Cognosco

I’m leaving tomorrow on a 2 and a half week road trip. There’s piles of "stuff" all over the house in various degrees of packed. I am ridiculously giddy.

I’ll try to post frequently from the road.

I described how I feel about driving once over here. 

Woot! woot! 

Super-flare from a Red Dwarf.

I’m just going to skip the part where I apologize for being late on your update…

You’ve been through a lot of changes since your last update. First of all, you weaned yourself. There are many who would say that it wasn’t “true” child-led weaning because you use binkies and sippy cups. I think babies are not so easily fooled and I am just prone to guilt-tripping myself. If the average age of weaning worldwide is between 2 and 3, then for every child who nurses to the age of 4, there should be one who weans at 1. That’s how averages usually work.

I wasn’t sure at first if it was a nursing strike, or a real weaning, but since the days kept rolling by without you nursing and I wasn’t engorged, I figured it wasn’t really all that sudden. It just seemed like it to me. You’d really only been nursing once a day, if that. Of course, I was devastated. But I’ll get over it.

On the plus side, you actually hug me more and cuddle more than you did when you were still nursing. I am more than happy to provide that comfort for you.

My favorite story from the last month is a Tale of Two Tiggers. You have had a stuffed Tigger that you absolutely adore since last September. The problem is that it’s not really washable (though we washed it anyway) and we could not find a spare. I finally found them at Target and bought about 6 of them. Just to be safe.

We presented you with a “new” Tiggy while you were holding “old” (now stashed in a sentimental box) Tiggy. You picked up one and then the other. You squeezed the paw on one, and then the other. You squeezed the beanie butt of one, and then the other. You picked each one up and tasted it. Then you cast the new Tiggy aside, rejected. I laughed so hard I almost peed myself. Toddlers are natural scientists. Luckily, we snuck the newbie into your crib while you were asleep, and without having the old one as a comparison, you were fooled.

Sometime in the last month, my sweet boy was replaced with a tantrum spewing pod person. The onset of tantrums coincided with two other events that I think are significant (recall that I am a psychology grad student). First of all, you were no longer fooled by the baby in the mirror. You know it’s you. Second, you started pointing to yourself when you wanted something. In other words, you now know that you exist. And by god, you have opinions and you will not be swayed. When I tell you no and remove you from a situation, I just go ahead and gently lay you on the floor, because if I don’t, you will fling yourself on the floor and bonk your head. So I just go ahead and help you out with that.

Other random stuff:

You love to climb. Everything. You love to dance, and have your own sign for music that looks kind of like you are conducting the song. You are pickier about your food, but still a great eater. Your favorite food is whatever is on my plate. Or peaches. You love playing hide and seek or chasing games. You love car rides. You love pushing a stroller around. You have no new teeth (still 4 on top and 2 on bottom). You love the Cosby show more than Sesame Street. All these years later, I can say that it is really a great show, but good lord, the clothes are awful. You still want to wake up at 5:30, but it’s easy to get you to lay back down until after 6. You scream when initially put down for a nap (you’re down to one per day), but then will sleep for 2 to 3 hours straight. You don’t scream when put down at night. You love your bedtime routine. You love water. You love books—all books, my books, your books, magazines, whatever. You can stack 3, sometimes 4, blocks. You are running now. You try to jump but can’t quite do it yet. You like to brush your own teeth and are fascinated by shoes. You covet electronic devices of all kinds. You reliably say Dada, Dog, and Bath. You squeal with delight when I let the dogs into the house, when your Dada gets home, and when you see a cat. You love stacking things, emptying things, and scribbling.

What don’t you love? Limits. The word “no”. Having your face wiped. That’s pretty much it. It’s the “no” thing that really pisses you off. Even your Nanna, who had eleven children and is a nanny, commented on your temper. I have no idea where you got it…

You don’t have much interest in speaking, but know soooo many signs:

More, book, ball, and shoes are all pretty much signed the same, but in different contexts. Dad and phone also really close, but one involves your thumb to your ear, and the other is your forefinger. You will also sign finished, Tiggy (which is awfully close to “sleep”), Mama, eat, drink, bath, sleep, brush teeth, cereal, milk (which you now use for anything you want really badly—I take it as a compliment), water, car, bus, music, diaper, dog, bird, bye-bye, train, baby, cat, help, wash hands, binky (your own sign—you put the back of your hand to your mouth), cracker. Some of these signs you use more reliably than others, but you have successfully used them all at some point. You will also shake your head “no” and blow kisses.

Things I have learned:

• Every day is a new adventure.
• There is no "catching up" on housework–just learn to roll with it.
• My mother told me that there are times your child will be replaced with someone you do not know, and don’t really like. She was right.
• Just like I have never gotten used to the summers in Phoenix, I will never get used to waking up before 6 a.m.
• In the dictionary, next to the definition of "toddler", there should be a picture of a tornado.
• That happiness I felt when you could start entertaining yourself? It’s been replaced with horror by the level of destruction you can accomplish in five minutes.
• You know that one tone of whining that makes you want to bang your head into the floor? Your toddler will find it. And use it. Liberally. With glee.
• If all else fails, crank the music.
• If that fails, just leave the house.

Some days, I feel like I am absolutely the wrong mother for you, and others I feel like I am THE champion at toddler motherhood. There seems to be no in between. We either have good days, or horrible ones. We’re either in the groove, or NOT. But I feel blessed to have all these days with you.

Thank you, Albie, for being YOU. I don’t always like you, but I always love you. And you have made me into a better person that I would have ever been without you.

Love,

Mama

It’s only fair that I also post links to stories that inspire me and give me hope for our species.

Here’s a video (nice and short if you don’t have much time) clip of a police officer in China who took it upon herself to nurse hungry infants in during the chaos following the earthquake. She is still nursing two babies (in addition to her 6 month son).

Do you think she would be sued for doing that in the U.S.? 

Thanks to Navelgazing Midwife for the link. 

