Kicks + Flutters

Nummers

2011-06-24T12:49:00.000-07:00

Counting

2011-03-14T12:00:00.000-07:00

As of today, Wolfie . . .

stands 32 inches tall.
weighs 26 pounds.
has 7 pearly whites.
says approximately 65 words.
counts from 1-3 and 7-9, and lately enjoys counting, "eight . . . nine . . . PURPLE!"
imitates 10 animal sounds, including cat, dog, elephant, wolf, bear, sheep, cow, duck, pig, and chicken. And if you ask, "What does the elevator say?" he'll reply, "Beep beep!"
is 18 months old! 12:51pm marks it officially.

Will you get a load of how big this boy is? Jesse and I marvel every day (several times a day), "He looks like a little boy now instead of a baby!" And then we make pained expressions at each other because time is moving just a little too quickly for us.

But I remind myself that it's the big boys--and not the babies--who beg for another song on the ukulele, who make the hand motions when you sing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star," who feed themselves spaghetti (and tofu!) with a spoon, who rummage through the kitchen cabinets and pretend to cook, who ask for their favorite books at bedtime, who want to walk to the car instead of being carried, who make spills and ask for the "'scoba . . . peeeeeeees?" so they can sweep up because they like to help, and who give countless hugs, kisses, and pats. I also relish that my boy is not SO big that he still asks for Mama as soon as he wakes and wants to climb in my lap so that we can read together. And I think I can forcibly require that he will continue to do those things until he's, like, forty-five. Moms wield that kind of power, right?

Speaking of books, I thought it might be cool to make a list of Wolfie's favorites now that he's a big, fancy 18 month-old. These books are at the top of our good night reading list pretty much every night:

You Are My I Love You by Maryann K. Cusimano
Some of my favorite lines:
"I am your parent; you are my child. I am your quiet place; you are my wild . . . I am your way home; you are my new path. I am your dry towel; you are my wet bath . . . I am your favorite book; you are my new lines. I am your nightlight; you are my starshine." If I don't get weepy every time I read it, it's a wonder. Seriously. "You are my first wish"--that one little line puts a major squeeze on my heart.

Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes by Helen Oxenbury and Mem Fox

Go, Dog, Go! by P.D. Eastman

Mama Mama/Papa Papa by Jean Marzolo

Put Me in the Zoo by Robert Lopshire

Hush Little Baby by Sylvia Long
Jesse and I love this one. It's a variation on the original song so that, rather than singing about what we're gonna buy Baby, we sing about what we see and do at bedtime. But we mod it a little so that it's Mama one line and Daddy the next.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word,
Mama's going to show you a hummingbird
If that hummingbird should fly,
Mama's going to show you the evening sky . . ."

And that's usually how we wrap up the night together--with that song. Talk about idyllic, huh?

Since you've been so indulgent of my sentimentalism and randomness, I'm gonna treat you to not one, not two, but THREE new Wolfie movies to celebrate the best 18 months ever had.

Parent Shaming

2011-03-10T06:18:00.000-08:00

I know I can't be alone in this, so I wonder how frequently other "unconventional" mamas experience this . . . oh, I dunno what to call it . . . social gridlock. Yeah, let's go there. Let's use a traffic metaphor.

Okay, Mamas and Dads, say you're standing at a busy intersection, and traffic is passing from two directions. From one direction, the drivers are people you don't know, just a bunch of strangers whizzing past you for the first time. They see you and your baby, and they make vocal judgments. They crane their necks and poke their heads out of their windows to shout insults because maybe you don't look the part of the traditional parent, or because you have ideals that conflict with their notions of parenthood, or you work outside of the home, etc. They can tell just by looking at you that you're bad news.

The traffic coming from the other direction is made up of drivers who you do recognize--people who are part of your social scene--and they're craning just as far out their windows in order to make derogatory remarks about people who decide to become parents (read: YOU), to refer to parents as "breeders," to compare parenting to pet ownership, etc.

So, there you are, stranded at this intersection, experiencing all kinds of road rage, and what can you do? Refer to your driver's handbook? Give 'em the bird? (Bear with me. This is where my crappy metaphor falls apart, but you get what I'm getting at.) Lately, I'm on the verge of giving EVERYBODY the bird.
I mean, everbody *excluding Wolfie and Jesse and you guys,* of course.

I anticipated that I'd get unsolicited feedback from strangers. I did when I was pregnant, so why not now? Why not while I'm wheeling Wolfie around the grocery store in a shopping cart or when we're trying on carriers at a ritzy baby boutique? My influence on my child is more apparent and less hypothetical now that he's outside of my womb, right? While there is a liberal-ish majority in Salt Lake City, I'm well aware that--oh, yeah!--I live in a socially, politically, and religiously conservative state. Mamas (and sometimes Dads) who are tattooed or pierced or have unnatural hair colors or have careers outside the home or don't attend church are on the receiving end of the occasional raised eyebrow. And when it's raised, oh, how high it is raised. It's even pointed to by the eyebrow raiser, as in, "Do you SEE the contempt I'm sending your way? Because I just wanna make sure that you understand that this here eyebrow is raised at you." But, you know what? Big deal. Like I said, that's something I anticipate whenever we're out in public, and it doesn't usually get me down.

Total disclosure: Before Jesse and I found out that we had a Wolfie on the way, we were pleasantly child-free. Don't get me wrong--I've always liked kids. I have step-kids, for Pete's sake. I just didn't think I would have a child. (But very happily and with the help of faulty birth control, I was wrong.) Back in those pre-Wolfie days, my co-workers or my extended family members used to poke their noses into my private life and ask, "When are you going to have a baby? Soon, right? Please?" But that line of questioning was pretty infrequent, and, as presumptive and irritating as it was at the time, I also anticipated it. I was prepared to request very kindly that everyone mind their own uteruses.

What I didn't expect and naively continue not to expect is to have to defend my choice and my child against the judgment of people who I'm on friendly terms with, people I've known for years, who I've hung out with regularly at Jesse's shows or at the club or even way back in college--in a word, friends. Seriously, if I hear the terms "breeder" or "special little snowflake" or have to counter accusations of overpopulating the planet or explain why babies are different from dogs just ONE MORE TIME, you guys, I'm challenging somebody to fisticuffs (i.e. quietly un-friending him/her on Facebook . . . What? I'm a pacifist.). I don't expect everybody to fall head over heels in love with my kid, but come on. Can't we respect each other's lifestyles and loved ones?

Maybe I just need to make friends with more mamas and daddies, off-beat or otherwise.
Hello? *echo, echo*
Anybody out there who wants to make friendly?

A Day in the Life

2011-03-01T23:06:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I took advantage of my unexpected day at home with Wolfie to make a little "Day in the Life" project. I tried to take, at least, one photo an hour to capture what a typical day looks like for us. Depending on the hour and what Wolfie and I were up to, I sometimes took more than one photo; other times, I didn't take any, and the hour just slipped by us. In the end, there are thirty-two photos, spanning from 9:00am to 8:00pm.

A Day With Mama

2011-02-28T21:37:00.000-08:00

It's nice to be back at work. But I miss those silly, lazy, fun-filled days when Wolfie would stay home with me and we would play cars, toss balls, eat Cheerios, make milk paintings, play guitars, throw books around the house (er, I mean, read books), and when the weather was nice, go for little bike rides. Well, today Mama got the fortunate opportunity to hang with the Wolfman all day while I was out feeling my way around my new job. She took some pretty awesome photos chronicling the hours spent in the best of company. But I had an idea - an interview!

Jesse: Hi Sweets,
What did you like best about your day with Wolfie?

Adriana: I liked how I never felt lonely in the bathroom. I kid, I kid. What I really like best about Wolfie-and-Mama days is how we're so in sync. He wants to read books, I wanna read books. He wants to eat cheese, I wanna eat cheese. He wants to play guitar, I wanna play guitar. You get my drift. We have a lot of the same interests, despite the thirty-year age difference. I also really, really liked the hugging. We hugged a lot today.

Jesse:What is the silliest thing he did today?

Adriana: He does and says silly stuff all the live-long day. For example, this morning he was standing in between the ottoman and the sofa, watching Elmo, and he kicked one of his legs behind him so that he caught his foot in between the sofa frame and the cushion. He thought that was great, so he put the other foot in, too. Next thing I know, he's standing on the sofa and bracing himself with his hands on the ottoman. He looked like a little table top.

Then we were lying around together this afternoon, just reading (well, I was reading and he was enjoying a bottle), and he suddenly sat up and even more suddenly laid back down . . . on my face. It was kind of like a gentle head-butt. He did that a few times, and we got pretty giggly over it.

But the silliest was this evening, and you were there to witness it. We had just given Wolfie a bath and were getting him ready for bed. I crashed out on his bed and said, "Man, I'm pooped." And Wolfie pointed at me and said, "Poop?"

Jesse:Wolfie will get the name of an object in his head and will incessantly repeat that word until he somehow feels satisfied. In your best estimation, what is the number of times he will say (yell, frantically yell, stompandyell) that word until he gives up?

Adriana: Forty? Fifty? I dunno. I become mesmerized by it--like it's a chant or some sort of hypnotic litany--and I lose track. Today, he listened to this fifteen-second clip of a Cure song (my ring tone) possibly seventy times. And he would ask, "Song?" just before it looped again. Every. Single. Time. Here's the thing: I sang along all seventy times, and it was awesome. I mean it! We had such a good time. I imagine we're like Chinese water torture to other people.

Jesse:Who is your favorite Sesame Street character?

Adriana: I think you and I might have the same favorite: Rosita. She speaks Spanish, she plays guitar, she dances. And she's not weird or cloying, like the other girl muppets. (Sorry, Abby.) When I was a kid, though, I liked Telly a lot. I mean, I related to Telly. Yep, the most neurotic muppet was my favorite. So, there you go. I hope that means that I'm more psychologically healthy these days.

Jesse: If you were the baby, and Wolfie was the Mama, what activities would you want him to do with you?

Adriana: You know, we'd probably do many of the same things that we do now--reading, playing music, chasing, cuddling. I love the ways we spend time together.

Jesse: If Wolfie could sum up his day in ten words, what would he say?

Adriana: "Ball? Song? Dado? Stick? Bath? Queso? Book? Didda? Mmmah. Eeeeeeeeee!"

I'm happy to be working again and I'm glad you got to spend the day with him, tho the reasons for today are unfortunate. I love you both more than I know how to say.

jesse

Show and Tell

2011-02-24T13:49:00.000-08:00

It's happened again.
Time got away from us, and we haven't posted anything in over a month.
I have no excuses, only this simple explanation: We are crappy bloggers.
Our blogging style (oh, I can't believe I just used that phrase . . . *puke*) is very feast-or-famine. Yep, just like a teenage boy's sex life. So, here I am, much like an awkward, pimply 17-year-old, asking for your forgiveness and hoping you guys don't hate me. (Go ahead and hate Jesse, though. Dude never posts on this thing.)

Anyway, the past month or so has been pretty typical with the exception of some long-awaited, very happy news: Jesse found a job--and not just any job, a great one! We're so excited! I honestly cried when he received the offer email. It was a harrowing five months there, but they're officially over. Hooray for a return to normalcy! Double hooray for having a two-income household again!

And now, without further ado, we can move onto the good stuff, the stuff you really come here for: cute baby videos. Well, I can't say I blame you. He *is* a preternaturally beautiful child and an exceptional dancer.

We celebrated Wolfie's 17-month birthday last week. And while there's no mention of it in the What To Expect series, 17 months is actually when children begin to ridicule their parents. It's a milestone on the long road to adolescence. Check out Wolfie's response to "What do Mommy and Daddy say?"

This is also the age at which toddlers begin to develop refined skills, such as pillow fighting and laughing like an evil villain:

I'm brimming with maternal pride.

Messy: A Brief Photographic Essay on Dinnertime

2011-02-24T13:38:00.000-08:00

Note: This never happens when I feed Wolfie (which is, like, 95% of the time). Just sayin'

Snapshot

2011-02-20T22:14:00.000-08:00

Putting Wolfie to bed tonight, he said, "Mama . . . Dada . . . mmmmah" and put Jesse's hand on mine. "Mmmmah" is his word for "kiss." So, we did, and he was totally happy about it.

Mistakes . . . I've Made a Few

2011-01-17T11:47:00.001-08:00

One of our dear friends just announced that she and her husband are in the John Hurt way. Jesse and I are thrilled for them (like, the we're-on-babycrack kind of excited) and have enjoyed reading her recent posts about pregnancy, marriage, family relationships, and gender roles. Her writing has even sparked a lot of conversation around our house, which, in turn, has also resulted in our talking a lot *at* her online. It occurred to me this morning that, in spite of ourselves, we've become those douchebags who give unsolicited advice about anything baby-related. How does that happen?

What business do I have giving advice? As for those brilliant ideas that I had about child-rearing when I was pregnant . . . guess how many of them have panned out in reality? Yeah. Prepare to say "I told you so."

Cloth Diapering. We could have been missionaries for the Church of Cloth Diapering--we were that overzealous. A couple of months before Wolfie was born, we had something like three dozen cloth diapers custom-made for him from fabrics that we hand-selected ourselves. We slapped one of those cushy dipes on his newborn bottom only to find that it was HUMONGOUS, like, comically large. But "No problem!" we said. "He'll grow into them, and these things will last us all the way to toilet training!"

About a month into cloth diapering, we were pros at it. True, it sucked keeping a stinky diaper pail in the nursery and having to run up and down two flights of stairs to launder the diapers every other day, but we rocked it. Wolfie's bottom, however, was not a big fan, and he soon broke out in a huge, horrible, persistent diaper rash that made him wail, which also made me wail.

We tried all the home remedies and commercial creams we could find. We read somewhere that a good soak in the bath would ease his achy skin. Well, it turns out that if your baby hates the bath with the fire of a thousand suns, it isn't such a soothing experience for anyone involved. We covered his 'tocks and everything in close proximity with corn starch. We dried him with the hair dryer rather than a towel. We tried everything that holier-than-thou parents in online forums swear by. A week later, I made a weepy phone call to our pediatrician, and we took him into the office. "Why don't you try disposable diapers?" she suggested. "That should clear it up in a couple of days." Well, we did, and it did. When we returned to the cloth dipes a week later, the rash came back immediately. So much for idealism--especially idealism that's at the expense of our baby's comfort. We might give them another go when Wolfie's sensitive skin lets up, but it doesn't look like it will while he's still in diapers. Oh, the joys of eczema!
Making baby food. We bought a food mill, joined a co-op, found some great cookbooks, researched baby nutrition, and even convinced my mom to do it, too. It was a short-lived experiment that was a hit with Wolfie and a success for my mom, but JEEZ Jesse and I are busy people with a commute and poor planning skills. In other words, we don't have any legitimate excuses for not making homemade baby food, but we did (and do) buy the fancy organic stuff in a jar. Happily, Wolfie has made the transition to table food. And, hey, we still participate in the food co-op.
Watching TV. I personally haven't owned a television since 2005. Coincidentally, that was also the year I started subscribing to Netflix.
Anyhow . . .

Wolfie didn't see his first television until he was four months-old, and it was off at the time. That's when we started taking him to my mom's during the day. "Absolutely no TV," we told her in the weeks that lead up to this transition. "Okay, no TV. Of course not," my mom replied. "We don't want to expose him to *any* TV until he's two. The American Academy of Pediatrics says yadda yadda yadda . . ." She assured us that she understood our concerns and that she would not allow him to view any television while he was in her care. Everything went splendidly for a few months, until one night when we arrived to pick Wolfie up and found him sitting on the floor in front of the TV in the glow of the nightly news. He was totally entranced.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"
We were pissed.
My mom apologized.

Then a couple weeks later, you can probably guess what happened: We walked into my folks' house to find the TV on again. No volume this time, though. "I just needed a little background distraction," my mom explained. GAAAAAAAH! The following morning, we presented her with printed reports written by one million experts in child development, and she finally relented. Okay, no more television, just music.

Another few months passed and Wolfie started talking. One of his first words was "Elmo." No kidding. Mama, Dada, agua, and Elmo. (We're onto you, Grandma.) If we hadn't already lost the battle by that point, we finally surrendered to Wolfie's pleas to watch Elmo ("Elma? Elma? Elma? Elma? Elma?")--not every single time he asked, but occasionally. We figure that, as long as he wants to interact with the world around him more often than he wants to watch Elmo, he can continue to tune in for a few minutes a day via sesamestreet.com.
Baby-wearing. First, we tried one of those Infantino slings. You know, the kind that look kinda like a hammock and rest over one shoulder and across your back? It was a little painful, but it worked like a charm to get Wolfie to sleep. The thing is, from the very get-go, I was totally paranoid about it, checking his breathing every 35 seconds. So, I made a dramatic decree one morning that I wouldn't wear the sling anymore. Jesse gave up on the sling pretty shortly after I did mostly because I kept pestering him. ("Is the baby breathing? Did you check his breathing? Is he breathing now?") We found out a few months later that my mama spidey sense had been right all along. Remember that recall?

By that point, we picked up a Baby Bjorn, thinking that if anybody's got baby-wearing down to a science it must be the Swedes. We tried it on in the store, and it felt awesome--tons of shoulder and lower back support. Oh, yes, Wolfie would love this thing as much as we did. We were convinced.

He was so tiny that he couldn't yet hold up his head on his own, so that meant that we would have to wear him to our chests. That also meant that we needed to keep a close eye on him in order to prevent the whole chin-to-chest thing from happening. Of course, my ability to imagine the worst-case scenario kicked in right away, so I attempted to prop his head with burp cloths so that there was NO WAY that he could do the chin-to-chest thing. But little babies who can't hold their heads up are like jelly fish, especially when they're sleeping, so I gave up on the Bjorn after a few days. I didn't, however, give up on baby-wearing.

Then we tried the Moby Wrap. I still can't believe that we coughed up forty dollars for what is essentially a very long piece of stretchy fabric. We are not hippies. What were we thinking? I guess, I succumbed to peer pressure. Every woman we knew who was the proud owner of a Moby Wrap gushed about them. The instruction manual is filled with such women and their peaceful babies. "YES," I thought. "That's exactly how we want to be! Happy and calm!" Everyone assured us of its ease of use; the thirty-page instruction manual and online demos assured us of the ease of use. And anyway, how hard can it be to wrap a big piece of stretchy fabric around yourself and your jellyfish baby? A: Goddamn hard.

No matter how content Wolfie was when I began twisting and flipping the endless yards of fabric around my lumpy post-partum body, he was crying his face off about a minute into my attempt to finesse his limbs into the god-forsaken wrap. He must have felt precarious, or maybe he sensed my stress. I dunno. I think the real reason he hated it so intensely is that even he recognized that we are not dirty hippies.

When he was about three months old, we were inspired (by the desire to do dishes) to try the Bjorn again--this time in the facing out position--and he actually liked it. Fifteen minutes was his threshold, but, oh, what gloriously productive and bonding-filled moments they were. So, we enjoyed a few months of successful baby-wearing until (a) Wolfie decided that he was over the novelty and wanted to try to motor around on his own and (b) he really started to pack on the pounds. Even to this day, though, the little man prefers my hip or Jesse's shoulders to any kind of contraption, and, honestly, so do I.
Breastfeeding the first two years. I returned to the library full-time when Wolfie was four months old, and despite pumping five or six times a workday, staying fully hydrated, and watching my nutrition like a hawk, my milk production decreased rapidly. By the time Wolfie was six months old, there wasn't a drop left. It just dried up. I'm still really, really sad about this. I know that breast milk is The Perfect Food. I tried to make it last. I'd always thought that I'd wean him, or that he'd wean himself--not that there wouldn't even be the option.
*Cue the guilt that will haunt me until I'm an old lady*

So, in conclusion--yeah, we've fucked up some. We are the *last* people who should offer unsolicited parenting advice. What we oughta do is wipe those smug expressions off our smug faces. And so we will. But I just can't end the longest post I've ever written that way, on such a depressing note. Please bear with me, while I humbly reflect on some of our successes as new parents:

We actually named our boy Wolfgang. His middle name is equally awesome, and we hyphenate his last name. So there.
He's being raised vegetarian with the full support of his pediatrician AND his grandma.
He wears a whole rainbow of colors, though he does rock the occasional spooky outfit.
We read to Wolfie every single day without exception.
He's going to be bilingual. My mom speaks Spanish to him almost exclusively every day that she's got him.
We brush his teeth. He brushes his teeth.
We enjoyed a wonderful fifteen (almost sixteen) months of co-sleeping and helped him make a stress-free transition into his big boy bed.

Most importantly, we have a happy, healthy, loving, confident, funny, curious little toddler who makes us want to be good parents. Better parents. The kind of parents who read everything they can, talk to other parents about their experiences, listen, reflect, and learn.

Bedtime Story

2011-01-10T11:17:00.000-08:00

Wolfie is officially a man now.

Well, okay, not exactly a "man," but a very grown-up toddler--you know, one of those Big Kids. After a mere fifteen cuddlesome, snuggly, cozy months of co-sleeping in Mama and Daddy's bed, Wolfie decided to make the transition to his big boy bed this weekend.

