Category: family

10 days later

So, here we are, 10 days later. 10 days since Theo arrived on the scene, 10 days since I posted. I fear that with my continued silence, I may be eliciting undeserved sympathy. Things have been busy, mind you, but not actually overwhelming. I’ve been meaning to post at least some sort of update, but haven’t managed to muster up the motivation to do so during the available windows. (I’ve usually been opting to, say, eat or bathe when finding myself with 2 free hands.) Plus I keep falling asleep at night, which has traditionally been my writing time. My body and mind have just been shutting down after about 10, and I can barely manage to pry myself off the couch and get ready for bed.

Anyhow, here’s what’s been happening since Theo was born early Monday morning. I stayed in the hospital Monday night, and asked for an early discharge. We got to go home Tuesday evening. The following days zipped by in a blur of appointments. Two weight checks at the doctor’s office, a visiting nurse, a lactation consultant, and 2 more appointments at the doctor’s office to follow up on concerns over a possible infection to the umbilical cord stump. (It turned out to be fine, but there was some redness and swelling, and then later a bit of smelliness. Which I’m sure you really wanted to know about.)

In general, things could not be more different than when Phoebe was a newborn. For the first couple of months of Phoebe’s life, I went a little bit insane. I was extremely sleep-deprived, and miserable much of the day. And night. Quite honestly, I dreaded going through all of that again. But so far, Theo has been a remarkably mellow baby. He soothes easily. He feeds well. He seems to be gaining weight. We are not beset by the bevy of breastfeeding problems. I’m recovering and healing much more quickly. I have even actually managed to get some sleep. (Actually, as I said, I haven’t managed to stay awake at times.) And believe it or not, I managed to do some work over the weekend. Sunday was the deadline for a paper submission (for one of the projects on which I’m a co-author), and I was at least able to contribute a few more hours to some of the last minute scurrying to get references sorted out and such.

Phoebe has been adjusting well so far, though there have been rough patches. She’s still been going to daycare 3 days a week, which I think helps a lot. It was also hugely helpful to have my mother out here. For Phoebe’s sake especially, but also for help with meals and household things. John was also able to take a few days off work, too, and has been putting in extra hours with Phoebe even now that he is back to the grind. So I’ve pretty much only had one very small, very mellow child on my hands. (And I can even often find other hands to help out with him.)

Of course, my mother went home yesterday, so we are just beginning our real test. But I’m at least starting off feeling moderately sane and well-rested. Not to mention lucky.

Theo at 1 week old.
Theo at 1 week old.

what to expect when you weren’t expecting the Y chromosome

I’ve been having a hard time wrapping my head around something. I’m going to be having a son.

I joked a while back about the reassurance that an ultrasound would provide that I was not incubating “some sort of tentacled alien spawn.” But, aside from reassuring me that creature had the correct number and arrangement of limbs to be classified as human, it also revealed to us an appendage that I had not anticipated. It seems that I have been, in fact, incubating some sort of testacled alien spawn.

It’s come as quite a surprise to me just how much of a surprise this is to me. I mean, I have known all along that it was a possibility.

And yet somehow, I didn’t really think it would happen.

I left that ultrasound appointment feeling someone stunned. Surprised. In mild shock. And I will admit here, and please don’t attack me for this, even somewhat disappointed.

That seems so harsh. Disappointed? The poor little guy hasn’t even been born yet, and already I’m disappointed in him? That hardly seems fair.

“I guess we won’t be reusing Phoebe’s dresses,” I’ve said. But of course, even though I’d love to hold on to some of those cute girl clothes a bit longer, my feelings aren’t really based on wardrobe.

So I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s going on here. And I’ve realized that there are a lot of things going on.

Ever since I was little, I imagined that someday I’d be a mother. The specific circumstances of this motherhood status were typically murky, especially with respect to the role of a father in these imaginings. But always, I imagined that I would have 2 girls. Just like in my family.

Growing up, and moving around so much as I did, my closest friend was always my sister. We were, and still are, very close. It always seemed the natural order of things.

Somehow, I always imagined I’d reproduce this pattern, when I got around to reproducing.

