Diaper Bag Debris

One Year Ago…

2009-11-04T20:21:00.000-08:00

On a rainy November Monday…a little boy was born named Necalli. Although he had to stay in the hospital for 5 days, he soon began to grow big and strong. He learned how to smile and began flirting with every girl he met. He preferred standing to sitting. He looked great in bear suits, and he soon got the nickname of “The Bear.” That was quickly followed by “Toots” as that was a favorite pastime. He started out sleeping so well- it didn’t last however. He happily went to restaurants, and was even well behaved.

Parties were his specialty… holiday parties, bridal showers, bachlorette parties, weddings, birthdays…you name it. Balloons, initially were terribly frightening, but soon became worth knocking over anything to get to. Baths were a favorite time of day- he could almost undress himself in his hurry to get in the tub. He fell in love with a pony named Vanilla and enjoyed his “work” at horse shows. He started teething at six months and crawling around the same time. Walking began a week before his first birthday. His first words were a toss up between “dog” (or “do”) and “cat” (or “kit”). Of course he could say Mama, and soon thereafter “book.” Early on, he figured out how to crawl- and climb stairs. He worked out the intricacies of flipping a chair over while he was in it. He delighted in life and was a delight to those in it.

And he is now one year old. Necalli Loves balloons- capital “L”. He Hates peas- same applies for the “H”. Other than peas, he is pretty into food. He hugs Flip Flop- for real… a big bear hug, then he rests his head on Flip’s belly (the cat deserves a medal). He smiles and giggles and flirts wherever he is. He knows how to cluck at the horses and he is still in love with Vanilla. I can’t believe I get to be his mom!

So much has happened in the last year. Obviously. While I was prepared for the physical, tangible parts of it, many of the details still surprise me. While I cannot stand the smell or taste of cucumbers, I now am able to hold Necalli as he decimates one and manage not to gag. In public, I will tear food up with my hands and teeth and feed it to him… I really miss my table manners. I have given up on looking presentable and often times just avoid public areas until my hair decides what the hell it is going to do. I have not slept more than 5 hours straight now in over a year and that is taking a toll more so than this insomniac ever thought. My left arm is incredibly strong, rivaling that of my right.

I feel bad when I discover something that he immediately connects to that I didn’t even think to try. Dressing him, while a challenge, is a kick in the pants. Diaper changing on the other hand, I still feel inept. I can, however, take the pee and the poop- both have happened to me, on me, near me far too many times. No matter what mood I am in, his smile remedies it. I love my free time more than ever before and I relish the time I spend at work when he is at home with any of the people who watch and love him. But, I also cannot wait to get home to the chaos I know is there. So far, I have kept to my goal of not doing that "Mom" thing of spit cleaning him. I cannot believe my luck at having had such great wedding photographers who became neighbors who became part of Necalli’s life- Meher watches him two days a week and he will leap from my arms into hers. I understand family now, for real, and I know it does not only have to do with blood relations. Virginie and I get to raise our sons together and though they are not brothers, they really might as well be. I am scared about the future. I am excited too.

I still don’t feel grown up. But I feel like a Mommy. And I am exactly where and who I need to be. Oh, and Necalli is one year old now… and he rocks!

The Cowardly Lion

2009-10-04T20:26:00.000-07:00

The Wizard of Oz is undisputedly a classic. Between “There’s no place like home,” “Lions, and Tigers and Bears” (come on, you know you just whispered “oh my”!) and “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” I would venture to guess that it touches many people daily. We have all been charmed by the munchkins, terrified by the flying monkeys (who wasn’t) or secretly sad when Dorothy had to leave her new friends behind.

Lately, I have been channeling the Cowardly Lion in one sense, while I feel like I have discarded another. Post the hair fall out of late spring I have had a nice reprieve from the hair troubles that often seem to plague me. The waves were gentle and manageable, the length increasing and the color nicely highlighted by the hours of teaching in the sun. But, alas, I spoke too soon, even if it was only to myself, and I now have a problem on my hand.

My hair is growing back in. That is supposed to be a good thing. But, in this case, the hair is all (or at least so it seems) growing in just on the edges of the hairline…nice little wispy, tufts that fan out, framing my face in what is daily growing into quite the mane. Straightening it only makes matters worse as the hairs stick out of the longer strands. My helmet increases the hilarity. Some days, I would truthfully rather go back to the fall out.

While the outer parts of my head are physically resembling the gentle carnivore of Oz, the inner workings seem to be settling into “the nerve.” Perhaps deservedly so, I have been stymied by sometimes (irrational?) fears since Necalli was born, and not all of them have to do with the teenage years! The daily job of keeping this little boy alive and happy and well is such an undertaking- I was prepared for the undertaking itself, but certainly not the depth of emotion attached to it.

Necalli certainly “has the noive.” This little lad will not stop. He gleefully charges up the stairs and down, into and out of cupboards and closets. He squeals with enthusiasm at every dog, cat, horse and canary that comes his way. Arms are always open and ready for anyone to hug. The bathtub is his own personal water park. And though I love how he is charging through life, eager for more, he is a force to be reckoned with, even for himself.

The last two days have brought some scary but needed restraint for Necalli and fortunately, neither was dire. In his enthusiastic bathing he put a knee down on one of his hands while crawling about and did a face plant into the water. With water streaming down his face he looked at me with eyes wide, almost too shocked to cry… it was one of the most vulnerable times I remember with him and not because of how I saw him, but because of how he suddenly saw himself. Once comforted, he sat back down and resumed his splashing and playing, but with more reserve that moments earlier. This afternoon, while making the bed, he did a Wiley Coyote off the edge… I don’t even think it registered that the bed had ended. The little rug burn on the tip of his nose is the reminder we three have that life… our life, his life, your life… while meant to be grasped and enjoyed fully, must be done with just a dash of restraint and preservation so as to enjoy more of it fully.

Re-surfacing

2009-09-04T20:24:00.000-07:00

Every year it happens to me… and every year I am surprised. Labor Day. Just when I feel like I have things under control and can add a bit of summer fun to my life, this holiday pipes up, demanding some attention and putting and end to my summer plans. Damn… I missed another!

In June 2001 I graduated from UC Davis, though the university didn’t acknowledge it until 2002 (one day there will be an excerpt on Social Security numbers that don’t work, but that is another subject). But, the important part of that is that June 2001 was the last time that Summer Vacation was capitalized and had that exciting sense of relatively true freedom. I could sleep in late, go on trips, hang out, have bar-b-ques… all the classic summer things. It was wonderful! In the years since then, I still cannot help to get a subtle thrill from the end of May/ beginning of June… the air smells different, the light is just a bit brighter… even though that true release of summer doesn’t come directly into play for me anymore, I cannot help but wax nostalgic about the days when it did.

This summer, as in most of the summers since graduation, I spent fulfilling the summer dreams of those who get a vacation. Hordes of little girls (and a few brave little boys) descend upon the barn for a week of horsy fun, dirt and activity. For an intense 10 weeks, it is all about camp, riding, horse shows, harvest preparation (just to mix it up a bit) and going home tired. The nights are warm and balmy. The skies are brilliant with the stars. And I am zombie-like on the couch, recovering… at least I was up until this summer.

Necalli loved summer camp. He delighted in the activity and the kids and the dirt on the floor of the office. He even became one of the camp activities, as his squeaks and crawling and Cheerio -eating provided hours of amusement for everyone. He has become quite the charmer and he flirts like crazy! And while I was happy to see summer vacation come to an end simply for the fact that things could go back to “normal”, he has found it much less exciting down at the barn without all of his “peeps.”

What catches me every year about the end of summer is that it arrives. Throughout the long days and hot nights I make plans… have dinner parties on the lawn… visit the beach… take Necalli swimming…can food… write another excerpt on our lives… clean my house… organize… Every night I tell myself, “tomorrow, tomorrow I will do it.” Then, it gets to be “this weekend.” Then “When summer camp is over.” And suddenly, it s Labor Day and harvest and school and cooling down. And while I love the cooling down phase, I miss the hot nights, eating dinner on the lawn and listening for crickets. And I realize how much time has flown by. Necalli is 10 months old today. Can you believe it? When this summer started he was only 7 months old and look where we are today!