I cannot help myself.

Every now and then I have to share something that makes me angry. I usually keep these things to myself in blogland because really, there are a lot of things that make me angry, and I don’t want to be an overall downer. I started this blog, mostly, to celebrate insights and precious moments.

I read a lot of shit and am addicted to googlesearch. And there is a lot of rank mess in this world.

Once in awhile something makes me so angry that I want to smash my computer. I wish I could breathe fire, because there’s fire in my chest and it seems like it would feel good to exhale all of that fire and I have always wanted to be a dragon. Seriously. Dragons can fly and breathe fire and deliver destruction. They are also narcissistic and antisocial.

When I read some things, I feel like I’m on the verge of a panic attack. I’m not kidding. And then I just want to curl up under a comforter and hide in a small dark closet. Until my head explodes.

I am occasionally driven batshit nutty crazy by some current event or another. I have to take news vacations now and then. Until I come back. And I always come back. Because my #1 addiction (and there are many to choose from) is instant information.

So, I’ve decided to celebrate this compulsion of mine, and thus I have given it a name. Anger and all. It shall be called, "Random Minutes of Hate". Like in 1984, where the characters engaged in a daily, mandatory, two minutes of hate. Mine’s not mandatory. And there is no number of minutes specified. Swearing at your computer screen is not only allowed, but encouraged. You may also shake your fist at the sky. But please, no spitting. That’s just gross.

It should really be minutes of "anger", but "hate" just feels so much better. Admit it.

The only thing I have to say about this segment is that I can’t believe this is happening in 2008. That, and I am never living in Georgia. 

Here’s the link: 

http://feministing.com/archives/009206.html

but here’s the take-home message:

This was after the judge had dismissed the evidence: Ross could have received lacerations and redness documented in a rape kit from shaving, and “[b]ruises can come with a bump into furniture or from other causes.” As far as the claim that Day gave Ross a rape drug, defense counsel responded, “neither Day, nor anyone else for that matter, would have to use any type of drug to convince Plaintiff to participate in sexual conduct.”

The judge found that since Ross and Day had previously had a sexual relationship, Ross should have known her claims were “frivolous… there was no reasonable belief that a court would accept Plaintiff’s claims…”

The nightmare of this case, for Melanie Ross and for all future rape victims in Georgia, is that she was forced to discuss in elaborate detail her sexual past, and then she had her claims dismissed in part because she wasn’t a virgin. Moreover, not only did Ross lose her case, the judge fined her $150,000 for bringing it in the first place - a fee sure to dissuade other victims from coming forward with their own claims. This case is currently being appealed to the Supreme Court of Georgia, which can choose to hear it or not - let’s hope they right this wrong before it hurts more victims.

 

…I still agonize over when to be pregnant.

I still worry if I will be hired for a job if I am pregnant.

I worry about whether or not I will be able to keep a job or get tenure if I have a baby.

And I am one of the lucky ones. I had my first child while in graduate school, which is actually a great time to have a baby in my opinion. But I’m set to graduate next year with a Ph.D. and get some kind of job in academia. There are few career paths more liberal than academia. Furthermore, my area is psychology, which when combined with academia leads to so much liberalism that you can almost choke on it. I will have my own office so pumping will not be a problem. There is quite a bit of flexibility in the schedule of an academic, so long as you somehow manage to work 50 (+?) hours per week. Doing what you love. Not bad, really. I am incredibly lucky, especially given that I am the first in my family (including cousins ) to even graduate from college with a four-year degree, let alone an advanced degree.

And yet…

…the whole thing has been keeping me up at night. In order to have my kids two years apart, I’ll have to get pregnant in the next few months. Be pregnant on job talks. In academia, job talks can be a two or three day affair, packed with meetings and interviews and presentations and intensity. I wouldn’t want to fly past 34 weeks in a pregnancy. Job talks take place from about November through February for the nicest jobs. For less nice jobs, they can continue through the May. So, we reasoned that if I get pregnant in August, the due date would be in May, which is also the same month I’ll be graduating. Then I’d start a new job the following August. Granted, most programs tend to be a wee bit forgiving in the first year because you are adjusting, but compounding that adjustment with a new baby, sleep deprivation, breastfeeding…what a recipe for disaster. And, I would miss a lot of that child’s first year because I’d be focusing on so many other things.

Sound crazy? I think so too. I’ve been in a constant state of fretting.

So, I decided that I would go for the "easier" jobs. Little or no research. Smaller schools. More teaching. Familiar. Not too challenging.

And then I stopped caring about schoolwork. I couldn’t focus on anything. Writer’s block set in like someone had wrapped gauze around my brain.

Because wait a minute–I love research. I love mentoring. I love teaching too, but to only teach would be like cutting off a limb.

    "For a minute there,

    I lost myself,

    I lost myself."

        –Radiohead

I love my family. But I love my dreams too. 

So, one day, I asked myself why I wanted my kids to be two years apart. Well, my brother and I are 2 years and 3 months apart. I think I never questioned that two years was the best spacing for kids, because it was normal for me.

It would be "inadvisable" to have a baby during the first year or two of a new job. While most universities will stop the tenure clock during that time, you may still be judged negatively for having a child during that time. And really, it would be nice to be settled in first anyway for my own sanity. So, if I have my next child after two years on a job, Albert would be four years old.

I began to contemplate this, and took the same approach to this question that I do most things. I researched it ad nauseum. Turns out that if you ask people what the best spacing is, everyone gives a different answer. There are good things and bad things about any age difference. And it seems that the most important factor in how your kids get along isn’t their age (up to about a 5 year difference), but their personalities. Good luck planning that.

When I let myself accept the possibility that this might be a better choice for our family, a tremendous disappeared from my shoulders. The brain fog lifted. I wanted to do school work again. I felt motivated. My writer’s block disappeared. I felt calm.

The down side is that my future job is not likely to be in the Phoenix area. Even if there was a job here, I don’t want to stay here. Which means that I will not have Connie as my midwife, or Leigh as my doula. And that kind of sucks.

