escape

Between getting sick, staying in a strange place, and missing his dad, River has been extraordinarily needy this past week. He seems to want to be held all the time and rarely lets me out of his sight. He cries easily and refuses to sleep without being held (or riding in a car). Without Thom around to help my patience is being stretched to its limit.

So to get a bit of a break (and to help River nap) we took a long drive up to Red Rock Canyon this afternoon. I needed the quiet and the meditative expanse of the landscape to clear my head. It was a fantastic drive and just what I was looking for. As much as I love the lushness and variety of the east coast, there is an undeniable beauty in the desert landscape. It's open, inviting, and quiet.

































If all goes according to plan, River and I will be going home Wednesday night. My hope is he will quickly settle in and get back to his usual chipper self. If not, well, there's always long drives through New England.

pic fix

And now, because I can, we shall see the awesome variety of River's expressions:

extending our stay

River has come down with a virus called Slapped Face Disease. Ridiculous, no? The name comes from the red rash on his face accompanying cold-like symptoms and the yet-to-come diarrhea. Joy.

He's miserable, I'm trying to keep it together, and neither of us are flying anywhere for a while.

So, the conditions could be better, but the grandparents are happy to hear we will be in town for at least another five days. Thank goodness they'll be here to help tend to my sick baby.

a look into our future

I may have something to say about my reunion in a later post (some folks are thinner, fatter, blonder, balder, well employed, unemployed, still cool, or still jerks, as expected), but this trip has drawn my attention to a frightening discovery about River that I am pretty focused on right now.

As we've moved from house to house this week (first the in-laws, then a condo with my high school friends, then my folks' house), River has been faced with all kinds of overwhelming stimulation. Unsurprisingly, this has made him needy and very clingy. He was particularly traumatized the couple evenings we went out without him (having not given him enough time to adjust to the babysitters or his new environment), and when we came home he spent the entire night nursing. Literally, I let him sleep snuggled next to me, sucking away all night.

He was so adamant, the few times I tried to dislodge my boob so I could, you know, get into a position that didn't put my arm to sleep or contort my back into a painful arch, he screamed bloody murder. No amount of snuggling, rocking, or singing was enough to appease him. Two nights of that and I have moved him into another room where he cannot see, hear, or smell me. It has worked moderately better and I have hope that his sleep will not be irrevocably screwed up when we go home.

What this has brought to my attention, however, is the depth of River's stubbornness. Let us take the Pop Tart incident as an example. River is now eating select table foods (bananas, soft breads, mushy veggies) and when he sits down to a meal with us he expects to eat something off of our plates. Usually I can come up with some suitably healthy item to share with him and all is grand.

A few mornings ago Thom was up with River and found breakfast in the form of a Pop Tart. River saw him eating it, reached out for a bite, and (Thom knowing what I would say about that) was rejected. There began an epic struggle of wills, and you can guess how that one ended. After pouts, tears, squirms, and screams, Thom gave in and let the little booger have a bit of Pop Tart.

This is just the beginning. With River's STRONG sense of determination I see us fighting these battles over and over again. It's one thing with a baby, but when he starts walking and talking, what kind of tantrums will we face? I have always known I would have to be firm with a child, that's it's so much worse if you say, "no" and end up giving in 10 minutes later. Do that and he'll know he can get anything he wants by putting up a fit. I thought I would be strong, but in the middle of the night or the middle of a restaurant my resolve goes out the window. Sometimes, I just need him to BE QUIET.

Now is the time to find a strategy to deal with this issue. I don't know what that strategy will be, but I know we can't just float along hoping everything will resolve itself. As River gets older, he will only get more serious about what he wants and more clever about how to get it.

Of course, my parents have been quick to point out that I was just as difficult to deal with when told I couldn't have something. I must have heard the word "no" so often that it was the first one I spoke.

Is this karmic payback? Perhaps. If so, I'm terrified of what little nuggets of Thom's childhood we'll be paying for next.

sell out?

I've entered River into the BabyGap Casting Call, which is looking for new faces to put in their ads. Does that make me a stage mom? I am an actor by profession, so offering my handsome, photogenic child an opportunity like this just seems natural. Then again, a part of me finds it slightly disturbing to put any child in the position of having to perform in front of a camera. Well, there are a million kids being entered into this thing, so there's a huge chance I won't have any reason to ponder this question further.

