue recliner in our home office waiting to be put away is the beach cabana I raced out to buy (well, I raced online to buy) this summer. I was convinced that I could not take Ess to the beach if I didn't have an enclosed shelter in which I could nurse her and she could take naps. We used it once, and the strap unraveled. The seller immediately replaced it, and it hasn't been used since. I didn't anticipate how problematic it would be to take a tiny infant to the beach -- such that I never did it again all summer -- nor did I realize how quickly I'd get comfortable nursing in public. Sure, we will probably use this thing next summer, since we've got it, but, really, a beach umbrella would have served the same purpose, and at about half the cost.

My other obsessive purchase -- it's not an impulse buy, because I convince myself I need these things, then spend days angst-ridden until I can get my grubby little hands on them -- was a pair of jeans I bought in July. I had no jeans that fit and got all worked up about what I was going to wear in the fall. But rather than wait for fall, I went to the mall. I found a pair of jeans that fit and were flattering, and spent $50 on them (more than I have spent on a pair of jeans in my life). Then, of course, August came, and it was hot. The jeans sat in my drawer. Now that it's denim weather, I wear them now and again; they're nice enough to wear to work, which was my intention. Problem is, the damn things are now too big, and in fact my old jeans are fitting again. But in July I decided that I had to have new pants right then and there, and so I plunked down my cash and that was that.

Of course, neither of these purchases was actually about the item I bought. The beach cabana was a product of my angst about taking care of Ess and doing everything right -- making sure my new baby could stay out of the sun. It was about being a good mother. And the jeans purchase was a product of my angst about my postpartum body -- would I ever fit in my old clothes? Could I still be attractive?

But rather than think about the underlying issues -- and, really, it's in writing this that I'm realizing what was going on in both instances -- I decided to buy something to soothe my fears. And that is a habit our culture all too eagerly supports. So the bunting is going back, and we're going to take care of Ess this winter the old-fashioned way: by keeping her warm with inexpensive, practical methods, and lots of cuddling.

The yellow snowflake

2006-11-03T08:10:00.000-05:00

I love my Prius in many ways, not least of which because when the gas light came on last night 40 miles from home, I knew I could just ignore it and get gas today. (At least I hoped I could, since there was an overtired little girl, and her worn-out father, waiting at home for me to put her to bed. And I was right.) But the car has some nanny-like features that really irritate me.

Chief among them: the dreaded yellow snowflake, which appeared last night on my drive home (as did frost on the windshield, but that's another gripe entirely). On the dash, it appears as a road, depicted by two lines that converge in the distance, with a snowflake superimposed on it. When it appeared last fall, illuminated in Warning Yellow, I panicked. What the heck could be wrong with my new car?

So I consulted the owners manual, which informed me that the yellow snowflake signifies that it is below 37 degrees. I hunted around some more, trying to discover what's so important about the thermometer dropping below 37 -- a temp that for much of the year would be considered quite balmy in these parts. Would the hybrid engine be affected? Would I have to change my driving habits? Or, more likely, did I need some kind of pricey seasonal tuneup?

Nope. Toyota just wants me to be aware that it's cold out. And, I guess, that in a few more degrees, it might possibly -- gasp! -- snow.

So if you weren't aware that winter is coming, there's your official confirmation. My car says so. (It added that you might want to think about wearing a hat.)

7 reasons I should not have signed up for NaBloPoMo

2006-11-02T06:13:00.000-05:00

1. I have not one, not two, but three freelance assignments due between now and Nov. 14.

2. On top of that, I am working an extra day at my actual job next week.

3. On top of that, I am the mother of a nearly six-month-old(!) girl who would like to, you know, see her mother every now and then for something other than a quick nursing.

4. I still have to finish the sweater I donated to the latest raffle for Annika. (Good thing for me that my pal dagwood won it... though it's unfortunate for her; had a stranger won, it would've been in the mail already, I suspect.)

5. Christmas is coming. Egads. And I am hoping to make a super-special gift for my family that I just realized I can't post about because my sister reads this. Drat. In any case, making this thing is going to take a fair amount of time and it will need to be done early-ish for various reasons.

6. D and I have been drifting apart a bit lately, and just had a long talk about how we need to spend more time together and talk more, especially about topics unrelated to (a) the operation of our household and (b) a certain ladybug (the same one who took an unprecedented two! hour! nap! today).

7. Like I need to spend more time at the computer.

But whatever. There is a very fine line between having so much to do that you become very efficient and having so much to do that your life spins entirely out of control and you end up whimpering on the couch with a pint of Ben & Jerry's. And this month I suspect I'm going to find out exactly where that line is.

Be here now

2006-11-01T07:47:00.000-05:00

I have never been a very Zen person. I am all about the multi-tasking, the planning ahead, the worrying obsessively about whether in the grand holiday rotation I am going to host Thanksgiving or Christmas, and what will Ess wear, and what will she be doing then, will she be eating solid food and if so what does that mean for the menu and, boy I'd better go look up some recipes right now. And then in the middle of that remembering that I should be working on some freelance thing, and generally flitting around like a bumblebee with a very short attention span.

I'm realizing, though, that this is not a very effective way to parent. Nevermind the blisteringly obvious fact that it's not a good way to be in a relationship either. But D doesn't change at the pace Ess does... and it's Ess who is reminding me that I need to chill out, slow down and actually be with her every day, as often as I can, instead of sitting next to her reading about Brad Pitt's new movie while she plays in her gym and absentmindedly cooing, "Hi, baby! Are you kicking? Isn't that a nice crinkly dragonfly?"

I'm not saying that I need to spend every single minute focused on her; I don't think that would be healthy, either. But she's been around long enough that I'm starting to see how quickly she really does change, and how fast she's growing up. And I want to really experience those moments, to really see her and be with her as she is today, without worrying about whether she's growing out of those pants or if that might be a tooth coming in.

Phantom had a post a while back -- which Google is not helping me find -- that mentioned Everyday Blessings, a book on mindful parenting. I checked it out of the library and read most of it before returning it a week late. (See, I was so busy being present in the reading of it that I failed to notice the due date. Either that or I knew it was due but somehow could not make it to the library that is one mile from my house.) Anyway, the book is full of info on mindfulness, and using meditation and deep breathing as a daily practice to help you in times of stress. (I am horrifically oversimplifying here.)

So I've been trying to put that into practice every now and then. Since I have the attention span of a tse tse fly these days, it is HARD. And I'm not sure that growing up in a fast-talking New Jersey Italian family is exactly good preparation for meditation, nor that I really want to give up my ability to switch quickly from one track in my brain to the next. But I have to say that my moments of Zen -- few and far between though they may be -- are pretty cool. When Ess is crying and I can feel myself tightening up and getting frustrated with her, I am occasionally (very occasionally) able to breathe my way through it and talk myself down.

And so to bring this overly wordy post to a close, that is a little of what I'm trying to accomplish by participating in NaBloPoMo. To write a little every day, to capture a moment or two in our lives, to focus on today. As for the fact that I actually wrote this post last night in anticipation of a very busy day today? Well, you can't go from schizophrenic multitasking to sitting zazen in one easy step.

Call me crazy...

2006-10-31T20:37:00.000-05:00

... but I'm in.

And, yes, I should have saved this for my very first NaBloPoMo entry tomorrow.

Happy Halloween!

2006-10-31T11:32:00.000-05:00

I'm working, and a friend is watching the little ladybug, who seems to have given up napping entirely in honor of Halloween. Did you know how hard it is to get anything done when there's screaming a few rooms away?? But perhaps we'll scare a few teenaged trick-or-treaters out of having sex too young when they see what can result...

Off with her head

2006-10-28T20:58:00.000-04:00

We went to see Marie Antoinette in the torrential rains this afternoon. And the excursion demonstrated in some ways how much our lives have changed in the last several months. Where once we would have run out the door 25 minutes before the movie started and been home 15 minutes after it was over (grand total: maybe three hours), today our outing took approximately six hours.