But to be honest, I’ve always had trouble envisioning Connie at my next birth. Maybe it’s because she’s just not meant to be.

And I can accept that Leigh will likely not be there because I can entice her to visit me with the promise of chocolate and the scent of a newborn. And then we can bask in new babyness while we watch the birth video, eat brownies, and laugh.

I think MB can be coerced with chocolate too… 

Nonetheless, I still think it’s bullshit that this whole process has been agonizing. It’s bullshit that I can’t just think about what’s best for our family without worrying about damaging my career. And I am one of the lucky ones.

We have come so far, and yet have so much further to go. 

Here’s a snapshot from a few days ago…

when you woke up this morning (at 5:15), the first thing I did (after swearing) was change your diaper. While I was changing it, you repeatedly signed "diaper". Then you signed "milk" and so I nursed you. We came out to the kitchen, and as I was getting your cereal ready, you signed "eat". Once I was done mixing up some fruity slop, I said, "okay, let’s go get you into your high chair" and so you walked towards your high chair and waited for me to lift you up. When you looked sleepy this afternoon, I asked if you wanted to go to your crib and take a nap. You started walking towards the bedroom and when I put you into your crib with your Tiggy and binky, you went to sleep with no problems (which is certainly not always the case). When you woke up, you looked up at the shelves in the bedroom and signed "book" to let me know that you wanted to look at your favorite book.

You are communicating and it’s wonderful. To be fair, you have always communicated, but I just didn’t know how to translate a lot of your language. Now, I don’t know how we would survive around here without sign language. In the last month, you have had a signing explosion, and now you sign words unprompted rather than only producing a sign when I say the word first. You’ll come up to me in a tizzy and I’ll ask what you want, and if you are able, you tell me.

That’s the good stuff.

The bad stuff is that you are once again waking at 5:30 in the morning. Regardless of when you go to bed. Regardless of how sleep deprived you may be, you will not agree to staying in your crib past 6 a.m. at the latest. I am soooooo getting revenge when you are a teenager. You had a few bad nights of repeated wakings a few weeks ago, after which you started signing about 10 new words. And then you started sleeping through again. You’ve gone back to mostly napping twice a day, except for the days that I have made plans around that schedule. On those days, you’ll lay down in the morning and really, you try to sleep, but after about a half an hour you demand to be let out of your bed cage.

Other random stuff…

Your favorite toys are your stacking cups, your blocks, and a small broom. Your favorite activity is putting things into containers and taking things out of containers. That keeps you busy most of the day. You also love pushing buttons–VCR, remote control, air purifier, etc. You also have a couple of books that have little squeaky animals in them, and when you couldn’t figure out how to make it squeak with your hand, you improvised–you put the books on the ground and step on them. I thought that was pretty brilliant.

Your favorite food was pears, until one day you started throwing them on the floor after only one bite. You like bananas most of the time and your breakfast is usually a mashed banana with rice cereal (either made with goat milk or goat milk yogurt). You like beans and peas and pasta and grapes and raisins–most of the time. In fact, you pretty much like everything on some days and I can always find something you are excited to eat. You’ll be crazy about something for a few days, and then won’t touch it. I can’t blame you. I’m the same way.

We finally turned your car seat around so that it’s forward facing and you were so amazed at the new view. I would have left you rear-facing longer (it’s safer) but your feet had to bend at the knees for you to fit in the seat.

I dropped your dream feed when you started nursing a little more in the day. I had agonized about "phasing it out" but just stopped one day and you never noticed. You will now usually get a 5 to 10 minute feed in once a day, either first thing in the morning or after one of your naps, with maybe a few little nursings throughout the day.  

I have been doing Dance Dance Revolution as a cardio workout, and you just love to "dance" like mama. We have an extra pad, so sometimes we’ll put "your" pad next to mine and you will just go to town. More and more you’ll dance to pretty much anything and I so love that about you.

I’m so glad we get to spend a lot of time together. It is so fascinating to watch you morph back and forth between monkey and baby human. You love to climb things, and it’s not like this is a behavior that has been modeled to you. Your dad and I don’t go around climbing things all day. But you just have this drive to do it. Apparently, so do most kids–go look at the toys on a playground. They’re built for monkeys.

I would like to write more to you, but honestly little dude, I’m tired, and if I keep putting off posting this, we’re going to miss a monthly update and I am too obsessive to let that happen.

I love you and am so glad that you are my little boy. You bring me so much joy every day.

Love,

Mama 

I’ve been too unmotivated to write anything lately. I’ve been really overwhelmed with school and Albie is such a busy little boy (I guess they all are) that he makes the time I have with him go "poof" and so the blog has been on the back burner.

I just came across a lovely little interview with Ani Difranco, in which she is asked about her home birth. I love her. I have loved her for quite some time. And this quote just made me want to jump up and shout, "Amen, Sister!" It pretty much sums up the whole "why home birth" question:

 I would definitely choose a homebirth again despite the fear mongering of this patriarchal society, which convinces women that they are incapable of having babies without the intervention of men and their machines. I look at societies where women are marginalized and oppressed their whole lives (even covered head to toe in tarps!) but are still in control of birthing practice, in a whole new way now. I mean, who is really more advanced? To take birthing out of women’s hands and deny us the continuum of eons of wisdom and experience is to eject us from the very seat of our power. I believe that women in hospitals are prevented from being able to have normal, healthy birthing experiences because of the intimidation of being on the clock, being pressured to take drugs to make it quicker, being inhibited in their movement and activities, and alienated by a sterile, fluorescent lit, feet-in-the-air type environment. You know the classic “performance anxiety” of not being able to pee or poo because somebody’s watching you? Multiply that by a million! A cervix is a sphincter after all! Then to add tragic insult to injury women are numbed through their great moment of revelation. I believe the act of giving birth to be the single most miraculous thing a human being can do and it is surely the moment when a lot of women finally understand the depth of their power and connection to all of nature. You think it can’t possibly be done, you think you can’t possibly take the pain, and then you do — and afterward you look at yourself in a whole new way. If you can do that, you can do anything. Check out the books on this subject by Ina May Gaskin. She’s one of my great heroes.

