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Archive for the ‘New Babyness’ Category

Crafty

Thordora made a beautiful blankie for my son, who doesn’t want to share the spotlight with it:

Well, maybe he’ll pose if he gets to rub it a bit:

My Lucy is crafty too.  She designs necklaces:

This is the one she designed for me:

Me?  I don’t make anything but milk and a mess.

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There are two little blue-turning-brown eyes staring at me from a bouncy chair. Two little fists pump and two legs kick in an attempt to get my attention. But I shall be strong! I won’t give in to the pressure to look over because if I do…

GONE! No more drinking coffee, computer time-wasting, sitting alone.

Actually, it’s not nearly as dire as all that, although we are just coming out of a super-clingy time. And Chico does try desperately to get me to glue to him. And I do need my time in the morning, especially since we’re still nursing constantly and need to stand up to burp and Lucy is back in the bedroom with us on an air mattress next to my side of the bed that barely fits and I have to edge my way out of the bedroom like a giant, sleepy, cranky crab.

*breathes*

It’s just a phase, though, because much like his sister*, all of this random neediness is the big, doughy bread on either side of a laugh-sandwich. Which for those of you who speak ‘English’ means he laughed for the first time on Thursday night. huh-huh-heh. It was very cute, especially since he had the common decency to laugh for me when nobody else was around. See, I’ve been hanging over him like a fool making all manner of strange noise and funny face in an effort to coax out that giggle. And I’ve been certain that he would bust out laughing for Daddy, because he hasn’t been nearly as pressure-rific. But my boy knows better, and I am one happy Mama!

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Lucy and I spent some time yesterday organizing our existing beads by color. It was so freaking much fun. Which I know is terribly dorky of me to be so into something so nudgy, but I find sorting to be rather soothing. So does Lucy. Can’t wait for new beads! Cannot.Wait.

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I need to figure out what we’re going to plant this summer and how. I’m toying with the idea of getting a couple of self-watering containers and trying to do a bunch of greens. We’re definitely going to do some herbs again, and the tomatoes, and maybe peppers as well. What else grows well in containers and isn’t ridiculously difficult for a gardening neophyte?

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It feels like forever since I’ve written something without all of these damn asterisks. My brain is working mostly in clumps these days, but it feels like it’s transitioning back to proper paragraphs. I spent much of yesterday standing in the living room looking vaguely panicked, wondering which of the zillion things I had thought about wanting to do while glued to baby I should actually start. My husband kindly suggested writing and I almost popped him one because, hello? But he’s right, even though I did anything but write yesterday.

*ETA–what I meant here is ‘much like when his sister was a baby, these periods of neediness are indicative of a new behavior or stage of development.  Jesus, remember back when I made sense when I wrote?

Me neither.

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Tee hee hee.

I’m being all high-impact today and taking a car service into my appointment with my midwife.  It was either that or leave Chico with C and have him back on formula for the afternoon, and I opted for the gas impact.  Plus he screams bloody murder whenever The Milk Faucets leave the premises so it just seems easier.

Is it terrible that I’m completely freaked out about taking him on the subway?  So much so that I can’t even try it out yet?  I was going to pouch him, but then where would I put him during my exam?  I don’t know how people do it.  I didn’t take Lucy alone on the subway between her outgrowing the baby carrier and last summer.  I’m such a fraidy-cat about stuff like that.  Anyway, I’ll come up with some way to offset the gasoline usage.

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I mean, I know it’s frigid outside, but it’s so gloriously sunny that it’s put me right in a cheery mood.  No small feat considering that I was awakened by a howling Chico and a Lucy trying to sing over the howls.  It was loud enough (and extended enough) that C got out of bed to see if I needed help.

Gas.  Bastard gas.  In a child who is placid and sedate 90 % of the time but who, when upset, will give you what-for like a pro.   After walking, rocking, dancing and sitting, the teensiest burp came out.  And we’ve been fine ever since.

Sometimes I look down at him and am amazed at how this little mewling creature will grow into a boy and then a man.  And then I look at my Lucy and marvel at how little she used to be, how helpless and dependent on me.  These are the times that the emotions of motherhood overwhelm me, make me wonder how I will handle both of them growing up, growing old, needing me less and less.

Meanwhile, back in grown-up land, I don’t wanna be an eco-mom.  I applaud the efforts, but seriously, this smacks of another way to lord oneself over one’s fellow moms.  And that is the last thing anyone needs.

I sometimes stop myself here when I start to write about stuff I’m doing to reduce impact.  It often feels like I’m all ‘look what I’m doing, admire me’ when I mostly want to chronicle the changes we’re making as a household (I do like admiration and I am proud of what we’ve done so it is a bit of bragging.)  When it comes down to it, though, I do things like cloth diapering and turning the heat off because it makes me feel like I’m making a difference.  Because I believe it makes a difference.  And because a lot of the things we do to reduce impact are really freaking easy and I want other people to know how easy they are.

And I try to write about the downfalls.  Like my shopping.  I like to buy things and, quite honestly, I buy far more stuff than I like to admit so it’s important to be open about that.

Or trash.  We were eating a lot of take-out for a few months and, hell, we got rid of a mattress and box spring and a couch this past year.  I didn’t keep up with the worm bin for a few months so more food scraps went into the trash than I would like.

It would be so nice of we could all just live the way we think is right without worrying about what category we fall into.