Necalli is sleeping on the couch right now. It is still hot and he is in just his diaper, arms and legs flung about, hair sticking out sideways like a mini Uncle Fester. And he looks so big, like a little kid, not a baby so much anymore. I wonder when that transformation began. He climbs the stairs now… and has learned how to scurry down them. He plays “chase”, squeaking through the house as I catch him. He walks around the couches and tables, pulls himself up while he tries to pull down my dress/ pants/ socks in his enthusiastic attempts to remain upright. He loves the horses, Vanilla (the grey pony) especially- he searches for her amongst all the other long, inquisitive faces.

He talks, though no one understands him, waves goodbye and kisses the baby in the mirror every morning. He squeals in delight at Flip Flop who now good-naturedly lets him “pet” him. His hair is slightly red, like mine, and it grows over his ears, but I cannot bear to cut it. He delights in everyone and hails tem in a “You are the King” fashion, both hands in the air. He reads and gardens with Nana every week and plays with delight at his Abuela and Abuelo’s house. He lights up at Virginie’s voice, can’t wait for Wyett to get big and play, has an affinity for pretty much every girl at the barn and has a slew of “Aunts” whom he charms and is charmed by. And, he loves his daddy.

He doesn’t yet sleep through the night, but he has figured out how to get off the bed in the correct, feet first, fashion when I break down and pull him into bed to catch to those elusive minutes of sleep that I can’t seem to keep a hold of. He loves cucumbers (you know my feelings about those). bananas (see prior parentheses) and playing in water (ditto). Books are great, for reading and sitting in. Chickens and windmills are fabulous entertainment. Cheerios can make a bad day turn good. He smiles so much and so big and he gives hugs and wet, unorganized kisses.

Harvest is upon us and the days are ending sooner, though still with beautiful sunsets and plenty of mosquitoes. Summer is almost over, but there is still enough left over to revel in. And I intend to do just that. We might still have enough warm days for a swim. In two months we have a birthday party to attend to… and between now and then, I intend to do some catch up … on the bar-b-ques, sleeping in (if only in my dreams- and they are big dreams these days), go on some trips (well, horse shows –to Pebble Beach- will have to suffice) and enjoying the crickets. After all, there is this inquisitive little one who needs to know the proper way to run a summer vacation. And, that is a big responsibility.

Following Directions, or Not

2009-07-05T22:13:00.000-07:00

In this new direction that my life has taken, it has become abundantly clear that that which is most important in life does not come with a set of directions. Guidelines, yes. Suggestions from “experts”, yes. Suggestions from non-experts, abundantly, yes. Tomes of research, yes. But a directions manual…nope! For much of it, you are on your own. And for a stubborn (some might say mule-ish) headstrong person such as myself, who is intent upon making my own mistakes and learning from them, rather than letting others make them for me, that means that the learning curve is pretty damn steep. Of course, this learning curve would be a measurably more level incline if, when deciding to follow some directions, the directions that you ARE given had any basis in reality. Well, that and if I could actually follow directions in the first place.

I have, as the months have gone by, become more open to suggestions and anecdotes and directions. Part of this comes from the realization (belatedly, I am sure) that I cannot figure everything out by myself in any sort of time-oriented fashion and another from the logical part of me that actually can (when not mule-ish) ask for help when needed. But, really, the biggest part comes from being in situations I never would have imagined, not in my wildest (and they are certainly getting wilder) dreams. For example, I never thought I would have to say to anyone, “Please don’t lick the bottom of that shoe.” Or “No, do not stick you foot in THAT!”

I have gradually come to the conclusion that for a situation (or multitudes of them) where your guess is as good as any and all of the great intentions in the world cannot make up for occasional ineptitude, directions would be extremely welcome. In the absence of them, then, it would be nice to be able to at least count on the times when you are given directions and for those directions to work… but they (the directions), in a word, suck.

From a daily (many, many times a daily) perspective, some cases in point… and these are verbatim…

“Dissolve 2-3 teething tablets underneath tongue 3-4 times a day.” Now, I like the Hylands Teething Tablets just as much as the next person desperate to try anything to relieve teething pain, but really… who is writing these directions? Have they ever tried placing 2-3 tablets, let alone just one, under the tongue of an infant than is old enough to have teeth that are bothersome? And did they really find themselves so successful at this that they figured repeating this feat a couple more times in the same day would be a great idea?

“Place diaper under baby with tabs in back. Pull front of diaper up to navel. Attach tab from the back panel to special taping surface on front of diaper. Too much time in a wet or soiled diaper increases your baby’s chances of developing diaper rash. To prevent unnecessary skin irritation, you may want to change the diaper more frequently. Before disposing of 365 diapers, please flush all solid waste in toilet and discard diaper in waste receptacle. Do not flush diaper.”

Where to start… Necalli doesn’t lie on the changing table. He flips happily and crawls all over it tearing clothes out of the baskets and chewing on his thermometer. I am lucky if I can get the diapers anywhere close to the correct anatomical place on the baby. When I pull the front of the diaper up to the navel, the whole diaper comes because the cute baby butt is not holding the back end down. I therefore cannot “attach the tabs from the back” because I am now catching everything that Necalli is gleefully tossing about, pointlessly trying to get him to lie still and subsequently giving him a wedgie. At this point, I just put the diaper on backwards and call it good, making sure to aim the sprinkler system downward. And, thanks for the suggestion, but I do not want to change the diaper more frequently… it was hard enough the first time! I will refrain from the graphic detail of how poop enhances this entire experience and though I appreciate “their” advice to “flush all solid waste in the toilet,” but at this point, it is all over the changing pad cover, the old diaper, me him... there is simply nothing left to flush!

With these two stellar examples of printed directions, I am actually not surprised that there are so little out there for all the other specific challenges of our days. So, I am sending this out there… for anyone who might know… or who might want to commiserate… or laugh at me…or…

What do you do when your 7 month old son climbs a flight of stairs? We were watching him every step (all 7 of them) of the way, making sure he wouldn’t fall back down them and we took some pictures to prove his feat. Scooby was bursting with pride, while I mentally reviewed how much this is going to impede my days.

What do you do when your kid grabs the hair of a 5 month old and won’t let go, dragging him across the floor to play? But hair is so much fun to pull!

What do you do when your baby manages to throw himself and the highchair ass over teakettle on the kitchen floor?

Most importantly, what do you do when the biggest smile on the cutest kid simultaneously fills and melts your heart,. Why are there no directions for that?

Oh, Bite Me!

2009-06-02T21:59:00.000-07:00

So, more along the teething rant...

I get that it is supposed to be uncomfortable and that many babies are crabby during the process. I know I was when my wisdom teeth came in (and out for that matter, but they gave me valium which helped!). I know that there are at least ten different remedies per tooth out there and I have heard most of them. I know that this time shall pass, that I will miss this time, and that it can always get worse (and better, I hope).

But here is what I don't get... How in this big wide world are you supposed to "dissolve 2 to 3 [teething] tablets under the tongue 4 times a day"? Or "squirt 1/2 a dropper 6 times a day under the tongue"? I am lucky if I can get near Necalli's mouth when I need to. The tablets dissolve on his lips and the liquid homeopathic drops more often than not go shooting across the room as he has figured out how to bat away my hand and squeeze the dropper at the same time.

Dine and Dash

2009-06-01T21:59:00.000-07:00

For Mother’s Day, I got to witness my two gifts from Necalli- two teeth and some crawling.

Our first teething session was much less traumatic event than I had feared. Considering that Necalli has little interest in items designed for specific scenarios (i.e. The pacifier attachment thingy is much better for chewing on than the pacifier or for containing the spread of the pacifier, and while on that topic, the pacifier works much better when backwards…), I was not surprised when the teething rings held no interest for him, at least to chew on. He, instead, wears them as bracelets. So, as his lower two teeth gradually broke to the surface, we soothed the gums with cold carrot puree and chewing on the couch.

He has for a while now been interested in paper- it makes good sounds, it is fun to tear, and even more fun to eat. We used to joke about it until he surreptitiously ate a crib advertisement while Virginie was holding him- sneaky little thing. With teeth now, the paper fixation is a bit greater as they can actually grab a hold of the sheet, and rip- very satisfying. The teeth are also good for chewing on shoes which I now have to hide. Silly me, I thought that moving them to across the room in the shoe pile would dissuade him, especially given the pile of toys he has on the floor. But no, he REMEMBERS and waits until I have forgotten, them makes a beeline for them. And let me tell you, the dirtier, the better. Scooby’s slippers, my work boots. Yesterday I found him chewing on my spurs, but only after I had to disconnect him from the bricks around our fireplace…

Inanimate objects are not his only chew toys either… don’t worry, I’m not going there. A few days ago, I was sitting on the couch and he was using my legs to stand up and practice tapping his toes when I felt a sharp little jab on my knee. Looking down onto his drool covered, smiling, upturned face, I had the feeling I should lay off the vampire books…he is apparently absorbing ideas. Toes are also pretty amusing- he will follow bare feet around on the floor and if you are not paying attention, he will give them a little spit shine…cute as he is, that freaks me out a bit.