P.S. I was in labor for 43 hours. Pushed for five hours. It was brutal and scary and prolonged, and if I was in a hospital, they would have definitely cut the baby out of me. I thank the goddesses that I was at home with patient midwives who knew how to go the distance. The memory of pain always recedes. The memory of triumph does not.

Hm. Pushed for 5 hours. I wonder what that’s like…

I was already a huge fan of this comic strip, but this one made me get all weepy because it was totally Albie & his Tiggy…

I can’t wait until Albie is old enough to read comic books.

He’s been boogeying down to music lately.

Apparently, he and H watched a Jimi Hendrix DVD tonight.

Albie was totally cutting loose, flinging a piece of fabric around, shaking his head back and forth, totally rocking out.

A clumsy toddler, intoxicated by tunes. Jamming out to Jimi.

That makes every thing he’s ever done that’s pissed me off worth it. 

I, for one, could not survive motherhood without music.

It may be the one thing that helps us all survive toddlerhood.

The good:

Albie is having a sign language explosion. He can sign finished, more, bath, drink, dog, milk, eat, and ’signing time’ because it is the name of the DVD that has helped foster such an explosion.

The bad:

His sleep has gone to shit. I’m pretty sure it’s connected to the language thing, but it still sucks.

The ugly:

My mood. Bleh.

Dear Albie,

This update will probably not be eloquent or funny, but by golly, I’m going to get it done. At least I will someday be able to point to your monthly updates as evidence of some sort of consistency in your life.

You started walking last month, and have now developed great balance. We live in an old house with some uneven flooring and bizarrely placed steps (that I had not realized were "steps" until I watched a toddler repeatedly trip over them). It didn’t take long for you to catch on and grab a nearby wall or door when you reached those points. Now, you don’t even need to do that. You are like a 4 wheel drive machine. Your favorite toy right now is one of those pushable poppers. You’ve been fascinated with it for quite some time, but now you really enjoy it because you can walk while pushing it. In the last few days, it’s obvious you’re trying to learn how to run. I do hope that it takes some time for you to figure that out. I’m not ready for you to run away from me! In the last week, you’ve now started standing up by yourself without need of something steady yourself with. You are also thinking vertically, and I will often look over to see that you are now standing on something so that you are up off of the ground. It freaks me out. But through a fuzzy lens, it becomes so obvious that you are, after all, a little monkey. And by god, you want to climb like one. It’s too bad you don’t have a prehensile tail. I have been lamenting my lack of one for several years now.

We made a purchase in the last month that has been one of the best baby-oriented investements thus far. We bought a couple of “Signing times” DVDs. You had seen some signs on the Baby Einstein DVDs, but I sometimes get the feeling that those DVDs were really created by people who just wanted their kids out of their hair. I feel like the Signing Times DVDs were created by people who really love children. You are fascinated by them. The songs are catchy and fun. And, the best part is that because they show several kids your age signing, I better understand the range of forms a baby sign can take. I think you may have been signing at least a little bit for awhile now, and I was missing it. Your most common sign is “finished”, and you have also signed more, milk, and horse. I don’t think you actually understand the horse sign, but that you were just copying what the other kids were doing. I could be wrong. You also wave “bye-bye” now, will give high-fives, will head-butt one of your parents on command, and will play along (when you feel like it) to pat-a-cake.

In terms of spoken language, other than attempts at “dog”, I don’t think you have much interest. Which doesn’t mean you are quiet. It just means that you prefer a wide range of goofy sounds. I’m okay with that. I often prefer them myself.

You try to brush your hair. You try to brush your teeth. You will babble on a phone or anything resembling a phone. You help with getting dressed by pushing your arms and legs into the appropriate holes. You help with getting undressed by lifting your arms over your head. You can grab your foot when I ask “where is your footie?”, and will pat your belly when I ask where your belly is. You know where my nose is, but seem perplexed about the whereabouts of your own. You know the names of many objects and will grab them and bring them to me when I ask (if you feel like it).

You still have four top teeth and two bottom teeth and you are cutting your first upper molars. You are in the 90th percentile of height, and 75th for weight. Which is funny, because the exact opposite was true at 6 months.

You are self-feeding now, and are really pretty good at it. You still have a great appetite and wide palette, and I feel very fortunate in that respect. In general, you have great table manners. I’m sure this will not always be the case, but I can dream. You have really decreased your nursing, and the only big session you get in each day is the dream feed. At this point, I could let it go and it probably wouldn’t affect your sleep, but I like knowing that you are getting a big dose of mama goodness during that time. You will randomly take very short little nips during the day, but I’m not really sure if you consume much milk then or just like to know it’s still available. You’ve even shortened your first-thing-in-the-morning-feed to almost nothing, but will not tolerate actually skipping it. In truth, I probably hold onto the dream feed because it is the only time you are really settled down and nursing, and I’m not willing to let it go yet.

You sleep 10 to 11 hours each night with a solid 6 to 8 hour stretch most nights. Sure, you wake, and may even grumble, but then put yourself back to sleep. You went through a short period of screaming some time within the first 2 hours of sleep and needing to be momentarily consoled. I don’t know what was going on, but it didn’t last long. Every once in awhile you’ll have a bad night with repeated waking. I figure it’s some kind of developmental spurt and try not to get too upset about it. And suddenly, inexplicably, you started sleeping in later. I almost don’t want to mention it, for fear of jinxing this new development. Once upon a time, you used to sleep until about 7:30, and around the time of your surgery, it moved back to about 5:30. It was infuriating. I don’t know if you were traumatized, or if that time period also corresponded to trying to learn mobility skills. Now, after learning to walk, you wake between 6:30 and 7:30. Maybe you just wear yourself out during the day I never thought I would rejoice at sleeping until 7:30. That, my little friend, is the power of a baby. The power of you. And I don’t even hold it against you. Much.