Jesse and I stayed up waaaaaay past our bedtime on Friday night/Saturday morning chatting with a friend, who also has a toddler who co-sleeps. It was around 3:30am, and we were ruminating on how Wolfie had been in bed all by himself since 9:00pm. That's 6.5 hours! "If only there were some way to convince him that sleeping in his crib is just as awesome," one of us said. And all of the sudden, it dawned on me:

It's going to take a lot of trying and crying and lost sleep to convince Wolfie that his crib is the place to be, but--EUREKA!--what if he had his own big bed?

Now, don't get me wrong--Jesse and I love co-sleeping. And even though we bought a crib while he was still in the womb, we've always planned to have Wolfie co-sleep with us from Day One. And he has. We just figured that maybe sometimes, just every once in a while, he'd might want to nap in his crib or that he'd eventually fall in love with it as a toddler bed. But no dice. Wolfie has slept in the crib for about ten minutes. Collectively.

The thing is that lately, he's been especially thrashy. Wolfman is a major sleep-kicker/slapper/hair puller. And when he's nestled in between us, given the choice, he prefers to dole out all of those kicks, slaps, and pulls to me. I dunno why. He's pretty physically aggressive with his affection, too. So, I wake up every day feeling totally exhausted, having been awakened in fifteen-minute intervals by his love punches. The other night I seriously had maybe two consecutive hours of uninterrupted sleep. It's like having a newborn again minus . . . oh, all of that other stuff (like a second baby).

Initially, the plan was that we'd begin the transition to his crib when Wolfie turns two, but--come on! That's almost nine months away, and I selfishly would like a good night's sleep before then. I also (very selfishly) like my hair to cover my entire scalp, rather than just patches. Of course, we were worried that Wolfie might not be emotionally ready for the transition, that he's been particularly sticky lately, clinging to me like a koala to a tree. But then again, he's also very curious, confident, independent, and loves to explore things on his own. So, we took a chance.

We happened to have an extra full-size Ikea bed just lying around in the attic, so we packed it downstairs and set it up in Wolfie's room--right in time for a nap. After I prepped his bottle, found a pacifier, and collected his bedtime books, I carried him to the new bed and climbed in beside him just like we do at night. Wolfie was a little puzzled at first, but he didn't object to relocating the routine to a different bed. It's the routine that matters, right? Right. After I was sure he was sleeping soundly, I patted myself on the back and slipped away to the living room to read. We did the same thing that night at bedtime, for nap times the following day, and again at bedtime the next night. Long story short: it's a huge freakin' success! Two nights in a row!

It was so weird last night to snuggle up to Jesse.
Forgive me. I immediately rescind--"weird" is the wrong word. It was a little unfamiliar. (Oooh, or how about "exotic"? Yes, exotic. That sounds pretty sexy. Thank you, thesaurus.com.) It's been a long time since we've spontaneously snuggled in bed without having to strategize some complex logistical maneuver so that Wolfie doesn't fall off the bed. As a result of this new set-up, I've slept like a baby for the past two nights and so has the baby.

You know what, though? As lovely as it is to roll around with The Mister and play Big Spoon, Little Spoon again, I already miss having my cuddly, little kickboxer in between us. And I feel super guilty, too, for even suggesting the transition. Is this how parenthood always is? Am I always going to feel so conflicted about every decision? The more independent he becomes--as wonderful and satisfying as it is to see him grow and learn and develop--the more I miss him being a 7 lb., 2 oz., 18-inch babe in my arms, and the more I feel like he's somehow more vulnerable to the big, terrifying world because he so deeply wants to experience it. But I guess that's my ultimate objective as a mama--to cuddle, teach, nurture, encourage, and prepare Wolfie as best I can for every little step along the way so that, one day, he will be independent from me. (Note: And when he's a fancy, independent adult, he had better come to dinner every weekend and hang out with us, like, constantly. You hear me, Wolfie?)

I'm so happy for Wolfie for his progress this weekend. But I'm also happy that the road between things like big boy beds, forward-facing carseats, and cutting molars all the way to college graduation is a great, big, almost-unfathomable distance.
Millions of baby steps.

Hammy

2011-01-10T10:54:00.000-08:00

Wolfie started doing this funny thing with his eyes about a week ago. He'd just finished eating dinner and was running around between the dining room and his bedroom, when he suddenly came over to my chair, gave me a weird grin, and rolled his eyes from left to right, left to right. Then he tipped his head forward and peered at me from under a furrowed brow, chattered his teeth a little (like one of those wind-up toys), and ran away giggling.

Yeah.

Cuckoo.

He does this so regularly now (because he loves the response he gets) that we have cleverly dubbed it "The Eyes." Check it out:

I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but I had to look it up--whether it's true that an early/well-developed sense of humor is a characteristic of an intellectually gifted child. Well, whether he's a comedic wunderkind or not is yet to be seen, but he is a really big ham.

Firsts and Lasts

2010-12-31T21:00:00.000-08:00

We're writing a joint post tonight for the first time in a long while (maybe ever?) and with the help of some New Year's Eve champagne. I'm banking on the bottle running out before our words do. I guess I'll start us off since Jesse is busying himself with cheese and crackers.

Tonight is a big first for us--we're staying in this year, celebrating the holiday at home. We just put the Wolfman to bed, and we have absolutely nothing on the agenda, except for a lot more champagne and a little reflection.

In retrospect, it's been a year of firsts for our family: first house, first solid foods, first words, first teeth, first steps, first bout of all-night sickness, first birthday, first taste of cupcake. We've also met a lot of new challenges this year--personally, emotionally, financially, physically, the whole spectrum. And the really big surprise is that we're ending the year even more happily that we began it.

Jesse here: only a few more sips before bottle number one is down. So I'll try to be brief. A lot has changed for us this year, beyond the amazing enrichment of our lives by the gift of our Wolf-child. For all the incredible highs we've experienced from life with you, Wolfie, we've had some pretty surprising lows (not any of them because of you!). That's life. That's how it's supposed to work. If you never fumble through a little darkness, you'll never fully appreciate the light. And what an amazing light it can be! Personally, I've made some big changes, had some really big revelations, and made some pretty big decisions, and as a result I've been much, much more receptive to the beautiful Small Things. I made a conscious decision to make you my life. To make you and your mama the Most Important things in my life. And truth be told, that's not the way I used to see things. Someday I'll tell you all about my silly adventures and stupid mistakes, but for now, sweet boy, know that I love you with all I am, all I am capable of and more. This may be one of the first end-of-Decembers in my life where I'm not dwelling on what I may have missed this past year. In fact, it's the first time I've stood on the cusp of a brand new year full of hope, expectation, excitement, and real happiness. I can't wait to see what life has in store for us this year!

A few quick items of significance for you:

You have created your own names for your brother and sister! "Ah-nay" is Haleigh, and "Ah-nah" is Reiley. You look at their pictures, or stand at the bottom of the stairs to their bedroom and call them out, waiting for them to come play with you.

You dance like you were born to do nothing else. We marvel at the way your hips sway, your shoulders rise and dip, you tip your sweet head to the side, and lightly tap your feet. And you'll do this to just about anything musical. Sometimes even if there's no music at all. I'm sure you've got an awesome soundtrack running through your head already. Never change.

Mama here, adding to the list . . .

You LOVE music. Go fig, right? The child of two musicians. Like you even have a choice. A couple of your current favorite songs are "My Humps" (fo' reals) and "Magic Dance." You are one diverse baby. I fear that, one day, your dance moves will include some of Fergie's repertoire.

You talk all the time. (The apple doesn't fall far, does it?) And we're just ecstatic when you learn a new word. Seriously over the moon about it. Here are a few of your vocab words in 2010:

I want
Up
Down
Out or outta
Purple
Blue
Cheese
Cereal
Cracker
Pan (en español)
Agua
Galleta
Gua-gua
Tub
Poop
Banana
Open (which sounds almost exactly like "apple")
Hat
Shoes
Papa
Mama
Dada
Book (squee!)
Oh, no!
Snow
Car
Light
Santa
Bubble
Milk
Bottle ("Baba!")
No
Please
Thank you (which sounds nothing like "thank you," but we're one point five bottles into the champagne now, and I can't remember how it sounds exactly)
Moon
Luna (Spanish for "moon")
Star
Tree
Hot
Hush (which sounds like "huh")
Door
Nene ("baby" in Spanish)

I deeply fear that you're going to say "fuck" one day because it's probably the most frequently used word in my vocabulary. But I'm working on it. Please, please don't say "fuck."

(Ima finish this whole damn box o' crackers if your mama doesn't take them away from me!)
Dude, I'm so happy we're home tonight. You just sat up and did your "cough of indignation" at having realized we weren't sleeping on either side of you. You'll do this a few more times tonight until we finally come to bed for reals. We take turns going in and comforting you back to sleep. I don't think we've ever watched a complete movie without one of us getting up at least once to rock and kiss you until you drop again. And we wouldn't have it any other way.

And I'm back. (It's Adriana again.) It takes so little to get you back to sleep in the middle of the night. I usually find you sitting up, right in the middle of the bed, squinting and grumping. I pick you up, lie your head down on the pillow, give you a hug (and as many kisses as you let me get in), let you pull on my hair, and then you are outta. I've never watched another person sleep as often as I like to watch you (okay, maybe your daddy). Sometimes when you're sleeping, I like to imagine you as a big boy, even a grown-up, and I think, "I have to commit this to memory, carve it into my brain." You have this way of making time pass more quickly than I've ever experienced it, and I just want to hold on and fully savor the time we spend together. Even the stuff that's supposed to be routine, like bath time or running errands or eating breakfast together. Well, it never feels routine.

I have to say, though, along the lines of the opposite-of-routine: You, Sir, are bit of a handful at the store these days. That's something noteworthy and new to you this year. Gone are the days of a "quick trip" to the grocery store with a cooing baby snug and sleeping in the cart. Oh, no. You wanna meander around and touch everything and talk to people and commandeer the occasional shopping cart. Just the other day, for example, you and I went Christmas shopping one afternoon when Daddy had a workshop to attend and HOLY COW. I had one item on the list, and we spent almost two hours at Target, trying to make our way to said item. You will not sit in the cart. No, Sir. Now *that* is an offensive suggestion.

You are at your happiest when you are unencumbered--no cart, no seatbelt, no hand-holding, no restrictions, nada. If your personality as a toddler is any indicator of what you will be like as an adult, then we couldn't be happier about it. You are so confident and adventurous and friendly and curious and funny and fearless. You want to see and experience and learn about everything (and sometimes, unfortunately, taste everything . . . like that lone Cheerio on the floor of Target).

[Important Sidenote: We are totally gonna run out of champagne before midnight. And you can tell, right?]

(jesse) Well, this has turned into the longest post ever. Just goes to show that we really should write more (and drink less). Wrapping it up: I'm still looking for work, Circe is happy she's the only pet in the house (remind me to tell you about the dog sampling), we still love champagne (maybe more than ever), and your mama is a total sap for anything you do. Ok, so am I.

Goddammit, I can't wait to see what 2011 brings! Hopefully better typing skills on my part.
Love, love, love!

(Adriana) It's worth mentioning that Daddy originally said 201oo. Jesus, I can't wait either. What kind of year incorporates both numbers and letters? Woo! Okay, I guess, we're signing off and turning our full attention to that .5 bottle of champagne. The best way that I can imagine to wrap up this year is with Wolfie's much-written about dancin'.

Cheers and Happy New Year!

~ J + A

I've watched this video, like, 500 times.

2010-11-15T15:22:00.001-08:00

That Tongue Thing from Adriana Parker on Vimeo.

Oh! And he can say "banana" now!

Mouthy

2010-11-10T08:56:00.000-08:00

Well, this is newsworthy. Wolfie recently unveiled three new teeth. They just popped this week and seemingly simultaneously. (Man, that was adverb-y.) It's kind of mind-boggling to think that he increased his total number of teeth by 150%.
Talk about BITE.

And since his mouth was already busily at work, he's also added some new words to his vocab:

Light (which is pronounced "icht" with a long "i" sound. Maybe he's secretly studying German. I wouldn't put it past him.)
Hat
Out
Down
Up (sounds like "uh?")
Elmo (which started out as "Mama" then became "Moma" and is now "Elma")

That's another 150% increase. Prior to this, he said "mama," "dada," and "agua." I'd like to think that all of our chattering has something to do with it, but I know who's really to thank. So, I'd like to say a big thank you to Wolfie's Much-Unloved High Chair for facilitating the gift of speech. That's where "out," "down," and "up" came from--as in "Get me out of this damn high chair!" and "I want out!" or how about "Will you pick me up already?"

I'd also like to thank our Tupperware collection. Whenever we play Tupperware Party--apparently, we have kind of a party lifestyle--he picks up a container or a lid, plops it on his head, and asks, "Hat?" [brief pause for confirmation] "Hat?" What can I say? He's fashion-forward.

It's funny how language develops. I can never really predict when he's going to learn a new word or what it'll be. I mean, I talk to him all the time, non-stop. I ask him questions. I rattle on about whatever I happen to be doing, giving him the most enthusiastic play-by-play I can deliver. ("And now Mama's gonna sort the delicates!") I try to teach him new words, sound them out syllable by syllable with him, encourage him to play with different word sounds (yay, phonemes!), but he doesn't seem more inclined to learn those words than others that he just picks up. He's like a sponge--a brilliant, beautiful sponge.
Baby brains are amazing things.

My Dance Card Is Full

2010-11-09T12:41:00.000-08:00

Probably about six months ago, one of my Facebook friends posted a video of her son quietly rockin' out to an I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness song. "Whoa," I thought, "that is super-cool. The desire to dance is such a natural human impulse that even tiny babies do it." And then I wondered out loud to Jesse, would Wolfie ever do that? He was interested in music, but hadn't swayed to it even once.

I mentioned a while back that Wolfie's got some dance moves, but--oh, boy--he is much more of artiste than I initially gave him credit for. As it turns out, he is not only fond of dancing, he's pretty good at it, too, and has even added some new moves to his repertoire. Remember how I said that he dances like he's possessed by the gods of dance? He's a maniac, wild with abandon. He puts on his dancing shoes, at least, ten times a day, sometimes as soon as he wakes up. He now dances to anything that's remotely musical.

You could say that he has dance fever.

So, in response to Wolfie's newfound love, we now have Official Daily Dance Parties. When we get home from work and Grandma's (and on the no-work weekends), I put on some music, pick Wolfie up, and we start dancing. When it's a fast song, he giggles, he bounces, he sways, he swings his legs, he flails his arms, he shakes his head. And when it's a slow song, he wraps his arms around my neck and leans his head against my shoulder, giving me a little love pinch every few seconds. Sometimes he closes his eyes, he loves it so. He says "mama mama mama."

I'm finding that these Official Daily Dance Parties are awesome for three reasons:

(1) We are dance machines.

We may not be the best dancers on the planet, but we dance with zeal. And let me tell you--bouncing around with a twenty-two pound baby in my arms, bending deeply at the knees (because it makes him squeal with delight) for fifteen solid minutes totally counts as a workout when I skip the gym.

(2) I get to introduce him to new music.

This weekend, we were all about the solo John Lennon and the Beatles (the late stuff). But last night it was the Talking Heads. Last weekend, it was an 80s mix tape. Who knows what we'll be dancing to tonight. I'm thinking Queen or maybe Brian Eno (the early stuff) or, for something completely different, maybe even Louis Prima. And tomorrow, we just might feel like some Joy Division or Cat Stevens. Whatever it is, I know that Wolfie and I will have a wonderful time.

(3) Any opportunity I have to hold my boy, I'll take it.

It makes me sad to imagine that, some day when he's a big fifteen year-old, he might not want to dance with me. (So SO sad right now at that thought. Ugh.) In the meantime, I will hold him close and sing in his ear. My dance card is full, gentlemen.

Rawr

2010-11-02T13:46:00.000-07:00

Grrr, Baby, Grrrr from Adriana Parker on Vimeo.

My growling skills have really improved, too.

Actual Words

2010-11-02T08:37:00.000-07:00

This blog has turned into a picture book lately--no stories, no explanations, nothin'. Not that there's anything wrong with pictures or home movies; they tell stories, too. It's just that I haven't been able to string more than twenty words together into something coherent, so I haven't been writing. That's a pretty uncomfortable feeling for someone who used to make her living as a writer. Words = sense-making.

Okay.
So, here I go.
I am now going to put words together into sentences, and soon I will even write paragraphs of related sentences, making transitions from one paragraph into the next and everything!
Here I go . . .

But before I really dig in and begin excavating my head, I'd like to get organized. Life has been (how do I put it?) unusually stressful for the past few weeks, and this whole writing thing could quickly turn into a big pile of bones and dirt and tumbleweeds. So, I'm going to start with a list.

Things I've Been Thinking About, But Saying Nothing About: The Big Stuff

Being a working mom/sole breadwinner
Our finances
Our marriage
The step-kids
Work
The Dreaded Upcoming Holidays (and family and money and bleh)
Babies

Wolfie is, of course, at the forefront of all of these thoughts. He's the bright star of my universe and a consistent source of happiness. And since this blog is for him and about him, I've been reluctant to talk about Wolfie-unrelated stuff until now. But you know what? All of that stuff is part of his context. This is what our life looks like for us right now. So, I'm going to talk.

I think that I'm probably at the tail end of PPD, and I feel increasingly more like myself every day. But it still colors the way I feel, think, and respond, even if it's only a little. Now, onto those bullet points . . .

The weekend before Wolfie's first birthday, we got a pretty rotten surprise: Jesse lost his job. There's never a good time for unexpected job loss, but it felt like somebody had cold-cocked us. HARD. "Here's big punch right to your pocketbook!" After the initial shock wore off, we had a glass of wine (yep, just the one), put our heads together, made major revisions to our budget, cut out all "luxuries," and sucked it up. Very generously, my mom offered to continue to watch Wolfie for us during the day so that Jesse can look for work full-time. He's had several interviews, but no offers so far. And we're still waiting to hear if he qualifies for unemployment. Cross your fingers for us.

While I love being a librarian, I would love even more to stay at home with Wolfie, but that prospect is looking less and less likely for us as the job hunt continues. At this point, we'd be grateful for even a part-time job offer. I remind myself that this is a temporary setback, but--oh, boy--"temporary" feels a lot longer and harder than I thought it would. I also remind myself to stay positive because, even if I can't be a stay-at-home mama, I can still be a very good mama who helps keep the tough times happy.

On a happier note, Jesse and I just celebrated our second wedding anniversary on Halloween. (We went as John and Yoko--pictures to come, I swear!) We've experienced a few rough patches over this past year, but we're slowly, surely figuring things out. We're negotiating these new roles of Mama and Dada pretty well and developing a clearer understanding of what it means to be partners. As my good friend Jeremy likes to say, we don't do it 50-50 at our house; both of us give 100%. And that's an important distinction to make.

We're also figuring out what it means to be a family. For me, that involves step-parenting Jesse's two older kids--a 9-year-old step-daughter and an 11-year-old step-son. (That was a lot of hyphens. Jeez.) I don't write about or post many photos of them out of respect for their privacy, but when I do it's with their permission. There's so much more I could write about step-parenthood, but . . . nah. I'll just say that it's a tricky, but worthwhile balance.

You can probably imagine some of the stressors that come with work and holidays because you're right there with me, right? So, let's forget about those two bullet points. The last topic I think worth mentioning is babies. Yes, babies.

I read somewhere that the physical landscape of your brain changes when you're pregnant and again after you give birth--and that those changes are permanent. (I can't believe I'm not citing my sources here.) Nature kind of kicks in so that you can do what you need to do, i.e., care for a helpless, tiny being on a crap sleep schedule. Well, I'm pretty sure that Nature gives you another kick to the ovaries, say, around eight months post-partum. And that's when you begin to entertain the idea that--one day, someday--you should have another baby. At least, that's what happened to me. There we were in midst of vasectomy plans; in fact, an appointment had already been made when I said, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don't you think we oughta reconsider?" To my surprise, Jesse didn't make a run for it. He canceled the appointment in favor of getting some much-needed dental work done, and we talked.

And we are still talking. Jesse is in the One-Baby-Is-Good-Enough-For-Me-(Especially-with-Two-Older-Kids) Camp; and I'm in the But-Remember-How-We-Thought-We-Wouldn't-Have-Kids-Before-the-Wolfie-Surprise-and-It-Is-Turning-Out-To-Be-The-Best-Decision-Ever Camp. We have decided not to make another appointment to get Jesse snipped and to wait and see how we feel in a couple of years. So, that's a great, big, huge deal. And stressful. Though it's the nice kind of stress. Sometimes when I talk about having a second baby, Jesse starts to rub his face and shake his head "no no NOOOOOO"; other times, he daydreams aloud about an imaginary second baby; and at other times, I think, "Yes, things are perfect just the way they are. Wolfie is all the baby I'll ever need." It's one of those major life-changing decisions that we both have to agree about 100%--in whichever direction we end up choosing. That's how partnerships work, and I like it that way, even if it means that Wolfie is my one and only baby. He makes me feel like I have a monopoly on baby-happiness.