All of this chewing would be one thing if not compounded by his sudden mobility. In the span of one week we went from being able to scootch around on a baby blanket in search of a toy specifically created for babies to shoving said blanket in a pile in rapid search of something less appropriate. I used to be able to grab a cup of coffee in the kitchen, knowing that he would be basically in the same place in the living room… now he tries to follow me, but gets sidetracked. He will follow the computer cord to the wall, the cat to the front door, the dying mosquito eaters towards the window… And it’s not just the army crawl anymore. That butt is up in the air and he is booking, at least for a couple of feet. Then it’s back to soiling the front of another outfit, by polishing the floor because, really, why mess with what works?

Since beginning this excerpt (because in addition to being rather verbose, I am nothing if not optimistic that I will get things done- different than pure procrastination) Necalli has begun pushing through 4 more teeth which just seems mean. I am guessing that he will look kind of funny for a bit though as the two right teeth seem a bit ahead of the left. Truth is though, by the time we are done with these four teeth, I will not be able to see straight anyway and he might look just swell to me… pour little man isn’t sleeping well and neither is his poor little mommy.

Happy Mother's Day

2009-05-20T22:33:00.000-07:00

A few months ago I spent a couple of days in Fremont at a college friend’s house. Necalli, obviously came with me- it was our first trip away from home for more than a couple of hours and while I was packing I couldn’t help but smile at the “100 pound” rule that Nate told me of when he and Tara first were pregnant. Essentially, it goes like this… Once you have a kid, you will always be lugging around 100 pounds. When the baby is 10 pounds, there will be 90 pounds of associated crap. When they are 50, you will only have 50. By the time they are 100 pounds, they can carry their own crap. But, I digress.

I was going to spend a couple of days at Christina and Mike’s because Nate and Tara (see, there is a connection!) were visiting from Los Alamos. Last year, when they were visiting, I was sick at home and spent 6 straight days on the couch. Needless to say, I didn’t get to visit and see them and their boys or Christina and her girls. And, you should know how weird it is to write that last sentence…my friends have kids! More than one of them! And, catch this… so do I!

At Davis, Nate, Tara, Christina, myself and a handful of others spent many an hour in our UC tenure growing up. Of course, we thought we were already grown up enough, being in that heady zone between living at home and really living in the real world. That real world was exciting enough that we were striving towards it in the form of graduation. But at the same time it was far enough away that we could revel in the fuzzy reality of late nights, late breakfasts, experimental cooking, no curfews, independence and a series of right and wrong decisions. In the hot muggy nights of Central California we all kind of mapped out our grown-up lives. And it was great!

In addition to what we wanted to do with our jobs (the obvious reason we studied so much, right?) we spent many a long day and night talking about the rest of our grown up lives… love, family, money, houses, weddings, dogs! And then we graduated. And got our jobs and found love and made money, decorated houses and got pets, married and here we are, having kids.

At one point during our visit, I looked across the room at my long time friends and had to laugh. All three of us were happily chatting, talking of plans and pasts and cooking and life, but instead of books (and/or beers) being out there were boobs, and three happily nursing kids. In some respects, nothing really had changed. But here we were breastfeeding…We were mommies!

I love my life as a mom. And, as cliché as this probably sounds, I feel like I have finally found what I am around here to do. Having always worried about what people think and what my place is, it is invigorating to no longer really give a damn. I am a mommy! That being said, I still am surprised when I pass a mirror and find Necalli clinging to my hip… who is that girl? I have moments where I get so involved in riding and teaching that I forget the magnitude of being responsible for this little man. Part of me really was expecting everything to change, and though much has, I am still me. But I am Mommy. And I like being Mommy.

I was at a horse show on Mother’s Day, as I am most years. Necalli and Scooby spent the day with me, making it about as good as it could be. I worked with Virginie who is expecting a little boy in just a few short weeks- our sons will be able to grow up together- what crazy revolution is that! Though I was remiss in phone calls, I took a few moments just to send out some good thoughts to all the moms I know in my life- childhood friends, college friends, work friends, random friends, family…I had had dinner the night before with my extraordinary mom, my grandma, my aunt, uncles and cousins and was honored to see one more generation at the table. By the end of the day, tired, sunburned and covered in dust I was happy to go home and change a few diapers and play peek-a-boo and rock Necalli to sleep. I was also really happy knowing that helping out with the 100 Pound rule (see, I had a point!) are all the marvelous people in my life, moms or not, who make my motherhood so much more rich for their inclusion in not just today, but all of the yesterdays and I am sure the tomorrows as well.

Houston, We Had a Problem

2009-05-02T18:45:00.001-07:00

Here is where I am such a girl. Farts aren’t really all that funny to me. Not the noise, not the fortitude and certainly not the smell. Granted, Necalli’s farts aren’t so offensive, mostly in the sense that they are less loud and the smell travels less far than some others I know (keep in mind I work with very large animals), but I would still not rate that very high in my enjoyment scale. That is especially true now that some other foodstuffs are making their way into Necalli’s digestive tract. Sweet potato, pear, peas, mushy rice cereal… all yummy going in, slightly less attractive coming out. And here is a tip from me to you…if you want good gas, go for the peas. Beans have nothing on them.

Of course, nothing beats the poop… well lots beats it actually. Flowers, cookies, air freshener. But poop takes on a whole new importance these days, both in my own checklist and the doctor’s, whenever we visit or I call. Is he pooping? What does it look like (are you kidding?) Will it stay in the diaper (my question, not the medical field’s)? Apparently, poop is a major indicator of the goings ons of a small person. And it is an important part of my day, both at home and work.

Sadly enough, I am somewhat used to conversations and concerns about this substance but up until recently, it was never so personal All the little kids at the barn are fascinated with horse poop, we use piles of it in the arena as landmarks, we celebrate not falling off into a pile of it and we yell at the dogs for eating it. Suffice it to be said that I am comfortable with the concept of poop.

Since before Necalli was born (just a few short hours, or 18 long ones) poop was a factor as he had passed some meconium, thereby ensuring our trip to Sutter rather than the Birth Center. Once he was born, he immediately dirtied the blanket they wrapped him in (though much is fuzzy about the labor, I do remember noticing that and that I had to pee so bad- I ended up giving my OK to clean him from behind a closed bathroom door). At all of his doctor’s visits, they asked about how much poop, the color, the quality (how bizarre is that concept?) And then…Introducing the Exersaucer!!

He loves it and has been so excited about this contraption from the first instant in it that there is an air show of spit whenever he is in it. But the Exersaucer, despite it’s great entertainment (and kid containment) virtue, backfires, literally. It wreaks havoc on the diaper’s ability at poop containment! We will be going along merrily about our day, laughing, squawking, blowing spit bubbles, then silence… and concentration. And suddenly I see (and smell) the telltale yellow signs of a problem. However it is that it hits his little butt, it sends the poop shooting straight out of the diaper. Messy, messy, smelly, smelly. Though, this dilemma is not isolated to this entertainment center because it happened in a restaurant recently (fun AND embarrassing!). But at least the Exersaucer is a guarantee- and life does not give you many of those, so take them where ever you can.

I got on this topic originally (for as much as I am OK with poop, I usually don’t spontaneously bring it up for no reason) because with the introduction of the fun new food has come the cessation of the backfiring scenarios, and truth be told, I am enough of a girl to appreciate that!

Hair today, gone tomorrow

2009-04-14T17:53:00.000-07:00

As of late I have been hating to shower and brush my hair. Not to be too alarmed, I am not sinking into depression or boycotting personal hygiene, just trying to avoid having to put a visual on my own personal hair loss. While I had heard of the imminent fall out after having such nice thick hair during pregnancy, nothing really could have prepared me for the literal chunks that I seem to be able to effortlessly pull from my head after showing, while brushing it, pulling it into a ponytail, you name it. Between my shedding and Necalli’s enthusiasm at grabbing onto any hair, pulled back or not…attached or not, I am not long for a full head of hair. While I am trying to be a good sport about it, I think I might cry a bit if I see too many birds nests made out of some redish/blonde locks. Plus, the worst bit is that I have the total creepy-crawlies and spend a fair amount of time looking down my shirt, shaking my arms, and twisting about, trying to find that damn piece of hair that is tickling me. Like I need another reason to feel absurd.