You are also slowly starting the transition to one nap a day. About once a week, you just take one nap a day. The other days, you still take two, but there’s more variation in how long they last than there had been previously. As you are getting older, you can handle longer stretches of wake time without complete melt-downs.

With regards to elimination communication/potty training….well, you don’t want to poop on the toilet. You used to do it, but now just don’t. I can’t blame you. I think it must be a lot easier to stand up and squat a little than to sit on the toilet, especially when your feet don’t even touch the ground. If I realize you’re pooping, I’ll try to get you there for at least part of the experience, but I miss it most of the time. You pee on the toilet a lot, and it’s easiest after a nap. So, at this point, I figure if you’re not afraid of the toilet, we’re on the right track.

You still love your Tiggy more than just about anything. You love your binkies and love your fuzzy blanket. You love spending time in your crib to just hang out. You love car rides, and I will often think you are asleep, but no…you’re just checking it all out, taking it all in, grooving to some tunes. You love food, especially your greens. I’m not kidding. You love to laugh. You love hitting inanimate objects. You love it when we sniff or blow on your footies. And you have recently grown to love dolls—any kind of doll with a human face. You love bath time and books, especially your Chirpy Chick book with the fun tractor sounds. You love mangos with sticky rice and garlic noodles (gotta start the Thai food early). You love garlic, period. And water. And pears. You really love pears. You love visiting Dada at work. Everyone he works with lights up when I bring you in. Even the assholes. You love seeing what kinds of objects will fit into other objects. You love carrying shoes around the house. Your Dada just told me that he got up early to go to work the other morning, and as he was putting on his shoes he found one of your stacking cups inside. As if you had left him a present. You also love to carry all sorts of other random things, like the slide-in cover of the dog door. You adore the dogs and have a very particular squeal that only emerges in their presence. You love Signing Time, Sesame Street, and Dan Zanes. You have recently started dancing. I cannot possibly convey to you the emotion that flows through me when you dance. I hope you are never afraid to just boogie on down. And oh yeah. You still love Radiohead and Thom Yorke. I love that about you.

You hate being told no. You hate people in your space when you need your Albie-time. You hate diaper changes, except when you don’t hate them. You hate someone else feeding you or even attempting to feed you. You hate having your face wiped off. Perhaps some will think hate is a strong word, but I assure you, it is accurate. You are a passionate kid, and you have strong preferences about many things. You also hate having to stay in a shopping cart. Thus, you are back in the baby carrier for excursions. I don’t really mind, as I know that I have precious few months left of you wanting to be carried.

I’ve really enjoyed your company in the last month. You have been a complete joy. I hope I can remember that when you are…not.

Love,

Mama

WTF is wrong with people?

Seriously. This is shameful.

Dear Albie,

I’m not sure when it happened. It seemed like I looked up one moment, and there you were. A little person. A little boy. With needs and preferences and tantrums and opinions and a one-track mind when it suits you. Oh, sure, I know in so many ways you are still a baby. But you are also, now, something else. And it startled me.

This was a big month for you. For starters, you finally figured out how to use a sippy cup. But it had to be the old-school Tupperware kind. All of that leak-proof valve stuff just baffles you. But you finally figured it out and you tip it straight up in the air, chugging your beverage, as if you were some melodramatic drunkard consuming a bottle of bourbon.

You have started eating with a spoon. And you do a pretty good job. You still have a hard time scooping food up, but no problem getting it into your mouth (and up your nose). We walk a fine line between me letting you figure it out and watching in horror as all of the furniture and curtains are covered in apple sauce. I don’t have the patience for that. If you want to use food as body paints, I’m okay with that. But please spare the curtains. What have they ever done to you?

We introduced raw goat milk into your diet in the last few weeks. I have had more and more trouble pumping, and so it’s really nice to have an alternative when I’m not around. You seem to be doing well with it, which is a relief. I tried to cut out your dream feed, but you weren’t having it. You’re down to two really big nursing sessions a day (first thing in the morning and the dream feed), and a few little nips throughout the day.

Speaking of milk, there is a certain sound that you make when you are about to nurse that is something like a chipmunk making a Butthead (as in, Beavis and Butthead) laugh. It’s really cute, and in the last month, you have started to use it for other things you are really excited about. Sometimes this is a food item, but it is often also a new toy, or one of your stuffed Tiggers (we bought several online, none of which turned out to actually be the same as your FAVORITE Tigger). It is that sound that I will probably miss the most as you develop more language skills to express your desires.

You have yet to sprout any new teeth. You’ve got four on top, and still just two on the bottom. It seems as if you are starting to cut your upper molars. I have no idea where the rest of your bottom teeth are or when they will make an appearance.

You also had your first haircut this month, just a few days before your birthday party. The very top patch of your hair never fell out and regrew like the rest of your hair. So, technically it was still the same hair you had at birth, which is why it took me so long to cut it even though it reached your nose and was always in your eyes. Cutting your hair changed your entire countenance. You look like a radically different person. You look like a little boy. That might be part of the reason I was so startled to look at you and see suddenly see someone else.

You have developed a real fondness for Dan Zanes. Watching a video of a Dan Zanes song elicits about the same response from you as watching Muppets perform. It must be the hair. You are still a big fan of all things Thom Yorke, and seem to also really like The Flaming Lips. I am quite impressed with your impeccable taste for music. Lately, you will sometimes bounce or sway when you hear music, and it seems you are trying to dance. Once you are a little more steady on your newly walking feet, I’m gonna encourage that as much as I can.

Oh yeah, you started walking in the last 10 days or so, and also trying to scale the furniture. It had been a long time since you had taken your first steps, and then you really didn’t seem to be interested in going any further. Then BAM, you took, like, twelve steps. I don’t know where that came from, but you just put it all together and took off. And are now setting your sights on vertical challenges. I find myself on the verge of a panic attack just thinking about how many things there are to climb in this house.