So, that's where my head is these days. All over the place.
How are you?

Wolfman Walkman

2010-10-30T10:18:00.000-07:00

Wolfman Elephantman? from Adriana Parker on Vimeo.

Wolfie took his first steps on October 28th! Grandma actually counted SIX. When the Wolfman does something, he does it in a big way.

P.S. Pay no attention to my ridiculous, high-pitched Mommy voice. Wolfie makes me stupid with love.

Happy Halloween!

2010-10-30T10:07:00.000-07:00

Bite Me

2010-10-09T08:16:00.000-07:00

With a nickname like "Wolfman," I guess we shouldn't be surprised that our boy is a biter. But--oh!--you would be surprised by the power of two little teeth. My arms are covered in tiny bruises from those chompers. Well, as any other online mama would do when confronted with a problem she's not sure how to resolve, I Googled it.

I know, I know--I'm a librarian, and I should know better than to rely on Google. But there is a wealth of good, authoritative information online about parenting if you're patient and skillful enough to find it. Needless to say, I weeded through a lot of crap, lots of uninformed message boards and unholy advice from daycare providers. (I long for a Google Scholar for mamas that searches information written by verified pediatricians and other child experts.)

The most disturbing, recurring piece of advice I found that moms-of-biters were giving to other moms-of-biters is this: bite your baby back! Or , hey, why not try "swatting" your biting baby firmly on the head! Or pull his hair!
You get my point--variations on a very bad theme.

"Ho. Lee. Shit," I said to my computer. And any time I talk to my computer, Jesse knows it's bad news.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Oh my god. These people are CRAZY." And I showed him some of the suggestions I found. He reeled. I reeled. We reeled together and said "fuckers" a lot.

Maybe I'm more of a dirty hippie than I had previously thought, but I'm not a hitter (or a biter). Here's the thing: Babies are pre-rational. They don't know right from wrong. Object lessons are way over their sweet-smelling little heads. And a baby certainly wouldn't put two and two together to determine that his beloved mom is hitting or biting him in order to teach him that hitting and biting is unacceptable, "bad" behavior. I mean, I don't even follow the logic on that one.

I did find a few doctors (and sane mamas) online who recommend creating a little distance when the Baby Bear bites and telling him, "Dude, no biting." He's probably over-stimulated or tired or frustrated, and the teeth just naturally come out because he has limited means of communication. So, I'll give that a shot the next time I pick him up at Grandma's and he sinks a good one into my shoulder. I guess it takes a little time and consistency, but it eventually curbs the habit.

Say "Agua"

2010-10-08T14:14:00.000-07:00

"Agua" from Adriana Parker on Vimeo.

Well, I told you. He's a genius.

This is the way we read our books.

2010-10-08T14:10:00.000-07:00

Wolfie and Daddy read (and get very frustrated) together. from Adriana Parker on Vimeo.

Pardon my laughter in the background.
I tried (*tried*) to control it.

It's Mama !. . . oh, no. It's just daddy.

2010-10-05T20:59:00.000-07:00

Each day we get a special treat. It's something we both look forward to, and it's something so good it can burn the clouds right out of the foggiest of moods. It's that incredibly special, funny, loving, foot-stomping, smile-so-big-it-hurts moment when Grandma opens the front door and Wolfie sees Mama & Daddy on the front porch. He bounces in Grandma's arms. He laughs. He kicks his chubby little legs and waves his deceptively strong arms. He smiles so big his face crinkles up (especially around the bridge of his nose). Usually Mama is the first to get that great big, babyhead-on-the-shoulder and drool-down-the-back hug. Then she passes the excited little Wolfman to me and I get my turn squeezing and kissing the lovey little monster. Then he wants Mama, then Grandma again. Then he'll want to get down and take all of his toys out of their basket and run around Grandma's house as if to say, "See, it's great here!"

Today Mama wasn't feeling so chirpy, so she stayed home to take a little nap while I went to pick up Wolfie. It's cool. I like little drives by myself (sometimes). I was really looking forward to the uber-animated greeting ritual when I knocked on the door. Wait for it . . .

Slowly the door opens.
Wolfie's eyes get big.
His arms begin to reach.
His legs just start to kick . . .
and Grandma says,
"Oh, it's just Daddy."

And just like that, he's deflated. He smiles at me, then wraps his little arms around Grandma's neck, places his delicious head on her shoulder, and they start to walk away.

Wait!!!
Give me my baby! (I want to scream, but don't)
I'm stunned. I'm deflated. Where's my Love???

Wolfie is a creature of habit. He likes his routines and you can almost set the clock by his naps, his poopy dipes, and his need for a snack or a bottle. He has a schedule and he lives--no, he thrives by it. And when something's out of whack or doesn't fit into the well-worn grooves of his daily calendar . . . Man, he lets you know that doesn't sit well. So when Mama wasn't at the door along with Daddy, he was a bit derailed. Not that he wasn't happy to see me, he was just expecting, and counting on both of us being there. Something to consider. Call ahead first to warn Grandma not to psyche him up so much next time.
"It's just Daddy coming to pick you up today, mi hijo. Es tu Papa? Si!"

Full disclosure: I got my Love.
We were hanging over the back of the couch and I got a little series of kisses; one on the chin, one on the nose, and one on the cheek. Each one accompanied by little giggles and a tiny hand on the back of my head. I'm feeling it - yes I am!

Love,
~Jesse

Awesome Baby Tricks

2010-09-24T12:57:00.000-07:00

New Wolfie Milestones:

He's learned his first word beyond "mama" and "dada"! You seriously could've knocked me over with a feather this morning when he said very clearly, "Agua." "Agua?" I asked. "Would you like a bottle?" He raised his eyebrows (that's his thing) and replied, "Agua." So, according to our usual morning routine, we went to the kitchen, I made him a bottle, offered it to him, and asked again, "Agua?" He looked so pleased and a little surprised that all he needed to do was ask. We'll work on "leche" next. But, hey, he knows that we use water to make bottles! He's a genius. Needless to say, I love our new one-word exchange.
Wolfie now has two dance moves: the bounce and the alternating foot-lift. He's got this crazy toy that's essentially a spiral track that you roll little balls down, but the best thing about it is that it has a big blue button on top--with a face!--that plays house music. Who knew that Fisher-Price designers were a bunch of former club kids? So, we refer to this toy as "Dance Party." Oh, and here's a bit of new mama wisdom: 80s pop music was made to be enjoyed by babies. Every time we put on some New Order or Psychedelic Furs or Duran Duran, Wolfie is possessed by the gods of dance.
I taught Wolfie to growl. I don't even remember how it happened, but I'm super-proud. Like disproportionately, ridiculously proud. We growl at each other like a couple of bears, and then we smile about it with huge, open-mouthed smiles that go from ear to ear.

Videos! Soon!

Soothe the Angry Mama-beast

2010-09-20T11:39:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I feel like I ought to wear a t-shirt that says, "I have a Master's degree, and I'm gainfully employed." Maybe it could show my total balance of student loans on the back, just for an added touch of credibility.

This weekend, we went to a consignment shop to trade in some of Wolfie's infant gear that he's outgrown. We're regular customers at this particular shop because it specializes in baby gear and clothes, and I'm totally down with the hand-me-downs. In the past, Jesse and I would usually meet up for a lunch date, hit the store, and return to work. That means that we would have been wearing our snappiest business casual on all of our previous visits. This time, however, it was a Saturday; and we were all casual and no business.

Here's the run-down of what we were wearing:

Me--> a black off-the-shoulder skully top, a pair of black Lip Service capris, stripey socks, and black combat boots. (Honestly, they're more like quote-combat boots-unquote, not the real deal.)

Jesse--> a black v-neck T, black skinny jeans (rolled, of course), and flip-flops.

Wolfie--> a blue, sleeveless romper with green alligators and a matching bib that says "Later Gator" (only the "gator" part is a cartoon-y gator, rather than the word).

We were lookin' pretty laid back because Saturdays are made for relaxing. We hang out, play together, graze on Jesse-made food, and run errands. And we have an excellent time doing it.

Here's the thing: Jesse and I have tattoos, my face is pierced, and I have the scariest black hair you've ever seen. (In case you might need a visual, think Gidget hair. It's almost just as flippy, but black and a little longer. In other words, TERRIFYING.) We are so dark and spooky that we sing silly, spontaneous songs to our baby a good 50% of the time, even when we're out in public.

So, we went to the store with baby gear in hand and ready to negotiate a fair trade-in price so we could take home a few pairs of jeans for The Wolfman. Well, the clerks behind the counter were *not* ready to negotiate with the likes of us.

No, sir.

Did I mention the tattoos? And the black? And the piercings? Well, can you blame them.
A: Yes! Because, contrary to what conservative ladies in Utah think, we look like . . . oh, practically everybody else. C'mon now. My mom even has a tattoo, for Pete's sake.

One clerk in particular was curt and bossy with Jesse. And she was seriously abrasive with me. At one point, I asked for the bathroom key so that we could change Wolfie's dipe,which I've done there before without any fuss, and I was told, "You'll need to leave your car keys, driver's license, or credit card." Jesse had all of that stuff on him, which I relayed to the clerk who replied, "Then leave that bag," pointing at the diaper bag. A-okay, Lady. Mind if I grab a diaper from it first? "Oh, is that what you're going to do in there?"

After we changed the dipe, I attempted to return the key. "Thank you," I said, and I extended my hand out to her with the key. "Put it in that drawer. Then you can take your bag and go." I was surprised to be treated so unkindly that I didn't know what to say, so I just did as she said. Well, minus the going part. Nope. I decided right then that we were going to stay, and we were going to shop. And that's exactly what we did. We stuck around for about twenty more minutes, browsing the baby pants and Halloween costumes, then we hit the check-out. At first, the clerk smiled at Wolfie--a funny, sympathetic smile, as if to say, "I'm sorry your parents are such crackpots, kid." But that smile was quickly followed by a sharp, disapproving glare right at me.

Well, thanks, but no thanks.
I'm thirty-one.
I have a respectable career.
I'm a mom and a wife.
And I don't like being made to feel like I must be an immoral, law-less hooligan because I dress a little unconventionally sometimes.

So, I've been seething about this all weekend, replaying the scene in my head, and I decided today to cut it out. That's a lot of wasted emotional energy, right? "I'm going to call the store!" I announced to Jesse this morning. I didn't really hope to accomplish anything by calling, except to make the manager aware that, hey, you've got a surly employee on your hands. But I was pleasantly surprised to find that the manager took me seriously and apologized about forty-seven times.

And you know what? I feel just fine now. No drama, no hard feelings, nada.
Sorry, folks. I know that's a fairly anti-climactic ending to the story, but . . . ahhhhh. I'm gonna take a good, long, deep breath and enjoy it. I'm grown-up enough to appreciate swift conflict resolution and a sincere apology. :)

A Natural Beauty

2010-09-20T11:26:00.000-07:00

This is fresh-outta-the-bath, unstyled, product-free hair. No kidding.
Can I just say--I have the coolest baby ever. He is so handsome that it's probably unfair. And it's all natch.

Then and Now

2010-09-20T11:13:00.000-07:00

Remember my brand-new, teeny-tiny baby who was just a little longer than our bottle of celebratory champagne?

He thinks that comparison is pretty funny these days.
Just look at him showin' that bottle who's boss.

Coincidentally, I make that same face when I'm offered a bottle of champagne.

P.S. For those of you concerned readers (or even possibly all two of you--Hi, Mom and Dad!), please don't worry yourselves: the champagne bottle is empty. That was our birth day bottle at the hospital.

I believe it's pronounced, "yogging".

2010-09-18T10:34:00.000-07:00

I took the Wolf-bear for a little jog on the Parkway this morning and let Mama-bear sleep in.
According to the cardio-trainer app. on my phone, we went 3.34 miles and burned 446 calories. Well, I burned those calories. Wolfie just rode comfortably in his B.O.B.. We took a break around the 20 minute mark so he could get in some slide action, and just to keep his workout fresh, he also did a few rounds on the rocking horse and and the swing. I think we counted six dogs, which Wolfie refers to as "gah-guh-geh", or some variation thereof. Once we got home and downed some cereal and fruit, he promptly caught up with me in the calorie burning race with his patented "I'm not taking a nap, tho I'm incredibly tired-so I'm just gonna bounce around on the bed and bite you for 30 minutes" routine.

Now he's sleeping peacefully.
Next up - Farmer's Market, and later, visits with friends.

-Jesse

Beautiful Boy

2010-09-14T22:22:00.000-07:00

King for a Day: Year One

2010-09-14T08:53:00.000-07:00

"This is my berfday sneer. Yargh."
"Singin', cupcakes on fire, clappin': I don't get it, but I think I could get used to this."

Wolfie's first taste of birthday cupcake:

I think it was a big success.

Aaaaaand the damage:

The Big Day Approaches

2010-09-08T10:39:00.001-07:00

It's less than a week to go until Wolfie's first birthday.

Before I became a mama, it never really occurred to me just how extraordinary an event a first birthday is. Before Wolfie, birthdays used to be ordinary, everyday events--even my birthday, to me, was an ordinary event. I know this sounds hyperbolic, but the nature of time has changed for me. It changed the day that I took the pregnancy test.

Each morning for the past few days (and it's especially in the mornings) I've thought about what we were doing a year ago---those days before we had met our boy face-to-face. It's kind of a wonder to think about. The world I wake up to these days is a very different place.

It's funny to think how calm we were.
No, scratch that.
How calm we seemed to be.

I think a lot about what our morning routine used to look like.
I remember how I'd wake up each morning rolled onto my side--how very consciously I had slept on my side all night, thinking about that vein in my lower back that returns blood from my lower body to my heart and how the blood interacted with the placenta and the flow of nutrients from my body to Wolfie's.

I remember how reliably Wolfie would begin to stir after I'd been in the shower for just a few minutes and how Jesse and I would welcome him to the new day. After our shower, I'd put lotion on my belly and return to our bed under the sky light for a few minutes to talk to Wolfie and tell him where we were headed and what we'd be doing that day. Then Jesse would join us to talk. Sometimes, he'd read to Wolfie. Sometimes, he'd play guitar and sing. But usually we just talked. We said as many "I love you"s as we could squeeze in before we absolutely had to get up and get ready. Jesse would kiss my belly in the spot where we imagined Wolfie's head was.

I remember the protein shakes for breakfast every morning (one scoop of protein powder, one cup of soy milk, one banana) and how that shake meant the beginning of the daily counting of protein grams. Each day during that third trimester, I had a goal of 100 grams--and I made it to my goal every single day! I remember thinking about how the foods I ate influenced the flavor of the amniotic fluid that Wolfie was practicing his swallowing on, wondering how it tasted and whether he liked it. I'd imagine his gums and how, one day, he'd have teeth in those gums. I remember daydreams of a jack-o-lantern smile.

By that point, I was wearing dresses every day to accommodate my great, big belly. I remember my favorite purple maxi dress. I wore colors for the first time in years when I was pregnant. I remember how kind the summer had been to us. I remember how I rubbed my belly so frequently that one of my colleagues liked to say that I was polishing Wolfie's head. And I remember the little nudges and bumps Wolfie used to give me as I rubbed my belly and how with each one I'd try to picture his position and wonder if he was comfortable. Little did I know that the real estate was pretty primo in there by that point and that his little feet were tucked against his ears.

I remember how, as I'd lock the door of the old apartment and walk to the car, I would take deep breaths and tell Wolfie how fresh the air was, how one day very soon he'd get to experience how good a deep breath feels. We'd make guesses about the temperature (one guess for me, one for him) and check how close we were when we read the gauge on the dashboard. I remember how carefully I'd place the seat belt across my lap and how far away from the steering wheel I sat (and even how Jesse always used to tease me about it). We'd drive to the library and I'd sing songs to him, but only the happiest songs I could find on my iPod because I didn't want him to feel sad or sense sadness in me. We listened to "Kooks" pretty regularly in those days, and most days it would make me cry. (But what didn't? I also remember crying over a Journey song.)

Twice a week, for the last few weeks of my pregnancy, Jesse would drive us to the University Hospital for non-stress tests, and I remember how I looked forward to hearing Wolfie's heartbeat and seeing him in the sonogram. I worried all the time (and that's no exaggeration--it was *all* the time) about my fluid levels, which ran on the low side, so I drank 120 ounces of water a day. Talk about tenacity! I loved those morning drives together and the bakery treats we'd pick up from the hospital coffee shop before we left.

During my last week of pregnancy, I remember when I'd walk into the office, one of my colleagues would always say, "You're still here!" and I'd rub my belly and reply something about how Wolfie was still cookin'. I remember how much I loved having a baby-belly, how I savored being pregnant. I don't think that any pregnant woman before or after me could love her belly as much as I loved mine. I remember thinking about how safe Wolfie was in there, how relieved I was when he reached full-term.

I remember how, in the calm, there was a palpable excitement. Every day was like Christmas Eve, the waiting. "Would today be The Big Day?" I remember how it was only three days before he was born that we learned that I would have a c-section and how quickly I shifted my understanding of what childbirth would be like for us.

I especially remember how the calm suddenly cracked the morning of Wolfie's birth. I remember how our usual routine felt different and awkward because there was so much extra energy behind it that morning. I remember how we talked to Wolfie only for a few minutes about what would be happening and how we'd get to meet each other in just a matter of hours. And I remember how we hugged for a long time.

There is such a distinctive sweetness to those days--to that morning in particular. I guess it was the force of so much hope and anticipation and love for a baby we hadn't yet met and the knowledge that life as we had known it would no longer exist. I felt the kind of last-minute, urgent worry that only *very*-soon-to-be-parents know--about the stuff that you thought about long and hard for months and, in some cases, years before you decided to give this parenting thing your best effort; the stuff you thought you had mentally squared away and already had answers to. That morning, I remember how it all came back: How will having a baby change our relationship? How will it change me? Am I prepared for childbirth? Am I ready to be someone's mom? I imagined how deeply everything would change, even the simple everyday things like our morning routine. As we stepped outside that morning, with a deep breath, we said good-bye to the two-of-us.

As I look back over the past year, our morning routine has changed four or five times--there was the three-of-us-waking-up-after-having-spent-the-night-getting-up-(almost)-every-hour-on-the-hour-and-lamenting-at-last-that-the-coffee-maker-was-so-far-away routine; the me-and-Wolfie-wake-up-and-eat-and-go-back-to-bed-to-cuddle-and-eat-some-more routine; the-Wolfie-sleeps-in-HALLELUJAH!-and-I-take-the-fastest-shower-ever-taken routine; and, of course, the get-up-early-to-get-ourselves-ready-for-work-and-make-breakfast-and-take-Wolfie-to-Grandma's-while-wishing-that-we-could-just-stay-home-and-hang-out-with-our-boy routine.

There is a sweetness to our mornings now that my former self would have found unimaginable. I don't know that I will ever find words to capture the happy experience of waking up to my baby tucked against me--not because I put him there, but because he searched for me in his sleep, found me, and leaned into my belly for comfort. Or what about the experience of waking up to find my boy sitting up, facing me and waiting very patiently, very quietly for me to wake and clapping when I finally do? Or how about when I open my eyes to meet Wolfie's smiling face and he immediately punches me in the nose? Seriously. Developing motor skills . . . ouch.

You know how people with kids always say to the those who don't have kids, "You don't know what you're missing"? Okay, so, full disclosure: I used to think that was a totally smug, crappy thing to say. But the truth of the matter is . . . well, that's just the truth. It's simultaneously the best- and worst-kept secret. If you're a parent, you know what I'm talking about. At some point, you might have even said it (and felt cliché saying it), but you *know*.
Nothing is routine anymore. Every day is a brand new day.

Bike!

2010-08-19T23:33:00.000-07:00

Last night (Wednesday) Wolfie said, "bike". -Yes he did!
We were having dinner at a brewpub with a dear old friend of Adriana's and the Wolfman had reached his tolerance for the table. I took him outside for a little walk and on the way out we passed the pub's delivery bicycle, which was parked in the lobby. "Look, Wolfie." I said. "It's a bike! Cool. That's a white bike. They ride that bike to deliver food. Isn't that great? Good bike!" (Yes, I really do explain everything to him that way.)

On the way back to our table after our walk Wolfie pointed at the bike and clearly said, "Bike."

Oooohh!!! That's my boy!
I think I kissed him 20 times and told him how smart he was. Yes, he can recognize a bike.

He wouldn't repeat it for Mama, but as has been his way with new words, he probably will in a few days.

Now he's almost ready for one of these:
Well, not quite.
But I can't wait.

love,
~Jesse

Mamamamamamamama

2010-07-26T23:58:00.000-07:00

Wolfie can also say "ga ga" and "goo goo" and "ba ba," but "mama" is definitely my favorite of his new words. Go fig.

In other big news, Wolfie learned to clap today! He claps whenever any of us (himself included) do something that's worthy of a little admiration, like turning the pages of a board book (which he is expert at), building or knocking down block towers, or tossing the stacking rings onto their holder.