We had to bundle up the baby, and her stuff, and trundle her over to D's parents. We had to give needlessly wordy instructions to people who raised three sons, and then drive to the theater (where we indulged not only in popcorn and a soda, but a greasy and disgusting, yet somehow satisfying, order of mozzarella sticks). We had to watch the movie -- more on that in a moment -- then drive back to D's parents' house, hear a detailed account of Ess' activities in the few hours we'd been gone, gather up all her stuff and get back in the car. Wherein she fell asleep. This being a day in which napping had gone to hell, we decided to just drive around -- in the aforementioned downpour -- until she woke up. We drove a coastal highway to Surfers Beach, where the waves were crashing, and then slowly made our way home past a couple other vistas where the ocean was violent and amazing. Finally Ess woke up, and we returned home. At 5 pm. After a 1 pm movie. For which we'd left the house at 11 am.

While the time was totally well spent in the sense that D and I got to do something alone, cinematically we could've done a lot better. We both really enjoyed Sofia Coppola's earlier films, The Virgin Suicides and Lost in Translation. But when the credits rolled on Marie Antoinette, I looked at D and said, "What the hell was that about?" And he replied, "I have no idea." It's pretty, I'll give her that. But the significance of the 80s soundtrack was lost on me, as was the point of the entire frickin' thing. If we were supposed to rethink the typical characterization of MA -- clueless hedonist out of touch with the starving masses -- Coppola didn't make that point anywhere near strongly enough. And if the movie isn't about reimagining MA, then I don't know what the point is. (Side note: Poor Jason Schwartzman. He was great as Max Fisher in Rushmore, but now he seems destined to play doughy losers. And Louis XVI is, in this movie anyway, just another isolated nerd.)

I've just been reading reviews, trying to see what critics have found to like about this movie. And, really, isn't that a sure sign that a movie has failed, when you need to have someone else tell you what you were supposed to figure out on screen?

Still and all, it was nice to sit in a darkened theater, huddled against the cold and holding my husband's hand. Even if it did take six hours.

I'm not at a Decemberists show...

2006-10-27T19:25:00.000-04:00

... like Scrivener is tonight, but I am listening to last year's live performance streaming on NPR and it's pretty great. I haven't bought any new music since Ess was born, but I am dying to get a Decemberists album. I feel like my brain can only hold so much new stuff at once, and if I don't buy an album I'm going to forget that I thought I might like them. Does that make sense at all?

In the meantime, I'm sitting here finishing up a story that I could not for the life of me get done during the work day; was pecked to death by the ducks of internal email, external email, freelance stuff, and actual work. What a way to spend a Friday night.

One good thing: we went out to dinner at a local diner with a friend and his two-year-old. Luckily, neither kid started to melt down until after we'd eaten, at which point we threw their coats on, chucked some money at the waitress and high-tailed it out. As D said, I don't think robbers leave that fast.

The end of this hodge-podge of procrastination: I'm thinking about participating in this, although I think I might be certifiably insane, especially since I just accepted two freelance assignments due at roughly the same time in mid-November and I'm working a couple extra days at the magazine next month. (One mitigating factor: At least that means I'll be at the computer a lot...) Anyone in this little corner of the blogosphere considering doing the same?

Hope your Friday evenings are more exciting than mine...

Today's lesson

2006-10-26T20:24:00.000-04:00

If your tights seem a little baggy just a few minutes after you put them on at 6 am, perhaps you ought to consider changing into something else before you drive 90 minutes to work.

Otherwise, a few short hours later you will find yourself almost entirely unable to carry on a conversation with the (new and high-powered) director of marketing because your tights are slipping down your thighs while you walk and talk. And by the time you get to your destination, your tights will be gathered at your knees, making it very difficult to move.

The only saving grace: it was a calf-length skirt.

Monday night gerunds

2006-10-23T21:55:00.000-04:00

Craving: Sleep. In such a desperate way that I wonder what in jebus' name I am doing awake at 9:38 pm, when I could be snoozing in my very own bed. Ess did really well on this whole trip... well, with the exception of the drive down (the screaming, oh the screaming) and the whole "sleeping at night in the pack & play" thing. I was up at least five times each night -- even after I gave up on the pack & play, sent D out to the futon and took her into bed with me. I have no idea what was going on, but I'm hoping it will not happen again tonight.

Mourning: The lack of ethnic and racial diversity here. Yesterday my mom and I took Ess shopping at a big outlet mall 20 minutes from my parents' house (two outlet malls in one week -- you'd think I actually liked shopping!), and in just two hours she was exposed to more diversity than she likely will be in entire years of her life here. I love the hubub when all these cultures meet -- in the Gap, no less -- and we need to make a serious effort to expose Ess to all of it.

Wondering: Why Motherhood -- a store whose only market is pregnant and lactating women -- does not have a changing table in the bathroom. (Oh, and Kate? You were totally right about shopping with a grandmother in tow -- it's a whole new world!)

Appreciating: The family restrooms at the rest areas on the Mass Pike.

Disbelieving: The fact that Jelly fell all the way down the stairs to my parents' basement not once but twice over the weekend and has absolutely nothing wrong with her. I saw her go the first time -- she was sniffing around the kitchen, wandered out to the landing, then, because her eyesight is so bad, just stepped out into space like Mister Magoo and tumbled 15 steps down -- and it was horrifying. But she popped up when she got to the bottom and resumed her sniffing. No wonder this dog survived life as a stray on the streets of Brooklyn...

Missing: My family. Despite the complete and utter exhaustion with which we returned home a few hours ago, I am so glad we went down. My parents are gaga for Ess, as are my grandparents. There was some fairly intense drama involving one of my uncles going on this weekend, and having Ess and her goofy grins around made for a much lighter atmosphere. My dad took some gorgeous photos of Ess and my grandmother, as well as a portrait of the seven of us... I'm so glad we have those, but I'd much rather go without the keepsakes and be closer to the people. It was a tearful farewell this morning. Since I'm not moving south and they're not moving north, is there any chance one of you could get to work on eliminating Connecticut, so we can at least make the drive shorter?

Road trip

2006-10-20T11:48:00.000-04:00

The list of things to bring is on the kitchen island, half crossed off. The pile of stuff in the living room keeps growing. Sandwiches are made, and snacks have been procured. Rocky is at D's parents' house, where after a bout of what we think was stress-induced vomiting she spent the night ensconced on a cozy upholstered chair, and Jelly has been bathed in preparation for the long hours in the car. (At least we're only taking one dog with us...) Ess' cutest outfits are in a pile on the bed; my clothes are still in a jumble in the laundry basket. We updated the iPod and took out the trash.

Can you tell we're excited about this trip?

I've got another hour or so left to work, and several hundred more words to add to the story I'm writing. Ess needs another nap, and we need to eat lunch. But around 2 o'clock we're hitting the road, driving through rainy New England to bring this wee girl to her anxious, eager grandparents and great-grandparents. Wish us safe, speedy travels and a happy traveling companion....

Out of sync

2006-10-17T12:41:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I seemed to be moving at a different pace than the rest of the world. Evidence to support this point:

A friend of a friend stopped by yesterday morning. Word had circulated that I was heading to Outlettery, where among other stops I planned to visit L.Lill for some long awaited new clothing (three cheers for the arrival of a few freelance checks...). So FofF was dropping off a few items for me to return for her. I was in a bit of a rush -- Ess and I were meeting Phantom and Baby Blue, and all of a sudden it was time to go -- but FofF wanted to sit on the couch and chat. When she thanked me for taking the items for her, she said, "I wondered if this is too much of a pain, and I should just come along for the ride." I muttered something in return, and looked around wildly for my shoes. Only hours later did it occur to me that what I usually see as her snobbery might actually be boredom... and that she wanted me to invite her to go to Outlettery with me. Oops.