You had your first sugar overdose at your birthday party—orange cupcakes with lemon buttercream frosting (made with goat milk and goat butter—so, so, sooooo good). You love citrus, but are still too young to have much of it, so I made you a tangy cake. You loved it and so did I. You exhibited far more self-control than I did with the leftovers. That’s probably just because you can’t reach the counter yet. You could also call your birthday party, technically, your first kegger. Because there was keg there for all of your adult friends, of which there were many. I think you have more friends than I do. Must be your great conversation skills…

Speaking of keggers, you also puked for the first time this month. We were at one of your daddy’s coworker’s birthday parties. It was Kelly’s birthday—she loves you to death and buys you lots of stuff and we were really only invited to come along as your chaperones. I don’t know if it was the introduction to goat milk, too many unpureed greens, cilantro in the rice, or just the fact that I was turning you upside down and jiggling you. But you puked. Now I know exactly how different vomit and spit-up really are. And for a moment, I thought to myself, ‘oh man, someone has to deal with this‘. And then I realized,’oh shit, it’s me‘. I had to deal with it. I was covered in vomit. And in that moment I felt so much like a mother.

On the actual day of your birthday (also known as Valentine’s Day), I had to go to school for the afternoon. I was walking back from lunch around the actual time you were born. I looked down at the time on my cell phone, and it was 3:21, and I thought to myself, wow, this is about the time that we realized he was stuck. And as I walked, I realized just how long 3 minutes is. You can cover quite a distance on foot in three minutes. And I was thinking about your birth and the events leading up to your birth in a very cerebral, detached sort of way. But when the clock changed to 3:24, I had luckily just stepped inside my office, because I spontaneously burst into tears. I was acutely aware of how easily we could have lost you that day, and what a miracle the beginning of a life truly is. I was so happy you were born exactly a year ago, and I could remember what you smelled like and what you felt like and I was overwhelmed with joy. I am so lucky to know you and to have the privilege to hang out with you and watch you grow.

And as I watched you play a few days ago, it suddenly occurred to me that you will, hopefully, live beyond me, and that I won’t get to see you as an old man as your life comes to an end. I was filled with a great sense of sadness because I realized that we usually only get to see a life begin, or watch it end, but not usually both. And when we do see both, it is an even greater tragedy. I can’t explain exactly how this realization made me feel, but it is a feeling I haven’t been able to shake. A feeling of being cheated because I won’t get to see how it all turns out. A feeling of being swallowed by things much greater than I. A feeling of powerlessness. A feeling of sorrow. A feeling of appreciation for all things precious. A feeling of restlessness. A feeling of peace. The feeling I have is all of these things. And I realize that these same feeling sum up my feelings as a mother. It is these feelings that I have stumbled through and grappled with in the last year, which are slowly being replaced with more and more moments of joy and laughter and fun without concern for what “else” I should be doing. I may not get to see how it all turns out, but what I get to see now is simply amazing.

Things that make you giggle wildly:

• Belly kisses
• Blowing on your toes or feet (he-he)
• Making fake sneeze noises (“ah-choo”)
• Making random animal noises (dog, chicken, turkey–the goofier the better)
• Chasing you around the house
• Just about anything if you’re tired enough…

Things that piss you off:

• Sometimes, the belly kisses
• Pretty much anything involving boundaries or the word ‘no’
• Having your face wiped off
• Diaper changes
• Just about anything if you’re tired enough…

Things I have learned:

• Life is short. Period.
• A year takes on a completely different meaning when it is a year of your child’s life.
• And yet, three minutes is a really long time.
• It is much easier to give your child a few drawers of stuff in the kitchen to play with rather than keep him out of the kitchen entirely.

• Thinking about what you "should" be doing all the time is a great big waste of time. If you have one "should" to pick, it "should" be playing with the baby.
• The housework really can wait.
• Out of sight out of mind is perfectly acceptable as a cleaning strategy.
• The number one advantage of exclsive breastfeeding–virtually smell-free poop for the first 6 months.
• It really is a whole new ballgame once your child is mobile.
• There is little or no correlation between your older baby’s favorite food today, and the favorite food tomorrow.
• Made-from-scratch cupcakes are actually more expensive than mixes or bakery purchases. Oh, wait, they also have way less crap in them (unless you consider butter and sugar crap–I consider them indulgences). And even though they are more expensive, they are so freaking worth it. I wanted to take a flipping bath in the buttercream frosting.
• I really should remember what my mom taught me and always add an extra egg to baked goods. She claims it makes them more moist. I’m pretty sure she’s right.
• When making potato salad, DON’T FORGET ABOUT YOUR BOILING POTATOES. We know have a freezer bag full of essentially, mashed potatoes and carrots. We call it "potato soup base", also known as "way overboiled potatoes". Damn potatoes.
• It’s okay to ask for help.
• It’s more than okay to ask for help–it’s downright admirable.
• Things are much easier once you stop trying to impose your before-baby schedule, habits, routines, and standards on your post-baby life.
• Take your vitamins. Really. Just do it.
• Some days, you just have to say fuck it. About everything. Except keeping the baby fed, changed, and alive.
• Sleep deprivation really makes people crazy. C-R-A-Z-Y Crazy.
• All the crazy is worth it.

 If you had some choice in the matter, thank you so much for picking me as your mama.

I love you so much, little Gondas.

Happy, happy birthday! 

Love,

Mama 

Feb 14, 2007

May 18, 2007

June 22, 2007

July 18, 2007

Aug 6, 2007

Sept 11, 2007

Sept 16, 2007

Oct 13, 2007

Oct 27, 2007

nov 22

nov 23, 2007

Dec 4, 2007

Dec 14, 2007

Jan 2, 2008

So, once upon a time, I had this dog named Batchelor, with a ‘t’. I spelled it with a ‘t’ so that his name was ‘Batchy’ for short instead of ‘Bachy’ because ‘Bachy’ would sound like a pet name for a classical composer. I was told he was an Alaskan Malamute - German Shepherd mix. I’m pretty sure that there was Doberman in there too, but the Husky was the predominant personality.