Also, nipples are hilarious. He's officially discovered them, and--oh, boy--they are EXTRA funny when they're pulled on with vigor. I had assumed that he already knew about the hilarity of nipples, what with breastfeeding and everything, but I guess he has a renewed appreciation. I'm proud to say that Wolfie isn't fixated on mine alone. Jesse's are also up for grabs. Literally. (And that makes both of us laugh.)

Big guy

2010-07-26T22:39:00.000-07:00

I'm mad.

I'm mad that we just had to clean out the little Wolfman's dresser drawers and fish out all the cute, awesome, adorable, cuddly, sweet, delicious, stripey, and huggable tiny clothes that our amazing, growing, healthy little ten-month-old babybear can no longer wear.

I'm mad at our friends for having a baby next month who will grow faster than they can comprehend and will soon be wiggling into some of those clothes.

Ok, I'm not mad at them, really. I'm really excited for them. And maybe a little bit jealous. This is maybe the third time we've done this since Wolfie was born (?) and you would think I might be used to it. But no, I'm not used to it. You would think I should be excited that our little Bearlet is growing at a textbook pace and how every day he learns something new, says or does some unbearably cute new thing. And I am, I am! It's just that . . . well, can't he stay "little"?
Maybe just a little longer?This round gathered up all the six to nine month goodies. I can't believe how he's grown!
I've gone in to kiss his sleeping cheeks three times since we started, and I can't wait until we go to bed so I can snuggle up next to him and whisper how much I love him. I love him little. I love him big.

I love him so big it feels like I might explode sometimes.

"Oh, won't you stay just a little bit longer
Please, please, please, say you will, say you will"

-Jesse

What's so funny?

2010-07-19T10:09:00.000-07:00

Can this kid laugh or what?

By the time I got around to grabbing the camera to capture his giggle fest, he'd been doing this schtick for about three minutes. Oh, and how our sides ached. Our faces even hurt from all the smiling.

Jesse said this morning that we probably made some new laugh lines this weekend. I hope that, when we're old, we'll look at each other's wrinkled faces and remember how good it felt to make those lines together.

Oh, and if you listen very closely at the end of the video, you can hear Jesse say, "Me llamo Muffin," which still cracks me up.

Battle of the Wills

2010-07-12T13:27:00.000-07:00

Though he was a little hesitant at first, Wolfie (a.k.a. Danger Boy) is zipping all over the house now, exploring, getting into stuff. It's like he has a built-in radar system that points him directly to the most benign-looking, yet dangerous object in close proximity, and ZOOM! there he goes to mouth all over it.

So, what do you get when you add
1 fearless, willful, and newly mobile baby
+ 1 neurotic, but supportive and cheering mama?

= a non-stop ridiculous parade

Now, all we need is a trained monkey in a fez with cymbals in tow.

More on the topic of this new independent streak.
Where the hell did it come from?
And seemingly overnight, too.
My mild-mannered baby now has opinions, and he wants them to be acknowledged. Most of these opinions are about food (for example, "Foods He Doesn't Want to Eat"--a list that grows daily).

We now have this exchange at almost every meal:

"Time for some [insert food that he used to love and eat happily]!"

[Wolfie shakes his head "no."]

"Okay, just a bite."

[Wolfie shakes his head "No."]

"Come on, Wolfie. Please eat. Just a little bit. For mama."

[Wolfie shakes his head "NO."]

"Dude, you have to eat."

[Wolfie shakes his head "NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO" and frowns and cries and shakes his tiny fists at the heavens.]

After twenty minutes of this, we are both at the height of frustration. Sometimes I get desperate and call my mom for advice, and she says reassuring and comforting things like, "Well, he eats just fine for me." "Really?" I ask, hoping for the answer to be, "No, not really. I had the same problem just today, and here is the magical solution. Ta da! Also, you are the best new mom ever, Adriana." But instead, she always says something like, "Yes, really. He ate just fine today. No problems whatsoever. Maybe he's mad at you."

Thanks, Mom.

So, in addition to worrying that he's not getting enough to eat, I'm also concerned that he might be angry with me. My rational Spock brain tells me that's not likely the case, but my irrational and comically emotional Mommy brain just cries and sucker punches my rational brain in the face. (Brains with faces? Yeah, I don't know either.)

The next inevitable disagreement Wolfie and I have after this exchange is whether he's going to leave the table. Wolfie is of the opinion that he's not going to eat, right? So, why should he have to sit there, shaking his head "no"? He's got cats to poke, power cords to chew on, sharp objects in high places to reach for.
I'll tell you why he should sit there.
Because maybe I can trick him into eating! Ha HAAAAA!
With songs! And weird noises that I make with my mouth! And applause!

Each of these "strategies" has worked before, at least, a few times (okay . . . once). So, let's keep trying. I am happily willing to sing seventy-five verses of "Old MacDonald" if the conclusion is a full belly. But Wolfie has strategies to combat my strategies. He slumps in his high chair and kicks and wriggles and cries until he is, once again, a free baby. After freedom is achieved, he's all smiles again.

And with a smile like that . . .
Well, I'd better steel myself for his adolescence.

Milestone Time!

2010-07-06T09:41:00.000-07:00

Two--more like three, really--big milestones have happened since I last posted:

1. Wolfie sprouted two teeth, one right after the other, bottom middle.

So long, gummy smile, and hello, Jack-o-lantern grin. This weekend, he took advantage of the extra day off to practice biting with his new teeth. Wolfie used to give me what I like to think of as "kisses." This means that he'd grab me by the hair or ears (or whatever he could grab) and pull my chin into his mouth. Now, he punctuates thoses kisses with a nice, hard bite at the end. Wolfman, indeed.

2. Wolfie crawled his first two paces this weekend!

We were sitting down to breakfast with the kids (Wolfie had already finished his breakfast), and he was playing with his blocks in the living room. I guess one of the blocks had gotten away from him, so he crawled to it and picked it up (and mouthed it 'cos that's how we play with blocks). "DID YOU SEE THAT?" I asked and the kids asked. We were all so excited that we abandoned breakfast and tried for about thirty minutes to entice him to do it again. Of course, he waited until we got to Grandma's that afternoon to demonstrate his new skillz again for the entire family--aunties, cousins, grandparents, kids, everybody. He's a genius.

Oh! And I have video. I'll post the scoot-scoot soon.

"It’s a new kind of manly."

2010-06-10T14:08:00.000-07:00

Imagine new parents being given a 13-month parental leave (paid almost at full salary), returning to guaranteed jobs, their babies being granted access to highly subsidized pre-schools from the age 12-months on, the grandparents being offered state-sponsored elderly care, and both moms AND dads working six-hour days until their babies enter school.

What would our society look like?
Healthier and happier, I bet.
And it would probably look a little more Swedish.

Not Nannies

2010-06-09T13:20:00.000-07:00

I read an op-ed piece at Offbeat Mama about raising mixed-race children, and I'm feeling inspired to tell a little about my own experience.

As the child of a Mexican mama and an American dad, I've encountered many less-than-gracious people over the past thirty years, who wanna give me their important opinions about my heritage. The spectrum of offensiveness is wide and imaginative. At one end, there are the "You don't look Mexican" (whatever that means) types of comments and then, way down at the other end, there are the "Oh, I just LOVE bi-racial babies. Bi-racial babies are soooooo beautiful" comments. "I guess you don't know what a Mexican looks like," I tell the people who expect me to be browner. And in reply to those other-end-of-the-spectrum, quasi-enlightened remarks, I usually say, "Well, some of us are beautiful." :)

My mom very kindly provides childcare for us and even speaks Spanish exclusively to our boy. (Hooray for bilingual babies!) And I can't tell you how many times she's relayed stories to us about how other moms/grandmas at the park or grocery store or wherever have mistaken her for the nanny. The same thing happened to her when I was a (very pale) baby. I have to wonder if Wolfie or I "looked Mexican" and my mom "looked American," would people make the same assumption? The cynic in me doesn't think so.

When I read the Offbeat Mama piece, I was so pained that another mom is having the same experience, being mistaken for the nanny simply because her baby's skin color isn't an exact match for her own. Believe me, I know that change is a slow-moving thing, but come on already! Families have been diverse for a long time now. Get it?

I am proud of my heritage, and I like to claim both parts equally. I don't belong to the school of thought that says if you're born in America, then you're an American. No, I'm Mexican-American--no line down the middle, no artificial borders, no compartmentalization. MexicanAmerican. If you disagree, maybe try to consider it this way: Where does the American stop and the Mexican start or vice versa? Or how about this--Where does the Mom-part stop and the Dad-part start?

Regardless of race or culture, we are each the awesome co-mingling of our MomandDad-ness. Regardless of who the baby resembles most, nobody should dare ask, "Is that your baby?" How ballsy and offensive. My parents thoughtfully and carefully blended their two cultures into one for me and my sisters, so seamlessly that we can't separate one from the other. And why would we want to? It's our family culture.

~ Adriana

A Little Tenderness

2010-06-09T10:40:00.000-07:00

"Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies--God damn it, you've got to be kind."

from God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

After a very long week, Jesse and I decided to wind up the weekend and get prepared for Monday morning with dinner at a local, family-friendly microbrewery. Believe it or not, Salt Lake City has some fine beer to offer, and we were genuinely stoked to have it. There were a lot of revelers from the Pride festivities at the restaurant that evening, and Wolfie was in a celebratory kind of mood, too, ready to meet and greet. So, we figured it was a win/win.

But as soon as we put our name on the list, things started to get a little uncomfortable.

First, the hostess spent a solid 20 minutes scowling directly at us while we waited for a table to open up. Initially, I thought, "Nah, it's not us. She's probably just having a rough night, trying to keep up with the steady stream of diners." I smiled at her. Wolfie smiled at her ('cos he smiles at everybody). And what did we get in return? The stink eye. So, I wrote her off as a douchebag hipster and gave it no further thought . . . until later.

It was after we got seated, helped Wolfie into the high chair, ordered our meals, and clinked our pints of beer--Happy Sunday!--that we started to notice we were getting a chilly reception from the other diners, too. Normally, it's a lively restaurant with lots of talking and laughing and sharing food and drinks. And Sunday was no exception. It was probably a bit livelier with all of the celebration going on downtown. And though it was subtle, the coldness really struck me. "What?" I wondered, "What did we do?" I didn't say anything about it to Jesse until after dinner, but he'd picked up on it, too.

It was inexplicable. Everybody around us (except for one other couple) gave us that same scowl that the hostess had given and even shook their heads at us. It finally occurred to me that it was the mere presence of a baby that was so off-putting to the other diners. But here's the thing: Wolfie was in a great mood. He ate rice and curried tofu from Jesse's chopsticks. He laughed and cooed. He played the I'll-drop-my-toy-so-you-can-pick-it-up game. He was quite the delightful dinner companion. When he started to get a little tired as we paid the check and he wanted to be picked up, we consoled him right away. He didn't wail or anything. He was just there, dining with us, being a baby.
That's it.

When did it become socially acceptable to be intolerant of babies?
I remembered an article I had read recently in Salon's Broadsheet about this whole baby intolerance phenomenon, and it just boggled my mind. But to experience it first-hand? Ouch. And this is in family-lovin' UTAH. The truly ironic part is that probably half of those people had just come from Pride Day festivities. They believe that they're "tolerant" and "open-minded."

How easily we forget our own humanity. We were all babies once. We've all had poopy pants. We've all cried inconsolably--and probably at some point, we might have even cried inconsolably in public! *gasp* Before Wolfie was born, long before I had even considered the possibility of having a baby, loooooong ago when I thought that I wouldn't have a baby, I never hated kids. I can't recall even a fleeting moment of hostility towards kids in general or one kid in particular. I'm probably the furthest thing from Mary Poppins you'll ever meet, but I don't suffer from an "overdeveloped sense of entitlement," as Mary Elizabeth Williams characterizes it. And I'm not going to be an apologist for grown-ups who do. I'm not asking that anybody fawn over my baby or congratulate me on how brilliant and handsome he is; I'm just asking that he is treated as a human being and not an annoyance or a novelty.

Maybe it's because we get caught up in our own grown-up minutiae or maybe it's because we've encountered so many babies (especially in SLC) that we forget this extraordinary, simple truth:

Babies are new here. They're figuring stuff out. And these brand new people are going to have their first and successive experiences in disappointment and fear and sadness soon enough. But, as adults who have already experienced those things, we have the ability to help them out. Think about the powerful position that each of us is in: we have the ability to postpone those inevitable negative experiences for kids a while longer just by showing them a little warmth and kindness. Do you remember a time when you thought of your own world as a place where people smiled and greeted and welcomed you just because you were new here? Well, it's something to think about.

Okay, I'm stepping down from my Pollyanna soap box now. Back to the foul-mouthed blogging that you've grown accustomed to.

~ Adriana

Amazing Little Changes

2010-06-08T16:32:00.000-07:00

Baby developments I find amazing:

Wolfie has been saying "Hi" since he was 4 months old.

This weekend, he started shaking his head, "No!" And it's emphatic.

He scoots backwards on his hands & knees.

He can bicycle kick like a little powerhouse (those legs are chubby and strong!).

He tries hard to communicate, 'tho his vocabulary is limited to "Hi, da-da-de-da-da-doh, umm-umm, ma-ma-ma-muh, tah-tah" and variations of those sounds.

He asserts his independence strongly by wanting to feed himself. Last night he would grab a handful of little bits of pasta and manage to get one or two pieces in his mouth while the rest went into his lap or on the floor. He seemed very pleased with this.

And he’s finally popped a tiny tip of a tooth through his bottom gums! Will the drooling subside a bit now?

Every day it seems there’s some new silly antic or surprising talent he’s picked up. Some of them don’t last long so we try to catch every little thing on video. The little chatter-box sessions, staring across the room blowing raspberries, his reliable smile first thing in the morning when he wakes, and when we pick him up from Grandma’s.

One of our favorite things is his smile. He has a remarkably light sense of humor and he can sail into a belly laugh with the simplest of proddings (funny, considering we used to say, “He’s a very serious baby” only a few months ago). A funny face, a nibble on the neck or chest, grabbing his kicking foot – these are all almost always met with a sweet baby laugh.

Man, there’s not a thing wrong with the world when that laugh fills the room.

love,
Jesse

I Saw The Sign

2010-06-03T07:40:00.000-07:00

When I was pregnant, one of our friends gave us this little book about teaching sign language to your baby. I started to read it when Wolfie was only a couple of weeks old, and--go fig--I lost track of it almost immediately. But I remembered reading in those first few pages that the author, Joseph Garcia, had suggested that parents begin to introduce signs around seven months.

According to Garcia, most infants don't utter their first intentional, meaningful words until around 18 months, but they attempt to communicate "verbally" and non-verbally pretty much from birth. Social interaction is crucial to a child's intellectual development, and "communication is one of the highest forms of social interaction." With that in mind and with the intense desire to communicate with Wolfie, Jesse and I were totally sold on teaching him to sign. So, as we approached the seven-month mark, I picked the book up again. And the very day that he celebrated his seven-month birthday, we introduced his first sign.

Garcia advises parents to introduce signs just a few at a time--three signs max over a few months--and to demonstrate each sign in its most logical context. It takes some time for Baby to understand what you're doing, but, with patience and persistence, he/she will begin to imitate you. No pressure, Baby.

So, we decided to take it slow, just one sign at a time.
Afterall, these early signs are really important. They have to be especially meaningful to the baby--a special person (like Mommy or Daddy) or a special activity. We picked a sign for an activity that's dear to Wolfie's heart: Eating.

At every meal--even before his first bite and throughout the whole meal--we do The Sign whenever he makes eye contact with us . . . well, whenever it makes the most sense. In fact, everybody who feeds Wolfie or hangs out nearby while he's eating does The Sign--Jesse, me, my mom, my dad, the kids. EVERYBODY. We've been doing it for almost two months now, and just this weekend Wolfie did The Sign! For the first time ever!

He was mid-bowl of cereal when he did it, and both Jesse and I were sitting at the table, taking turns with the spoon. We were talking about who knows what, just chattering and making faces. Jesse gave him a spoonful. Wolfie gulped it up. And then . . . he did it. THE SIGN! It took about three seconds for us to realize that he'd done it, and we just kept on talking.

"Wait a second . . . Did you see that? Did he do The Sign?"

"Holy shit. I think he did."

Then the gleeful celebration ensued.
"AHHHHH! HE DID IT! HE DID THE SIGN!!!"

"YAY, WOLFIE! YOU DID IT!!!"

Wolfie looked at us and gave his signature eyebrow raise, "Yeah. And? Can I have some more cereal now?"

We're making The Sign like crazy now, but he hasn't done it since. So, maybe we're premature in thinking that he did actually do it. But I swear that he did! It was very clear. Those pudgy little hands, they did a near-perfect imitation. We're so excited. Our boy is a genius. Not even nine months-old and already communicating. There are simply not enough exclamation marks in the world.

The next time he does it, I'll have the camera ready for a video. Just you wait.

(Oh, and hey--sorry about the Ace of Bace allusion. Now, we're all gonna have that song on mental loop. Ack.)

Social Networking for the Modern Mama: A Story with a Happy Ending

2010-05-28T14:19:00.000-07:00

I was skulking around Facebook this morning, when I noticed that one of my friends had made a surprising post. She said, "I firmly believe that the Feminist movement failed; now women get off work and then become housewives and mothers in half the time. FAIL. All you've proven is you can be forced to do both At the sacrifice of self and sleep."

Jesse and I make a very conscious effort to be egalitarian when it comes to parenting and all things domestic, so I immediately replied with something to that effect. (I don't miss an opportunity to give us a couple of pats on the backs for being mindful of each other's needs and for living according to our values on a daily basis. Hooray for feminism in the home!)

Then a couple of other moms replied. And this post sent me reeling, "some women, like myself, take pride in the fact that they are at home raising their children every day rather than shoving them in daycare so they can sit in front of a computer all day. I would take the love of my children over sleep any day!!"

Whoa, whoa, WHOA, Lady.

Moms and dads who work aren't necessarily choosing their jobs over their babies. That's a pretty big logical fallacy. If my husband or I could afford to stay home--believe me--one of us would. But that's not the point. The point is that moms have just as much right to a career outside the home as dads do if they want to have one. I didn't think that notion was new OR controversial.
How wrong I was . . .

Another stay-at-home mom chimed in:

"I definitely know there are situations where both parents need to work to financially be ok. I'm guessing, actually, pretty certain, that a good portion of the homes where both parents are working, don't "really" need to- meaning they are working to pay the 'bills' for cable, fast-food, electronics they don't "need", etc- things that can easily be... See more eliminated to ease the financial burden. Lots of people don't realize all the things that are 'extras' in their homes and lives that can be deleted, and they would be just fine.

"If it meant canceling my internet, cable, never going out to eat, etc, I would do it in a heart beat if it meant staying home to raise my family. That is how important it is to me personally. I think too many people look down on women who choose to stay home and be a full time mom. Like somehow it's a degrading thing not to be a career woman focused on developing herself in that perspective.

"I don't look down on people who take their kids to daycare, however I do believe that a lot of situations and circumstances could be easily evaluated and changed to where the mom could stay home to raise the family (definitely would mean sacrifices). I sincerely wish all moms who wanted to could stay home. This economy is tough and is taking it's tole on families and creating a lot of financial burdens and pressures."

Yeah? Because that sounds like a big, unfair assumption to me. Not that anecdotes are evidential of a broader picture, but at our house, we DO go without. And happily. We own one car (which is paid off); we don't pay for cable (because we don't own a television); we eat three home-cooked meals a day (all made by my fab husband). There are no extras. My student loans, which I acquired pre-marriage and pre-baby, are the only "extras" we pay for. Call me crazy, call me hyper-educated, but I think my Master's degree is valuable, and so is the work that I do as a librarian. How unfair it is to generalize that working moms and dads aren't making smart financial decisions for their families or that their value systems are any less valid or good.

The thread went on like that for quite a while. Women and men--people who have children and people who don't have children--on both sides of the issue replied. I appreciate a lively dialog, but I was just upset and disappointed by the end of it. I understand that people who don't know anything about us, our family, our beliefs, our careers, or our financial situation will judge us as parents, but I already feel guilty that one of us isn't at home with Wolfie. And no amount of tight budgeting, which we do diligently, will make that happen.
And that sucks.

I should mention that, while I'm not a stay-at-home mama, I have a tremendous amount of respect for the women who are. I wish that feeling was mutual.
I wish that women would support each other.

And, believe it or not, that's exactly what happened next.
I made a FB post about this exchange, and you would not believe the outpouring of support from all over my social circle--from women I'd never expect to hear from. I got everything from, "Yay For You! You just keep on rocking!" to "hell, i wish you were my mom!!!!" So, thank you, Dear Friends, for the encouragement and the kindness. I don't feel like the Feminist movement has failed us. I think that change is slow-going, but well worth the persistence.