Once in Outlettery, we wandered the aisles of Swedish Childrensson with Phantom and the precocious, adorable BB, who did, indeed, volunteer to "pick out a cute outfit for the baby." I hemmed and hawed over what to buy -- so cute, and yet still so expensive, even at outlet prices -- and eventually chose a black velvet-and-plaid jumper for Christmas. I mentioned it to my mom, who responded that I should return it and save the money since she just bought Ess something very similar on final clearance. Argh.

Despite the long-awaited opportunity to hang with Phantom, I found myself fairly incapable of coherent conversation. Something aboutthe combination of sleep deprivation, shopping (not one of my strong suits) and anxiety about a whiny Ess resigned me to followup queries about topics she's blogged about, rather than an actual, grownup conversation. Of course, as soon as I got in the car to drive home, I had all sorts of scintillating conversational nuggets come to mind. Ugh.

Oh, and the similarly anticipated trip to L.Lill? Totally useless, other than returning clothes for FofF and another friend. The store was small, the racks were close together, Ess was whiny and the pants looked to be too long to even bother trying on. So, to recap, all I bought on this long-planned trip was an expensive dress for Ess that I will probably return. And I left Phantom with the impression that I'm a bumbling, incoherent idiot who can't talk about anything other than infant sleep habits and sling styles. Blah.

The day ended in fine fashion, with dinner half-made and me prone on the couch with a migraine so bad that just the sound of D chopping kale and chard for soup made me nauseated. Ick.

Genius parenting moment #513

2006-10-15T13:26:00.000-04:00

Buy the space heater but decide it's really not that cold and leave it turned off. React with surprise when the baby wakes at 10:30, 2:30 and 4:something. Bring her into bed with you, where she sleeps contentendly next to your warm body until 7:45.

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D. is out buying a smoke detector to combat my paranoia about Ess' room catching on fire from the space heater, which I swear to gawd we are going to turn on tonight. And I am drinking a tiny Coke, trying to get the brain cells firing in order to write the freelance piece due this week. It is short and relatively straightforward, but when I try to write the few words that come out are stilted and short. It's as though I've lost my ability to think complex (or even multi-syllabic) thoughts.

************

We have no one to watch the dogs next weekend when we take Ess to NJ to see my parents. Well, we might be able to talk my in-laws into taking Rocky, who is good and easy. But they clearly do not want to do it. And even though they said they would if we couldn't find anyone else, I don't want to impose. So we may be traveling 400 miles with a baby, a neurotic shih tzu and an incontinent, senile mutt. Shoot me now.

************

I think there was one more thing I wanted to say, but beats me what it might be.

Genius parenting moment #512

2006-10-14T10:59:00.000-04:00

Last night was not a good night. Ess woke up for the first time at midnight, and then every two hours after that. And instead of nursing and dropping off to sleep the way she normally does, she fought and fought and fought to stay awake. She seemed cold -- she was already dressed in a cotton sleeper with a fleece one on top -- so eventually she ended up with a little cap on. And then I tucked the warm, cozy shawl Songbird gave us in around her. And she was still cold.

At 6:15, when she awakened yet again, I had D bring her into bed with us. I nursed her there and she dozed off... just in time for us to get ready for the walk at Local College in memory of our friend who died last year. And as I was staggering around the house in a bleary-eyed attempt to get dressed, I realized that our bedroom was, in fact, really chilly.

And then I remembered that I'd opened a window yesterday afternoon to air out the upstairs. And apparently never closed it. No wonder the kid was cold.

So we're hoping that tonight is better. And at some point this weekend we're heading out to pick up a space heater for her bedroom. Because if she's this chilly in October, what the hell are we going to do come January?

Five months old

2006-10-10T10:13:00.000-04:00

Ess with Zeke (at left) and Larry on Oct. 10, 2006; for some reason, Ess did not want Larry to show his face for this photo. Maybe he is in the gorilla protection program?

Dear Ess,

Once again, you seem to be celebrating your monthly birthday in fine style -- last night was the second night in a row that you slept through the night! You slept for about twelve-and-a-half hours each night, waking up around 7:45. Your astonished parents could not believe it. And while we're sure there are many sleep disruptions to come, we are very excited that you have it in you to sleep for that long.

You've recently started laughing for real, especially when Daddy makes silly faces at you. Earlier this evening, you also laughed quite a bit at Monsieur Duck, the hand puppet your Maine grandparents got you, and which Uncle P has taken on as his alter ego. And you're also really enjoying other people, especially other kids. You've spent some time with L and E lately, and you love watching E, who is two-and-a-half, when she gets her face up close to yours. You are also entranced by Rocky and Jelly, which is really fun to watch. When you're on the floor or in your bouncy seat, you crane your neck to watch them walk around, although you still wince when Jelly barks before dinner time.

You've gotten really good at sitting in your Bumbo seat; you particularly enjoyed it when Mommy took you down to the basement and you sat in it on top of the dryer while she changed the laundry. Being at eye level, in a place where you haven't spent much time, seemed very fascinating to you. (Usage in this manner definitely not approved by the manufacturer.)

You also spend a lot of time in the gym that your Great-Aunt E got you. We've loaded it up with your favorite toys, and you lay on your back and grab at them with fervor. You've started to roll up onto your side a bit while in the gym; we think you'll be quite surprised when you finally roll over all the way and find yourself on your belly. Speaking of which, you are definitely getting stronger in your arms and chest, though tummy time is far from your favorite activity. But you absolutely love it when Daddy holds you over his head and flies you through the house; you grin the whole way.

This month, you had your first day-long babysitter, and you seemed to do really well with her. You also had spectacular performances at your grandfather's shop and your grandmother's office. At both places you were ooh-ed and aah-ed over by lots of people, but you reserved your biggest smiles for your grandparents. Meanwhile, your New Jersey grandparents have been pining away -- this is the longest they have gone without seeing you since you were born. But we will remedy that in a few weeks.

On the whole, you are a sweet, happy baby who smiles with little provocation. When we're holding you facing out and you see something that makes you happy, you react with your whole body, wiggling and kicking as you lean back and smile. You've gotten so much better at going to sleep at night, and just today you stretched out the amount of time between naps quite a bit. In just the past few days, you seem to have grown up quite a bit. It's hard to believe that you've only been here for five months -- you are growing so fast and learning so much. While we are very much looking forward to celebrating our anniversary (number seven!) by going out to dinner alone this weekend, we wouldn't trade you for the world. We love you so incredibly much, sweet girl.

Love,
Mom and Dad

Followup

2006-10-10T09:21:00.000-04:00

Or, Answers to Your Not-So-Burning Questions, Plus Some Other Stuff

Thanks for all the well wishes on my health. I was feeling quite a bit better yesterday, but this morning am sort of weak-kneed and wobbly feeling. And nauseated. Were it not wholly impossible, I would suspect I was pregnant. Which, let me repeat, is not scientifically possible. I happen to be going to my GP today for a physical, so we'll see what she has to say. I am still convinced it's e. coli -- besides, I have this weird little rash on my forearms -- but I doubt that is actually the case. Let's just hope I don't end up featured in one of the Lisa Sanders case studies in the NYT magazine, although in that case at least my medical mystery would have been solved...

And since we're on that topic, let me say that I loved your comments on the s*x post. I have been pondering the meaning of "watering the fern" ever since. (Is this another one of those pieces of information I missed out on in junior high??) In all seriousness, though, reading your various perspectives was really enlightening. Thank you.