Necalli, on the other hand, is growing in a nice head of hair as I am losing mine, but the verdict is out on the color… it is reddish… is it dark brown. In theory, it is long enough right now that I should be able to make even more than an educated guess, but it does seem to be an elusive concept. The hair around the back of his daddy-shaped noggin is decidedly brown, perhaps with some strawberry highlights. It is growing in every which direction but down and when he wakes up in the mornings it is in little agitated sworls from his spinning around in his crib. The hair on the top of his head grows only upward, is of varying heights and doesn’t really look brown. It gives him a fuzzy sort of halo and tickles my nose when I hold him close, though lately, I try not to get too close to his head for fear of a broken nose or that he will rip out yet another chunk of hard earned tresses. This boy will not sit still!

His wiggle worm tendancies are adding to my need to shower as much as I dread doing so… both he and I have regularly been covered in rice cereal as he is getting used to the feeling of solid (really, not so solid) food. While it is getting better and less messy, Necalli still finds it more fun to stick his tongue which is covered in lite, pastey saucey type stuff, and blow. Food (still finding it hard to think of it as such) flies everywhere, a big grin ensues and we try again. As the first week of “eating” continued he practiced this feat every chance he got,,, as the grocery store, at lunch, in bed, at the barn… giant raspberries of spit. Now that he is becoming a champion mush eater, there is less of that and more finger exploration. It still means that we are covered in goop, and it is becoming multi-colored as he explores peas, sweet potatoes and pears. He minds far less than I do...and I am sure it will only get worse before it gets better!

Who Needs Sleep?

2009-03-14T22:14:00.000-07:00

I consider myself to be an intelligent person. One who likes to be entertained in intelligent, witty ways. Having said this, I would rather watch the goings ons of this little boy. Of course, he displays early onset incredible intelligence and tremendous potential athleticism. And, obviously, he is demonstrating above average wit. All of that being said, it hardly explains why I repeatedly call Scooby into the room with urgency…” You HAVE to see this! Come quick!”

Feet are a big thing in this house right now. They feel funny. They are possibly good for sucking on. They can exert tremendous force when applied in the correct manner. Socks come off easily. Feet of pajamas do not. In the event of gas, moving both feet straight up into the air can ease the passage. Tonight, Necalli was sitting in his bouncy chair and get this… he aimed, AIMED(!) his little feet and put them up against the arch of the chair and kept them there!!! Brilliance!

Feet, I have found out also are good barometers for awake time… If, in the middle of the night I get up, shuffle into his room and look down at him and see his feet lying peacefully under the blanket while he blinks at me, I know that a quick feeding will send him straight back to slumbering. If, however, in the middle of the night I shuffle into his room and see him lying there, holding onto his feet, I know that sleep is not close for either of us. Instead, we have smiles and small baby fits when I try to pretend that he is really tired and put him back in his bassinette. While I love the smiles, I am considerably less fond of what they foretell at 3am. However, as this week I am trying to steel myself for some sleeping discipline on his part, I am guessing that I will miss the smiles in the face of some serious baby dissatisfaction.

Ask me in a week how it is going, but I have been thinking that it might not be a bad idea to at least start the process of letting him figure out how to go to sleep without having to fall asleep in my arms. I actually love our “going to bed” routine which includes soft light, a warm room and the recitation of a little story. Frankly, I sleep better for it also. It is nice way to wind down the day, take some collective breaths and just enjoy being with him. It’s not really that part that I mind. But, in the middle of the night, he has recently begun refusing to let me put him down in the bassinette. I shuffle in, check in with the feet, nurse, and then when he has nodded off, put him back to bed, hopefully all within a short enough time span that I do not fully awaken. Instead, what has been happening is that I shuffle in, check in, nurse, put him down, pick him up, put him down, pick him up… He fusses and cries when I put him down, then falls immediately asleep when I start to nurse again. A 15 minute feeding has now turned into a 45 minute ordeal… and I am tired.

It would be on thing if he was not sleepy, but he is. Same too if he wasn’t just completely adorable, but again, he is. But, what I keep telling myself is that I would like, at least in this arena, to not be trained by my kid and instead train him. Having a lifetime of bad sleeping leads me to believe that possibly one of the greatest things I can teach him would be how to sleep well. I think I can deal with the crying (it hopefully shouldn’t take that long or that many days) but it might undo Scooby. Fortunately (for him) he sleeps pretty soundly. Never before have I thought that a good thing… usually I am just jealous!

I consider myself to be an intelligent person. I can logically see that it might take some bad nights so we can all get good sleep. It might take me a few more days to warm up to the actual implementation of those nights, but I get it. Sleeping a full night I understand (but don’t believe) will happen again…someday. Until then, I will be checking in with some pint sized feet while I revel in the great charm, wit and obvious flexibility of the proprietor of said feet. I can almost (almost talk myself into finding them appealing enough to warrant multiple mid- night wake up calls.

The Cat's Meow

2009-02-18T17:40:00.000-08:00

Today was a big day… a breakthrough day…a day of note. And, it had nothing to do with Necalli except in that it was a reminder that things take time. Nothing is an overnight success, and as long as the reward is worth it, the success is not diminished despite the time it takes.

Over a year ago, I started feeding this skinny little brown tabby cat that was hanging around the chicken coop. Having always had a soft spot in my heart for the brown tabbies, it seemed the least I could do, and besides, Flip Flop liked him, meaning there was no growling or chasing between the two of them… Cat speak for “you’re an OK dude.” Flip Flop would also sit next to him while he ate to ensure that our errant rooster would not chase him off to eat his food. How cute it that? I named him Gordy, in the hopes that he would not always be the skinny little brown tabby cat in the chicken coop. Over the months he has become more friendly; he comes up to the feed bowl, he will venture into the house and sit on the door mat when I leave the door open, he will meow at me if I don’t deliver the food fast enough. But, with the exception of the one time we trapped him to get him fixed (it had already been done before someone dumped him out here) and get his shots (might as well get it all done at once), I had never been able to touch him. Not for lack of trying, mind you, and at a slight disadvantage to me as I have no claws and his are sharp. He once swiped at me when I got too overzealous about trying to pet him, so we came to a compromise that I would maintain my distance, and he would sniff at my fingers and hiss.

But, I was not satisfied with that. Had I not been feeding this cat for a year, and had I not had a soft spot for this particular type of cat, I might have been able to let it go. Had his lonely state in the chicken coop not haunted me, I might have just continued with the status quo. But I couldn’t. Why couldn’t I pet this cat that I really liked so much? Just who did he think he was? It is not about him!!! So with these rational thoughts streaking through my mind I reneged on my side of the compromise and reached out my hand… again. And did not get swiped. And did not get hissed at. Instead, this ridiculous (I would use another word but am trying to watch my language) cat climbed the step and walked straight under my hand. Within 3 seconds, he let me stroke his back, tickle his chin and rub his belly! What the hell?!!

So many people exalted the “slow down” of having a kid while I was pregnant. They spoke starry-eyed about seeing the world through a child’s eyes. The fact that you have to re-organize how you think and go about your day. You change your definition of success. You look at things more broadly. Colors are more simple… black, white, red… fewer shades. All of this I believe, Seeing the world (be it the small world of our living room and the ranch) through Necalli’s eyes is infinitely more interesting than I ever thought possible. But this slow down happened pretty fast and it is taking me a bit of time to fit into it. My measures are off and successes mighty but small.

And so, Gordy’s timing to trust me and give in to the chin scratch could not have come at a better time. It was a good and furry reminder that things take time, especially the ones of trust and growth. I have fed and loved Gordy for a year. I have fed and loved Necalli for three and a half months, though I have nourished and loved the idea of him for far longer. Everything that we accomplish together, despite the time it takes, or maybe because of the time that it takes is pretty damn special. Gordy has finally let me into his cat life…he is cool with me says his raspy meow. I am finally letting the slow down happen…as I rub Necalli’s belly and tickle his chin and he smiles and “talks” back. Too, he is cool with me… and I him.

2009-02-11T16:08:00.000-08:00

Say Cheese!