A Wild Wolfie in His Natural Habitat

2010-05-26T15:57:00.000-07:00

Milestone

2010-05-19T18:23:00.000-07:00

Wolfie just scooted backwards in the crawl position!!!
For the first time EVER!!!
And he even rocked back and forth a little!!!

We are SO excited. Maybe even ridiculously excited.
So excited that I can't even type as fast as I'd like to.

Congratulations, Little Wolfman!

Not-so-lazy Sunday

2010-05-18T21:14:00.000-07:00

Everybody helps with the yard work at our house.

"Look, Daddy! I can halp, too!"

[Important Note: The Big Brother is not as miserable as he looks. He actually *asked* to mow the lawn. He's just practicing that face for when he's a teenager.]

I could watch this forever.

2010-05-18T12:25:00.000-07:00

Wolfie turned 8 months-old on Friday and check out his new tricks!

He sits up, catches himself when he's about to tip over, blows raspberries, recognizes him name, reaches for and picks up toys, plays independently for short stretches, and--this one is really important--grows a mean baby mohawk.

He's working hard on those first teeth and drooling his way through three or four bibs a day, sometimes even five. I read somewhere (probably Circle of Mums) that the later a baby cuts teeth, the healthier his/her teeth are. I'll have to research it.

Wolfie spends a lot of his awake time practicing walking. If he takes after me, he'll skip crawling altogether. Naturally, Grandma is concerned ("But what about his math skills?!?") and enthusiastically encourages him to crawl. Think Wolfie's buying it?

For such a little butterball, that kid is STRONG. He's been able to bear his full weight (20 pounds now!) on his legs since he was about six months-old, and now he needs very little support to walk around--just a couple of fingers to grip onto, one in each hand.

We're also starting to teach Wolfie some sign language. We're introducing one sign at a time until he starts to pick it up. So, for about a month now, we've been working on the sign for eating. Whenever he's eating and he makes eye contact, we make the sign at him. All of us. Me, Jesse, my mom and dad, the kids . . . everybody. The cats might even start doing it one day. We're just stoked at the possibility of him learning to communicate with us so soon. And when he does, oh, there will be video and maternal pride up the wazoo.

Plush ladybug costumes: Every little boy needs one.

2010-05-16T12:19:00.000-07:00

Wolfie would like to offer you a glass of sham-pahn-yah.

2010-05-10T11:46:00.000-07:00

The sun is set.
The stars shine in the sky.
The night air is tinged with anticipation.
And it is time to meet . . . the Continental.

Okay, so, it's a bathrobe that says "I'm so cuddly" and not a smoking jacket, but SHEESH! Is this baby dapper or what?
And he can sit up all on his own now, entirely unassisted! We are so proud of our boy.

Mother's Day

2010-05-09T11:54:00.000-07:00

We celebrate our second Mother's Day together today.
It's hard to believe that, when we celebrated last year, Wolfie looked like this:

I was 21 weeks pregnant and sporting my first-ever pair of maternity jeans. (Man, I loved those things.) Wolfie weighed around half a pound, and he was maybe ten inches-long from the top of his round, little Tofurkey head down to his tasty toes. And we had found out only about two weeks prior that Wolfie is a boy. I remember daydreaming about what Mother's Day would be like this year, and how I couldn't wait to hold Wolfie in my arms. I imagined all the time what he'd look like, what his voice would sound like, how spectacular it would be to kiss that head I spent so much time polishing.

A year ago, I couldn't have predicted how totally in love with Wolfie I would be or how much I would enjoy being his mama or just how right it would all feel. I also couldn't have predicted how much more I would love and appreciate my own mom with every year.

Happy Mother's Day to us!

The Big Sister

2010-05-08T10:28:00.000-07:00

Before Wolfie was born, I wondered (and worried) how well our blended family would blend. I read (and worried) about sibling rivalry and jealousy and competition. I imagined (and worried) that Haleigh would feel especially displaced because, pre-Wolfie, she was the baby of the family. How would she take to her new role as the big sister?

Talk about unfounded fears.

I don't think you could find a more doting big sister than this kid.
Whether we're giving Wolfie a bath, changing his dipe, making him breakfast, or reading him a bedtime story, Haleigh is at his side, ready to help. She makes him laugh faster than anybody. She always wants to push the stroller. She sings him to sleep.

Sometimes, Jesse and I just have to take a step back to watch the two of them coo at each other.

Baby Bat

2010-05-01T09:47:00.000-07:00

I scream, you scream, we don't ALL scream for ice cream.

2010-04-14T10:13:00.000-07:00

Wolfie says he feels kinda "meh" about it, but we think otherwise.

Half-Birthday

2010-03-22T07:24:00.000-07:00

Wolfie turned 6 months-old last weekend.

Six months.
Six months?
SIX MONTHS!

I know it's cliche to mention it, but--whoooooooa--where did the time go? Those six months flew by, milestone after milestone. I can't think of any other six-month period in my entire life that passed by so quickly or so happily. The last six months of grad school, for example . . . not so fast, buddy.

Wolfie at six months is a very different monster than he was at one, two, three, four, or five months. How does such a tiny boy manage to become more awesome by the day? I like to imagine that there's a gigantic bucket of awesomeness, somewhere out there in the universe. (This is a pretty intense, academic explanation. Bear with me.) And everybody gets a few drops of awesomeness over the course of their lives. Well, Wolfie has found that bucket, and he's grabbing handfuls of awesomeness. Better yet, he's climbed into the bucket, and he's bathing in awesomeness. How else could it be explained? It's scientific.

In addition to being completely awesome, Wolfie has an excellent sense of humor and great taste in music. And I don't know any other babies who love Jimmy Page. Seriously. We have a painting of Jimmy with the double-neck guitar in our living room, and Wolfie devotes a good full minute to gazing and smiling at Jimmy every day. (Have you ever looked at something without distraction for a full minute?)

He giggles. He coos. He loves Jimmy Page. The apple doesn't fall far, does it? And when he's really upset, listening to Daddy play the guitar--or even just plucking the strings--soothes him immediately. No joke. He could be full-on wailing, but as soon as someone tugs on the guitar strings . . . ahhh, instant calm. I'm gonna film it. Just wait.

He likes singing, too. I mean, he likes to be sung to. (He doesn't sing much himself; he kind of caterwauls.) "Hush, Little Baby" is his favorite song this month. Dim the lights, put him on your shoulder, do some deep knee bends and a little swaying, while singing "Hush, Little Baby," and he'll fall right to sleep. We still sing our favorites to him, too. "Catch" by The Cure seems to do the trick some days. But he's always been soothed by music. When he was really tiny, about three weeks-old, I remember singing "Bela Lugosi's Dead" to him (guitar parts, too), and he loved it. Well, as much as a wiggly little jellyfish can like Bauhaus.

At six months, Wolfie is busy exploring the world with his mouth--particularly the part of the world that is his feet. Whether he's in his car seat, lying on the changing table, in the bath, or having dinner, those feet are en route to his mouth. He is limber, like a miniature yoga master. Other favorite things to put in his mouth: his bottle (not necessarily the nipple-end first), books, fistfuls of my hair, blankets, bibs, his hippo, Daddy's knuckles . . . you get my drift. Anything within reach. So, we play this continuous game of Let's-Get-It-Out-of-Wolfie's-Reach, which he's a pretty good sport about.

We started Wolfie on solids two months ago, and he's even happier about new foods n now. He eats about four to five meals a day, plus bottles. Sweet potatoes, bananas, and pears are quite beloved in our home. And keep the rice cereal comin'! As for peas and other green vegetables, Wolfie politely declines.

This weekend he reached the 20 pound mark! This baby is a tank. But don't worry, all of that food energy is going to good use. We're practicing sitting up and working on the crawl position. As we eagerly await controlled mobility, Wolfie has learned to roll to his desired destination. "Gimme that ball, Mama! No? Then I'll get it myself." *rolls rolls rolls* It's a sight.

Wolfie is so interactive and conversational these days. He wants to talk and play and touch *everything* and go places and see things and eat. He's reluctant to take naps for fear that he'll miss something. So, we reassure him, "Don't worry. Nothing fun happens when you're asleep."

Here's another video from a lazy Sunday afternoon at home. Wolfie and Daddy play catch:

Can you tell he's totally ready for a nap, but resisting it?
MUST. STAY. AWAKE.
Well, he's a busy guy. There's a lot to learn and to experience when you're brand new.

To celebrate this 6-month milestone, we picked out an entertainer for the Wolfman--more accurately, he picked it out. He test-drove four or five, and this one was his favorite:

It's amazing to watch him as he learns what his hands can do and as he finds his voice. He doesn't just do; he tells us what he's doing. And those strong little hands, WOW, they're working on precision skills--like pushing buttons, turning knobs, pulling switches--and they're also working on being gentle, like figuring out how to pet the kitty. So, the entertainer is ideal. He loves the different textures, colors, sounds. How could we resist?

But, really, he could ask for a pony and I'd merely reply, "Which color?"

Needless to say, we're still working on cutting teeth. No chompers yet, but it'll be any day now. We're so glad for chewy toys and teething tablets. Yes, especially the teething tablets. I had no idea that, along with gum pain and gallons of drool, Wolfie would get congested and stuffy-nosed, too. After three months of colds, we're giddy with anticipation for the day that those two front teeth finally pop through. But Wolfie is such a happy baby that he takes it all in stride. It's like he's read the textbook already, so he knows what to expect.

Speaking of growing, his hair is really coming in, too. He lost the party mullet a couple month ago, but now he's working on a little hawk, the budding punk rocker.

Baby, if you decide to become a musician, maybe you can be a scientist, too--you know, day job-wise? Something to consider. No pressure. Mama will love you no matter what.

Take a breath...

2010-02-22T16:24:00.000-08:00

Last night Wolfie was really struggling with his breathing and I was surprised to find Adriana up and holding him when I returned from band practice. He's been quite stuffy for the past two weeks or so and we thought initially it was due to a mild cold he may have acquired from one of us, then we attributed it to his teething. On Saturday he had a slight fever for a little while but that went away quickly. His appetite has been great (sometimes ravenous) and he's generally in a good mood so we didn't think much of it. But we have been waking up with him about every two hours to give a saline shot up his nose, then use the nasal aspirator to try and clear his passages. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Last night he sounded really bad. After I got home we took him into the bathroom and let the hot shower run for about 45 minutes. I held him as he slept and the room filled up with steam. Our impromptu Turkish steam bath had both of us breathing and feeling great, but poor Wolfie didn't seem to be making any progress. We debated taking him to an urgent care facility but nothing was open that late on a Sunday evening. To bed or to the E.R.? He was breathing rather laboriously, but he was breathing. And he didn't have a fever, cough or any other symptoms of anything other than maybe a mild respiratory infection. So we decided to slather his chest with Vicks vapor rub and go to bed. We would take him in to his doctor first thing in the morning.

We got to the doctor's office and he was asleep, comfortably breathing. Fresh air seems to do him good. He woke rather begrudgingly as we had to strip him down naked for the scale (how come I never get to strip naked for the weigh-in when I go to the doctor?). He thought our doctor's new nurse was really awesome, laughing and giggling at her pink scrubs. "Hey, I don't ever see that color in my house!" Of course he seemed to be breathing fine when Dr. Jackson finally came in to examine him. His lungs sound fine (whew!) so whatever it is it's in his sinuses. After a thorough examination and a frantic recounting of the last few weeks from both of us (she's great at genuinely listening to us and our concerns) she prescribed him an infant dose of an antihistamine. We'll try giving that to him this evening as it may make him drowsy, which hopefully will not only allow him to breathe clearly, but possibly get a full night's rest as well. Fingers crossed!

There is the possibility of allergies - to the cats maybe, or the dust in the carpet of the new house. It's difficult to say as allergy tests are not accurate on children under 2-3 years old. She suggested maybe taking him on a little vacation, get away from the house, the pets, the familiar surroundings and see how he reacts to that. Hmmm... Prescribed vacation. I like the sound of that. We talked about Hawaii (jokingly, of course). Sorry, boss, Doc. says we have to go spend a week in a nice tropical environment. It's for Wolfie's health!
See, now there's a great reason for strong health care reform.

21 Comments

2010-02-17T13:42:00.000-08:00

After a pretty lively discussion about solids with friends (via Facebook), Wolfie celebrated his five-month birthday with a small, very runny bowl of rice cereal!

We got so much feedback that I decided to post the whole Facebook thread here. I like to imagine Future Wolfie, reading through this, scratching his head, and thinking, "My parents are nuts!"

Here goes! Oh, and be sure to notice Jesse's helpful contribution. :)

We're on the threshold of a big milestone--Wolfie's first taste of solid food! But I'm really nervous to start, especially with something like rice cereal that seems to have little nutritional value and probably isn't very tasty. To those of you who are parents, at what age did you start your babies on solids, and what did you serve them?

Amanda
Luke started at five months, when we were in New York for Thanksgiving. He started with chicken soup from a Vietnamese restaurant in Hell's Kitchen & then followed it up the next night with parsnip soup at a friend's Thanksgiving feast.

31 January at 20:32 ·

Stacey

Adriana, start him on Rice cereal because it is the easiest to digest. Listen to the pediatrician, at least for a few visits, then do what Wolfie wants or you want. If you can do gerber foods or something like that, applesauce is always a good one to start with. I've given my Joshua (who is just a bit younger then Wolfie) some rice cereal already. He likes it. Just don't make a funny face as you give it to him. Make sure you smile and say UMMMM YUMMY! Then when he gets use to the Rice ceral, add the applesauce with it...there is your flavor! Good Luck.

31 January at 20:34 ·

Brandi

I started Always at 5 1/2 months and Damon at 6 months. I let them taste it as early as 4 1/2 months, but they did not care for it at that time. Brown rice cereal tastes better. It's naturally sweeter and better for them too. When you get into other baby foods, homemade tastes better also. I never fed my kids anything I wouldn't eat myself (except bananas; I hate them) but the smell of some baby foods is enough to make you sick. And then there are all the preservatives and such. I bought a food mill, used organic produce, and had the best baby food ever!

31 January at 20:47 ·

Mindy

We started our boys on rice cereal at 4 months old. It may not have a lot of nutrition, but you can always mix it up with your breast milk to amp it up.

31 January at 20:48 ·

Yamira

I started them all on rice cereal --some doctors will say go with veggies from there so they're not spoiled by the sweetness of fruit. But I think I did applesauce next, anyway. Aub was about 4 or 5 months old . . .it's time!

31 January at 20:49 ·

Jezmynne
Lila was four months old, and I gave her homemade yams. I think she was about 6-7 months old before I started mixing her veggies and fruits with cereals.

31 January at 20:56 ·

Melissa
I did about 5-51/2 months. I mixed it with breast milk or formula. Then I would do water with a dash of apple or pear juice. My kids liked it a little sweet! Then as they got older I would mix it with jarred foods. They liked it the best with juice, I have to say!

31 January at 21:02 ·

Brianna
If you mix baby applesauce into the rice cereal, baby's tend to like that a lot too. Trying whatever baby fruit sauce makes it lots better.

31 January at 21:18 ·

Brianna
oh, and they were about five months old...My little brothers. I am 20 yrs older than one and 15 yrs older than the other.

31 January at 21:19 ·

Nissa
Seriously, "what can we get the baby to eat" is one of the funnest games EVER.

31 January at 21:37 ·

Joel
sweet potatoes, sarah loved them, and smashed peas,, start with the rice stuff. then over time,, add into it.if you are going to avoid the bottled crap.. beats, broccolie, cook the veggies till soft, then smash them up in to paste.

31 January at 22:39 ·

Kadee
4 months for my J-man- as he showed the interest, and he also chose it, it was homemade peaches. he loved it. We then did rice and everything else slowly- all the usual veggies and fruits. It was so awesome, he like everything, especially plums! Jaiden was watching his great grandma and great aunt peeling the peaches and he just wanted them so we thought why not, and decided to try it. it was just awesome. Of course I think he wore more than he ate but he loved it. I was told not to start till six months but he was ready at four so I think that makes a big difference too. Rice is so soothing on their little tummies, easy to digest, its definitely a good way to transition.

31 January at 23:06 ·

Aubrie
It was around 4-5 months for all 3 of my boys. Rice cereal isn't about the taste it's about the texture. Mix it with whatever milk he's used to eating now, so it tastes framiliar. We have a lot of food allergies in our family so we followed the pediatrician guide VERY strictly. Esp about only changing 1 thing at a time for 2 weeks, then add 1 thing... . Some allergies take almost 2 weeks to show up. We're not a fan of bottled baby food when you can blend it up yourself so much cheaper and healthier. We did the rice cereal for a month steadily making it a bit thicker, then did oatmeal cereal for a month. Then after 6 months we could mix the food into the cereal so it had the same texture. It's a fun adventure! Start with the sour and bitter first, then go sweet. I didn't with my youngest and he did wait out for the sweet stuff and he still tells me veggies are yucky...my older two love them. Don't know if that's coincidence or not, but it makes sense to me now! Good luck, have fun & take lots of fun pictures!

31 January at 23:10 ·

Kate
We started Jack with rice cereal at 4 months - he loved it! Babies have very sensitive taste buds and bland foods to start still taste good to them. Then we did fruits then veggies. And Jack still hates veggies, but then, so do I so I can't really tell if I influenced him or if he just inherited my taste.

01 February at 05:42 ·

Krissy
Sophie started with a little bit of rice cereal at 5 months. It is the least likely food to trigger an allergic reaction. Once she got the hang of that we moved to avocado. It’s one of the best possible baby foods. It’s high in good fats and easy on the system. We did about five veggies and then moved on to fruit. Sophie has about 20 items that she eats now. We don’t give her rice cereal anymore, it plugs her up. It’s best to introduce an item over 3-5 days and only one at a time. That way you can better watch for potential reactions. I make all of Sohpie's food. If you want some really great recipes I'd be happy to share!

01 February at 07:44 ·

Tiffany
We delayed solids until 6 months and started with rice cereal + breast milk (she hated it! lol)

01 February at 09:21 ·

Jesse
Wolfie wants a sammich. Nom, nom.

01 February at 11:23 ·

Adriana

Wow! Thank you, everybody, for your feedback. We'll keep you posted on how it goes with the Wolfman. I imagine that, whatever his first solid meal winds up being, he'll be very excited. :)

01 February at 12:59 ·

Anna
Adriana, I went with Nature's Best Rice Cereal. I started at around 5 months. Rice cereal is not hard for babies to digest, so it's a good thing to start with. Sometimes they can get constipated so giving a few teaspoons of apple sauce or a spoonfull of prune juice added to the rice cereal can be a good idea.

01 February at 14:46 ·

Linsay
you can mix apple sauce or bananas, really anything with fruit or sweet in the Rice Cereal plus he'll get the milk or formula and that has alot of nutriton. if i remember I started to play around with the idea about 9-12 months. :) the Rice Cereal is to help him get use to the idea of real food and it keeps him full longer

01 February at 17:41 ·

Paul
Just give hime a slice of banana! The mushing will occur naturally! Watch for choking, of course.

Cracking the Baby Code

2010-02-08T07:31:00.000-08:00

Remember how a couple of weeks ago Jesse made a little post about Wolfie's new word? Well, he hasn't said "Babboo!" since then, but we're pretty sure that it must mean something really important and super-secret.

We went on an epic trip to Ikea yesterday and picked up, among other things, a big plush hippo for the Wolfman. When we got home, Jesse and Wolfie chatted on the couch, discussing what he might want to name his new friend. Jesse said, "Hey! Maybe you should consider naming him Babboo." Wolfie--who had previously been sucking on a bottled gleefully and cooing in conversation--stopped eating, raised his eyebrows, and looked rather shiftily from side to side, as if to say, "Daddy . . . You said . . . The Word." It was an instant change of atmosphere. You might even say that it got a little awkward there for a few seconds, but then Wolfie picked right back up on the bottle and the chatter. "Moving along, Daddy. Nothin' to see here."

Fast-forward about twenty minutes.
Jesse's in the kitchen, working on installing some fancy new under-the-cabinet Ikea lights, and Wolfie and I are cuddled up together, playing with the hippo, who I've been referring to as "your friend." Jesse and I start singing that "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas" song to Wolfie, and we pretend that the hippo is prancing around, chewing on Wolfie's scrumptious dinner rolls. I say something like, "Wow! Your friend must be really hungry!" And Wolfie chuckles in response. (This hippo is hilarious.) Then I remember that we just christened the hippo, so I follow up with a happy, "Babboo!" And once again, Wolfie gets all serious, raises his eyebrows, looks left, looks right, and generally clams up. [Cue awkward pause in the conversation.]

I can't believe it!
He did it again!
So, I decide to test it out. "Hey Wolfie, what's your friend's name?" He smiles.
"Is it . . . Babboo?" Aaaaaand cagey baby-face in reply.

What is that?
Jesse and I have concluded that it must be some kind of baby code that Wolfie accidentally let slip. Maybe it's a password into an underground baby club, or a baby curse word, or maybe it's part of the secret baby handshake--minus the handshake part. (Hand-eye coordination is tricky when you just figured out that your hands are yours.) Who knows. Whatever it is, I'm going to keep saying it, especially when it elicits that kind of response. Ahhh, visions of the future.