Today Ess is five months old. Crazy. To celebrate, she slept through the night. Again. We were in total disbelief this morning. And, if possible, got a worse night's sleep than we did the night before. What the hell is wrong with us? Also, the five-month-birthday means I need to write another mushy monthly post to her. But I can't find the frickin' USB cable (haven't looked under the couch yet), so all of the cutie pie pictures remain on the camera, and the post is yet unwritten. Also, she is currently fighting her first nap like a banshee. Hmm.

Ess has been remarkably drooly, and even more spitty than usual, in the last several days. So much so that she got a little rash on her chin. I asked a friend about this, and she said the same thing happened to her son just before a tooth or two cut through. Good god. Teeth? You've got to be kidding me. (And, really, would she be sleeping like this if she were working on a tooth? I think not.) On a similar note, I spent last night perusing our baby books for advice on when to start the solid foods, something that I feel strangely resistant to. I don't want to trap Ess in infancy -- I'm so much looking forward to her growing and walking and talking, although not so much to the experiments with poopies -- but the idea of starting her on food is unpleasant. Or at least overwhelming. Since her corrected age doesn't hit four months for another couple weeks, I think we're going to hold off on solids for at least a month.

Lastly, Jennie asked what I'd decided to do about the freezer stash of breast milk following Pumpgate 06. Well, this would assume that I'd made a decision, which I haven't. I started adding a daily pumping session after Ess goes to bed so that we'd have fresh milk on hand while awaiting the word about what to do with the stash. That got us through the immediate crisis, and enabled me to build up a decent little supply in the freezer... and to put off deciding what to do with the possibly tainted milk. Logically, it seems I should use it; three lactation consultants, as well as our own immunology expert and the women at PumpMoms, a fabulous Yahoo group I found during this debacle, told me it was fine as long as it smells fine, which it does. But LLL advised me to err on the side of caution and not use it. And so there it sits, taking up space in the freezer. I am thinking of some middle way, in which I throw out the newest milk -- that which I know was pumped through the mold -- and keep and use the older stuff, which might not have been. But for now I am doing nothing. Except pumping.

Disbelief

2006-10-09T07:28:00.000-04:00

It is 7:22 am. Ess has been sleeping since about 7:15 last night, and she has not woken up once. I've checked on her twice, and she is just sound asleep. She's spun herself around so that she's perpendicular in her crib, and her head is pressed up against the bumper. Her arms are over her head, and she looks peaceful and sweet. She's wearing a cotton sleeper underneath a fleece one, and I bet the extra warmth, in our chilly house, helped her stay sleeping.

I never thought this day would come. (Apparently, neither did my breasts... holy engorgement.)

And I'm fully aware that it is not here to stay, that sleeping like this will come and go. But how fantastic to know that it's possible.

Blech

2006-10-08T14:18:00.000-04:00

Yesterday afternoon, we went to a friend's house for a pasta-making party and dinner. Ess stuck it out pretty well (thanks in part to a little catnap in our friend's son's crib) but proceeded to totally lose her cool at about 7 pm. This was no surprise -- she goes to bed between 6:30 and 7 most nights, and this was the third night in a row we'd messed with her schedule. So we rushed out, with little to-go packs of the apple pie we were unable to eat for dessert, and got the kid in bed.

By about 8:30, I was thinking longingly about bed, and wondering how D could possibly eat ice cream after our meal of fettucine alfredo. The pie sat untouched on the counter. I pumped just before heading upstairs, and noticed that I got very little... less than an ounce, compared to the 3+ ounces I usually get when I pump after Ess goes to bed. That should have been a warning about what was to come.

Just a few hours later, I was racing from our bedroom on the second floor, down the hall, down the stairs and into the bathroom. I had chills and horrible stomach cramps, and was just barely able to drag myself out of bed to nurse Ess when she woke an hour later. Sometime around 4 I threw up again; this time, I was drenched in sweat. And I got D to bring her to me when she was ready to nurse again around 5:30 (side note: knocking on wood furiously, I am happy to report that Ess has worked her way into a nighttime nursing schedule that seems to be working well for all of us. For the time being, anyway).

Since then, I have lolled around the house in my pajamas. I have napped on the couch. I have nursed Ess when D has brought her to me, I have eaten a bagel and I have drunk as much water as I can force myself to swallow. I feel like crap. (D and our other friends who were at the little shindig are fine, so apparently I picked up some stomach bug, rather than food poisoning or e. coli, which was my middle-of-the-night feverish self diagnosis.) And I am ever so grateful that this bug hit on a weekend, when D can be the primary caregiver and I can take up space on the couch. I'm a little concerned about producing enough milk for Ess given my dehydrated state (I couldn't even keep water down for a while last night), but she seems to be taking care of that herself, nursing a tad more frequently and for longer intervals than she usually does.

Dinner for tonight was supposed to be either eggplant-potato curry or beet risotto. I'm guessing it's going to be more along the lines of chicken noodle soup from a can.

Written on the body

2006-10-03T21:38:00.000-04:00

I had the misfortune of learning about puberty when I was in Catholic school. The boys and girls were separated, and all I remember is that we passed a tampon around to inspect it. We were in fifth grade, I think, so we had to act blase and world-weary, as if we knew exactly what a tampon was for. I sort of understood; I remembered going to the bathroom with my mom as a little kid and knew it had something to do with bleeding.

Sex, though? That was another question entirely. Whoever taught the class was vague at best about how it worked; the emphasis was on the changes we'd be experiencing in puberty, not on the finer points of the birds and the bees. And my mom wasn't much help; rather than talk much about puberty, she got me a book (perhaps this one?) -- whatever it was, it was religious in nature and thus full of abstinence talk and light on details. While I vividly remember the lecture I got shortly after I began seeing my first boyfriend -- "We don't want our 16-year-old daughter pregnant" was the highlight, never mind that s*x was not even remotely on the table -- I don't ever recall my mother using the correct words for the female anatomy. I'm not sure she felt comfortable using them, and so neither was I.

Embarrassingly, the exact logistics of intercourse were lost on me until my junior year of high school. A friend had a party at which someone picked up a book that belonged to her little brother and read it out loud. My friends were laughing hysterically while I was trying not to let on that I was picking up some crucial details from Where Did I Come From, a book that Amazon reviewers uniformly recommend for five-year-olds.

All of which is to say that I did not grow up with a tremendous amount of information about, or confidence in, the intimate functions of my body. In college, I did everything I could to make up for that, trying as hard as I could to claim what I thought should be a feminist's pride in her body. What that meant in practice was a certain amount of promiscuity and even more fearlessness (perhaps brazenness is a better word) when discussing this whole topic.* If fewer friends and family read this blog, I might even tell you what I apparently said to D shortly after meeting him... I don't recall the exact words coming out of my mouth, but he has a better memory for detail than I do, and I did employ a devil-may-care approach when meeting guys. Suffice it to say that it was earthy and blunt and that it did not necessarily reflect well on my character. But he eventually married me anyway.

And somehow now it is seven years later (as of yesterday, in fact) and the intimacy is gone. Actually, that's not quite right. The s*x is gone; nearly five months after Ess' birth, the intimacy remains, except that now it consists of whispered conversations about how wonderful Ess is and how amazed we are that we made her (apparently the information in Where Did I Come From stuck, so to speak).

D is willing. But I am back in junior high, befuddled by my body and unsure of its function. Is it for feeding and consoling the baby? Or for enticing my husband? Or for giving me pleasure? These functions seem completely irreconcilable -- not philosophically, but physically. When we manage to find the time, and I can summon an iota of enthusiasm, well, let's just say that it doesn't get me very far.**

At the moment, I'd be content to let it go, to say goodbye to the brazen 22-year-old for a while. But, oddly, I'm not sure that would be what's best for Ess. I want to be the kind of mother who can talk to her about the fact that she grew in my uterus and would have come out of my v@gina eventually. I want to be able to tell her how s*x works calmly and confidently. And, damn it, I want to show her that motherhood and s*x are not incompatible, even though that is how it feels in these early months, with the tender scar on my abdomen and my over-used chest and my weary back.