But honestly, who wouldn't love to see this face selling their clothes?

flying high

River and I are safely ensconced at Thom's parents' house in Las Vegas after taking a cross country flight last night. This weekend Crystal and I will be celebrating our ten year high school reunion, and we've taken the opportunity to spend a good chunk of time showing River off to friends and family. Our men couldn't take a week plus off from work, so they'll fly together this weekend. In the mean time they're at home doing whatever it is men do when there's no one around to nag them to take out the garbage, wear matching socks, and eat balanced meals (drinking like fish, playing Wii, and working too hard, I assume).

I was cautiously optimistic as we got on the plane last night. Crystal, River, and I had spent the hour before boarding calming my nerves (with the help of a g & t) in the airport Wolfgang Puck's. Somehow, we just happened to sit next to a couple and their veteran traveler newborn. At five months old, little Sophia had already taken eight trips in planes, so I broke my typical stranger silence and picked her parents' brains. They could tell River had a great disposition and predicted he would do well traveling. They advised I feed him at take off and landing to relieve the air pressure, and figured otherwise he should sleep through the flight.

I was heartened by their faith in my little munchkin as I strode to our seats in the back of the plane; still, I avoided the eyes of the other passengers as I passed, not wanting to see trepidation or outright hostility in their faces. I could just hear them thinking, Great, he'll be screaming the whole way. Who the hell flies to Vegas with a baby?!

Crystal and I had reserved seats in the rear cabin, an aisle and window, in hopes of minimizing our chances of having a third passenger in our row. The plan worked brilliantly (though Crystal suspects one guy might have been assigned to our row but just kept walking when he saw River). The first thing I did when I sat down was pull out my Clorox wipes and hit every surface River might touch or put his mouth on. I knew there was no way to keep him from exploring--I just wanted to minimize germ exposure.

As soon as Crystal passed him over to me, he attacked the armrest with his mouth, then moved to the window, then found the TV monitor, and on and on. There were all kinds of new sights, sounds, smells, and people to check out, and he was having a blast. By the time we pulled away from the gate half an hour later he had had his fill, and was ready to nurse (thank goodness for that empty seat!). He ate a bit and promptly fell asleep with nary a whimper as we took off.

He stayed that way, asleep in my arms, for about two hours, until I just could not hold my bladder any longer. When I passed him over to Crystal, he was still mostly asleep, but by the time I had washed my hands and opened the lavatory door, I could hear that distinctive River cry.

Oh, no, I thought, here comes the meltdown. I could have had a quiet, happy baby, but I just had to pee! Stupid, wimpy bladder! I rushed down the aisle to retrieve my screaming child, and by the time I was seated with the pooker in my arms, all was silent. I couldn't believe it. All he needed was to know I was there. I have never been so thankful for my magic mommy powers.

The kid slept through the rest of the flight--through squawking announcements, bouncing turbulence, and glaring overhead lights. He was just beautiful. As we waited for the folks ahead to file out, a few passengers commented on how good he had been and how cute he was. As I nodded my agreement, I had no trouble looking them in the eyes.

in search of intelligent life

I was a little anxious this morning as I got up to face the day. I dressed quickly and rushed to my local coffee house with River for a quick bite, then came home and put him down for a nap. I picked up the house and put together a platter of fruit, then like a teenager watching the door for her prom date's arrival, I waited.

River and I had a mommydate.

I don't call it a playdate, because as nice as it is for River to be exposed to other babies, he views them as objects to be studied (and if he's lucky, sucked on) rather than human beings with whom he can play. So the date is really for the mommies. It was my first solo mommydate, and I was nervous because I had a lot riding on its success. First of all we don't have any other friends with kids, and when the really nice couple close to delivering their very own munchkin moved in next door, I thought this might finally be the opportunity we were looking for.

A little history: in New York I did not know the name of a single person living in our building; I probably couldn't have even pointed them out in a line up. In our first apartment in Cambridge, our downstairs neighbor used to hang out with the tow truck guy as he loaded up our car, and by the look of the folks trailing in and our of our upstairs neighbor's door, he was dealing to all the local burners. In our current home, I recognize the folks in our condo association, and even manage to say hi once a month. The last time I felt a sense of community with my neighbors I was ten years old and running around with chocolate milk stains on my shirts and scabs on my knees. We live in Cambridge, in part, because of the strong community--I'd just really love to be a part of it.

So I was anxious for our mommydate to go well. If it did, it might mean dinners together, walks to the park, and weekend barbecues. If it didn't, I would be back to my mommy-less social sphere and community-less community.

(Thank goodness for Kevin and Crystal, without whom we might be completely socially bereft.)