Milestone!

2010-02-06T07:30:00.001-08:00

Wolfie rolled over, not just onto his side, but completely over--360 degrees! And he did it this morning, bright and early at 5:30 am. He likes to get his big accomplishments accomplished first thing. Woo woo!

The Family Bed

2010-02-02T08:36:00.000-08:00

At 4.5 months, I think we're getting the hang of this co-sleeping thing.

The three of us tuck into a generous queen-size bed--Daddy to the right, Mama to the left--and make a delicious Wolfie sammich every night. He sleeps on his back, pillow-less, with a blanket up to his middle and his arms stretched wide. Sometimes, he rolls to his left side to face me and rests his forehead against mine. I breathe in deeply to smell his breath and feel his eyelashes brush my eyebrows and lids when he stirs awake. Other times, he sleeps in the crook of Jesse's arm, cheek-to-cheek. That's our nightly routine, and I love it.

Wolfie sleeps for lengthy stretches as long as there's, at least, one of us cuddled up beside him. Solo sleeping in the big bed lasts for only about an hour max with a few reassurances that we're close by, but solo sleeping in the crib . . . well, if he's really tired, he may tolerate it for ten minutes. He can be sound asleep when you place him in the crib, and then suddenly WAAAAAAAAAH! two seconds later. How does he know? Our boy loves a warm body beside him.

Circe, his self-appointed kitty mama, insists on snuggling Wolfie if there's even three inches of space for her to slink into. She knows that, as soon as Jesse and I catch her, it's back to the foot of the bed. But that cat is persistent! She likes to have just one paw on him whenever she gets the chance. And she gets deeply offended--every single time--when we tell her, "NO!" If, at first, you don't succeed, right?

Wolfie has never spent the night in his crib, and it just pains me to imagine forcing him to try. He'll do it when he's ready (and when *we're* ready). Not a moment too soon. Even in the hospital, his very first night outside of the womb, he slept in my arms. Happily, we haven't gotten a whole lot of flack from people about the family bed, but I'm ready for it. Who knew I'd become such a ferocious mama bear?

Upward, Outward, and Onward

2010-02-01T19:16:00.000-08:00

Oh, man . . . It's been a long while since I made a post. I've been back at the library since the beginning of January, and--wow, Working Moms and Dads--where does the time go? So, here I am, getting my head straight, making amends, catching up. I *will* take the time to make these updates from now on. Count on it.

The first month back has been a sort of grieving process for me. I think I've arrived at the acceptance phase (well, sort of). I can't decide whether it's actually progress or not not to cry when we drop Wolfie off at Grandma's Monday-Friday mornings. The biggest part of me feels terribly guilty for trying to cope with this situation, for not railing against the whole set-up and saying, "Nope, I'm not going to work!" But I can't. We can't be penniless, right? Right.

Anyhow, enough about me, and onto the Wolfman!

Baby Bat is growing--upward, outward, inward, every which way. He's somewhere around 16 pounds at 4 1/2 months-old, the little butterball. I'm pretty sure that his cheeks account for 10% of his overall body weight. And it takes all of my self-restraint not to nibble on him. Jesse has even renamed Wolfie's delectable little limbs to account for the adorable chub.

Feet = biscuits. Thighs = dinner rolls. Tummy = lunch box.

One of many big developments that have recently taken place is that Wolfie is interested in *our* food. Yes, the big people stuff. Don't get me wrong--he still wants to nurse whenever I'm in close proximity, and bottles are a much-loved sight, but now he gazes longingly at our dinner plates.

He's also mastered The Grab. Whether it's edible or not, he's gonna grab it and stick it in his mouth. Yesterday, for the first time ever, he finally managed to pull one his feet into his mouth. Mmmmmm. He seemed really satisfied with this new flavor initially, but then came the yuck-face about two seconds later. Conclusion: Baby feet may look delicious, but, in fact, they are not.

We're at the threshold of another important milestone: First solid foods! We're asking a lot of advice from friends and family, researching, talking to the doctor, taking in all the info we can before we take that plunge into a tiny bowl of rice cereal. Or perhaps something else. Decisions, decisions . . .

Other big developments since my previous post:

Wolfie sleeps through the night! He achieved this happy goal for the first time last week (January 27) much to the enjoyment of the entire household (stupid cats included).

He's rockin' the Tummy Time these days, though I still wouldn't say he loves it. He can lift his head up to a 90-degree angle and sustain that position for a few minutes. His legs get into it, too. *kick kick kick* Crawling is in our imminent future.

He's learned to roll onto his left side, and he's working on his right.

He can sit up well with a little support. Hooray for the Bumbo! And pillows! And Mommy and Daddy! He's got unassisted slumpin' down to a science. Sitting up by himself is next on the To Do list.

He chatters and coos in a conversational way. You say something, he responds. He also chuckles--that's an ideal word for it--and he can anticipate when something funny is about to happen. Peek-a-boo is, apparently, a hilarious game. And tickling . . . oh, man. We can't get enough of it.

His cooing vocabulary is changing, too. His favorite phrase used to be "er-uh er-uh er-uh" (a displeased monologue when the bottle takes too long to be prepared or mama's milk hasn't let down yet), but now he's added "ing," "neh," and "uh-uh" to his repertoire, along with lengthy "oooooh-uh urrrrr eeeeee"s all over the place and assorted caterwauling.

As Jesse mentioned in his post, Wolfie's cutting teeth. Four of 'em. Simultaneously. And he's totally chill about it. He gets a little grumpy sometimes, which is understandable, but he's happy and content more often than not. It's a race to break through those shiny pink gums, and my money's the two bottom front teeth. I can't wait to see his Jack-o-Lantern smile.

Check out those sweet, toothless gums!

~ Adriana

Milestone!

2010-01-31T16:51:00.000-08:00

Wolfie managed to get his feet into his mouth! First time ever, today! Mmmmm . . . biscuits.

Here come the Teeth!

2010-01-27T11:35:00.000-08:00

Last night I created our first real meal in our new place. Things are wonky, the refrigerator is too far away from the stove (on the other side of the giant kitchen), and I find myself groping for things in the general vicinity of where they used to be, but I think it turned out well. As we sat at our now too-small-for-the-space little table and enjoyed a quiet, unrushed meal at home, Wolfie sat on my lap, slapping his little hand on the table as if he were demanding his own dish. He's been a bit stuffy in the head lately and Grandma thinks he's beginning his teething phase. Up until last night he's showed no interest whatsoever in chewing on teething toys. He just tastes them and spits them out. Last night, however, his tastes changed!

I placed in front of the Wolfman three items from which he could choose: a half-full bottle, a foot-shaped teething chew-toy, and something else he likes (why can't I remember what that was?). His hand went repeatedly to the teething chew which he managed to grasp in his tiny hand and shove rapidly into his eagerly waiting mouth, whereupon he proceeded to chew, gnaw, gummy-mash, and drool on the thing for ten minutes straight. By the time it fell from his gummy grasp he had completely soaked his bib in a very generous coating of baby drool. It was soaked clear through!

This morning Wolfie had another round of shots. We've chosen to do his immunizations in spaced out increments, so rather than be injected with tons of crap all at once, he goes in once per month for one small injection and maybe one liquid dose. We're adhering to the Dr. Sears recommended vaccination schedule where Wolfie will not receive more than 2 shots at one visit. The nurse showed us the spots in his upper and lower gums where his little tooth buds are forming and have begun making their way to the surface. Hurray for chompers!!! (sorry Momma, feeding time will get more painful)

Milestone!

2010-01-27T09:59:00.000-08:00

Woohoo! Wolfie slept through the night for the first time ever, from about 10:00pm to 5:30am! He's been really close for about a month, though, sleeping until around 4 or 4:30am, but this time--he pulled an all-nighter!

New Word!

2010-01-24T11:18:00.000-08:00

Lying in bed last night, about to drop off, Wolfman turns to me & says,
"Baboo!"

New Old House and an Official Infant

2010-01-22T09:10:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow morning at 9:30 am two (hopefully) strong blokes and big truck will arrive at the Artspace dream-loft and cart away all the boxes we've been stuffing and sealing up all week. They won't be traveling far, just around the corner and a few blocks away. After all the Saturday afternoons spent walking through at least a hundred old homes, we found the perfect little Victorian cottage in which to throw down our roots. It's still close enough to downtown for our tastes (12 min bike ride to my office) but far enough from the sketchy elements that made us nervous carting Wolfie through the parking lot at night.

We spent all of last weekend painting, and painting, and painting... Whew! It truly is a House of Many Colors now. That's little Wolfie's window you see there on the right. His room is a fun, bright sage-y green with a 12 foot ceiling. We're super excited to start decorating for the little monster.

One week and one day ago today, Wolfie turned four months old! Four months!!! Can you believe it? He's so big and cuddly and giggly and a million other -lys. So much has changed with the little man that it's hard to keep up in retrospect, yet it happens subtly so we don't necessarily notice on a daily basis what each new development is until he's put something new in his repertoire and we find ourselves remarking, "When did he start doing that?"

A few of his new skills:
- He can hold his bottle. Not for long, but he's definitely got the motor control and will grab at it and pull it to his mouth if we're being too slow.
- He giggles and chuckles in addition to his generous and hearty laugh. Last night when we picked him up from Grandma's I had him laughing and chuckling non-stop as I nibbled (gently, of course) on his little chest and chubby arms.
- He holds his head up straight and strong and prefers to sit upright when he's awake so he can look around at everything. No more saggy, droppy baby head.
- He likes to experience the world with his mouth. If it gets close enough and he can get his tiny hands around it, it's going in the mouth. Watch out kitties...
- He tries to stand if we hold him up. That baby has got a strong set of legs! Thank you, Kicking Coaster for all of the practice workouts.
- He says, "Hi." Not often, and sometimes it's hard to make out, but on more than one occasion he's looked one of us in the eye, smiled and said, "Hi!". He is also fond of saying "A-goo" and "Urra, urra". Ah, baby language!
- He likes to help in the kitchen. He sits in his little Bumbo seat on the counter and helps me mix up the daily culinary experiments. Here he is with his own wooden spoon, ready to stir.

- He can roll over on to his side. This is Big!
Soon enough he'll be scooting around on his little chubster arms and legs and now we'll be all on one level (mostly) with a generous spread of soft carpet on which he can perfect his motorvatin' skills.
The Big CuddleBat.

Love,
jesse.

Leaving 2009, hello January!

2010-01-09T10:14:00.000-08:00

As long as I can feel your warmth and hear your heartbeat, I'll always be safe.

Sleeping next to his loving and ever-concerned Kittie-momma, Circe.

"A-Wooo!!! Look at my awesome chest!" Wolfie wears shirt as hat.

Too loud! Wolfie covers his ears and tries to sleep.

Too bright! Wolfie is not much of a morning person either.

That's his beloved Seahorse next to him with the brightly lit chest, singing him sweet lullabies to usher him into another day of crazy life.

Separation Anxiety

2009-12-08T16:11:00.000-08:00

We're going out tonight--not far, mind you, just across the parking lot. Literally. We live right next to a concert venue, and we're going to see AFI. We'll be out for maybe three hours, four max. This is the third time we've been out--just the two of us--since Wolfie was born.

So, I wrote up a list of "How To"s for the sitters, stuff like how much Wolfie eats and how often, how many times a bottle he should burp, how he doesn't like to sleep in his crib, how he doesn't take a blanket to bed, how he should wear socks . . . anyhow, you get my drift.

I guess I'm just feeling a little anxious.

It occurred to me this week that I go back to work in less than a month, and I'm 100% not ready for it. It's not the work part that's bothering me; I really love being a librarian. It's the part where someone else is going to be taking care of Wolfie for eight hours a day. And while I'm not going to be handing Wolfie over to a stranger, I'm still going to have to hand him over.

I think about all of the little milestones that the baby has every week, how quickly he's growing, the way he's coming into his body, the things he's learning every day, and it breaks my heart that I won't be able to experience it all with him. (That sounds cheesy, I know, but--no exaggeration--I ache when I think about it.) I'm fortunate that the university has given me almost four months of leave, but I don't know that any amount of leave would feel like enough. Is anybody ever ready for this?

Does it strike anyone else as weird that, as a culture, this is just what you're supposed to do? You have a baby, and six weeks later you're back at the office. I'm pretty sure that I would've been a trainwreck if I had to slump into the library after six brief weeks, back to the same old, same old. I mean, here's this "life-changing event" that nobody expects you to actually acknowledge as life-changing. Nope, just go back to work and carry on. And this little person who you created will carry on, too.

Well, it sucks balls.

the Growing

2009-12-07T17:28:00.000-08:00

Man, it's tough being a baby. You're never the same size from one day to the next, you don't realize those things at the ends of your ar arms are actually your hands, and motor control is just a mythical place that it seems you'll never get to. Plus, no matter what I'm trying to say,whether it be, "Hey I'm starvin' here!", or, "I just pooed really BIG!", or, "I really love your cheeks, too, Daddy.", it all comes out as, "AAAAUUUGHGOOOO.... AHHHH AGGGG GOOO ERA!" No wonder they don't understand me. I'm certain tho, that by the time I'm a teenager we'll be back in the land of "No Comprendo" all over again.

On the plus side, my every need is catered to by my fabulous parents. I can eat all I want, puke it up, then eat again (so very epicurian!), I get carried everywhere I need to go (just like a Roman dignitary), and I don't have to do any chores.

Dudes, have you heard that song, "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider?" Man, I love that song!!!

Here's a little video of me telling my Daddy a story. He really loves story-time.

Love,
Wolfie

domesticity

2009-11-06T09:26:00.000-08:00

The A, the Wolf and i have been perusing the listings of soon-to-be-vacated homes with the unlikely (unlike us) intent of acquiring a little piece of Salt Lake City we can call our own. i swore before i had not the slightest interest in such a major purchase (puts a bit of a cramp on me gear budget), but my condo curiosity got the better of me/us.

i love looking at my clients' condos downtown. They're ridiculously over-priced and often poorly thought-out from a design standpoint, still i have always held a strange professional curiosity to tour them whenever a new project comes on the market. We were in one such property a little over a week ago when, sitting on the nicely carpeted floor of the master suite with the Wolfman between us, we both simultaneously had the realization that Wolfie will be crawling soon and wouldn't it be nice to have everything on one level with more baby-safe floors?. We LOVE our place! But all those damn steep stairs and ratty old splinter-inducing floors are not conducive to safe baby travel. What to do?

We started looking at houses to rent and found some very nice places for close to what we are paying now. Then i realized we could acquire a damn mortgage for the same amount (sometimes less) and have the freedom to punch and paint walls to our hearts desires. We found a place we both love - an old Victorian built in 1900, completely restored/updated and emanating a fantastically welcoming energy.

Can we actually do this? We don't know, but it feels good.

One Month!

2009-10-14T20:00:00.000-07:00

Holy Freakin' one-month old!!!

Our little Wolfman turned one whole big month old today. Where did the time go?

We celebrate with a bath.

Suddenly he loves the bath - 'tho that was definitely not the case until just last week when, as a desperate measure to fight a stubborn case of diaper rash, we took the advice of a fellow blogger and soaked the dirty boy in a warm bath for changing time. Ahhh... bliss! Who knew? We sure didn't (he didn't bother to tell us). After several failed attempts at finding the perfectly acceptable bathing situation where Wolfie wouldn't howl his lungs out (sink, sponge, hammock in the tub, etc.), we found success in the simple little baby bath our good friend Jeana (remember the stencils?) gifted us. Thank you!!!
We had been saving the tub for when he gets bigger, but he loves it now. Whew! What a relief.

Birthday

2009-09-14T12:51:00.000-07:00

Born: September 14, 2009 at 12:51 pm.

7 lbs, 2 oz.

18"

Healthy, complete, perfect.

A little cloth goes a long way...

2009-09-14T00:06:00.000-07:00

Yes, we are going to use cloth diapers.
Yes, they have changed tremendously since we were little scootin' poop machines.
But we decided to go a little retro. We had some custom cloth diapers made!

Here's the bag of fabric we purchased in preparation. Totalled completely, we spent just over $40 on several different flannel fabrics, a bit of fleece fabric (for doublers) and a few boxes of diaper pins. The whole cha-cha fit in a bag about the size of one large bag of disposable diapers.

That one large bag of disposables is going to cost you about $17-25 and might last a few days to a week. If your little bee-bop doesn't fully grasp the tao of the toilet until he's two, that's a helluva lot of large bags of disposable diapers!!!

This little stack of fun fabrics (that we got to choose) eventually transformed itself into 36 reusable, colorful, expandable and environmentally safe and sound cute little cloth diapers that will cover little Wolfie's bum from birth to big kid pants. Yep. Just one bag of cloth.

Look at those touchable, squeezable little fluffy fabrics!!!

Gotta have pins! Keeps them all wrapped up nicely around squirmy little hips and locked firmly in place. No industrious little baby fingers will be able to pull these off. (velcro or sticky closures are an invitation for curious hands to remove loaded bombs themselves)

On the fancy, easy side, we have a couple of these: one size Fuzzi Bunz, all-in-one diapers. They have multiple snap locations and completely adjustable elastics to custom fit any size baby leg, belly and bum. We'll use these when we go out to fancy dinner parties, or for less adventurous baby-sitters and relatives.

I'm super glad there are so many options out there for cloth diapering! We must have read a hundred reviews about just as many brands of ready-made diapers. In the end, we decided on the Fuzzi Bunz for our spendy ones since they had the best reviews. But whatever brand (or homemade) we ended up with, we knew after just a tiny bit of research that we would be using cloth diapers. Basically, if you grab a few facts, and you still use disposables, you're an asshole. But then, you probably drive a huge, gas-chuggin' suv, vote Republican, and pay a portion of your income to some misogynistic religion-of-choice.

Yes, I'm opinionated.
But my opinions are based on fact, logic and scientific assessment.

Wolfie will be an eco-friendly baby.
Based on a report from the Women's Environmental Network, The Real Diaper Association reports:
* Disposable diapers are the third most common consumer product in landfills today.
* A disposable diaper may take up to 500 years to decompose.
* One baby in disposable diapers will contribute at least 1 ton of waste to your local landfill.

Wolfie will be a financially wise baby.
According to a recent report about Disposable Diapers from Consumer Reports,
"You can expect to spend $1,500 to $2,000 or more on disposables by the time your baby is out of them."

Hmm... We're gonna take that extra $$$ and start a little college fund.

Love,
~jesse.

Fuzzy Bun

2009-09-09T09:54:00.000-07:00

Week 39:

The lanugo that used to cover Wolfie's body has mostly disappeared, but we'll probably find a bit leftover on the shoulders, forehead, and neck. Happily, that extra fuzz will fall out soon after he's born.
The color of Baby's skin is changing from a red-pink hue to a white or blue-pink color. These changes are due to the amount of fat our little pudger is putting on.
The circumference of the baby's head and abdomen are about the same size now--Hooray for proportions!
The placenta is lending him antibodies that'll keep him strong and healthy after birth. That said, you're still gonna have to wash your hands (and be in exemplary health) if you wanna hold him.
At this point, Wolfie is about 19 to 20 inches long and weights about 7 pounds--probably bigger! That's just around the size of a large rabbit. *bunny kick-kick-kick*

Belly Pics, Week 38

2009-09-07T20:32:00.000-07:00

Wow! We're 38 weeks into the manufacturing of a ridiculously cute new human machine and by all scientific measures, we still have two weeks to go. Provided we're allowed to let Nature run the show, pull the curtain when she may, flood the stage and strike up the band (so to speak).

Hmmm... I hear them scratching their heads (a little more to the right) and wondering, "What the hell does that mean, Professor Daddy-pants? Weeks? I've always heard it takes nine months to cook a baby." Well, lemme 'splain: assuming each month has four weeks, we can divide four into 38; four times nine is 36, carry the two, drop a decimal and a zero, and it's 9.5. Right? Wait, are we over-due? Is his skin going to be all pruney and he'll be too tough to eat?

No, no, weary traveler, he'll be just fine. You see, it actually requires 40 weeks to ripen the human fruit on the vine, which is actually ten months. Most people don't realize they're preggers until the little fetus-fish has already been leaching off them for a full month. Then you have nine more to go, Sunshine!

Ok, science lesson done.
For all intents and purposes, we're done. That little Wolfenstein could come out any ol' time he chooses. Problem is, he's still chillin' sideways in the hammock and those mean-ass doctors won't let his brave momma attempt to push him out unless he flips a bit. So we will probably have to schedule a c-section, and we will probably have to choose a date tomorrow.
the pod-people cometh.

How does one choose a child's birthday?
That seems a bit absurd. But that's modern medicine for you. We're still hoping for and trying to instigate the final maneuver by: lying head down/hips up, playing music/speaking to the bottom of the belly (come to my voice, Wolfman!), and shining a bright flashlight down there (come to the light, Wolfman!). Hey, we've heard they've all worked for someone, somewhere down the line.
i'll see you on the dark side of the moon.