It is so odd to me that my first route back to s*x seems to run through what is best for my daughter, rather than what is best for me, and for my relationship with her father. I don't know whether to blame the residue of Catholicism or the all-too-common tendency to put myself at the bottom of the priority list or something more insidious. Either way, I am hoping to reclaim my body, slowly and surely. It seems a long, long way off. But I hope that some day we will get to a place where a gleam in his eye will evoke something more positive than thoughts of the sleep I am giving up.

---------------

*It's hard to write an honest post about the language of the body and of intimacy without using the words that I fear might bring unsavory types to my humble bloggy abode. So forgive the evasiveness, which I know seems totally hypocritical.

**For a less angsty -- and considerably shorter -- take on this whole thing, check out this Catherine Newman column that says it all perfectly.

Lucky

2006-09-29T20:15:00.000-04:00

This is less than a 10-minute walk from my house.

And this is who I get to walk there with.

Buy raffle tix, help Annika

2006-09-28T20:18:00.000-04:00

I think most of you who visit here are familiar with the story of Annika, the sweet kindergartener who is likely headed for another liver transplant. (If not, read her history, then check out her mom's blog.) Among all the other great stuff she's engineered, Andrea has just started another round of raffles to benefit Annika's medical expense fund, and one of the items up for raffle this time around is the sweater I am making. (Guess this means I should finally put the buttons on it, eh?)

So, please, visit the raffle page and follow the instructions to donate -- tix for this cutie pie sweater (size 2T, perfect for any number of bambinas in the blogosphere) are just $2 each. And it is truly a fantastic cause.

Random bullets of blah

2006-09-26T20:19:00.000-04:00

I either have allergies (ragweed, I guess?) or the beginning of a cold. Whatever it is is kicking my butt. My throat hurts and I am tiiiiiiiiiired. (Did that sound whiny? If so, good. That's how I intended it.)
Ess is going through some kind of sleep transition in which she vociferously fights -- as in, an hour of crying -- taking her naps during the day. Until now I have not needed to nurse her to sleep; she'd get swaddled, take a binkie, we'd bounce on the ball for a minute and then she'd sleep. For the last couple days, including a bout today while a friend was watching her, she would only sleep after nursing. I am not ok with this; people other than me need to be able to get this kid to nap. (I'm totally fine with nursing her to sleep at night, though.) So I suspect we are going to experience a few hair-pulling days as we try to get through this and establish a new (old) routine.
I have a meeting tomorrow and have to wear a skirt. And heels. Oy.
If you were to walk by me right now and gently sniff the air, you would likely detect a faint hint of spitup. It has become my signature scent.
The fact that I am reduced to blogging about the smell of spitup explains why I haven't written much lately. I have a big-ish post, about s*x and intimacy and the postpartum woman, brewing and I think all my other blog material is stuck behind it. So perhaps some day in 2008 I will be able to write that post and resume regular blogging.

Why my grocer is going to get an earful

2006-09-23T19:13:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow morning, we're going to visit some friends who just had their third little boy. Figuring that parents of three kids need help managing the daily grind even more than parents of newborns do, we offered to bring them a tray of stuffed shells. And figuring that if I was making one batch, I could just as easily make three, have one for dinner and put the other in the freezer for us, I stocked up on supplies.

D's parents babysat for us this afternoon; we went out for lunch and then did a bunch of errands, including the weekly grocery shopping. Somehow the day got away from us; suddenly it was 4 pm and we hadn't started the shells. So D wrangled Ess while I got moving in the kitchen. I even sent him out for extra shells at one point, figuring that we couldn't go wrong by making more. (It was sheer genius, as you'll see in a moment, that he also bought ice cream when he went back on that second trip...) As I mixed the ricotta and eggs and mozzarella and parmesan, I kept thinking that something smelled a little off. I'd sniff the spoon, then taste the mixture, and it seemed ok. But then I'd stir some more and catch another whiff of something odd. It was off-putting, but it wasn't a horrible smell, so I kept going.

I sauced the bottom of each tray, then filled dozens and dozens of shells with the creamy mixture. I covered them with more sauce, then grabbed the container of pre-grated parmesan cheese we'd picked up in the deli section earlier in the afternoon. As I took the lid off, I got a nose full of the rancid odor.

So now Ess is in bed. The three trays of shells are in the trash. D is out picking up a pizza, and I just got off the phone with our friends, who were informed that they'll be getting bagels and cream cheese for breakfast instead of stuffed shells for dinner. The parmesan is sitting on the counter, along with a receipt. I am hoping to convince the frickin' store to not only refund what we paid for the cheese, but the money we spent on all the other ingredients that are now in the garbage. I'm tempted to demand that they compensate me for my time, for the hour I could have spent playing with Ess or, god forbid, sitting down and reading a magazine. As it is, we'll be lucky to get our money back for anything more than the cheese.

What a way to spend a Saturday.

A big milestone

2006-09-19T20:31:00.000-04:00

Welcome to visitor number 25,000 since I installed Sitemeter back in February, 2005. I wish I could tell you something cool about him or her, but all I know is that s/he is from North America and uses Firefox. (That narrows it down, doesn't it?)

It's a little sobering to think that many people have viewed these slapdash rants and incoherent mumblings (especially lately). I feel like this nice round number means I ought to have some newfound energy for blogging, or at least that I ought to promise to stop posting about sleep, bodily fluids and dog problems. But I may as well be realistic here.

Thanks for coming by, y'all. You're the best.

The fun just keeps on coming

2006-09-19T08:36:00.000-04:00

While we await the resolution of Pumpgate 06, we've been keeping ourselves entertained by discovering dog urine on the dining room floor -- again. (This one while we were both home, and after Jelly'd been out just a few hours before.)

Even better, we're pretty sure we've found flea eggs on Jelly's back. AAaaaarghhhh.

The weird thing about this -- and I haven't had time to do any googling, seeing as how all my precious Google minutes have been used for searches like "mold in breast pump," so I'm not sure if there is another possible answer for this mystery -- is that we see no fleas at all. On top of which, the eggs are confined to a good-sized patch on her back, not covering her whole body. It's been a long time since I saw a dog with fleas (one of the rental houses we lived in when I was growing up turned out to have a flea infestation in the carpet, which meant not only that the dog got fleas constantly, but that we got flea bites on our ankles. Eww.), but this is not how I remember it looking. Also, Rocky doesn't have anything on her -- no bugs, no eggs, no nothing.

Still, we haven't put the flea and tick medicine on them in months, so it's entirely possible. Rocky got treated last night. This morning, as soon as D is out of the shower, I'm going to bathe Jelly -- a fun and exciting task in itself, given her tendency to snap when stressed or confused -- and then treat her. And then I suppose we should wash all eleventy-three dog beds in the house.

This week has to get better sometime, right??

Happy ending Story still in progress

2006-09-18T14:47:00.000-04:00

Great news from the lactation consultant from my new moms group: the milk is safe!! What a relief. (Her reason: Breastmilk contains infection-fighting white blood cells, so there should be no problem with the milk in the freezer.)

This whole experience has been an enlightening one -- a 24-hour cycle of panic, guilt, more panic, more guilt and then relief... tinged with guilt about the general slovenliness that is my natural state.

If you were to enter my house for a quick visit, you wouldn't see the slovenliness right away; we keep the house pretty neat. But neat is a different story than clean, and clean is not something at which I excel. So, yes, the dishes and the laundry are done, but please don't look at the bathtub or the baseboards... or really any of the hard surfaces in the house, which are all covered in dust and grime. I notice them, make a mental note to do something about them and then go back to whatever it was I was so involved in (cough... reading blogs... cough). D is better at the cleaning than I am; he actually vacuums -- something I've not done in months or, possibly, years -- and puts his clothes in the dresser, as opposed to rifling through the laundry basket all week.