I am generally very reserved in making new friends and always picky about those I let into my life. You wouldn't think it the way I spill intimate details to any idiot with an internet connection, but in person, I hold my thoughts close and protect my feelings. But I had a good intuition I would get along with these neighbors--who I'll call The J's--from the very start. We met Mr. J first, and after only a few encounters he entrusted us with his house keys while they spent the weekend away. That, and his unbelievably upbeat and friendly demeanor, had me sold. I figured Mrs. J had to be cool too, but I didn't have any direct knowledge of that.

When she came to the door with Baby J in tow this morning, River was still asleep, so it gave me a chance to chat without being completely distracted. We had a great meandering conversation, the kind that makes you feel connected, entertained, interested, and interesting. As expected, we talked about the babies and our experience of motherhood, but by the time River woke up we had also talked about our careers, girlfriends, parents, hometowns, and ideas about religion. It was so easy. I didn't have struggle to connect or hide details of my life that might be too liberal for her, and I found Mrs. J to be down to earth, intelligent, sensitive, and funny--just the kind of person I could be friends with.

I'm thrilled. I have great hopes for making this mommydate a regular thing and perhaps getting the whole family together. With any luck Thom and I could expand our community to the house next door.

River News: Month Six

Mr. Riverton,

Everyone says having kids is the most wonderful thing to happen to you. And that is definitely true. But so rarely do people explain that the extraordinary highs of parenthood are often met by extraordinary lows.

This month, River, your mother has had a few days (and nights) of lows. For one, I'm starting to really feel the social limitations of having a baby. Missed engagements because you were in no mood to leave the house, frantic dinners out where your father and I spent the entire time chasing after toys you've flung, being overlooked entirely by friends for some really fun events--these are things we've experienced just in the last week. It has made me feel like a social pariah at a time when I'm really ready to engage in the world as an adult.















Then we have the eternally ongoing problem of how to get you to sleep longer. Anytime we give you a unique sleeping situation to deal with you take to it beautifully for the first day, then it's all downhill from there. This month we moved you to your crib and the first two nights were a great success. You slept for huge chunks of time and went down very easily the couple times you woke. Then it became less easy. You started waking more often, and you stopped going back to sleep without effort.

At my most desperate I found myself in your room in the non-hours two nights ago--over and over I would nurse you to a relaxed state, then gently place you in your crib where you immediately fussed to be picked up again. There I was, reaching on tip toes over your crib, the rail pressing the breath out of my ribs as I patted and soothed you; cold, desperate, exhausted. When your father finally relieved me after an hour, I went upstairs and sobbed into my pillow. The frustration of trying and trying and trying to help you sleep--to no avail--was overwhelming. Why does it have to be so hard?

I think the secret to getting through all of this is simply surrendering to you. When I have agendas and expectations I am almost always disappointed by your (understandable) inability to live up to them. On the other hand, when I try to view the world through your eyes, frustration just melts away and I can enjoy my time with you. Even if that time is spent picking up toys you've thrown or rocking you at 2am.















One nice development this month has been the time we've been spending with other babies and mommies. We've always spent some amount of time doing yoga, library lap-sits, and play groups, but this month I've made it a priority to get out to one of these things at least every other day. And because you are so independently mobile now, these events are becoming less stressful and much more fun. Spending time with adults--even if the only thing I talk about is you--has been vital to my mental and physical health. Plus, watching you interact with other little ones is just priceless. You are so sweet and curious, reaching out to touch the other babies, smiling at their new or familiar faces.















I'm still searching for a mom I get along well enough with to spend some one-on-one time with. There are no other mothers in my social sphere, so finding a mommy friend is pretty important to me. Of course, I'm picky. Where are all the other hippy mommies? We are in Cambridge, for Pete's sake. Maybe I should find a drum circle to take us to.

Now, no monthly newsletter would be complete without an update of all the new developments you've had, but this month is a doozy!

Physically, you're just working and working. You've mastered the "commando crawl" and are getting faster every day. I'm amazed how often I put you down in one spot just to check in moments later and find you two feet away. The "lazy" days of pre-mobile baby are coming to a close.

At the same time that you've been working on crawling, you've learned how to pull yourself up to standing, to cruise from mommy to coffee table to couch, to step sideways, and to get into a sitting position from your belly. I've checked a couple parenting books and read that some of these skills don't usually come until 9 months or later. You're nuts! And very determined.




