2009-02-11T15:57:00.000-08:00

I have always been a fan of the crinkled nosed smile. It leaves all modesty aside and just submits to the need to smile. Every feature of the face is involved. With the nose being a quiet but mighty part of the face, one has to really put some effort into its inclusion. Outwardly, it moves very little and usually expresses no emotion. But through its job- aroma transmittal- it is the hub of so many as it has been said that the sense of smell is the strongest tie to memories. I certainly believe that… every time I smell something slightly musty, a damp corner, the underbrush after rain I always smile with the memories of our cabin in the redwood forest in Carmel. And now, forever, I will always associate the smell of Burt’s Bees, that subtle honeyed breeze, with falling in love… pure, simple and uncontrollable love.

Necalli has a crinkled nosed smile. He smiles with his entire little being… mouth wide open, eyes bright, head thrown back, legs and arms pumping. We moved him to his own room about a month ago for all of our sakes (he snores and snarfles and moves about, playing the xylophone along the edges of the bassinette) and because we can keep his room warmer more easily than the rest of the house. It is illuminated softly by a nightlight. And this marvelous kid, in this warm and cozy room, only wakes up once or twice in the night. But when he does and I shuffle into get him, I know I’ll get that crinkled nosed smile and no matter how tired I am and no matter how much being awake hurts like hell, I look forward to it. He’s not lonely, and he’s not scared. He’s just so damned pleased with himself.

He’s starting to really laugh too. Besides the squeals of glee (so much nicer than those of distaste), he has this deep gravelly little laugh that usually shows up when I clean his neck or tiny armpits. It makes me giggle, which sends him off into his appendage-pumping squeaks and squawks, which are often accompanied by a fair amount of farting. Happiness is a sensory overloaded emotion in this household!

Smiles seem to follow babies. I had a man in Oliver’s approach me last week, his face wide with a smile as he peered into the carrier where Necalli was doing his pug routine of a wrinkly face and snores. He asked how old, he asked his name and then asked if I wanted to see a picture of his great-granddaughter. Before I could answer any of the questions, he pulled out his wallet (probably from the early 70’s), unwound the rubber band holding it together and pulled out a creased and wrinkled picture of a little girl in a soccer uniform. I imagine that picture has seen a lot of spontaneous viewings such as ours. He didn’t keep me long, just long enough to beam once more at Necalli and again at his great-granddaughter then thanked me for sharing my son with him for a few moments. I walked out of Oliver’s smiling ear to ear, not because he admired the obvious cuteness in the Brittax car seat, but because just the presence of a baby helped make this man’s afternoon as he got to reflect on a baby he does not often get to see, but who obviously brightens his life so very much.

It is not all smiles and laughs here on the funny farm however, This little 15 pound, normally pleasant pipsqueak was anything but on Monday. We began by hollering objections on my choice of clothes (for him, not me… as long as mine makes the milk bar easily accessible, he doesn’t seem to care). “Normally” we do not holler, we do not rage, we do not turn beet red and become stiff as a board with infant anger.. Monday was not normal and not even “not normal” for a Monday. So, he got completely undressed, I managed not to get peed on, he ate like a fiend then promptly fell asleep. Only to repeat the process one hour later. By the afternoon, I had managed to (or so I thought) stem the tide of baby dissatisfaction and I thought (apparently inaccurately) that I could get a few hours of work done. But sadly, the babysitter called in the middle of one lesson with a slightly hysterical tone to her voice. His cries in the background had even me concerned, so Virginie took my lesson, I went back up to the house and we started all over again. He got completely undressed, I managed not to get peed on…you can guess the rest. But, this time, when I dressed him again, I put on his “Crabby” outfit… really, it has a crab on it and says “Crabby”. He might not find the pictures amusing later on in life, but it sure made me feel a hell of a lot better!

Happily, Monday ended and we are cheerier. I had three great rides on Tuesday, so not much is bringing me down right now. I can dress Necalli without much opinion on his part, but I did start my day out with a diaper malfunction. By the end of the episode, there was poop on both feet, one elbow and his entire back. This would have been slightly less traumatic (very slightly less, and really, only for me) had he not just peed on me. They tell you none of this in the baby classes! The only thing I have found that really keeps me going is the smiles… his and mine. “Just Say Cheese” ... the new Hernandez motto!

Hickeys...Not just for teenagers

2009-02-02T09:47:00.000-08:00

Every morning (not too early, mind you) I give Necalli the once-over...how's the cradle cap, how's the dry skin, how's the chin collection, how's the hair loss. Lately, the cradle cap has been getting better (thank you Selsun Blue). In addition to making him smell not like a baby, the shampoo has helped dry up the scalp so as long as we don't mind huge dandruff flakes, we are moving in a positive direction. The dry skin is not gone, but it moves from place to place, getting smaller with each relocation. Hydrocortisone cream has helped with the red neck created by his multiple chins and though he is essentially bald on the back of his head, the hair on the front is coming in nicely (Scooby is jealous!). All in all, we are working towards having a smooth skinned, non-flakey kid (situation to be most likely revisited in the teenage years). Oh, and his ears smell better!

With all this forward progress, I was a bit sad and disheartened to find his pointer fingers bright red yesterday. What now? My first thought was, "Thank God it's far from his heart" because I wasn't relishing the idea of yet again calling the doctor's office to ask. I could almost see the eyes rolling on the other end of the line. So, we went about our morning routine... making a bit of breakfast, playing with the bouncy chair, drooling (him, not me... I drool in my sleep, not morning!). I checked my email and made a grocery list (I get to make a chocolate cake today!) and participated in my most favorite morning activity... watching Necalli smile, chat, fart (mega-concentration) and perfect the personification of cute. And, suck on his hands. It seems as if not matter how much he eats, he always follows a meal by sticking one or both of his hands in his mouth to soak up all the spit. For weeks now he has not shown any preference to one finger or another and he has seemed so damn happy when he finds his thumbs. But in the last few days he has been quietly contemplating the natural fit of his pointer finger along the outside of what will be his teeth or how much more easily he can try to grab his tongue with that finger. Most often, his hand is upside down, giving his other (semi-dry) fingers a good resting place on his cheek while he sucks happily away, giving his tiny fingers hickeys. Kind of cute!

Dressing him has become more of a challenge as he has mastered the art of choosing a hand and then using it, usually to put something in his mouth. So, whenever I go to pull his arm out of a sleeve or put his hand through one, that particular hand has to find his mouth. If I change mid-stream and grab the other hand, so too does he. By the time he is dressed or undressed, both arms of his onesie are soaked. He moves his feet around so much that the pants situation is only slightly less aerobic. Most times I manage to get both feet into one leg… at least that slows him down a bit!

I remember reading about milestones for babies, and how at the age of 4 months, many have started grabbing their feet, and at 5 months the feet are in their mouths. We are looking to be on target. He has sort of discovered his feet and grabs at them whenever he sits up… most of the time he spends gripping tightly to his socks or the feet of his pants. The socks sometimes come flying off… the pants stump him though… they don’t move as easily! As far as other milestones go, he just rolled over the other day. I was upstairs and Scooby was watching him do some “tummy time” and I heard this big squeal…not quite of delight, but not upset either. I jogged down the stairs to see what was up only to find Scooby giggling and Necalli splayed out on his back, stunned. So, now on his belly, he is either flipping himself over or wiggling his little but in the air…and I am, surprising only perhaps to me, enthralled.

Today I turn 32 (10:30pm, so I have a few ours left of 31). You always see or hear about people having more respect for their parents (particularly their moms) after giving birth and finally knowing both the effort required to give birth and to raise a kid. I will certainly admit that to be true. It is not only an awesome experience, but also an awesome responsibility (and that is not “awesome” as in “awesome, dude,” but rather awesome as in something inspiring awe). Knowing first hand this type of love coming forth from you can only increase and enhance that from which you came. You also always hear about prospective grandparents “hoping” for a payback of some “special’ trait their kids had…”I hope when you grow up and have kids they do this to you!” or something along this line. I never heard the “I was in labor __ hours for you” because inserting the number 3 in there is not enough to impress a misbehaving toddler, let alone teenager. For Necalli, I can certainly pull that one out… we had a much larger number, and with that in mind, I am glad that my mom did not (and not just so that she couldn't hold that against me). I was a horrible sleeper as a child (anyone surprised by that one?) and so far, Necalli is not taking after me in that respect (sorry Mom and Dad.) Frankly, I am a little scared at the thought of what he might do to make up for what I did to my folks… thank goodness the teenage years are years away!