So the fact that I've allowed fungus of some sort to grow in the containers that store my daughter's only sustenance? Totally not surprising. And also totally shaming and horrible. Suffice it to say that the pump parts have been put through the dishwasher and boiled (a little excessive, sure, but better late than never, I suppose), and that I've thought all kinds of good thoughts about reforming, about cleaning more in anticipation of the day when Ess becomes mobile under her own power.

And what am I doing right now, while she's napping? Sitting on the couch, listening to music and catching up on email. So much for good intentions. But my shoulders are slowly coming down from their perch near my ears, and my heart has stopped racing. And I can guarantee that I will have the cleanest breast pump this side of the Mississippi for so long as I shall pump.

Or at least until I forget the misery of the last 24 hours. And I'm thinking that day's not coming any time soon.

Edited at 10 pm to add: Oy, this whole thing is up in the air. I just spoke with my fabulous LLL leader, who is concerned about the possibility of mold in the milk; she is consulting some medical textbooks -- which the LC did not do -- to figure out whether the milk is safe. So I've been pumping. Not getting a whole lot yet, but that will change. And I realized that freaking out is not necessary; I will be able to come close to meeting Ess' needs for my work days Weds. and Thurs. with what I can pump between now and then, and if she has to have a little formula, too, then so be it. By next week I'll have a good supply in the fridge again, and we'll be back in business. Unless, of course, I hear from the leader tomorrow morning that all is well. But this seems to be a case in which erring on the side of caution would be smart.

What's grosser than gross?

2006-09-17T15:39:00.000-04:00

Pausing idly while washing out the breastpump parts, only to discover that there is something green and slimy growing behind the little flange. Frantically checking all the other pump pieces (I am lucky enough to have two full sets) and discovering something pink and slimy growing in the other ones.

And then noticing, in the pot of boiling water into which they were immediately plunged, an array of flotsam and jetsam emanating from the pump parts.

Here's hoping that my freezer full of milk pumped with these parts is not totally contaminated and headed for the trash.

A rollicking Saturday night

2006-09-16T21:22:00.000-04:00

So far, I've done a load of laundry (which, crap, I need to get out of the dryer), and spent a couple hours on revisions to my latest freelance piece; I figure better to do it now than to waste what looks to be another gorgeous September day inside. Now if only my sources will check their email over the weekend and get back to me on those followup questions...

And tonight it's going to be me and Ess, mano a mano. D has either really horrendous allergies or a bad cold. Since his symptoms steadily worsened throughout the day, I'm thinking it's the latter. So he's already in bed in the guest room. And Ess is asleep for the time being. Since we moved her into her crib last week, I get up and nurse her in the rocking chair in her room for the 12-ish and 3-ish feedings. Any time after that, though, I can't bear to drag myself out of bed, so D gets her and brings her to me. And then she usually does the very end of the night in our bed. So we'll see how long she lasts in the crib tonight.

I have to admit to being a bit jealous of D. Not that I want his cold -- far from it -- but that he can simply take a night in the guest room, and a full night's sleep with no interruptions, whenever he wants. (To his credit, he does it infrequently and is apologetic when he does.) Yes, he'll have to deal with Jelly, who is currently pacing around the house, her toenails clicking on the wood floors. But that's nothing compared to a hungry infant who needs to be held in your tired arms, and you can't fall asleep while nursing or you'll drop her and besides which the rocking chair isn't all that comfortable anyway.

Ok, enough complaining. I'm going to fold the laundry and take a nice magazine up to bed with me, and enjoy the rare pleasure of reading -- and keeping the light on -- as long as I want.

Making progress

2006-09-14T20:50:00.000-04:00

A few reasons why we haven't had to exclaim "Fireplace!" or "Motherfireplacer!" in the last few days:

1. Ess slept last night from 7:15 pm to 3:45 am without waking up. Yes, she slept for 8.5 hours in a row without nursing. AND she slept all of those hours in her crib. I'm fully aware that she will probably not be repeating that performance any time soon (especially since I'm blogging it), but just knowing that the little one is capable of sleeping that much makes me very, very happy. Now if only I can not wake up in a panic the next time she sleeps longer than usual, we'll be in good shape.

2. The grandmothers have responded to my appeal for help with 3-6 mos clothes with great generosity and abandon. And since I had to stop at the Carter's store in Outletport yesterday and got to ogle all the cutie-pie clothes, I am realizing this was not much of a sacrifice on their part.

3. Jelly hasn't peed in the house since Monday afternoon.

4. The biggest one of all, and one I hesitate to write about for fear of jinxing it: Things have been going really well around here lately. Ess is such a happy, good-natured baby; when we go to pick her up from her bassinet after a nap, even if she's been crying, as soon as she sees you, she smiles her big gummy smile and squirms with glee. And that is pretty typical of her temperament these days. (I'm sure teeth and sleep regressions and all sorts of other miseries are in the offing, but it's good to know that she's a sweetiepie at heart.) D and I are navigating the combination of work and parenting pretty well, and we've even managed to save some money while still eating reasonably healthy meals. And we've been able to get together with some friends recently, with plans to see more of them this weekend (it turns out that brunch is the ideal way to get together with people these days). So I feel like we have emerged a bit from the newborn haze and are actually enjoying our lives, and our sweet girl.

Dog problems

2006-09-12T09:28:00.000-04:00

As I've mentioned, we're having trouble with Jelly, our elderly dog, who's been with us for almost two years. She was partly blind and deaf when we got her, and has a host of other health problems (arthritis, mammary tumors and a heart murmur) that were not disclosed to us by the rescue from which we adopted her. She's had trouble settling down at night; if D comes down to the guest room to get some sleep after being up with Ess for a while, he has to take her in bed with him to avoid her pacing and smacking the door with her paw.

I was at the vet with Rocky last week getting a booster for one of her shots, and mentioned that Jelly would be coming in shortly (on the 21st) for her exam and shots. The vet is new to our beloved veterinary practice, so I was telling her a bit about Jelly's background and behavior. She immediately asked if we've looked into canine cognitive dysfunction, which is essentially doggie Alzheimer's -- down to the tangled webs of plaque in the brains of animals who have it. We hadn't, but upon reading the list of possible symptoms -- most significantly, getting "lost" in familiar places like the house or the backyard -- it's clear that this is what she's got. Of course, there is medication to treat it, but even online the cheapest thing I can find is $1/day, which we just can't afford.

And then there's the peeing. Our dining room rug is, for all intents and purposes, a lost cause. Over the weekend we found two more relatively fresh pee spots on it. D sprang into action -- rented a steam cleaner from the hardware store and cleaned it thoroughly before rolling it up and putting it in the garage until such time as we can bring it back out. We wondered if Jelly would just find another rug to pee on, in which case we'd need to start locking her in the kitchen when we're not with her.

The answer to that question came soon enough: Shortly after my sister's dog, Lucy, bounded through the house yesterday afternoon, there was Jelly squatting on the hardwood floor in the dining room. Argh.

On top of that is the barking. Jelly gets fed around 5:30 every night, and starting at about 2 or 3, she gets highly agitated, pacing through the house and barking at the least provocation (like setting a glass down on an end table). If I put her in the yard to get some peace, she barks insistently out there. The barking is nervewracking and wakes Ess to boot. If we feed Jelly early, she just starts the whole routine that much earlier the next day. We've recently started calling her Yelly, which is about the only thing in her life worthy of a chuckle.

I am at wit's end about what to do. Her quality of life isn't great; she pretty much sleeps, eats and goes to the bathroom (sometimes even out doors!). But she does not seem to be in pain, so I don't think it's quite time to have The Talk with the vet. I would be lying, though, if I said I don't look forward to the day when she's no longer with us. And then I feel guilty for feeling that way.