I realize that even if I were to have a second girl, the individuals wouldn’t necessarily have had the relationship that my sister and I had. I know, of course, that Phoebe is not a new version of my sister, and that a second daughter wouldn’t be a new version of me. And yet I feel like I’m saying goodbye to that person that never existed outside my head.

And then there’s the fact that boys were largely unknown to me growing up. My immediate family consisted of me, my mother, and my sister. The next most involved family member was my grandmother. Obviously, there had been males around at various points. But by and large, we were a family of females. Even the cousins I saw most often were girls.

My father was around for my first 6 years, and then died. Both grandfathers had already died at that point. There were uncles I’d see for a few days every few years. There were boy cousins that I’d met here and there. There were stepfathers and boyfriends of my mother’s. But mostly, these males never felt part of my own life. They were visitors, or passers-by. I knew boys at my various schools, but was never even friends with any till high school. It wasn’t till college that I had any close relationships with men.

I realized, in my various ponderings, that John is the first male to have been in my life in any significant way for more than the 6 years that my life overlapped with my father’s. And John has even passed that number by another 10 years, clocking in now at 16 years.

And I sure am glad that John is here to share this experience with me. Because, among other things, John has some experience with growing up around boys. In fact, he even grew up as a boy.

I find myself continuing to be surprised that we’ll be having a boy, still avoiding using the gendered pronoun even now that it’s weeks since the revelation. And I question whether this leads me to feel a bit more detached from the pregnancy than I was the first time around. Or maybe it’s just that I’m so busy right now, and that I’ve been feeling pretty bad physically.

I am certain that I’ll come to love him fiercely as I love Phoebe. And I expect that there will come a time when I won’t be able to imagine things any other way, and when I can’t imagine my life without him.

Phoebe’s nemesis

Phoebe has finally understood the menacing force that threatens her.

And what might this monstrous being be? Let me give you a description. Brace yourself: this is not for the weak of heart.

Height: about 29 inches of terror
Weight: a crushing 20 pounds
Mobility: 4 limbs, used for slithering and/or crawling
Distinguing traits: Smiles a lot. Some propensity for drooling.

Evil, thy name is K!

K, you see, is an eleven-month-old little boy at daycare. Who has been going there since he was only a few months old. He is one of two baby boys that started around the same time. He’s not a terribly demanding baby. He smiles a lot. And he is apparently threatening to destroy Phoebe’s happiness. (Oddly, the slightly older other baby boy, J, is the one that cries a lot and demand more attention. But he is not a threat.)

Here are K’s terrifying modes of attack:
1) Touching toys that Phoebe is playing with: “K touch cookies! Waaah!”
2) Touching toys that Phoebe might want to play with: “K touch beads! Waaaaaah!”
3) Touching other things. Let me give you the blow by blow of the worst transgression. You see, I usually sit down and play with Phoebe for a couple of minutes when I pick her up at daycare, to help ease the transition. So one afternoon, I sat on the floor next to Phoebe to see what she was doing. And then it happened. Horror of horrors, K crawled over and touched…my jacket. That I was wearing. And he smiled at me. The reaction, as befits such horrific trauma, was immediate and vocal. “K touch Mommy. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! K TOUCH MOMMY!!!! WAAAAAH!”

I’ve mentioned before that Phoebe has been crying more, which has been a bit trying. If we wanted to do so, we could get her to cry with the merest suggestion that she play with K. She sometimes talks about the traumatic experiences she has had, late at night, or while playing at home. “K touch the cookies! I cry! K touch Mommy. [Dramatic sob.]”

This battle of wills has evolved to the point where Phoebe will burst into tears as soon as K arrives at daycare, smiling that horrible smile.

And who knows what dastardly plans that little tot will devise next?

rough night

Sorry if you are looking for a list, or even any sort of entertainment. It’s Thursday, and therefore I’m due for a ThThTh list. It’s in progress, but damn those things take a lot longer to put together than you might expect. A list will be up much later today. What follows can be happily ignored by anyone who doesn’t enjoy reading about the crankiness of dealing with a toddler.