Got Milk?

2009-01-24T19:08:00.000-08:00

About a week and a half ago, the answer would have been "No". I do not like milk unless it started out as a bean and eat milk products only in the superior form of cheese or ice cream, so normally an answer in the negative for that ubiquitous question doesn't bother. But my milk is a different question. Then, I really like knowing that it is around. But for a few days, it seemed like it had taken a hiatus and the thought actually crept into my head that perhaps Necalli needed more to eat. He was feeding seemingly all day but never was satisfied, and this normally really happy baby spent his time actually being fussy (I realize, by the way, that I am lucky to have a baby that only just became fussy for a few days, but it was disconcerting...). Lots of crying on his part, lots of trying not to cry on mine, lots of suggestions on Scooby's. Not a fun time. In addition to being attached to Necalli all day, we went through all of the milk in the fridge that I had pumped (which, I might add at this point, I HATE doing... give me anything to do besides that... I would even rather eat cucumbers, except for the fact that there is no reason for me to eat them and many reasons to pump.). Poor Scooby suggested supplementing with formula and I freaked.

I don't have a problem with formula per se, and if it comes down to it and it was a choice between him not getting enough from me versus getting enough by any means, that choice is obvious. But I really don't want to have to. I don't want to be the one to give him a bottle (though I love that Scooby can and does and loves it), but again, if I have to the choice is clear.

Besides the flippant “Well, they have to be this big for a reason” , I want to breastfeed because I think it is best and because I can (could) and because I love the time I get to spend with him, skin to skin. Taking part in the primal feeding of ones offspring has got to be the most elemental effort and I cringe at the thought of losing that. And, maybe I am not losing it, but in the last 3 or 4 days, it seems as if he is eating all the time, and I am pumping 50% less milk, though I pump 50% more often. I have had gallons of Mother's Milk tea, even though tea in general makes me yacky, and I have taken "the tincture" which tastes HORRIBLE and yet, zero to little improvement on the pump front. He still wets and muddies as many diapers as he usually does (funny how that then becomes a good thing in the face of feeding questions) so I tried to quell my fears by taking comfort in Pampers and that he is almost 3 months old and due for a growth spurt. But, the worry set in.

A few nights ago I had to feed Necalli a bottle of milk and while it was a bottle of breastmilk, it was still a bottle. I teared up a little because I want to feed my child, and the emphasis, perhaps selfishly, on that statement is I. I want to feed my child. Rather than I want to feed my child. While it is a given that he will receive nourishment, I want to be the one to give it to him… from me and not a plastic vessel. But tonight, in the effort to calm him and me, I caved in and gave him pumped milk from a bottle just to see if he was hungry… and he was. 3 oz sucked down and a quiet baby… what have I been doing?

So, between the "night of the bottle" and this morning when I woke up no longer wondering whether or not the tea or the tincture work (affirmative on both measures- I needed no bra) we had a doctor's appointment. While we did not go see Dr. Brewer for the sole purpose of weighing him, that was a nice by-product... 14.2 pounds, 24.5 inches. That puts him in the 85th and 90th percentiles respectively. This boy is growing!

And so now, the answer to the question is a resounding "YES!" Got milk! With that exclaimation point comes a question mark as well. Why am I breastfeeding? The obvious answer is everything above... I've got it, he needs it, it is a wonderful time together, it's good... but what brought on the question is our front door... Our house has a great front door- french doors flanked by side windows... they let the light in and are like a smile to this great house with really good ju-ju. These relate to the question because I nurse Necalli on our couches and sometimes when he is done and tired, he throws his head and arms back, exposing me usually to only the cat. Only yesterday, someone sent us a package... the poor UPS driver didn't expect that when he dropped off a box of See's Candy!

But, butt...

2009-01-20T20:57:00.000-08:00

As I was sitting on Virginie's horse this evening, contemplating my sore butt and watching someone else ride my horse, I began to wonder if it would ever get easy again. Not just the riding either, because at least with that aspect of my life, I have been down the road of building myself back up to riding shape before. It just takes time... lots of it... and blood...and sweat... and tears... and in my case, a severely bruised tailbone, which is why I was contemplating my butt this evening. One of my rides last week ended with me doing a very graceful seat drop to a back roll to a face down sprawl, and while I wasn't seriously injured other than my throbbing rear end, it certainly drove home (down that aforementioned road, in a jalopy) the fact that I am not there yet. Had I been riding more, it wouldn't have happened.

One of the hardest things about starting to ride again (I am sure it applies to more than just riding) is that your head doesn't lose it's shape nearly as quickly as your body. I know everything I should be doing, but I'll be damned if many of my muscles just won't comply. Or, when they finally begrudgingly do what I tell them, its too much too late. My finesse, endurance and glue are still gone. Tonight was just an indoor flat lesson (no jumping) and what started me on this ramble is that I had my first glimpse of being frustrated...and not just with my riding. Up until now, I have been slowly getting back on, allowing myself to live in the fantasy that it is all fine and dandy and I have all the time in the world. Necalli isn't that old yet and it is cold and miserable many days (not so much recently, but what else is winter for if not for complaining about the weather?). Tomorrow is soon enough. But, circumstances mandate that I return to actually riding for work which is much different that a joy ride so I have to face that what was once easy needs to again be so... yesterday. Bring on the blood, sweat, tears and bruises...

In the past, riding has always been my fall back, my sanity and my drive. I worried that I would miss it once I had a baby and I worried also that I wouldn't miss it. I love that both happened. But, what I do miss is having it be that part of my life that was easy, even when it was really bleeping hard. Because now, very little is very easy. Which is not to say that I am not enjoying it. I do, more so than I thought ever possible. However, while the love part is easier than breathing, the hourly and daily details are not so much. Once relief comes in one aspect, another shows up to takes it's difficult place. Or, as our feeding scenario went this last week, that which was going so well, suddenly changes and becomes problematic.

I guess the good news is that this incredibly steep learning curve has taught me a lot... about myself, my relationships, my stamina... and most importantly my sense of humor. If that goes, we are all doomed! Unless anyone out there knows differently, I am going on the assumption that it doesn't really get easier. When I do not have a sore butt and am not still reeling from an absurd Monday (there are words for how it was, but none of them are any good), I have the insight to know that life "before" was really no easier than now. But the weight of life now lends intensity... and in the interest of my sanity (and probably my marriage) I have distilled my activities down to the really important ones, none of which are meant to be simple. Thank god I love to laugh.

And just in case I get cocky about any little thing...this new life has taught me to never trust that which seems easy. Here's how... I change about 10 diapers a day, sometimes more, sometimes less. Scooby changes maybe two, often less. I don' begrudge the discrepancy, but what slays me is this... I am pretty darn good at the diaper change now. I can literally do it in my sleep and probably in 10 seconds or less, no problem. Scooby takes FOR-EV-ER and Necalli's tush has never been so clean. He uses 7 wipes, cleans every crevice and wrinkle, arranges the diaper perfectly horizontally on his back... all the while leaving the automatic sprinkler system unattended for minutes at a time. So why is it that I am always the one getting peed on?

Smooth as a...

2009-01-16T20:55:00.000-08:00

I washed a load of Necalli’s laundry the other day, including the sheet to the bassinette, and by the time everything was washed and dried, it looked like the cat had taken up residence in the dryer… there were long black hairs all over his onesies, pants, socks and blankets (I love baby clothes- everything can be washed together!). But, in Flip Flop’s defense, the hair was much to fine to be his.

It has long been the joke that in addition to sharing some facial features with Scooby, he also shares a receding hairline. Well, now the hairline is growing in with light, red-ish brown hair (yeah me!), but there are huge patches of hair missing from the backside, having been stuck onto his sheets, hence the initial bad cat thoughts. The hair, for now ,is long enough in the back for a comb down, but it’s looking pretty sad (sort of like a mangy dog, but so much cuter!) It is all still long enough to make him do a pretty good Uncle Fester (from the Adam’s Family) impersonation when I take him out of his car seat, but the sideburns are sort of disappearing. Overall, he is not having a very good hair week. I can relate, though I am coming to the conclusion that I really should just stop brushing my hair at all. The last couple of times I have ventured on down the hill to Oliver’s (market extraordinaire) I have people comment on how nice my hair looks. One woman even grabbed at it and said, with a slight edge to her voice, “That all yours and all your color isn’t it.” It seems that I escaped the whole strangers-touching-the-belly portion (it never happened to me), but touching my hair… that’s OK. Somehow, the hair seems more invasive- the belly always seemed to be it’s own thing, not so much mine. Anyway, both the hair tugging and non hair tugging instances took place when I had not brushed my hair upon waking up after having gone to bed with wet hair. Go figure.