I've been wishing lately that I could share the burden a bit more in these final days. I mean, that would be completely awesome if Wolfie could live inside me for a bit!!! Couldn't we share? I want to feel those kicks & flutters, and hiccups and stretches and everything else he does. I'm a little jealous she has the monopoly on all that.

Hey! Song lyrics ~

~*~

Ooh, you make me live.
Whenever this world is cruel to me,
I've got you to help me forgive.
...
Ah, you're the best friend,
that I've ever had.
You know I'll never be lonely,
you're my only one,
and I really love
the things that you do!

Ah, you're my best friend.
(guitar squeals)
~*~
Queen ~ You're My Best Friend

look how that belly has grown!

love,
~jesse

Heads Up

2009-09-02T19:26:00.000-07:00

So, we're back from the hospital, post-version attempt, and Wolfie is still head-up. As it turns out, the baby and I are pelvis-in-pelvis, like a couple of those Russian stacking dolls, and we've begun to talk about the very real possibility of a c-section. As much as we've been preparing for and would like to have a natural childbirth and are still hoping that he'll change position on his own, our big goal is to have a happy, healthy Wolfie in our arms regardless of how he gets here. Sure, I have ideals, but I'm not going to be unrealistic either.

I didn't really know what to expect for the procedure today. I've read a lot about it how version works, but not much about the sensation. Most of the medical personnel I've talked with have described it with words like "uncomfortable" and "unpleasant." Minutes before the version took place, the doctor who performed it (with the assistance of our doctor) described it as "a controlled mugging." Yep, that was much more apt than "uncomfortable."

When we arrived at the hospital, I changed into one of those flattering open-in-the-back gowns with a tube top kinda thing around my belly that held the heart and contraction monitors in place. The nurse monitored Wolfie for about thirty minutes before the version to make sure that his heart rate increases normally with his activity, and it does. She also gave me a shot to relax my uterus. A resident then did a quick ultrasound to verify Wolfie's position for the doctors to determine which direction would be best to turn him.

The ultrasound showed that Wolfie's head and back were on my right side with his pelvis inside my pelvis and his legs and feet coming up on my left. After a few minutes of deliberation, the doctors decided to try to rotate him forward, somersault-style, and then they went to town. According to Jesse, it was a sight--four hands pushing *hard* to maneuver the baby. They were able to reposition him a little, his head reaching almost to my left side, but after two very effortful tries, they decided that his pelvis is pretty well lodged inside of mine. The version attempt only took about eight minutes, but--ouch--those were eight very intense minutes.

Afterward, the nurse began to monitor Wolfie again and gave me a second shot to further relax my uterus in order to prevent the onset of labor. The whole process lasted about 3.5-4 hours, and the three of us (Wolfie, Jesse, and I) are spent for the day. We've been in bed since 4:30pm or so, taking it easy, and this is where we're staying.

Though I wish it had worked, I'm just relieved that Wolfie is doing well. His brief stint in another position lasted only until we left the hospital, and he's back in his original spot now. But, you know, it's reassuring to feel him there, giving me little head bops and wiggles. Whatever it takes, Baby, we'll bring you home happy, healthy, and safe. I can't wait to meet you.

~ Adriana

"You're in the last three minutes of the Indy 500, and you're gonna win."

2009-09-01T15:06:00.000-07:00

Week 38:

Wolfie's lungs continue to mature and his brain and nerve functions are working better every day. The latter two will continue to mature until Baby is a teenager, at which point he'll know it all.
The baby's fingernails have grown over the fingertips now. I can't wait for that first nerve-wracking nail clipping experience. But, hey, we've had practice on more than one squirmy cat. I think we can handle it.
Tomorrow, we go in for a version. (Our appointment for Monday was rescheduled.) We're going to see if we can coax the baby into the head-down position. I wonder what will happen when, pointed in the right direction, he starts giving me those frequent little head bops he likes. I've got a feeling that delivery day is going to happen sooner than we expected. *squee*
Wolfie weighs almost 7 pounds and is around 19 or 20 inches long--about the length of a healthy green leek.

Belly Pics, Week 37

2009-08-31T09:35:00.000-07:00

Your bag is packed, sir.

2009-08-30T23:02:00.000-07:00

Just nine hours and one more sleepy-time until you get your first gymnastics lesson, Wolfmeister.

This has been a busy weekend, preparing for the possibility of your (slightly earlier than expected) arrival. We've cleaned and vacuumed out the car, but we forgot to install your car seat. I can do that on the fly. We got the grumpy cat groomed and had her nails done (just for you). And she got updated on her rabies shot and other vaccinations. So if she's foaming at the mouth when you get home, it's probably because she just ate some of your baby shampoo. And I started rearranging the basement.

Reiley and Haleigh today asked me where we were going to have your 5th birthday party. (?) I told them it was a little early to think about, so they asked me where we might have your first birthday party. "Probably at home," said Haleigh. "Yeah, that would be good," added Reiley. They're looking out for you, little brother.

Oh!!! We got our/your diapers on Saturday!
I'm gonna lay claim to a few of those because they're just so damn cute... ok, not really. I mean, they are really cute, but you can have them all. We'll post some pics tomorrow, barring an early delivery.

So the little flip you're supposed to do tomorrow has got your momma and me a little freaked out. We were sooo sure of ourselves last week and now we're second-guessing the procedure. But I do believe we need to give it a shot if we're to have our hoped-for natural birth. We want you to come when you're ready, Wolfie, but you have to be in the right position. Cooperate with us tomorrow and we'll leave you to your own devices after that.

Your coming home outfit is all packed (four of them actually, 'cause you never know), and we have blankets, hats and a couple of books. If you want to come home tomorrow, we're ready, and we would love to have you! Or, if you want to wait a while, that's cool, too.

Love,
~jesse.

Version aversion

2009-08-27T18:10:00.000-07:00

Today it's just 23 days until little Wolfie's due date.
Of course, he may come whenever he deems appropriate, but still,
we can't help but count down - days, hours, minutes... tic, tic, tic.

Monday we go to the hospital to have a procedure performed that's called "Version".
This is where a skilled set of hands will attempt to rotate the little Wolfman into the correct position for natural birth. Right now he's situated all sideways and head-up (known to those of us in the know as "transverse breech"). When i first heard about this technique (version) i thought they were calling it "aversion", as in, i would be horribly averse to someone placing their big, unfamiliar hands on the outside of my warm sleep-sack and forcing me to spin around and place my tender little head where my tiny toes had been previously so comfortable. What the hell?!? Ah, but it has to be done. Daddy came out ass first, little Wolfman, but you may not. Save your momma a little stress and cooperate with us on this. Ok? Ok.

Love,
~jesse.

Partay

2009-08-26T19:35:00.000-07:00

Just a couple of weekends ago, our families got together for Wolfie's baby shower. It was the second time *ever* that we've packed them into the same space. (The first time was for our wedding party. I brought name tags. It was a big hit.) So, while they're still getting a handle on each other's names and the relationships, they're pretty adept at the party mingle.

The best part about our family get-togethers isn't just that we get to watch these people who we've known our whole lives get to know one another; it's the inevitable force of tradition. In other words--Oh, yes--Jesse played baby shower games.
My favorite very serious, spooky-ookie man in black played silly baby shower games, and I have photos to prove it.

But because I love him so and wouldn't want to diminish his street cred, here are some other pics from the festivities:

(Jesse's fam)

(My father-in-law, who Jesse refers to as "Pappy")

(Our cutie pie niece, Sarah)

(My folks)

All kidding aside, the best part of the shower was hearing and seeing how excited everyone is to meet Wolfie. This baby is going to be born into a little world that is filled with love for him. Our families are so different in every way--politically, religiously, culturally, you name it--but they've really come together to welcome him, and we couldn't feel more fortunate.

And, of course, they came together to agree that the cake was delicious, too. I'd say we're off to a good start.

~ Adriana

Milestone Time: We're Full-Term!

2009-08-26T08:49:00.000-07:00

Week 37:

Huge news this week: Wolfie is full-term! That means that, if I were to go into labor today, all systems would be a go. Woohoo!

Baby's growth slows down dramatically this week, which is great news for my birth canal. His bones are still soft and pliable and will solidify after he's born. More great news for my birth canal.

So, if he's all cooked and ready to go, what is he still doing in there?! He's busy practicing for "life on the outside," working on his breathing, sucking, sleeping, gazing, and peeing abilities. The only thing he can't practice yet is his ability to scream at the top of his lungs, and we are so excited to hear his voice for the first time. Soon, baby, soon!

And I'm practicing, too--keep those Braxton-Hicks contractions rolling! I'm getting the hang of this.

At this point, babies vary a lot in size. Wolfie is somewhere between 19 and 20 inches long and around 6 pounds. He's about the size of an average largemouth bass.

Of chapters and pages, time and its changes.

2009-08-20T22:21:00.000-07:00

Recently I finished reading a book that I stumbled upon whilst Adriana and I were browsing a remarkable bookstore in Denver, CO. called The Tattered Page. It was by an author I had only heard of in passing, yet for some reason the title called to me as it sat there upon the shelf next to its siblings. I was tempted to purchase it even though I knew nothing of its author save what I had gleaned from the back covers of his other books, all neatly arranged in perfect chronological order.

~Week 35. The cover.~

We didn't take it with us that day, as we already had quite a pile of gems successfully mined from the depths of the bookstore's bargain basement, and we were flying home the next day, so I figured I would look it up at a later date. We were in Denver to see Leonard Cohen perform at the Red Rocks Amphitheater, but sadly the show was rained out and postponed until later in the week. We couldn't stay. We were heartbroken as that was to be our last traveling exploit before settling in to make our home more hospitable for Wolfgang's eminent arrival.

~Wrapped hands around you, though you're not yet ours.~

By happy chance I noticed the book upon my drummer's bookshelf during a recent visit to his house and he had nothing but praise for it. "Take it," he said, "you'll love it." I devoured it in a matter of days. It was an easy, but engaging and thought-provoking read. I can't shake some of its imagery or implied messages, nor do I think I want to. But I don't want to pick it up again. Nor do I think I need to. Story finished. Mission accomplished. Curiosity satisfied.

~We gaze with wonder at that which we cannot yet see.~

We're about to enter into an entirely new chapter in our little book of life. Such a remarkably different chapter from the previous ones that it may as well be its own book. We're more than excited to open the cover and begin devouring the story. We've been peeking ahead, guessing, wondering, anticipating how the story will unfold. Yet we don't want to know - not just yet. We want to be sucked in. We want to live every dotted "i", crossed "t" and carefully placed punctuation mark. We want very much to be present at every turn of a page, at every break in a sentence, at every indented new paragraph. We want to dog-ear our favorite pages and underline our favorite text. We want to leave our tear-stains on the sad parts and shake the pages with laughter throughout the joyful ones.

~Feel every moment, as if the blaring nothingness were just outside.~

Sadly, many people around us -- some strangers, some friends -- have a tendency to skip pages, to ignore whole chapters, and even sometimes to ignore their own book entirely in favor of other mindless distractions. It's a growth process, this life. It's a constant changing and evolving and sometimes you turn a page to find you are nothing at all like the poorly developed character who graced previous pages of your own book. Sometimes, as a result of that growth, you have to leave those other poorly (or differently) developed characters back in the chapters where they first came to light. And that's ok. That's how it should be. We have left many dog-eared pages in our wake and underlined countless passages in time, and we can find them again through our fond memories. But that's not where we live now. Life is change, and life is many chapters and occasionally many separate volumes of unconnected or disconnected stories.

I'm on the verge of a great change in my story, of which I've only spoken to one other - the one other character with whom I've chosen to complete this book, and of course, the one of whom the book is about. It's sad sometimes to finish a book, but when you've turned the last page and read the last line and passed that final piece of punctuation, you know it's time to put it down and move on. We're on the edge. We're there, holding it in our hands, yet knowing nothing of its contents but what we've imagined.

These photos were taken last week, at week 35 of our development.
This post was written on the eve of 30 days to our due date. It's so close...

Love,
~Jesse.

~*~
...
Well, I'm not the kind to live in the past
the years run too short, and the days too fast
The things you lean on are the things that don't last
well its just now and then, my line gets cast into these
time passages
There's something back there that you left behind
oh time passages
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight.

Hear the echoes and feel yourself starting to turn
Don't know why you should feel
that there's something to learn
it's just a game that you play.

...
I know you're in there, you're just out of sight,
oh time passages
buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight.

excerpts from "Time Passages", by Al Stewart
~*~

Bigger Than a Breadbox

2009-08-18T14:52:00.000-07:00

Week 36:

Wolfie continues to put on weight at about ½ pound each week. This layer of fat will help him to regulate his body temperature after leaving the climate-controlled womb. In fact, he'll have about 15 percent fat at birth (as for me . . . well, that's another story).

His gums are firm with ridges that look somewhat like teeth, though his actual pearly whites won't start breaking through until he's between three months and a year old.

Baby has definite patterns of sleep and wakefulness, opening his eyes while awake and closing them while sleeping. He even becomes alert and turns his head toward light and sound just as a newborn would. As tempting as the flashlight game is, we're refraining from bugging him.

Wolfie is now anywhere from 18-20 inches long and nearly 6 pounds--just about as big as a breadbox! He'd pretty much rock that old gameshow "What's My Line?" these days.

As for his ETA, it's anybody's guess. Word around the doctor's office is that, if my fluid levels don't increase (or if they decrease), we might be induced. So, I raise my extra tall glass(es) of water to the Wolfman for being patient and waiting for the right time--just a couple more weeks to go until we're full-term, Baby! Let's see how close we can get to the due date.

the dry season

2009-08-18T00:22:00.000-07:00

Listening to the weather robot on my little alarm clock radio every morning has given me a few catch phrases that are only funny to the Wolfmother and I. Tooele sounds like "doo-illa" (fast), and Las Vegas like "lost angus". He also gives the daily moisture update for Southern Utah by listing popular hiking destinations then calling out their status: Zion National Park - dry. San Rafael Swell - dry. But it's the way he says "dry" that's so funny. It's quick and it's forceful and deliberate with just a slight hang on the long "i" sound, as if his singularly hinged, one-piece metal chin/lower lip got stuck for a moment at the bottom of the word.

I hear his voice now, as the ultrasound tech scans those little pockets of fluid in the Wolfwomb: Lower quadrant - dry. Upper left pocket - dry. And so on. Well, it's not really dry, but the fluid is still quite low for a 35-week bubble of development. Today's measurement was 6.7 cm, just .10 cm higher than the first test that brought us to this twice-a-week testing of the baby-heart, the kicks and flutters and the contractions. Last week we thought we were in the clear, with a Monday measurement of 9.2 and a Thursday reading of 9.6. So why the 3 cm drop, little Wolfman? I know, you don't have any control over that, really. Problems we should be watching for are decreased movement, non-fluctuating heart rates, and possible kidney malfunction. But you punch, kick and wiggle like a ninja, your little heart races and decelerates like an Italian sports car, and the ultrasound tech took a good, hard look at those tiny kidneys of yours and they appear to be fine. Just fine. Still, we'll have to wait until Wednesday morning to see the Dr. and get the official reading. For now your Momma is staying home tomorrow to rest and drink a small lake's worth of water.

Be well, be cushioned lightly, and rest up, son. Just two more weeks and the levels are ok to be low. Just four more weeks and it won't matter anymore - you'll be swaddled in one million soft blankets and covered with a bazillion kisses.

Love,
~jesse.

Squeeze that bag o' tricks!

2009-08-12T20:24:00.000-07:00

Intense Braxton-Hicks contractions came in for a day-long visit today. They began this morning as we were getting ready for work. They're lasting about 1:30 and occurring every 8-12 min. Our doctor sent Adriana home to rest. We've been tracking them with a contraction tracker app. I found for my new phone. Yaay, Smart Phones!!!

Hold up there little Wolfman! You've got just a few more weeks of cooking ahead, Speedy.
I know I said we were ready, but you've still got some work to do. You need to clean up your room down there before you set out on any new adventures.

Actually, Doc. said not to worry, but definitely to take it easy, drink lots of water, and rest.

Amazing Baby Tricks

2009-08-10T15:22:00.000-07:00

Week 35:

Most of Wolfie's development is going to packing on the pounds. And he may do that long-awaited somersault any day now—the one that puts him into the head-down position for birth. But as of today, he's still comfortably transverse. We can be patient.
In utero real estate is pretty limited these days. So, if you put a hand to my belly, you'll feel the baby wiggling, stretching, and rolling--in other words, he's not doing a whole lotta roundhouse kicks right now.
His liver has begun processing his waste products, so we'll know which organ to thank when he has his first blowout up the back of his onesie. (Awwww/ewwww.)
Baby's nails are growing so well that they may curl over the tips of his tiny fingers and toes before he's born. If so, a manicure and pedicure will be at the top of his "Just Born To Do" list. There's no shame in a little pampering, Wolfman.
Wolfie is now about 5½ pounds and over 18 inches long--about as hefty as a honeydew.

In other news, we had a non-stress test and sonograph this morning to measure Wolfie's heart rate, reactivity, and amniotic fluid levels. He rocked the NST, wiggling around to the beat of a healthily increased heart rate. And the sonograph went well, too. The tech said that she wasn't sure how accurate the reading was, but that we're at 10 cm (up from last Wednesday's 6.3 cm). It sounds like the extra 20 or so ounces of water and plenty of rest are doing the trick!

And the cookies help, too--for comfort. Thanks, Jesse!

with a circus mind that's running round

2009-08-09T20:34:00.000-07:00

It's week 34 and that belly just keeps going, and going....

The space is limited, the time is getting short, and the kicks and flutters have been relegated to constrained stretches and chronic hiccups.

Mama's happy and healthy, but she's tired more now, and gets there more quickly than before. I cook for her most every night to ensure you both get all the protein, vitamins, minerals and other magical ingredients that you both require. Occasionally we'll still go out and let someone else make a messy kitchen and clean the dishes, but it never seems to be as delectable as the goods from our own. We've been talking a lot lately about the crucial ingredient to good cooking: Love. You can't quantify it, measure it, bottle it, store it, sprinkle it or marinate in it, but you know when it's not there. You can taste its absence. Your body knows. You're a little foodie, Wolfman, always letting us know when you like something Momma's just sent down the pike (and it's rare that you don't like something) by giving us a wiggle or a little punch. That's love, baby. Got you all wrapped up in it.

~*~
Well she’s walking through the clouds

with a circus mind that's running round
Butterflies and zebras and moonbeams and fairy tales
that’s all she ever thinks about
Riding with the wind.

When I’m sad, she comes to me
with a thousand smiles, she gives to me free
It’s alright, she says, its alright
Take anything you want from me, anything
Anything.

Fly on little wing,
Yeah yeah, yeah, little wing
~*~

"Little Wing" ~ Jimi Hendrix

*only 40 more days until your expected arrival, little Wolfman*

We're making the final preparations, checking off old lists and making new ones, gathering, sorting and arranging your wardrobe, purchasing fabric for the special, unique little diapers we're having made for you, and wondering what fantastically important items we've forgotten...

We're ready.
There may be a few loose items not yet acquired, but nothing that can't be resolved with a credit card and a quick trip to the store. Your crib is right there, not twenty feet away, and you're right here already. Always with us. We have the most important ingredient you'll ever need, and you'll never run short - I promise.

Love,
~jesse.

In Threes

2009-08-07T12:42:00.000-07:00

Wolfie's third ultrasound, taken at 33 weeks and 3 days (i.e. the third trimester), in three pics:

Ever the yoga master, Wolfie's feet are waaaaaaay up beside his head. In this shot, you can kinda see him clutching at one of those feet with his hands.

Here he is mid-wiggle, so it's a little blurry. You might not be able to make out many details, but if you look closely, you can see his face, one of his hands, and maybe a foot, too.

And this one--my favorite!--shows him with his hand next to his mouth. We think it looks like he's sucking his thumb. :) Oh boy, it's primo real estate in the womb these days, and Wolfie appears to be getting a bit squished. Hang on, Wolfman! Just a few more weeks and you can have a nice long stretch.

In addition to seeing how cute Wolfie is, here are some other things we learned during his ultrasound:

Wolfie is breech. Since it's still early, we're not too worried. He's got time to turn around into the head-down position. But if he doesn't, we might have a C-section.
He's got hair! It may be part lanugo, but it looks like he's definitely not a baldy. Ahhh, luxurious baby hair.
He weighs about five pounds. See? He is following along in his textbook.
The amniotic fluid is kinda low--but not scary-low, the doctor assured me. We'll be going in for non-stress tests twice a week for the next three weeks to make sure that he's happy and healthy. I was drinking about 80 ounces a water a day prior to the ultrasound, and now I'm trying to exceed 100 ounces. Don't you worry, Wolfman--I'll get that water level up! If we don't, there's talk about having to induce around Week 36 or Week 37 . . . we shall see. In the meantime, Jesse and I are picking up the last few items on our "To Buy Before Wolfie Is Born" list. But really--any excuse to go shopping for baby gear is good enough for us!