To be honest, I have never really bonded with her, in part because she is so rarely interested in human companionship. She lives for the most part locked in her own little world. D gets through to her -- he lays on the floor and snuggles with her, and cleans her face, and gives her treats. He loves her, and that makes this time particularly hard. I am seeing each transgression, each interrupted nap, each tussle with Rocky, as another step toward The Talk. D is just seeing the continued decline of his friend.

Bloggy friends, I know many of you are animal people. Do you have any insight about how to handle this? Any tips for retaining my sanity in the midst of cranky babies and giant containers of Nature's Miracle? Any advice about when it's time to have The Talk?

Four months old

2006-09-10T22:28:00.000-04:00

Dear Ess,

It seems you have decided to celebrate your four-month birthday by taking a very big step: Today, you rolled from your tummy to your back for the very first (and second) time! You've been working on doing this for a while now, and this morning you finally figured out how to push off with your arms and wiggle your legs just right to flip over. You seemed awfully pleased with yourself when you were done, too.

In the last day or so, you've also started to unclench those little fists of yours and swipe at some of your toys. Yesterday, you tried to grab Zeke, and this afternoon you were grabbing at your musical frog. You've also recently discovered the joy of sucking on your hands; you spend lots of time trying to get them in your mouth. Sometimes, you even succeed! (And we have to admit to enjoying watching you hold a hand up against your cheek and then contort your lips around to try to reach it.)

You've gotten big enough to face forward in the Baby Bjorn, and yesterday you fell asleep in it while we were walking on a nice trail a couple miles from our house. You also ride sitting up in the sling, although you're still a little too little to do that for long. You've recently begun to take an active interest -- which we are completely thwarting -- in watching TV. So far, you seem to prefer sporting events, although to be fair you haven't had the opportunity to gaze on much else. And you love to sit on Mom's lap, leaning up against her, and look out at the world. You especially love it when Dad is nearby, making faces at you -- you arch your back and grin at him constantly. We think he just might be your favorite toy.

Your sleeping has improved quite a bit this month, for which we are very thankful. You reliably sleep for four or five hours after you first go to bed, and then sometimes for another three after that. You're still waking up more frequently (and with lots of gas that makes you uncomfortable) in the pre-dawn hours, but we've even seen some relief in that pattern from time to time. And just a few days ago, we took the big step of putting you to bed in your crib, in your own bedroom, for the very first time. You didn't seem to mind much at all, although you still end up in bed with us by about 3 am, largely because Mom is too tired to get out of bed and trot down the hall to you every couple hours. Now, if only we can finish organizing that bedroom and get some art on the walls...

In the last few weeks, you've also begun "talking" to us frequently. You love to sit in your bouncy seat and carry on a conversation -- you make some noises, then wait for one of us to answer you, and then you chat a bit more. You've gotten more sensitive to noise; these days, you wince whenever your silly dogs bark. Which is a lot. And speaking of the dogs: You finally outweigh Rocky!! We will get an 'official' weight for you later this week, but you're about 12 pounds now, and just about to grow out of your 0-3 months clothes.

You're still going to staff meeting with Dad every Wednesday morning. His only requests of you were that you take long naps and not have a poopy diaper in the middle of the meeting. So far, you have totally ignored both requests, which sometimes makes life a little difficult for your poor father. Otherwise, though, you seem to really enjoy spending time at his job, where everyone thinks you are the cutest baby ever.

And, really, we would have to agree. It's amazing to watch you grow and change, and it's stunning what you've learned in just these few months you've been around. Even though you're such a tiny little girl, you are teaching us to be patient and flexible. You're reminding us how wonderful it can be to just lay around and look at the leaves on the trees as they rustle in the wind, and how nice it is to take a warm bath. We absolutely adore you, little one, and are very proud to be your parents.

Much, much love,
Mom and Dad

Open the window, I'm venting

2006-09-08T07:59:00.000-04:00

There's a little something I need to get off my chest that I am trying mightily to avoid expressing to my fabulous husband. So pardon me while I vent away here...

His parents did not acknowledge my birthday in any way. And this pisses me off.

There is a certain amount of thoughtfulness that seems to be missing on that side of the family. For example, when I was not eating dairy, my MIL would show up at my house with baked goods. I would politely ask if they contained butter, and she invariably would say yes. I would say, "oh" and not eat any. D even added, "You know mc can't eat dairy these days, right?" At one point she vaguely mentioned something about trying to look into recipes that didn't use butter, but that was that.

Meanwhile, my sister's husband on his own concocted a dairy-free banana bread recipe, and baked loaves for me several times over the summer. And he tracked down a really good dairy-free orange cake recipe (it's in the Joy of Cooking, if you're interested) and made that every time we got together. Friends made a point to drop off soy ice cream, or to make a salad with goat cheese instead of cheddar. So I don't feel like it was asking all that much that my MIL put a little effort into this.

And then the fact that they totally skipped my birthday -- which was nearly two months ago, so I've been holding on to this for a while now -- really irritated me.

The crazy thing is that they're not good gift-givers at all, so it's not like I'm missing out on some fantastic present. But I'm hurt that my birthday -- which has always been acknowledged in the past -- just slid by without so much as a phone call or a card. I really don't want to mention this to D, because he is extremely sensitive about any displeasure of mine related to his family. And I don't want to act like a whiny child who didn't get a present. But I really needed to express these feelings in the hopes that I can just get over it already. So here's hoping that the act of blogging it is enough.

Baby-related content to return any day now, I promise...

Conflicted

2006-09-05T15:05:00.000-04:00

Thoughts about the whole work/childcare/finances situation continue to swirl around in my head, exacerbated by D's revelation this morning that he might not be able to go to a four-day work week when he goes back to work fulltime in January after all. This was a crucial piece of our strategy to minimize the amount of daycare we used. So if he's working Mon-Fri, then Ess will only not go to daycare on the days I don't work. And that makes this decision-making process that much harder.

The thing is, based purely on financial considerations, I should be the one working full-time and D should go part-time. Temperamentally, this would be plausible, too; I have always gotten a lot more fulfillment and enjoyment from my work than D does (although time with Ess is getting more rewarding, and I can see how it's going to get exponentially more so as she grows). And he is wonderful with Ess, and adores the time he spends with her. Somehow, he manages to get the house clean on those days, too... which is more than I can say for myself. But his position does not lend itself to permanent part-time work, especially since a key member of the team he works on is going out on maternity leave just as he goes back full-time.

And in our ideal world Ess wouldn't go to daycare more than three days a week; that way she'd still have the majority of her time with us, but she'd also get the socialization of daycare.

The hard part is that unless we make major, major cutbacks (ie, eliminating cable -- including NESN and ESPN, which are largely responsible for my husband's continued sanity -- and at least one cellphone, which I'm loathe to do given that we're both ferrying Ess around in the car at different points in the week), we simply need to make more money than we do with D working fulltime and me working part-time.

These are my choices, as I see them:

Continue freelancing on Mondays and Tuesdays, meaning we stick with 3 days of daycare at most, but work bleeds into the rest of my time at home. I report my freelance stories when I can, and write them at night and on the weekend.
Add another day at the magazine, meaning we go up to 4 days of daycare... and at many of the places I've checked out the cost is the same for 4 days or 5. So maybe I work five days a week, and we make a lot more money (and finally have the equivalent of three months' expenses in the bank like all the financial gurus recommend), but we spend a lot less time with Ess. Or I just work four and we eat the extra daycare costs.

So in some ways I'm backpedaling on my insistence that adding another day to my schedule at the magazine is the right way to go. Of course, this was helped by the fact that Ess took a couple good naps today -- including one right now -- and so I was able to get a bunch of work done on my freelance story. But, as we all discussed the other day, that's not something I can count on.