I had him for 8 years, from the time I was 17, until I was almost 25. I was a total idiot when I raised him and trained him, and he could be a monster (only to inanimate objects and fences), but I loved him so much. He had terrible separation anxiety, so I had to get a dog friend for him. Turns out they were both escape artists. The only thing that ever kept him in was electric wire. Don’t judge. I touched it myself before I ever let him get near it.

When I divorced my ex-husband, I let him keep the chow I’d originally gotten to be Batchy’s friend because I wanted his son to have a protector and they were both very close to her. Because of the separation anxiety component, I took Batchy to doggie day care every day while I went to school or work. Because seriously, he couldn’t be alone. He broke through a window once. He chewed up seat belts. Destroyed carpets, furniture, you name it. He even managed to escape not one, but two, kennels at the doggie day care that were designed for pit bulls!

I know now that they have medications for this kind of thing, and would have considered it had I known. Instead, I just lived with it and did what I had to do because I loved him so. The day care people loved him too, in spite of his fence damage. Because he was such a PERSON.

About two months before he died, I took him to the vet because he had a cough. The vet said something to the effect of, ‘Yeah, these old huskies, they have loose jowels’. And I was stunned for a moment. Because it never occurred to me that he was old. I still viewed him as "entering his prime". But I looked at him that day and realized, yes, he was getting old. 

I was currently living with my mother after a few very stressful months, and it was not the optimal living situation. I was working on getting a place of my own, made all the more difficult by the crazy dog factor. I was really depressed at the time. When I wasn’t manic.

When we got home from the vet, I was snuggling with him on the bed, and I told him I knew he was getting old and that it had been a long, crazy, life with me, but would he please promise not to leave me until I was out of my mother’s house and in a better situation? And happy? And would he please try to make sure I was there when he passed? And if there was an afterlife, would he promise to be the one to greet me?

Don’t worry. He didn’t actually reply to these pleas. I wasn’t THAT depressed and delusional. But I think he understood.

Fast forward to January 15th, about a month after the vet visit. I was moving into an apartment owned by someone I had known as a customer from a coffee shop I worked at for several years. He even let me paint the apartment. And it was a cool little complex of only 4 apartments with a nice big grassy courtyard. Every day, I dropped Batchy off at doggie day care on my way to school. On my way home, I picked him up and we’d go to the park for awhile. It was a really nice few weeks. So nice, and so surreal, that I even remarked to a good friend of mine that life was really good and I wanted to really memorize this time with Batchy, and that I would look back on it as a really positive time in my life. The week before he died, I felt compelled to take mental snapshots of our moments together. I really appreciated our time together.

Around this time I met Hyrum. We had our first "date" on Feb 2. It was dinner at my place because I couldn’t leave Batchy home alone. Or in my car alone. Or anywhere alone. But Hyrum was cool about it. We talked for 6 hours that night and made plans for the following weekend. I was going to have my brother come over to babysit Batchelor so we could go out. Seriously, it was like having a baby.

The next day, I spent a lot of time cuddling with Batchelor. We napped on the couch together. Keep in mind, this was an 85 lb dog. I was memorizing the feel of his fur as I stroked him. Some part of me must have known what was to come.

He got sick on the night of the 5th. He had bloat. My options were an operation to rearrange his internal organs or to put him down. The operation was risky. They’d have to keep him for a week. I didn’t want him to die without me there in some recovery room or kennel. And then, he would have "special needs" and I just didn’t know how the hell that would be possible. And I had always secretly hoped that he wouldn’t have a long, drawn out kind of sickness or death, and so in some way, this sudden sickness was a twisted blessing.

He saw me through so many changes and growing pains, and when he died, I was devastated.

On the plus side, had I not been an emotional wreck, I don’t know that I would have been "needy" enough to let Hyrum into my heart. And I’m so glad I did. In a funny way, it was like Batchelor’s gift to me. Either that, or when he met Hyrum he was like "oh, god, not another man for me to tolerate–I’m out of here". I actually like to think that he saw that Hyrum was a good man, and figured he didn’t need to be around to protect me any more. And the timing was hauntingly perfect–the lack of freedom due to having to care for Batchy had probably literally saved my life when I was initially manic after the divorce. If I hadn’t had to look after someone and had to be home most nights…I don’t really want to think about where I would have ended up. But now I was in need of more freedom, and as much as I loved him, he was kind of a burden.

Need I mention that it is spooky how well he kept his deal? I was out of my mother’s house. I was happy. And he didn’t get sick while I was in school. I didn’t show up to pick him up to find him dead or in the hospital. I was right there with him. If there is some sort of afterlife, I am positive he will be there to greet me.

It’s been 5 years today since he died. I have three dogs. There is no dog shortage in this house. But there is also no Batchy.

About six months after he died, I wrote this poem. I don’t even think it’s very good. But I thought I would post it, for no other reason than maybe someone else will read it and totally know that they are not the only ones who have cried spontaneously for years to come over a lost furry friend.

For Batchelor

December 21, 1994-February 6, 2003

The night I lost you,
you were so sick,
and it came out of nowhere,
no warning.

It had been the perfect day
in the park,
you’d gotten in
up to your belly–
you, the dog who hated water.

And when we crossed the bridge–
click, click, click,
your paws on concrete,
every few seconds
looking back at me,
of course
I was always right there.

Always.

When the pain started,
I knew
this was no bellyache to pass,
and somewhere,
in the back of my brain,
I heard the word ‘bloat’
and remembered
it could be fatal.

I had no phone book–
called a friend for a number
to an emergency vet.
I knew
time was running short–
your quiet whine–
no dog so big
should ever cry so small.