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I’m feeling less-than-fully functional today. Phoebe and I had a bad night. I didn’t mention in last night’s post that John had to run off to get a meeting this morning. In California. So he was gone last night, and will be gone tonight. I also think that Phoebe’s been teething. The biting is one clue. She’s also been drooling and sticking her hands and other things in her mouth a lot, which she’s not generally prone to anymore. For whatever reason, she woke up twice last night. Once about half an hour after she went to bed, and then a little after midnight. (As in just when I was going to get to bed.) I just could not get her to settle down.

We talked. I dosed her with Motrin. I held her. I rocked her. I sang to her. But every time I went to put her in her crib, she’d cry again. I tried leaving her, and she screamed and screamed. I went back after a few minutes, and am not pleased with myself that I snapped at her that it was time to stop crying. (I was tired. Sorry. I have a temper.) So then I started right in with the soothing and snuggling and talking, and she seemed to settle. But still objected to going back in her crib.

I asked if she was sad that Daddy wasn’t here, and she said “yeah.” So we called John. (It was only 10:30 or so California time, and John’s ususally up half the night anyhow.) He talked. He soothed.

I put Phoebe in her crib. I sang. I talked about things she likes me to talk about. Then I said it was time to go, just like I do every single night. She usually lets out a sob as I walk out the door, just to pull at my heart strings, but then goes to sleep quietly. But last night, at 2:00, she started screaming. And screaming more. I haven’t left her crying for ages. I don’t even know how long it’s been. (Yes, we did a version of the dreaded Ferberization way back when. Dr. Sears can bite me.) But I thought maybe she’d settle down without me. I went back in after 10 minutes, and got her quiet again. But the screams started in once more. I went back in and she was saying “Mommy room. Mommy room.” “You want to go to Mommy’s room?” I asked. (I swore I’d never talk about myself in the third person, but deictic pronouns are tricky beasts.) She said, “yeah.”

I caved. I brought her to bed with me. I was desperate for sleep. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. She eventually stopped squirming enough to fall asleep. At least, she appeared to be just waking up when she woke me up crying at 6:45.

Now I wonder if this will come back to bite me. She really does sleep best on her own. And she’s generally a good sleeper.

Happily, she went to daycare this morning, and I was able to get a bit more sleep. I am “working” from home today, but haven’t been able to defog my brain sufficiently. I do have a conference call at 3:30, so will need to kick into high gear.

I hope that tonight goes better, because I have to drive the two of us down to New York tomorrow. John’s dad is going back home, after over a year in various hospitals and rehab hospitals. John will be going right to New York from his trip, following his red-eye flight to Newark, rather than going home first, so that he can be there to help. Phoebe and I will go down later in the day. Our eyes may well be red, too.

Marvin: a short tale of a small rat

One the first pets I had as a child was a pet rat. (The first ever pets were some goldfish.) I was quite young when we got him, perhaps 5, so I may have some of the details muddled in my brain. But this is Marvin’s story as I remember it.

Marvin was a rat that had been a class pet in my sister’s first grade or second grade class. When Marvin needed a home, we got to keep him.

An important thing to know about this circumstance is that Marvin was our pet at our father’s house. Certainly not at our mother’s house. You see, our parents separated when I was three years old, and we spent the next few years living part-time with each of our parents. My sister and I were always together, but some of the time we lived with our daddy, and some of the time with our mother.

Marvin was a white rat with brown spots. He was small as rats go, definitely a domesticated variety of rat, and not your big scary urban rat. He had a pink tail, with a thin fuzz of white fur. He was quite cute and gentle, with very soft fur and dainty pink paws. He got to live on a coffee table in our living room, a circular sort of a tray of a table with a shallow rim, perhaps 10 or 12 inches off the ground. He wasn’t enclosed at all, as for some reason, he hadn’t figured out how to climb off this table. (There was at least one incident when he escaped from his table. He managed to stain the same couch cushion that my sister and I had damaged, with a small burn mark, while testing the Christmas tree lights a few months before. So that cushion ended up with a burn on one side, and a rat poop stain on the other. Which side to offer up for company?)