You recently got a third tooth in, and I'm sure the fourth isn't far behind (I imagine that's some of the trouble you're having sleeping). You seem to be enthralled with how they feel in your mouth as you're constantly tonguing your lips and gums. Raspberries are now your major form of communication--except for what I think of as your dolphin call. Yes, my son, you squeak. I often don't know whether you're happy, sad, or just trying to say hello to Flipper, but the octaves you reach are amazing.

I know lots of babies go through a screaming phase where they test out their voices (and parents' patience), so I'm content to listen to squeals and squeaks for now.

In general, River, you are happy, curious, and adventurous. You give me no end of smiles and giggles. You love kisses and tickles and songs.




















Making the shift to motherhood has been a trying thing for me at times, but you should never doubt that the good far outweighs the difficult. We're working on all of this together--learning from each other and making our way through life the best we can.

I know you love me, and I hope you know how very much I love you.















kisses to my pookie smookie butt,
Mommy

pic fix

progress!

So we've been working on our sleep plan with River for almost two weeks now and I can say there is definite progress. Before last night that progress was counted in inches. I was beginning to think getting him to sleep through the whole night at this pace would take a year.

Then the most unexpected thing happened... HE DID IT! He slept through the night! Granted, we're going by pediatric standards for "sleeping through the night," which is sleeping for 4-6 hour chunks of time between waking, but that's miles better than what we've been living with for nearly six months.

Now, I'm not ready to call this done. It could have been an absolute fluke that will not be repeated anytime soon, but I'm still thanking the gods for that one beautiful night of rest.

How it happened:

Yesterday I came to the scary and sad conclusion that since River is now mastering crawling and can pull himself up to standing, he's really no longer safe in the co-sleeper we have next to our bed. I can just envision him standing up one night while I'm passed out from complete exhaustion and plunging over the edge onto our hardwood floor. I had always set six months as a reasonable time to move him from our room to his own for nighttime sleep, but as we actually approach that marker, I feel uneasy (my typical reaction to most of the little man's milestones).

Still, his safety needs to come first, so last night Thom and I took the plunge: we put River to sleep in his own room. The books give a number of slow-moving strategies to get a co-sleeping baby into his own crib (such as parents sleeping on a mattress in his room--or the hallway!--while the little one adjusts), but we decided to just go whole hog and see what would happen.

We put him down to sleep at 9pm, and I expected he would be in bed with us within the hour. Oh how wrong I was! He woke at 1am; I went down to nurse him and he was asleep five minutes later. He woke again at 5am, and I brought him back to our bed to sleep another hour until he was up for good.

To my readers without children, this probably doesn't sound that great, but I tell you it was like a beautiful, shiny Christmas present.

I don't know how tonight will go--perhaps we'll be back to the old routine again--but for the first time in months I have hope.

brains....

I took River to the Children's Hospital to participate in a study on social recognition today. The two research assistants were very nice and River flirted shamelessly.

First they put a "hat" with sensors all over it on his head and when he reacted to that okay, we sat together in a dark room in front of a monitor. For short bursts he was able to focus on the screen as they flashed images of faces across it. He fussed a bit and I was afraid we weren't going to finish, but in the end he took my finger to suck on and was a champ from there on out.

We got ten bucks and toy for River out of it, and really, it was just fun to be part of an experiment. I know my brother was doing something similar with adults a while ago, so I got a kick out of that. Plus, now I have these pictures:






































Priceless.

no money back guarantee

River, River, River...

We're getting desperate for sleep. You know how you do that thing where you wake up every 1-2 hours at night and only take a few short naps during the day? Well, I'm starting to think you're broken. Only we didn't get an extended warranty on you and I have no idea where the receipt is. The baby store has a very strict return policy, so that's it--you're stuck with us.

I like to think your father and I know you very well--an understanding built on intuition, experimentation, and many, many hours of observation. Based on that, we've pulled out every trick up our sleeves to try to help you sleep longer. However, all of our ideas have been exhausted with no better results.

Now it's time to go to our natural fallback: books.

The No-Cry Sleep Solution is our current advice tome, a book that seems to fit with the philosophy that we all deserve a good night sleep, and that getting it shouldn't involve "training" you with the cry-it-out method.

According to the book, you should be sleeping 10-11 hours a night and 3-4 hours during the day. With that in mind, our first assignment was to log your sleeping habits for one night. It was an average night as far as I could tell (though, don't quote me on that--I'm VERY VERY sleepy), and you slept for a total of 7 hours, waking 7 times, with your longest sleep stretch clocked in at 1.5 hours.