Overall, we have not had the greatest of two weeks. Granted, they haven’t been horrible, and everyone is OK, but I still would have rather done without. I have had the on-going cold from hell, with every week bringing the cessation of one symptom along with the onset of a new one. An ordinary cold has now persisted for 5 weeks. Then, Necalli woke up with a rattley cough that has not yet gone away. Two doctors visits later and 5 phone calls, he is finally sounding and seeming better, but that whole breathing thing that started out his life has all of us, even Dr. Brewer, a bit more conservative about his lungs. I appreciate it and agree, but it makes for some added stress. At what point is labored breathing too labored? Part of the problem is that I have never been a big doctor’s office visitor, trusting that whatever symptoms I have will go away in their own time, and for the most part they have… there is not much they can do about the common cold which is happily all I really get. But, with the baby, I now worry not only about his health but also about whether or not I am being too laid back about it. So I call the pediatrician and apologize for calling. Suffice it to say that I am feeling a bit crazy with it all. Fortunately, he is getting much better on the cold front, which is good, because I don’t think I could deal with a cold AND a body wide rash which I am banking on just being a heat rash combined with dry skin and a fair bit of crown cap. Smooth as a baby’s butt does not begin to describe this baby’s skin. He is flaking on his head (thank god he has some hair left to cover it), he gets cottage cheese under his neck (those extra chins are great at capturing lint) and his ears smell funny. I might be going mad regarding the ears, but… really, I am hoping this is it. We have survived baby acne and now his face is beautiful, even more so than before (I guess for a boy it is handsome, but he is too little to worry about such semantics). I was at least prepared for that phase, but I completely missed the lecture on the full body peel. He needs to go to the Korean Spa for babies!

So what else has happened these last two weeks? Well, for the most part, with the exception of Necalli being sick last week, everything has piled up since this Monday, which is not so long ago. I got a call from the insurance agency who wondered when we were going to pay the bill that I had not yet received. Glad to know that they are on the ball. That particular bill finally arrived on Monday and I had to have a seat upon opening it…it was only for me and I will spare you the full tally but for this one thing of note…We were charged $15 for an extra strength Advil. I had 3 of them. Oh, and they charge by the hour for Labor & Delivery. Though my time frame of the labor is a bit fuzzy- it was all just one big awake and uncomfortable time period- apparently we were there 14 hours before he was born. I am surprised they didn’t charge me for the shower I took. Necalli’s bill for the NICU has not yet arrived… I will be drinking heavily on that day. Having never been hospitalized or really used my insurance for more than the yearly check up, I was floored by the piece of mail… maybe I should have known, even though I am truly not surprised. So, that was Monday. Tuesday, my horse decided to have a bad reaction to his immunizations and have a little bout of colic. The doctor’s office lost my appointment for Necalli’s shots, my car’s check engine light decided it missed it’s calling as a strobe light… that might be it for Tuesday. Today, Wednesday, I tried to track down Necalli’s birth certificate so we could get his Social Security Number, only to find out, unsurprisingly, that it is lost. I called the Birth Center for another reason, and they hadn’t been able to find my files this last week. And then, I fell off a horse. I’m really glad this week is almost over…one or two of these things I could deal with gracefully…when the list just grows, it seems too absurd and the grace is gone.

Necalli found his hands not so long ago and they are always in his mouth now. His goal for the month is to fit at least one entire hand in it, fingers and all. He might even accomplish it. From time to time a finger will make it in there before the base of his hand and he figures he has reached his bliss, especially when that finger is a thumb (is the thumb a finger?). But, he hasn’t come to the realization that in order to more often suck on a thumb, one has to let go of it. More often than not, his little thumbs are tucked tight within his fist with the tiny tip visible between his pointer and middle fingers- a baby sign language “N”. He has a great grip but is a bit stingy with it- he rarely lets anything else but that thumb in there and he squeezes so hard all his fingers turn white. He has been experimenting though with picking things up, mostly his blankets which he whips up and down in a rapid fire game of peek-a-boo. I found him this morning (at the unlikable hour of 3am) with both hands griping tightly to the blanket and it pulled up to his face so only his eyes showed.

He found his other hand this last weekend and has been trying, mostly successfully, to figure out how to get them apart once they have latched on. He is his own Chinese finger cuff. I could watch this all day…the quie (or not so much) contemplation of a new concept, the baby joy of figuring something out, the spastic and random movements…it is unendingly entertaining and fulfilling. I have likened it to watching chickens only it’s like watching chickens on a DVD and plasma screen versus a VHS and 12”screen. In black and white. No disrespect to the chickens of course, because we have enjoyed the Chicken Show for many years now (playing in many backyards in the area). I highly recommend it. But the investment in Necalli TV has a much greater return.

What to wear

2009-01-04T18:51:00.000-08:00

Today I went through Necalli’s “second string” of clothes, the ones that weren’t going to fit him “very soon” just a few short weeks ago. Sadly, he has already outgrown many of his first set and is well on his way into the 3-6 month old clothes. I will spare you the long version of my diatribe about baby clothes sizes and how they relate to wedding dress sizes. Here is the short version… skip to the end of the paragraph if you have heard it before or simply don’t care. It has long been my opinion that while I can appreciate the necessity of having a “standard” size for something, in the sport of wedding dresses, they should just lie… No bride wants to be told that for her wedding day she will not only be wearing a 50 pound, white monstrosity of an article of clothing, and oh… also, the size on that is 3 sizes up from what you are used to. The jeans industry is just about as absurd with every brand having a different take on what a size 10 is, but at least they have the decency to lie. I myself will cop to buying a particular brand because the jeans flattered both my butt and my sense of size. Back to the baby clothes (as I have done the wedding dress and tomorrow am going shopping for the jeans so I do have some knowledge of this), I would like to see the baby that can wear the 6 month old clothes at 6 months. Necalli is a big baby (much of it is in his cheeks!) but not that big. Currently, he is just growing out of the 0-3 month old clothes which is evident in one of two ways…1)the onsies give him wedgies and 2) his toes get all curled up in the feet of his pajamas. I have a feeling that the foot thing will be an issue for a bit… it’s looking like they are almost too big for the 3-6 month old clothes.

We are starting to gather more boy specific clothes, as his little closet is chock-full of gender unspecific clothes (one of the few downsides to not knowing if you are having a boy or a girl). The neutral (such a weird term to apply to a baby, but whatever) clothes actually work fine and I have not had too many people ask how old my daughter is, so I don’t mind him wearing them, at least in theory. However, I am obviously having some jaundice induced flashbacks because the yellow clothes make me twitchy. I think that if I was not primed to worrying about yellow skin, he actually might look fine in my favorite (and one of 3 colors available for neutral children) color, but I certainly have noticed that I do not dress him in his yellow clothes, not even to sleep. It’s nice that I can have the neurosis for him… And quickly (since when would you expect that from me?!), let me share another clothing annoyance I have noticed…why is it that the majority of options for boys clothes include tractors/ trucks, puppies and sports paraphernalia and every one that doesn’t include those three then has stripes? I cannot express how irritating (nor can I explain why it makes me so bitter) the onesie is that has a baseball, basketball and football on it with the statement that “I play sports with Daddy.” Silly, but I can’t get over it. The neutral ones this year have frogs, ducks and safari animals which gives us some variation but I don’t get why the narrow selection. To be fair, we have received some lovely outfits that both do and don’t have the above-mentioned repeats, but it still boggles the mind that with everything out there, that is what they have pre-determined for baby boys. Maybe it’s because I am a girl, but the girl clothes always seem so much cuter than the boys'…

As for myself, I have been having my own clothing dilemmas. In the early stages of pregnancy, I let my clothes run out as I figured there was little sense in buying anything new when I did not know what shape I would be in (literally) when I was done with it. So, I rode through all of my jeans and discarded them when they got holes in them and actually used the belly as a good reason for the long-needed closet clean-out. Sadly, however, that left me with one pair of jeans, one pair of dress pants, a handful of skirts and three shirts that can be worn in a public area that does not have manure as a major component. All of these clothes fit (I am very proud of and thankful for this fact) but they don’t get me very far into the week, nor are they particularly suited for my job or fun to wear. To get around this boredom, I have been wearing my maternity clothes far too long, and often look a bit sloppy as my shirts drape off of me and my pants fall down. But shopping has never been a favorite hobby of mine, and I have been putting it off. I can’t, however, do this any more as I need to learn how to wear “regular” pants again. On Christmas Eve, I put on my dress pants and was so happy to wear them (they had no stretch in them and they fit!) until someone pointed out 3 hours into the party that I had neglected to zip them up. All I can say is thank god I have a baby because no one really looks at me anyway.