I was fond of Marvin in my way, and enjoyed occasionally picking him up and petting him. Mostly I observed him going about his business on his disc-shaped island. But I never actually talked to him. At some point, a TV crew came to follow our father around for a morning to observe him in his role as daddy and caregiver to two small children, an unusual role for a man in the 1970s. (There’s more of a story here, which I hope to share at some point.) I remember one of the crew prompting me to talk to Marvin, to get some footage. I was a bit baffled by this request. Talk to him? But he was a rat! He wouldn’t understand. I’d no sooner talk to my toys.

When my father died later that year, we had to give up Marvin as a pet. My mother had a zero tolerance policy for rodents, and wasn’t going to have a rat living under her roof. (Remarkably, she later allowed my sister to bring home a tarantula for a weekend, when that was her class pet. But that was only for one weekend.)

From what I understand, some friends of my father’s either took Marvin or found a home for him. At least that’s what I was told. I never saw nor heard news of him again. I thought about him from time to time over the years, sometime wondered if he really was given a home. I guess I didn’t want to know the answer if it wasn’t the case.

brrrr

We just got back from a whirlwind trip down to visit John’s parents. John’s sister was visiting them, and John’s mother just had a birthday. Plus, coincidentally, my sister (from California) was in New York city for a couple of days for a trade show. So, a trip down to New York seemed in order.

We left Thursday night, after I got home from a really long day of teaching and meeting and commuting. We didn’t get on the road till about 8:30, which isn’t bad considering I got home at almost 7, and still had to pack and eat dinner. But it did mean an arrival time after midnight.

I then took the train into New York City to meet my sister Friday morning, and join her in checking out some retailers. (Actually, I don’t mean shopping, believe it or not. Though I did buy a bathtub drain stopper and some licorice. I lead a glamorous life like that.) I had a really fun time. This was the first time in years my sister and I just got to hang out together. With no babies or anything. It was rainy and windy and cold, and not really a great day for walking around outside. But walk around outside we did. I also took the opportunity to spend the time on the train reading a book for fun since I wasn’t lugging my laptop. I re-read Sara Caudwell’s The Shortest Way to Hades, one of my favoritistest books in the world.

John is going through a crazy-busy time for work now, and so we decided to come back home Saturday night. (It’s impossible for either of us to get stuff done when visiting John’s mother.) But first, we had the day with John’s sister, visited John’s Dad, then made a trip to my favorite restaurant in the universe. We then went back to John’s parents’ house, packed up, and were on the road by about 9:30 or 10:00.

Phoebe and I got to sleep most of the way home, which was great. Especially since, upon our arrival at home at 1:30 a.m., we found that the house was a nippy 50 degrees (that’s 10 degrees celsius). Our furnace had shut off at some point in the past couple days. We spent the next couple hours doing various things to speed up the warming process: turning on the oven, running space heaters in the bedrooms, and burning cardboard and whatever scrap wood we could find in the fireplace.

It was actually almost festive, with the roaring fire and the scavenging for amazon boxes and clementine crates. Phoebe had fun playing with her crayons while bundled up in a blanket nearish the fire. By 3:30, a space heater had brought Phoebe’s room up to a tolerable 60 degrees or so, and I managed to get her into her crib by 4. (We didn’t want to leave the space heater running in her room, so wanted to get the room warm before we left her in there.)

And I did sleep past 7:00 this morning, and seeing as I have no deadlines this weekend and have even read a book for fun and watched some TV, I now can lump myself in with those categories of people of which I was previously jealous. Hurray!

oof

Here I am again. Not home, but not where I was last time. We’re now down in New York to visit John’s parents for a post-Christmas Christmas celebration. Phoebe will find herself believing that Christmas is a holiday that features no fewer than 5 present-opening sessions…

We took the red eye back to Boston Thursday night, and our eyes were appropriately red when our flight landed at 6:00 a.m. on Friday. Phoebe got some sleep in my arms, but I couldn’t get too comfortable, largely because I was often trying to keep Phoebe from kicking or poking the passenger next to me, and well, because I had a toddler on my lap in a cramped space. (I was very resentful to see that there were empty seats on the plane, but that they weren’t offered to the people traveling with a toddler-in-lap.) John got no sleep. The flight was otherwise pretty uneventful, as was our drive back home from the airport. We were immensely relieved to see that the reported snow had melted from our driveway, and that we could pull in without shoveling and chiseling at ice.