Gah.

I don't know how we answer this question. D is discussing his schedule with his peers and his boss either today or next Tuesday, and I'm going to find out this week how much the magazine would pay me for that extra day. And we're going to have to have a long talk about what we think is best for Ess, and for us as a family, in order to make a decision.

As a sidenote, all of this stuff we're wrestling with is related to Jody and Moxie's posts about feminism, motherhood and work, but I am so mired in the details of our particular situation that I can't articulate the big-picture implications at all right now... other than to say that our society certainly does not make it easy to find a solution that works well for all involved.

Diary of a crappy Sunday afternoon

2006-09-04T13:06:00.000-04:00

Ess is refusing to nap. The baby who's been able to sleep after simply being swaddled, binkied and stuck in the bassinet (no rocking, no nursing, no nothing) for all her naps the last few days is restless and unhappy.

Every time she falls asleep, frickin' Jelly lets loose with a round of loud barking for no reason other than that it is approaching 5:30 -- the dogs' usual dinner time -- and she would like to eat now.

So Ess wakes up and cries.

When I lose my patience at dealing with that situation -- as proven by the large spot on the dining room rug, where all the water landed when I flung the contents of my glass at Jelly so she would just. shut. up. -- I trade jobs with D. He is in the kitchen, washing dishes and steaming the beets for the salad we will have with dinner.

I check the beets, refill my water glass, nibble on chips and salsa (maybe my blood sugar is low and that's why I'm so intolerant??). And then I smell something. Something burning. Yes, it is the beets, which have been steaming so well that the water is all gone.

I try switching them to another pot and re-steaming them with clean water, but it's no use. They are scorched tasting and gross.

****

Apparently, yesterday afternoon was so crappy that I never got to finish writing this post. Ess is napping now, and Jelly is asleep under the desk. And we had a nice conclusion to the day yesterday when my sister and her husband came over for dinner and the Sopranos (we just have three episodes left in season 6...).

Hope y'all are having a good long weekend.

For love & money

2006-09-01T21:38:00.000-04:00

My mind has been reeling around matters related to work and money lately... at least in part inspired by Mommygoth's post the other day. I'm not sure I can be coherent about this, but let me try.

These days, we are living paycheck to paycheck. I manage our joint checking account, and it's always interesting to watch the balance as we're getting to the end of the month and the next mortgage payment (if by "interesting" you mean "painful" and "agita-producing"). We don't have any credit card debt, but we do have ye olde mortgage -- at a good interest rate, and with only ~17 years left, thanks to a dumb-luck refinancing we did a couple years ago -- plus my good-sized student loans from grad school (just refinanced; due to be paid off in 10 years) and the similarly sized home equity loan we took out to redo the bathroom and buy the Prius last year (due to be paid off in nine years).

So right now D is on part-time paternity leave, but bringing home his whole paycheck. I am working three days a week and making just slightly less than he is. From January to May, when Ess was born, I was also freelancing the other two days a week, and managing to bring in a pretty decent amount of extra money. We were able to pay for the Puerto Rico trip in cash, buy some baby stuff and sock money away to cover my unpaid maternity leave. We were hoping to not depend on my freelance income in the long run, since the plan was that I would be home with Ess on what had been the freelancing days, and then gradually work my way back into freelancing.

And that's what's happening. But it's much harder than I imagined to get anything done with an infant around... especially one who only sleeps in 45-minute increments. So I've completed one small assignment and am in the midst of another one (for which, by the way, I have still not completed even one interview. Egads.). There is plenty more work out there, thanks to the editor who's subcontracting stuff to me, if only I can find the time and brainpower to work on it. The problem, I'm realizing, is that this work isn't anything I care much about -- it's decent stories for obscure publications that I will likely never show to anyone. So the freelancing isn't doing much to advance my career. And because I am simultaneously caring for Ess and working, the freelance assignments are seeping into the entire rest of my life -- evenings, weekends, my real job, etc.

Then, at work yesterday my editor brought up the idea of adding a day to my schedule each week. The magazine could certainly use me, and the extra day would bring me to 32 hours a week -- meaning I'd finally become eligible for everything from paid vacation and sick time to medical and dental benefits. It would also mean, of course, that Ess would have to go to daycare. She's headed there in January anyway, for two days a week, so this would mean she'd go for three. I would have a steady paycheck, and my work would be confined to normal business hours four days a week. I am pretty sure that the increase in my salary would more than cover the cost of daycare -- which, incidentally, we have no provision for in the current budget situation. And I could still pick up the occasional freelance piece if I wanted to.

So I think that's where we are headed. And I think it's the right decision. So why am I spilling all this virtual ink over it? (And sorry for the excrutiating detail, but part of this is just me thinking everything through in detail.)

I guess it comes down to the guilt I feel about the fact that I would, in some ways, rather work than spend the day with Ess. But I also think that if work is confined to work hours, rather than being potentially able to occur anytime, I will be a better mom to Ess during the time I do spend with her, rather than being preoccupied with finding sources and waiting for the phone to ring and stressing about how to conduct an interview with a baby in my lap. And I think a little less stress about financial affairs would create a more pleasant home environment, too.

There are still some big hurdles we have to get over -- not least of which is finding out what, exactly, my salary would be if I added that fourth day. Then there's the question of finding daycare. And then there are the financial hurdles still to be leapt, such as setting aside emergency cash -- we would have to go straight to the plastic for anything more serious than a good-sized car repaid, which makes me verrry nervous -- saving for Ess' education and very belatedly getting D's 401k going (I just discovered that the social service agency where he's been working for -- count 'em -- 10 years matches 401k contributions. So we have been giving up free money for all that time. Shoot me now.).

On the other hand, if I were to win the Powerball, that would be ok, too.

And, yes, I know I would have to buy a ticket in order for that to even be a remote possibility.

Things I am pondering today

2006-08-29T13:31:00.000-04:00

1. Why Ess is refusing to nap in the middle of the day. She yawns, she gets cranky, but when I swaddle and bounce her, after a few minutes I look down to see her grinning up at me. So I unswaddled and played with her for a bit, then the crankiness and yawning reappeared. So we went for a long walk, during which she slept for approximately nine minutes. She was groggy and had glazed eyes when we came home, so I swaddled her again. She wanted to nurse, which I figured would surely put her to sleep. Again, I look down to see her sweet little grin. And now we have to leave to take Rocky to the vet for a booster of her lepto shot, and she's starting to get cranky. Of course.

2. Why our insurance refuses to cover a certain test that D took last September. After a year of trying to get pregnant, we'd been starting to wonder about fertility issues, so we went to my doctor to begin the poking and prodding. I had blood drawn, and D was given some instructions about what he was to do. In retrospect, of course, this was all unnecessary, since Ess had been conceived the day before (!). But now the stinkin' lab is billing us $65 for the test and insurance has denied the claim. I'm thinking it's time to get the benefits consultants contracted by D's employer involved. It's only $65... but money is tight these days, and besides, they ought to pay.

3. Why literally NONE of the sources I am trying to contact for a freelance story I just accepted have returned my various calls and emails. Could it have something to do, perhaps, with the fact that it's the last week in August? The Sept. 22 deadline, which seemed so far away just last week when I accepted the assignment, now is looming on the horizon. People, call me.

4. Whether there really are an unusual number of houses for sale in our neighborhood, or whether because I'm home all the frickin' time now I just notice them more. If there are more for sale, what's going on? Did someone declare our neighborhood no longer cool -- it was the hot area for a little while there, although our ending up here had far more to do with the fact that the grandparents of a friend of D's owned the house than it did with us being coolhunters -- and if so, where is everyone going?

5. Why I am not napping right now, since (in the three hours since I started this post) Ess is really and truly asleep for the first time.

Running*Cooking*Writing