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Today Chico and I dressed in our Valentine’s Day finest and headed to hell  Gymboree for a parents’ meetup deal.

There was singing and mat activities.  Chico nursed.

There was parachute swinging and more singing.  Chico nursed.

There was baby massage.  Chico nursed.

There were snacks and drinks so that we could all mingle.  Chico fell asleep.

Sigh.

I am the most socially awkward person in Queens, and this awkwardness is compounded by having a baby hanging off of my tit.  For an hour.  Not to mention how hard it is, over the din of inane Gymboree songs, that it’s ‘Francis With An I’ and ‘she’ is a ‘he’.  Did I mention inane Gymboree songs?  I know it’s supposed to be for the kids and all, but there’s something about the earnestness with which the 20-something drama students belt out Gymbo’s greatest hits as though they are auditioning for Broadway that makes me really, really uncomfortable.

I’ll probably give it another go next week, though.  Because at least I didn’t flash anyone like I did the food delivery guy last week.

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Lucy came home with a handful of Valentines today (there was no formal card swap.)  One of them, from a little boy in her class was signed, ‘I love you.’

I thought I had a few more years before this sort of thing started happening 😛

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C is headed out to play the gee-tar like some damn rock star or something 😉

For my part, I have chocolate donuts and there’s a new episode of Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares on.  Seeing as how Valentine’s Day is the lamest holiday ever, these plans suit me just fine.

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I’m a bit of a hoarder.  I don’t mean to be; I just hate getting rid of things that may be useful someday.  And I’m a bit of a sentimentalist, but mostly I think it comes of being raised and influenced by my grandmother and her Depression Era sensibilities.  The problem is that everything may be useful someday if you only think hard enough.

When I put together the massive stack of boxes back in October, it was really just the tip of the iceberg.  In all honesty, it barely made a dent visually.  After the truck came to haul it all away,  I was really pretty disappointed at how little things had changed.  Still, it was a lot of crap and it was gone, so it was a technical improvement and oh, how I clung to it.

After Chico was born, several people commented on how little space we had.  And I was pretty defensive about it.  And I remained so until I was stuck in the hospital with my MIL in the apartment putting things back together and getting the place cleaned, at which point I sent away outgrown baby clothes and extra chairs and generally felt pretty good about everything.

And then I got home.  And there was still stuff all over the place.  And I still couldn’t get into my closet.  And the clean was overshadowed by the stuff all over the place.  My MIL tried to reassure me, saying ‘it’s just that you have a small space.  Once you get into a larger apartment everything will fit.’

Which, kind as it was, made me feel worse.

See, we have about 1200 square feet, which is a lot.  I don’t want a bigger place.  Maybe a different layout, but bigger?  I think 1200 sf should be plenty for 4 people.  More than plenty, really, if the folks living there don’t have a whole bunch of extra crap lying around.  Like we do.

And so a further clean-out happened last Friday.  11 more boxes out, 2 to store and the rest to donate.  Maternity clothes gone.  Anything under a size 4 gone.  Anything I haven’t worn in ages gone.  And it felt much better this time because, for once, I can admit that I am nowhere near done.  It’s a good start, it really is.  But there is so much more to go, and then even more, until our 1200 square feet is spacious and airy once again, instead of piled high with tchotchkes and pillows and kid crap and stuff we don’t need or enjoy, or even notice anymore.

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It was always going to happen, wasn’t it?  Stricken with guilt last week over my food intake and relapse in food buying habits, I’m going to start informally tracking our food again.  Oh, and electric as well. Honestly, even though I can’t come up with accurate numbers for the Riot and despite feeling like tracking hits my obsessive brain in all the wrong places to be healthy for me, I can’t help but feel like I need to informally keep track of what we’re doing here.  No more charts and reports and weighing, but I want to be able to look back after the year and know that I made progress in reducing our household impact.

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No formula since Wednesday evening!  Lactation is amazing, isn’t it?  Chico is still a little nervous that the boobs might leave for an extended period of time and therefore has minor meltdowns every time I go to the store/take a shower/face away from him in bed.  He rolled over for the first and second times on Saturday but seems to have forgotten he knows how to do this.  Thank heaven.

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Thank you thank you thank you for making my son the sort of child who will sit for an hour talking to toys. He has been in the co-sleeper since 7 talking to a stuffed bear, rendering me free to load the dishwasher, make coffee, do some picking up around the apartment, get Lucy breakfast and spend some time with her, answer emails, and go to the bathroom without screaming child.

It almost makes up for the teething.

Love,

Me

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On the nursing front, I’m going to try to skip the bottle today. I woke up this morning leaking, my milk is 100% back, and I want to cut out the formula already. I have breast milk storage gear coming so I can start expressing for when I want to leave the house sans baby.

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I boxed up the lot of chemical cleaners and plastic wrap and disposable diapers to send back with the MIL. Our electric bill was only 58 kWh more than the prior month, which was a relief. And I’m slowly working local food back into our diet, although I’m limited until I can get to the Greenmarket weekly. It feels really good to be back on track with that stuff, even though I’m not tracking anymore. It wasn’t hard to be in the hospital with the throw-aways since I developed a healthy fear of germs whilst incarcerated admitted and the hospital is probably the one place things should be thrown away, but I did pretty well freak out when I came home to dishes washed with extra heat and paper napkins and a bathroom cleanser labeled harmful to kids and pets.

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Tonight is ‘catch up on blogs’ night if the baby permits. See you then!

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