The ultrasound tech was so fast--can you tell?--that I'm *really* tempted to get one of those 3d/4d ultrasounds. Hmmm . . .

Soap Box (a.k.a. The Longest, Ranty-est Post Ever)

2009-08-03T09:29:00.001-07:00

There are a few (okay, many) things that have surprised us so far about our pregnancy experience.

The first one--the big one--is how great it is. Wolfie is a pretty textbook baby. It's like he's got a copy of What to Expect in there, and he's reading ahead each week, saying to himself, "Okay, so, that's what I'm going to do next. Gotcha." He's got the timing down on the milestones especially. For example, my morning sickness subsided the very first week of the second trimester. And I never puked once! I first felt him kick at Week 18, which is right around the time (18-20 weeks) that you're supposed to. Most importantly, all of his tests have had perfect results. And I'm measuring *exactly* what I'm supposed to be measuring each week. He's amazing and healthy and happy. We couldn't ask for a better pregnancy.

I feel great, too. This is probably the healthiest I've ever been. I work out regularly; I have a nutritious diet; I sleep well.
Pregnancy feels so good.
Plus, Jesse and I have found a lot of reliable pregnancy resources, so we're just taking it all in and enjoying it, every kick and flutter.

Equally surprising is how other people respond to our pregnancy.
We have a stellar network of friends and family. The most important people in our life are supportive, thoughtful, and more than generous. We've been given so much baby gear and countless gifts of clothes. My mom has even offered us free childcare. (Can you believe it?) I feel like we're the most fortunate people on the planet.

It's that tiny .1% of "other people" who turn me into a ferocious mama lion. Like all parents-to-be, we get a lot of unsolicited advice and feedback. And whether or not we anticipate it, it's always a little surprising.

"Will you be dressing the baby in black, too?"

"Cloth diapers? Are you crazy?"

"Are you going to raise him vegan?"

"Natural childbirth, huh? Riiiiiight."

"You're not really naming him Wolfgang, are you?" (Usually followed by an "Oh, how . . . interesting."

So, I just want to lay it all out and give some official answers.
In order:
No, no, no, yes, yes.
Now, back off.

I kid . . . well, sort of.

No, we're not going to dress the baby in black every day.
As of right now, Wolfie's duckling-print clothes far outnumber anything with even a hint of black. Not that we'd turn down the occasional black novelty onesie--we've even got a few in our Amazon registry. But overall--thanks, but no thanks. The baby is not an extension of us. And by recognizing that I think we're, at least, a couple miles head of other parents and expecting parents.

So, Wolfie is going to rock the color spectrum. Is there any other time in your life when you can wear candy-striped pants or even a monkey costume as everyday casual wear and have people tell you how cute you are ? Go babyhood!

Yes, we're going to use cloth diapers. And, no, it's not crazy; it's responsible. Here are a handful of reasons (thank you, Ananda) why we're choosing cloth:

Disposable diapers are packed with chemicals. One of those nasties, sodium polyacrylate, is the chemical that's responsible for liquid absorption. It's also responsible for causing Toxic Shock Syndrome in women. So, while it's been removed from tampons and researchers are still unclear about its long-term effects on babies, there's no plan in sight for removing it from disposable diapers. Disposable diapers also contain dioxin--the most toxic of all cancer-linked chemicals, according to the EPA.
There's a link between disposable diapers and asthma. Bronchial irritants, such as tolune, xylene, ethylbenzene, styrene, and isopropylbenzene are among the chemicals commonly found in diaper emissions. Check out the October 1999 issue of Archives in Environmental Health for a study about mice who were exposed to disposables and their subsequent brochoconstriction--and that's regardless of the size of the space that the mice were housed in when exposed.
How about environmental impact? I'm not going to get all crazed academic here and pull out a bibliography of my peer-reviewed sources. I recognize that both cloth and disposables have their flaws as far as the environment is concerned. But, come on, we both know that if a child uses 6,000 disposables (as compared to 50 cloth diapers) before he becomes potty trained, that's got to have a profound impact on our landfills.
Disposable diapers are also linked to diaper rash. Think about it. You and the baby both know when a cloth diaper is wet, so you change it. The baby wants you to change it! Not so with disposable diapers, thanks to those absorbent chemicals. Baby might not even realize that he's wet and stew in it for a while before he gets changed.

No, Wolfie is not going to be vegan.
Like I said, we're not Wolfie, and Wolfie is not us. Everybody knows (or should know) that babies have different dietary needs than adults because they're not fully developed beings. We made the choice to become vegan as adults, and we recognize that it's a bit of a grown-up, first-world luxury. We also know that it's very possible to feed the baby a well-balanced vegetarian diet that does meet all of his nutritional needs--we've even asked our OB/pediatrician--especially when that baby is being breast-fed for the first couple of years. If Wolfie decides to eat animal products when he's old enough to do his own research, we're not going to chastise him for it. He'll always be our super-brilliant baby.

Yes, as dirty hippie as it may seem, we want to have a natural childbirth.
No interference from drugs, no interventions (if possible), no clouding the baby's coherency or mine, and no unnecessary health risks.

We're aware that something like 95% of pregnant women have epidurals, and that the majority of those women have positive experiences in near-painless labor. We also know that natural childbirth is going to be a painful process. Believe me, I get the logistics. I'll even admit that, initially, I was pretty hell-bent on getting an epidural. (I think I said that I'd fistfight anybody who stood in my way of one.) But then I started researching, weighing the benefits and the risks, thinking about how I'd like the labor and delivery to go, and I decided not to. I really, truly don't care how other people have done it or how they plan to do it. It's a personal decision. And if, in the end, I decide that I do need an epidural, I'm not going to consider myself a failure for it. I'm just going to try my best to avoid drugs. We're not judging anyone else's decisions, so no need to get all butt-hurt.

Hell yes, we're naming the baby Wolfgang.
And just wait until we reveal his middle name!

----------------------------------
Ahhhhhhh . . .
Thanks for letting me vent, readers.
You're just racking up the awesome points.

I hope you don't mind a little fur in your cream cheese.

2009-08-03T08:23:00.000-07:00

Week 34:

Wolfie kind of looks like he's coated in a layer of cream cheese these days. The thick, white substance that protects his skin from pruning in the amniotic fluid is called vernix. When he's born we'll probably find some vernix lingering in his nooks and crevices--those hard-to-reach places, like under his arms and behind his ears. Jesse's gonna lick him clean. ;)

The soft fur, lanugo, that covered Baby's body for much of his stay in the womb is now almost completely gone, and he's shedding like a kitten. He's going to fit right in at our place.

Now, this is a big, huge accomplishment: the baby has begun to develop his own immune system, instead of relying solely on antibodies he receives through the placenta. This will come in handy if some grubby relative attempts to manhandle the baby without washing his/her hands first.

Important Note: Listen up, Grubby Relatives and Friends: I don't care how germophobe I might seem-- you *will* wash your hands before holding the baby. There. I've said it. Glad we got that outta the way.

Notice anything different about the pic this week? a: Baby's head-down. We don't know if Wolfie's actually in this position just yet, but we'll find out on Wednesday when we go in for an ultrasound. (Yay!) Last week, he was horizontal--head on my right side, feet on my left. But you never can tell. This baby is a wiggler. And if he's still following along in his pregnancy textbook, he might wait until Week 37.

This week, Wolfie measures almost 18 inches and weighs about 5 pounds. Kinda like a bag of sugar.

Let it roll, Baby, roll!

2009-08-01T15:07:00.000-07:00

After months of heated, heavily-researched deliberation -- comparing features, accessories, colors, stock weights and measures, wheel circumference, suspension tolerance, seat fabric options, consumer ratings, and as an aside, price -- we finally busted out the plastic and committed our little Wolfman to a rad set of wheels.

*cue gameshow announcer voice*
"A NEW CAR!!!"
Well, sort of.

Ok, so not exactly a car. This one actually has eight wheels.
Stock horsepower rating on this fine piece of engineering is two sets of vegan-powered legs. Comes standard with a single cup holder (sorry, Momma, you're just gonna hafta palm that damn bubble tea), accessory pocket (perfect for storing all those pretty little rocks we'll find on our rolling adventures), sun canopy with peek-a-boo mesh window (for spying on a sleeping Wolfman), and more-than-adequate storage basket below. This beauty has a full reclining Captain's seat to facilitate fine napping and a five-point harness straight off the race track, perfectly designed to keep chubby little legs from slipping down.

This is the "Wasabi" model. We like green these days.
"Wolfie,
you have the bridge."

We've still got our hyper-active, adventurous little hearts set on a Bob Revolution for hardcore urban hiking (and the occasional mountain trail) and a Burley D'Lite trailer for bikey-time (oh, yes!). But Wolfie needs to be at least six months old for the Bob and a year for the Burley, so we've got a while to save up pennies for filling up the garage (kidding, we don't really have a garage - that's so... suburban *ick*).

So now we're all set to seek out new bargains at the farmers market and to boldly roll where no Wolfman has rolled before! wheee-oooh, dee doo doo da da.

~*~
You gotta roll, roll, roll
You gotta thrill my soul, all right
Roll, roll, roll, roll
To thrill my soul
You gotta beepa concha too chomp
Ko ko ko kah don-ta
Ate japoona may-jah
Bop a lula he-cho
Bop a mee-cho
He some funk, hey ride!
...
The future's uncertain, and the end is always near.
~*~

Rock (roll) on,
~jesse.

Finishing Touches

2009-08-01T14:49:00.000-07:00

Jeana came by last Sunday to put the finishing touches on Wolfie's banner.

I'm pretty sure that this baby has the sweetest nursery ever.
Not even being hyperbolic.

And here' a close-up.
The dry paint adds so much texture and depth to the scene.

As for other finishing touches, we're slowly accumulating some spooky-ooky decor. We couldn't resist this plush baby bat for our little baby bat. (Found at Sleepy King's Etsy store. You should totally check it out and buy one of everything.)

Belly Pics, Week 33

2009-08-01T14:36:00.000-07:00

Haleigh decided to join me this week for the picture-taking extravaganza.

When Jesse started, she sidled up to me, hands on hips, and asked,
"Why are we standing like this?"
Then she noticed the camera, and the hamming it up began.

(she doesn't always make that face)

This is how she typically greets Wolfie--with a dinosaur growl.
*raaaaawr*
She hopes that he'll growl when he comes out of the womb.
Just like she did.

RAAWWRRR!!!

We like to compare bellies and pull tough faces.
'Cos we're hardcore like that.

Ah, the classic belly pic pose.
You can't see Hades in this one, but she's sitting behind the partial wall, trying to make me laugh. As a result, we have a lot of photos in this pose with a blurry, blonde head poking around the corner.

It's comparison time!
Check out this shot from waaaay back in week 21. Man, that Wolfenheimer has grown!

Moving furniture

2009-07-28T22:55:00.000-07:00

Shhh... your Momma's sleeping. I've got the old-school headphones on, listening to Joy Division and wondering how you're doing. If you decide to play drums when you get bigger, please listen to these guys, and Siouxsie too. I like the sound of the old headphones because they were made about the same time as this music (1980) so they play it back the way the artists intended, and people made things better back then. They cared more. Things were made to last - like the music. I hope your generation will wake up to the importance of legitimate art and make it with care, passion and love. Don't take that lightly.

Before your Momma crashed you were putting some major moves on down there, in your little belly condo. I wonder what it feels like, to have a little life-force growing, stretching, hiccuping, and tossing things around inside your guts... Well, it seemed you were really moving the furniture around tonight. I could feel you from the outside, squirming and rolling, repositioning yourself. When you were done it seemed your head was on the other side. Until now you have been resting with your head on your Momma's right side, feet down. Tonight you rolled over. Or moved a couch to the other side of the room, or something. Her belly's all lopsided in the other direction now, with a big bulge on the left side. That feels like your head. "Hi, baby!" We rub you through the skin - or as your Momma likes to say, we "polish your little head." I wonder what inspired you to make such a bold and sizable move. Were you horribly uncomfortable? Or did you just feel the need for something new?

~*~

Instincts that can still betray us,
A journey that leads to the sun,
Soulless and bent on destruction,
A struggle between right and wrong.
You take my place in the showdown,
I'll observe with a pitiful eye,
I'll humbly ask for forgiveness,
A request well beyond you and I.

Heart and soul, one will burn.
...
Existence well what does it matter?
I exist on the best terms I can.
The past is now part of my future,
The present is well out of hand.

Heart and soul, one will burn.

-excerpts from "Heart and Soul", by Joy Division
~*~

I hope you're quite comfortable now, little Wolfman.

This week we acquired a silly looking stuffed toy bat for you and (how could we resist?) a little skeleton Halloween costume-onesie. Yes, you will be a handsomely dressed little fellow. This morning I read to you some Edgar Allen Poe, The Tell-Tale Heart (or, in the crappy Utah accent, the Tel Tel Heart) and this afternoon your Momma read to you from a book of classic fairy tales we purchased for you last week. We just can't wait to fill your little polished head with literary and musical goodness!

Love,
~jesse.

Like my "O" face, but further down the alphabet.

2009-07-28T18:04:00.000-07:00

Ha! I had almost forgotten about this pic.

Jesse was on a photo-taking roll a couple of weeks ago and thought it would be funny to capture my Uh-oh-I've-gotta-pee! face one morning (post-20 ounce bottle of water). He finds my bathroom habits pretty amusing these days.

"Don't make me laugh, or I'm gonna piddle!"

Crass, I know. But when we say "candor," we really mean it.

Those, by the way, are the famous let's-make-your-pants-into-shorts shorts that he wrote about. Go on--covet my DIY lounge wear.

Who's got two thumbs, has a healthy set of lungs, and is about as big as a full-grown duck?

2009-07-28T09:05:00.000-07:00

Week 33:

The big news this week is lung development--Wolfie's respiratory system is almost completely mature. That means that, if he were born this week, odds are that he'd be a healthy, bouncing baby with a just a little help from his friends (a.k.a. the NICU). But listen up, Wolfie--we'd prefer that you keep cookin' in there for, at least, a few more weeks . . . let's say seven. :)

The baby can now detect light and tell the difference between night and day. New and super-amazing baby skill: his pupils constrict and dilate in response to light.

The bones in his skull are soft and are not yet fused together. This pliability allows the bones to overlap, making that trip down the tight birth canal possible. Ever see a brand new baby who's sporting that surprising conehead look? Well, that's why. Thank goodness we have a stockpile of cute hats (hats with ears). :)

Wolfie now weighs about 4½ pounds and is approximately 17.5 inches long. He's proportioned kinda like a pineapple, though much more handsome and cuddlier. He'll continue to pack on the pounds, gaining around ½ pound a week from here on out and so will I!

We're rockin' the Braxton-Hicks contractions these days. But not to worry, they've been completely painless. We're just practicing for the big day. Only 53 days to go!

Week 32 - the round and stripey.

2009-07-23T06:47:00.000-07:00

...apb: The suspect is female, around five-seven and wearing stripes. Distinguishing features: rather round in the middle...

"what'ryoulookinat?"

It's another photo night, and we're tired, sleepy, and done with this heat. It seems summer finally decided to land as the car thermometer read 103 degrees. Why the long sleeves? It's cold in the library. You have to keep those books well-chilled, or else they go bad.

Yesterday there was a total eclipse of the sun (cue the Bonnie Tyler...), though it was not visible from our little part of the world. It could only be seen from most of eastern Asia, Indonesia and a small track through the Pacific Ocean. (http://eclipse.gsfc.nasa.gov/SEmono/TSE2009/TSE2009.html)
As usual, the mystics predicted mild chaos and possibly the resurrection of a few long-forgotten gods who may or may not completely stomp out humanity.
~ Sadly (i mean, Happily), none of this happened. It was, in fact, a rather uneventful day for those lucky enough to be in its path.

So in honor of the quietly disappearing sun , and to thank those sleeping gods for remaining in quiet obscurity, we present to you Solisequious Bellyous Maximus!!!

Ta Da!!!
(cue the angelic choir)
“Oh man! There is no planet sun or star could hold you, if you but knew what you are.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson

She's a happy momma, and it's been a pleasant and fantastic journey so far! We feel him wiggling around in there, kicking and punching and battling the hiccup monster. I marvel every day at the changes and the magic that's happening right under my finger tips.

Love, cookies, sunshine and stripes,
~jesse.

Due Date Update

2009-07-22T13:53:00.000-07:00

We've officially confirmed it: Wolfie's estimated due date is September 20th.
Emphasis on the "estimated" part.

So, here's the story ('cos there's always a story with us):

Yesterday, we were hanging out with our obstetrician, Dr. Jackson, having an awesome prenatal check-up when it came time to wrap things up. She said something like, "Everything looks great, you're almost [pause for counting] . . . 32 weeks along, so I'll see you in two weeks!" and stood up to leave.

Jesse and I exchanged one of those okay-now-we're-really-confused glances.
I think he actually replied to the doctor with a "Huh?"
And I immediately launched into a little bit of the "But the ultrasound tech said blah blah blah . . . " (like it's possible to negotiate this kind of thing).

Dr. Jackson sat back down and explained to us that the first trimester ultrasound generally provides the closest-to-accurate guess on the due date because the tech can identify some pretty distinctive physical characteristics that help her to discern where the baby is in his development. On the other hand, ultrasounds that take place in the second and third trimesters are a little trickier. Once babies begin to look like babies, they just defy you to try to guess their ages.

The whole measuring-in-weeks-versus-months thing is also slippery, she said.

Wolfie is due on September 20th. (*we nod*)
Today it is July 23rd. (*we nod*)
That means that we're a little less than two months away from his due date, right? (*we nod*)
Not so fast!
Now, take a look at it from this direction:
It's 58 days until September 20. (*nod*)
And that's another way of saying eight weeks plus 2 days. (*nod*)
. . . i.e. just over two months. (ummm)

See?

Now, you get it. (*shake heads "no"*)

Anyhow, long story short, September 20th is the big day . . . give or take two weeks.
I hope Wolfie is punctual.

~ Adriana

The Origin of Love

2009-07-21T21:29:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about my belly button lately.

Here is this artifact from a time when my mom and I shared the same life force, the same nutrients, the same oxygen, a time when her body was my entire world. As someone who's not a believer, I'm reluctant to use the word "miraculous," but there's something really sacred and spiritually pure about pregnancy. Lately, when I look at my mom, I think, "Here is this person who I've loved for my whole life, and--to think--she used to carry me inside of her body."

It makes me a little sad to think of how distinctly separate we are now and how much distance there is, in general, between people who love each other. I imagine that mothers feel it most acutely. It's difficult to communicate the fierce kind of love that you feel for a child who you haven't yet met. But pregnancy is easily the most intense emotional and physical experience I've ever had.

I wonder if the physical union between mother and child inspired Plato's story about soul mates in Symposium. Think about it this way--sex and pregnancy are the only experiences we have that allow us to inhabit another person's body. So many of the same components fusing together--love and body and blood and pain and union and creation--and the synthesis can only be one experience or another. I don't mean to get all creepy, D.H. Lawrence-y on you there . . . just some thoughts rolling around in my head.

~ Adriana

Kicks + Flutters

Nummers

Counting

Parent Shaming

A Day in the Life

A Day With Mama

Show and Tell

Messy: A Brief Photographic Essay on Dinnertime

Snapshot

Mistakes . . . I've Made a Few

Bedtime Story

Hammy

Firsts and Lasts

I've watched this video, like, 500 times.

Mouthy

My Dance Card Is Full

*Rawr*

Actual Words

Wolfman Walkman

Happy Halloween!

Bite Me

Say "Agua"

This is the way we read our books.

It's Mama !. . . oh, no. It's just daddy.

Awesome Baby Tricks

Soothe the Angry Mama-beast

A Natural Beauty

Then and Now

I believe it's pronounced, "yogging".

Beautiful Boy

King for a Day: Year One

The Big Day Approaches

Bike!

Mamamamamamamama

Big guy

What's so funny?

Battle of the Wills

Milestone Time!

"It’s a new kind of manly."

Not Nannies

A Little Tenderness

Amazing Little Changes

I Saw The Sign

Social Networking for the Modern Mama: A Story with a Happy Ending

A Wild Wolfie in His Natural Habitat

Milestone

Congratulations, Little Wolfman!

Not-so-lazy Sunday

I could watch this forever.

Plush ladybug costumes: Every little boy needs one.

Wolfie would like to offer you a glass of sham-pahn-yah.

Mother's Day

The Big Sister

Baby Bat

I scream, you scream, we don't ALL scream for ice cream.

Half-Birthday

Take a breath...

21 Comments

Cracking the Baby Code

Milestone!

The Family Bed

Upward, Outward, and Onward

Milestone!

Here come the Teeth!

Milestone!

New Word!

New Old House and an Official Infant

Leaving 2009, hello January!

Separation Anxiety

the Growing

domesticity

One Month!

Birthday

A little cloth goes a long way...

Fuzzy Bun

Belly Pics, Week 38

Heads Up

"You're in the last three minutes of the Indy 500, and you're gonna win."

Belly Pics, Week 37

Your bag is packed, sir.

Rawr