We had a lovely Christmas that was kind of not Christmas-y. I had bought a live tree to put in the house, thinking that it would make a lovely keepsake for Necalli’s first holiday season… one day we can plant it… But, between the craziness of this time of year and the rain and the fact that we didn’t have a pan to put it in so it didn’t kill our wood floors, it never made it into the house. I am thinking of putting lights on it now, outside, as a merry decoration for our front door just to spite the holiday season, which, now with an anniversary and a birthday added in there is just that much more insane. Next year we will have to apply ourselves a bit better. Our New Year’s Eve included taking Necalli to a bar (not really… it was Cindy’s Backstreet Kitchen in St. Helena, where we sat AT the bar). He was the life of the party, sounding like our much beloved but sadly deceased pug Pico's snore (Necalli sounded like Pico when Pico was alive, just to clarify that statement), with his head tilted in that creepy baby I-have-no-muscles-or-bones-in-my-neck type way. It was then off to Scooby’s parents house where we watched “The Ball” drop in Spanish (though, I suppose technically “The Ball” dropped in no language at all, unless it was it’s own, we just were watching it on a Univision. Still, I got the gist of it… 2008 is over… welcome to 2009. Fortunately, that needs little translation. So, Happy 2009 to everyone! I hope it is happy and healthy and a hell of a lot of fun! And a bit warmer too…

Little Pink Lines

2008-03-03T23:29:00.000-08:00

Today I peed on a stick, something I have not done often and something that I would prefer not to do often either. In general, I would prefer just to pee and be done with it… no sticks, no cups, no tests. Actually, I have been lucky. I have only had to pee into a cup once for a job (have to love the drug tests- I passed by the way). And, I have only had to pee on a stick once before and I did that knowing maybe 85% sure that I didn’t need to be peeing on the stick in the first place. A good bout of stress postponed my period and fortunately, with the negative result on the stick, it started straight away and that was that. But today was not that was that scenario. And today, a positive result would not have been devastating. Quite the opposite. But that doesn’t mean it is not in itself a very stressful situation.

I bought the pregnancy test basically knowing what the results were going to be before even drinking the amount of water that was need to encourage the testing solution. Just the thought of seeing the answer was enough to dry me up like the Sahara so I drank glass upon glass of water and tried to clear my mind of the mild panic that had been building up for the week since my period should have started. I initially told myself that the dates were all messed up because the month before it had started early (it never does this… “it” like it is a tangible thing, with opinions and such). Then I went down the route of “well, I have cramps so I can’t be.” “My boobs hurt (more than I ever thought possible), so I can’t be.” “I got my period pimple, so I can’t be.” But one week later, my “so I can’t be’s” ran out and I had to know what I already knew though I knew I wasn’t ready to know. We had a final non-knocked up dinner last night with Juan and Megan and I tried (semi-unsuccessfully) to fake that my head wasn’t spinning into a state of panic of the unknown. Megan knew that I knew something was up. The boys hadn’t a clue. I just smiled and down-played a glass of wine as “I have an early day tomorrow.”

Pregnancy tests range in price from $10 for two sticks to over $40.. I can’t say I know the difference between the luxury model and the bare bones model, but I couldn’t face paying $40 for something that I suddenly was so unsure of. In my mind (prior to now), discovering that I was pregnant sounded so good and glorious and filled with only the heady excitement that comes with the best news you could ever get. In my reality, it sent my body into a fever complete with cold chills and ringing ears. I could tell that everyone in Safeway knew that I was about to find out if I was in “the family way” and they held their breath as I did. Everyone around was walking on tiptoes, unwilling to disturb the comforting reality that was about to be shattered into a million unknown experiences. I bought orange juice and some French bread and dishwasher soap so as to not be so obvious at the checkout (like that fooled them… “she must just need these little stick to clean the corners of the kitchen counters” is I am sure what the checkout boy was thinking).

I walked my $10 kit and bag of costume groceries to the car and drove them home then sat on the couch, listening to the Pacific Ocean that had set off a roaring radio signal in my head and tried to get back to that place where discovering that I was pregnant was like in the movies where everyone starts crying and laughing and breaking out the bubbly right before the credits roll. The cat joined me and purred in my general direction, oblivious to the fact that his and my life was potentially going to be involved in a new chapter. I drank my water and willed myself to pee because the thought of waiting until the evening, after a full day of riding and teaching, knowing that the little sticks were up there waiting was too much. Of course, knowing the answer and still going through a full day of riding and teaching without telling anyone was also looking daunting. But the lesser of the two evils was knowing but not saying rather than not knowing and still not saying, and please believe that evil is not really how I thought of it, just what I thought of the decision to be made at that moment.

I have wanted to be pregnant for years, though probably the best way of saying that is that I have known for years that one day I wanted to be pregnant. With the possibility of that reality in front of me I am not ashamed to say I panicked a little bit. In those three minutes of waiting for one (sorry, please try again) or two (congratulations, you are our winner!) pink lines to appear in the little window, I went from anticipation to hesitation…what would it really be like? Because nothing in life is truly easy, two pink lines sort of appeared which is to say that the test reflected my mindset. The line that appears regardless of the “you are” or “you aren’t” answer was a bright, definitive, glowing pink. The line that would define perhaps the rest of your life was faint to the point of not being a line other than you could tell that there was a faint line. Never one to stress over directions of seemingly simple things, I nonetheless neurotically read and re-read the same line over and over again:”The second line may not appear as bright as the first.” So, regardless of what I thought I would feel, I now knew… or knew I suddenly had no idea.

It seemed wrong to tell someone that they are going to be a dad over the phone with no warning just as it seemed wrong to tell someone other than the dad first, so whatever the answer was, It meant keeping it to myself, and secrets are not necessarily my forte, especially the ones that would immediately relieve stress. But I rode three horses that day, feeling sick to my stomach and playing through the “what ifs” and “how will we’s” and “can I’s” I taught three hours of lessons that day, looking at my kids with a new set of eyes; ones that saw what would now most certainly be coming my way… for real not just in that “one day” way. I put on my smile like I put on my helmet and chaps and got through it, knowing that in 5 hours, then 4 hours and 3,2,and 1 I would have to tell Scooby that I had peed on a stick and the 2 lines were red... a faint pink really, but more color for certain than a white screen. Then, we had to go have dinner at Craig and Karen’s house where our secret, if we chose to keep it a secret, would remain as such for as long as it took them to offer us a glass of wine…so, about 5 minutes, maybe less.

Scooby was on the phone when I got home and I was not surprised. The phone is member of our family and is treated as such. I figured it would be best to have his undivided attention so I waited, and waited, then began with the agitated and evil eye, then tapped my wrist because in addition to needing to share some information, we needed to get moving…dinner awaited. Once he hung up, I told him by handing him the stick. 6 hours of working and riding had not helped me come up with anything better than that. I had gone from a stunned and naked silence to forced joviality all day and now I just needed to share that which would not ever get off my chest… Parenthood. His reaction, which should not surprise me, but I guess did was, “Well… I guess we are pregnant… are you ready to go?”

On the way down the hill the most we talked about it was if we wanted to keep it a secret as I was only 5 official weeks along (three real weeks, as those two first ones are called conception, not pregnancy, at least in my book. They were the possibility, not the actuality.) and what was the due date (Our Anniversary, based on the first day of my last period). Turns out, my guess was wrong... it took a bit longer for the secret to get out. What I hadn’t counted on was the hesitancy with which people approach another’s reproductive behavior. I am pretty sure Karen knew straight away. Lots of loaded looks and raised eyebrows. Craig, on the other had, first asked if I had given up alcohol for Lent. If I were Catholic, and I am not, that I would not give up. An hour later, after obviously wrestling with the concept of my empty glass, he put enough together to ask, ”but WHY aren’t you drinking?” And, “Why did you bring a dessert that you didn’t make?” Both very good questions. Upon answering, I realized how good and marvelous and exitedly life changing the answer really was. We were having a baby!