And when you went to lay
in the bathtub,
the line was crossed
and off we went.

The x-ray came back,
I was right,
it was bloat,
and you would die
without surgery,
and probably die
even with surgery,
and I asked someone,
something,
you,
what to do…

and I knew
it was time.

All I’d ever hoped
was that I’d be there
when the time came,
and that you wouldn’t die
a slow death
in months of pain.

They gave you drugs to calm
and sooth
and let me sit with you,
while I waited for my mother
to arrive
and give me strength.

And you knew,
you knew,

your huge head in my lap–
your head now bigger
than your entire body
the day I brought you home–
so long ago.
You knew,
and you conceded.

The doctor entered
and explained
there might be
twitching,
convulsions,
spasms,
but not to be alarmed.

I stared at the
yellow
cabinets and thought,
‘well, at least it’s a color I already hate,
so I can really hate it now.’

The room was vibrating around me
and I couldn’t look at you.
And the doctor asked, ‘are you
ready?’
and I said, ‘yes, let’s do it
now.’

There was no resistance.

When the drug moved in–
you moved out of this world
with one big rush–
you were your mother’s dog
indeed.

Your legs
stiffened, your head went
slack,
and there was
one
gasp,

just one–

it was an easy death.

And in the days that followed,
I thought I would die,
I wanted to follow
you, my best friend,
the extension of all I am–
but I knew,
that in your previous doggie mind,
you would hate to see me sad,
so I pressed on,
and replayed memories–

the feel of your fur against
my hand, the click
click, click of your paws,
the wild thump of your tail,
the sarcastic, last word comments
I could always translate.

And late at night,
I would plead with the
universe
for just five minutes more,
with no response.

And slowly, I started to let go,
and now, I still cry
sometimes,
it sneaks up now and then,
but I count myself as blessed
for knowing such pure love,
my best friend.

Apparently, this is a video put together by Obama supporters from his New Hampshire primary speech. It made me cry. Even if you’re not voting for Obama, it is still a great video.

So, I totally missed Blog for Choice Day this year. Here’s my post from last year about why I’m pro choice. The topic this year was supposed to be why I vote pro-choice. Because I do. But I don’t know if I can articulate why I vote pro-choice. It’s just such a core value to me because it is related to so many other issues on so many other levels. Gender equality. Respect. Compassion. Trust in women. Trust in mothers. Commitment to help women in other countries with reproductive options. Deliverance from reproductive slavery and the body as a commodity. Access to birth control. Aid for impoverished women. Good prenatal care. Gentle birth. Informed choices. A rejection of Crisis Pregnancy Centers and their intimidation tactics and the lies they tell women about abortion. A rejection of the abstinence-only education that is putting our teenagers in danger. A rejection of all of the blantant lies fed to our children about their bodies.

It is no wonder that women give birth in a hospital completely uninformed. Many of them have been lied to about their bodies since they were preteens. I am of the mind that sexuality is pretty much the be all end all core of our beings in one way or another. If you can control someone’s sexuality and their reproductive potential, you have control over their entire life.

So for me, reproductive freedom must be protected because it is akin to freedom of one’s soul. And it is under constant attack. Even birth control is under attack because it is "anti-woman" and "anti-life" and preventing pregnancy is the same as saying you hate children and having sex for anything but procreation is equating women with whores. Read the article. I’m not kidding.

I vote pro-choice with the hope that the people I elect have the same passion for protecting my reproductive rights as those who oppose these rights. 

And because I am a pro-choice voter, I am voting for Barack Obama. I think this article sums up my justification for doing so. There are so many other reasons, but if I had to point to one, this is it.

Oh, and he also spoke out against this stupid war we’re involved in. Don’t tell me "we didn’t have all of the facts" at the time. I was one of the people who marched against us going to war because many of us knew, even then, that there weren’t enough facts to go to war, and that Iraq had nothing to do with 9/11. We had no business invading that country. It’s great that Saddam is dead. Fine. So let’s get the hell out and let those people have their country back.

Arizona primaries are Tuesday along with all of the other "Super Tuesday" states. To be honest, I am just giddy about the fact that we got to watch a debate last week and there was no white man on the stage. Pretty amazing. Both of the democratic candidates are great choices. I’ll happily vote for either in the general election. But I’d be just a little happier to vote for Obama.

On Monday I came across this State of the Union drinking game, which was obviously satirical, and quite complicated. But it inspired me to actually play a drinking game during the address. So, we cracked open a bottle of wine, grabbed two shot glasses (they were actually saki glasses), and we took a drink for each of these pre-determined phrases:

• "economic stimulus package"
• "9/11"
• "War on terror"
• "Make tax cuts permanent"
• "Culture of life"
• "Osama bin Ladin"
• "Housing market"
• "Border security" (or “secure our borders”)

The only phrase that didn’t explicitly come up was “culture of life” although he alluded to it. He didn’t actually say it, of course, because he is not campaigning for re-election.

Needless to say, we were pretty tipsy by the end of the speech. I think we’ll do this every year.

I read a great personal account of postpartum nursing (as in being a nurse caring for a pospartum mom…not postpartum breastfeeding, which would be a terribly redundant term).

Magical child.

Boy with the devious smile.

Baby love who is older,

so much older

than he appears.

Magical child.

My blessing.

Such a challenge

to be your mother

and your guide.

Magical child.

Euphoria.

Up and down,

you keep me

never waiting

for a new direction.

Magical child.

Boy with the sweet

sweet smile

and solid stance,

determination personified.

Magical child.

Scientist.

Inventor.

Experimenter.

Catalyst.

Window

into the mind.

Magical child.

I am so glad

to know you,

so glad I waited

to know you

until I was strong enough

to be kind to you.

Magical child.

My little one.

Boy made of squeals

and screams

and giggles

and storms.

Magical child.

You speak a language

of monkeys,

coyotes,

a dolphin,

a spirit beam.

Magical child.

Loki child.

Musical child.

Aquarian child,

I love you.