This is clearly not enough sleep.

We've read the first half of the book, pondered all the ideas, and have now come up with a sleep plan. After ten days we should see some improvement. After a month, you will hopefully be sleeping through the night.

And if not... well, I guess there's always the pawn shop.

when a sock is more than a sock

Thom and I pride ourselves on being a unique couple. Our courtship didn't feature any annoying game-playing or manipulation, our wedding focused on the marriage we would be entering into, not the party we were throwing, and our current relationship isn't marred by struggles over how much football he watches or how much money I spend.

Many times we've delighted together over the knowledge that we don't suffer the typical "muggle" marital problems and we work hard to keep it that way; if there is a battle we typically fight it isn't a war of the sexes, but us against the world.

So it came as a blow to me this morning when I realized that we aren't completely immune to petty marital spats. It started with what I thought was an innocent enough question: "Would you like to put away your laundry?"

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm sure I could hear the judgment and condescension in that question, but I tamped that knowledge down. The question was asked in an even tone, but it was like the even landscape hiding a landmine beneath.

Thom's response was unexpected: "I don't know if you've noticed, but recently you've been doing that thing where you ask a question that isn't really a question."

I was stunned. How dare he call me on my little manipulation? How dare he point out that I'm engaging in "typical" wifely behavior? How dare he be right?!

Of course it wasn't really a question. I didn't care if he wanted to put his clothes away, just like I don't care if he "wants" to empty the garbage or "wants" to put away the dishes. I just want him to do it.

Posing these chores as a question makes the request feel softer, somehow less like nagging--which I hate. Of course, it's not softer, and Thom can see right through it--as he brought to my attention this morning.

I talked to Crystal about it after Thom left for work. She agreed that she's been guilty of the same thing and even pointed out another trick us wives use to get our men to do something: the "we" game. You know, as in, "We should really call the insurance company" or "We need to do something about the ant problem." We don't me we. We mean you. And usually, we mean now.

When I envisioned our marriage, this was exactly the kind of behavior I didn't want to engage in, the kind I thought I was above. Of course I didn't think Thom would be the kind of husband who never put the laundry away unless asked, who routinely leaves a pile of coffee grounds on the floor next to the garbage, or who never thinks to throw away stale vegetables and leftovers from the fridge. In short, I am a woman and he is a man, and there are some destinies you just cannot escape.

So what's the solution? There are certain things men are programed to not care about. I don't want to treat my husband like a child, but I'd really like him to act like an adult. A female adult. You could argue that if it means so much to me, why don't I just put away the laundry? clean up the dishes? take the garbage out?

I have two responses to that. One, I usually do. Two, I'm a wife, not a maid.

I could try to ignore all of these little messes, move through life assuming someone else will take care of it. And after enough time, someone probably will. But I would probably have had a mental breakdown by that point, and that would do none of us any good.

In the end, I think men (including my very unique, amazingly special husband) like the comfort of having someone take care of them, having someone tell them what to do. I try to lessen the blows with little verbal tricks, but I should just respect my husband enough to ask him to do something straight out. We'd both be on even ground--with no landmines hiding in wait--and isn't that the marriage I've always wanted?

pic fix

food for thought

River is eating solid foods three times a day now. Once I realized he needed the extra calories (his attacking of the boobs every ten minutes was the hint I finally took), and this eating thing changed from a fun little experiment to the real deal I felt a surprising and intense pang of sadness. My baby has taken a major step away from complete dependence on me (snip! snip! on the umbilical cord), and boy was I not ready for that.

He seems to be on an express train out of babyhood and all I can do is try to keep him on the tracks.

Though it means leaving something behind, it is fun to watch him experience all the new sensations of tasting food. The subtle sweetness of peas and carrots have been a real favorite, while the slight sourness of pears turn his face into an exquisite pucker.

He's a natural born eater--no messy high chair struggles or airplane games needed--and it's no wonder considering the appetite his parents both have. He gulps oatmeal and jars of veggies down with great intensity--often complaining because the spoon's trip from bowl to mouth is too slow.

Now that River will sit happily in a high chair for some time, the family can have actual meals together, no longer needing to trade him from one lap to the other. He'll sit playing with a toy or munching on squashed banana for five or ten minutes while I get to feel like an adult and use both hands to eat.

All of the advantages of River's new skills come at an emotional price, but I figure that's just part of parenthood. We constantly have to say goodbye to the baby we know and help usher in the person he's becoming.