Guy at museum to my 18-month-old son: Are you excited for your new brother or sister?
Me: I'm not expecting.
Guy: (Looks horrified.)
Me: Don't worry about it.
Guy: Um ... (shuffles away).
Recently in Mr. Baby Category
Happy birthday, Alex...even though you can't read.
On this day in history, the national gas price average broke the $4 barrier -- a scant four years after your daddy quaintly complained about $2.15 per gallon. In other words, by the time you're old enough to drive, it'll be that or college. Not both.
When your child does something he is not supposed to do, laughing definitely sends the wrong message. But sometimes it's just so funny I can't help it. So I laugh. And then he laughs. And then the jig is up, so to speak. For example:
Alex spits out his food. He has a cold, so his nose is stuffed up. That makes eating a bit of a challenge for him. He knows he can't breathe through his mouth and swallow at the same time, so he holds his breath and then opens his mouth for a bite (smart boy!). I put a spoonful of delicious sweet potatoes in his mouth. Then he decides he has held his breath for long enough, exhales sharply, and sweet potatoes go flying. The first time I thought, "heh." By the tenth time, I was giggling uncontrollably.
Alex falls down. It is not funny when Alex really hurts himself. And I don't want him to think I am laughing at his pain. But sometimes when he falls it is so slapstick I am sure he has a bright future in physical comedy.
Alex does something silly when he's supposed to be going to sleep. Bedtime has been going like clockwork for us lately. We bathe, we put on PJs, we read stories, we sing a song, and then in the crib and he's asleep in minutes. The morning nap is pretty smooth as well. So most of his antics occur when I'm trying to put him down for his afternoon nap. It has been taking anywhere between 30 and 90 minutes for him to go to sleep. Between the 20th and 30th minutes I start to get somewhat put out. Nonetheless, he can still crack me up with his inventive anti-sleep tactics. For one thing, he stands at the rail chewing the paint off the crib. So, in order to save the finish and prevent too much ingestion of paint chips, I go to lay him back down. On the way down, he manages to get a vise-like grip on the rail. As I tug to get him to let go, he laughs and laughs. There is something so knowing, so mischievous about this, and I can't help it -- I laugh. And then he thinks, "Mommy's laughing! I KNEW it was play time and not sleep time!"
I really need to work on my poker face. He already thinks it's funny when I try to use my serious voice (e.g., "no biting, Alex!"). Any attempts at discipline are going to be for naught if the first thing I do when he misbehaves is laugh.
Dear Babies the World Over,
Unless you were just born, 4:20 a.m. is not an acceptable time to wake up in the morning. No amount of pooping, shrieking, or smiling adorably will make it so.
With much love (and deep, dark circles under our eyes),
Mommies the World Over
I got some complaints that my last blog post was depressing. Sorry. I will attempt to make it up to you here. People have asked me what Alex and I do all day, so here is Alex's day, as interpreted by me.
Continue reading A Day in the Life of Baby.
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That is what I used to say in college, when all-nighters were common and I scoffed at those who told me some sleep might do me good. I am now paying for that sentiment, here in the Land of the Baby Who Never Sleeps. Our admittedly adorable Mr. Baby is exceedingly nap resistent, and likes to wake up upwards of six times a night. Needless to say, this is a problem. So, I recently did what all nerds do when faced with a seemingly intractable problem. I read books. And the internet -- always reliable. Here's what I found.
Continue reading Sleep is for the Weak.
I was happy to help out Tim Catts of BusinessWeek with his story about the technical problems some free online contests have had lately, including ESPN's fantasy baseball game (as you recall I detailed problems with them hea-ah, and hea-ah).
Later, when he noticed that he couldn't pick up players other teams had dropped, even days after the fact, Furdell decided to sit out the season. ESPN had a problem.
I like that. Take heed, ESPN. When you wrong the Furdell, YOU'VE GOT A PROBLEM.
It's true, I haven't even looked at my team since they reset the rosters. Kind of a shame, because with the Mariners actually playing kind of well, and me on paternity leave, I've been following baseball pretty closely. I've been to several great games in person this year... a tight 2-1 win over the Yankees, a great come-from-behind win over the B*lt*m*re Orioles (the team that doesn't like to admit where it's from), and a win in extra innings over the Red Sox a couple weeks ago with Dice-K pitching (and with my mom in attendance, to boot).
Plus, something really cool happened to the Mariners the other day, something blog-related that's probably never happened before... I'll have to talk about that later.
So yeah, despite all the baseball interest in '07, I bowed out of my ESPN fantasy league early, and the Emory gang has probably played its last season at ESPN. We will most likely head for the greener pastures of Yahoo next year. But I will treasure my 2005 championship banner. I will treasure it... always.
DID YOU KNOW? Also a baseball fan: my adorable new baby son, Alexander.
Seriously, this kid has, like 12 baseball-themed outfits, and I don't think I bought any of them.
(OK, I did buy him a Mariner Moose one, but you could argue that's for the moose content just as much as the baseball content.)
that babies could projectile poop. Now I know.
A "can-do" attitude is supposed to be a big asset. As I learned this week, however, having confidence in your abilities doesn't mean that you actually possess those abilities. I picked out a slightly beat-up rocking chair at a consignment store. The finish wasn't in great shape, but the design was simple and exactly to my taste, and when I sat in it I got the feeling it was made for someone exactly my size. All it really needed was a paint job. "No problem," I thought, "people paint their own furniture all the time." My parents and brother are tremendously talented when it comes to home improvement. I was sure I could handle this relatively simple task. (I should have remembered that the rest of my family members also have impressive green thumbs, and I really, REALLY don't.)
So we brought the chair home with us. We bought sand paper, white paint, and paint brushes. I sanded the chair, making sure to smooth out the spot where some kids had scratched a tic-tac-toe game into the seat. I painstakingly painted the chair. And wow, does it look awful. I'm not even sure what went wrong. But I am sure that I must have learned nothing from watching all those episodes of "Changing Rooms," "Trading Spaces," and "House Invaders."
The problem is not so much that I now am the proud owner of one horrendous-looking piece of nursery furniture. I'm sure the chair is just as comfortable as it was before I attacked it with vigorous, paintbrush-wielding enthusiasm, and it will rock my baby to sleep just as efficiently. The problem lies more in the failure of my original logic: if lots of other people can do this, I can too. Obviously, not so much. So when I tell myself, as I frequently do, that people have babies/endure labor all the time, and if they can do it then so can I, it just doesn't have quite the same resonance. But, as with the unfortunate chair, it is way too late to hire a contractor. No pun intended.
If you happen to want to buy something for Mr. Baby (and who wouldn't!), but aren't sure what to get him, we have some suggestions.