The plan was to then pack up and head right down to New York, as one of John’s sisters was visiting his parents for a few days. Since John got no sleep on the flight, we deemed it wise to delay for a bit and get some sleep before the 4-ish hour drive. John went to bed after dealing with some work, and then I thought Phoebe and I could get some rest, too. However, seeing as Phoebe had actually slept on the plane (as well as while she was carried out of the plane, while we
got our bags, and went back to the car, not to mention more sleep in the car), she was less interested in sleep, and more interested in being reunited with her toys and books.

Anyhow, I did get about 3 hours of sleep yesterday, John got a bit more than that, and we headed down in the evening. We didn’t really even repack. We just unloaded a few gifts we’d received, and loaded up a few gifts to give, and lugged down our big suitcases full of dirty clothes. At least that way we knew we’d have what we needed.

We head back home tomorrow evening.

As you might guess, things have been rather busy. Good, but busy. I have spent whole days without even opening my laptop, and have had scant actual time to myself for the past couple of weeks that didn’t involve being in a bathroom. (A shower is a glorious thing, by the way.)

Work stuff has been piling up, which I’ll need to get to soon. I see that I have several important emails to respond to, which will involve some actual thinking. An important abstract is due in just over 2 weeks. I have loads to do to prepare for the course I’ll be co-teaching in January. (I’m in denial that January technically begins in a few days.) On the exciting front, though, John got me some really sweet recording equipment for Christmas that I’ll be able to use for my research. I now have a USB pre-amp to use with my laptop that was recommended by my advisor.

I also have over 500 unread blog posts. I think I need to cut down. (But I’ll try to drop in a say “hello” over the next few days. Even if I have to take my laptop into the shower to accomplish this.)

here I am

Just in case anyone out there is wondering where I am, I am not where I usually am. We’re out in California to have Christmas with my mother, sister, brother-in-law and nephew. Things got pretty hectic with work and pre-travel preparations before our Wednesday departure (not to mention general burnout from having too much going on), and I didn’t even manage to get online out here till late last night. But here I am. The trip is going well so far, but things are still busy.

Also, here is a recycled picture from our last vist out here to distract you from the complete lack of content.

so_big_phoebe.jpg

Looking for gift ideas? (or shamelessly promoting my sister)

I love to have a variety of different cloth kitchen towels around. My grandmother’s house had a collection of them, unique linens purchased around the world. I’ve inherited some of these linens, and have accumulated my own collection. Some were gifts, such as from family members’ travels to distant locales. I have penguins from Argentina, sheep from New Zealand, and a towel with an Aboriginal lizard design from Australia. Others were purchases I made because I liked the pattern or color. My most recent additions to this collection have been some of these:

tikoli2.jpg

They are modern and elegant, whimsical and colorful.

And what’s really cool is that I know the designer¹. In fact, I’ve known her all my life.

I’d like to take this opportunity to rave about my sister. And to promote the textile business that she recently started. Mostly, I want to offer up some reasons why you might want to consider buying some.

You can feel good about yourself for buying Tikoli tea towels because:

  • using cloth towels instead of paper towels reduces waste
  • buying them supports a small business owner
    • what’s more, the business owner is a woman
    • and that woman is also a new mother
    • and a very cool individual
  • the tea towels are lightweight, so their shipping impact is relatively small
  • they come with minimal packaging

Tikoli tea towels make good gifts because²:

  • they are functional and durable
  • They are low-priced, so that you can easily give 2 or 3 of different designs
  • they are compact and easy to wrap (or you can get them wrapped)
  • they are gorgeous

tikoli1.jpg

You can find these tea towels at the Tikoli online store, or at various retailers.
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¹ Oh, and if you want to feel like you know the designer yourself, you can pop by her blog pantry permitting and say “hi.” She’d love to meet you. You could swap recipes and have a cup of tea together.

² Incidentally, these tea towels were recently listed among the favorite gifts of a magazine. You might have heard of them. A little publication known as Newsweek (see item #24 of their online holiday gift guide).³

³ I’m allowed to boast because it’s my sister.