He rolled over...and trouble started.

I was excited about him learning to roll over. He had been working on it for weeks, and I was cheering him on, encouraging him to keep trying, don't give up! I thought it was so great, him reaching this very important milestone in his physical development, and I think babies are so cute when they crawl. Their little diaper-puffy butts wiggling about on the floor and their pudgy little arms holding up their tiny round heads. Adorable!

Then he rolled over in his sleep.

I went in to check on him before we went to bed, like I normally do. He had been sleeping very quietly for about 2 hours, and I wanted to make sure his room wasn't too warm, and open the curtains so the moonlight could come in on his crib. It took me a moment to notice that his diaper-puffed bum was pointed skyward, and his little arms were tucked under his chest. HE WAS ASLEEP ON HIS TUMMY! Aaaaaaahhh!! All I could think of was SIDS, and the fact that he was going to suffocate himself in his sleep. I grabbed him and flopped him over on his back, which of course elicited a mighty protest. When he finally fell back asleep I left the room, came back about 4 seconds later, and he had done it again. I was up all night, checking on him every 7 minutes, making sure he was still breathing. It was horrible. Of course as I lay awake, freaking out, I read the baby book and it said quite clearly that if they are doing it on their own, sleeping on their tummies, then the risk of SIDS has pretty much passed. Not that I believe that stupid book. But I am calmer now. I only check on him about every 2 hours now.

Then he rolled off the bed.

Now I know that the "parent story" of your kid rolling off the bed/couch/changing table is like the total cliche of parent stories. But I kind of thought you were all making it up. I mean, one day your kid suddenly rolls off a piece of furniture? When you're looking away for 12 seconds? Right.

No really, right. You're right. They do! Holy cow! Once he figured out how to roll over it's become his preferred method of transporting himself from one place to another. And he doesn't seem to care that it is a high place...until he lands, that is.

What did he say?

The Monkey has been baby babbling for quite some time. Lately, it has taken on a much more conversational tone. He will wake up at some ungodly hour of the morning and lay in his crib, contentedly talking to his small stuffed Curious George, sometimes for almost an hour. I listen to him from our room and I can't help but be amazed. I mean, these are lengthy discussions they have, and sometimes they really get quite heated. Just the other day it was sounding pretty intense, and Monkey was shouting at George. I peeked in and he was waving his arms like an angry bird (should I insert a registered trademark here or something?) and yelling at George, who he had apparently thrown to the other end of the crib. I am not totally certain, but from what I could piece together, Monkey is in favor of gay rights and same sex marriage, and Curious George thinks it's wrong (he's pretty old fashioned). They were able to talk it over peacefully until George uttered a homophobic sentiment, and it came to blows. They made up and are friends again, because real friends can love each other even when they disagree.

I am so proud of my little mister.

Are people serious?

I sometimes wonder if people are really aware of how nuts they are when they do things to/with my child...


like the grandparents who gave him sips of sweet tea at 5 months old.

like the daddy who held him upside down by his foot when he was 3 months old (and still does).

like the great uncle who licked his sippy cup and popped it back in his mouth after it fell on the floor.

like the strange lady who works at the hospital with sick people all day and sticks her finger in his mouth.


I mean, come on...really?

Sigh.

Formal Apology

I would like to formally apologize to all the people I know who are parents. I had been operating for most of my life under the assumption that you all tend to exaggerate things...not with malicious intent, of course, but it just didn't seem possible to me that being a parent was as hard or as complicated as you all said it was. I thought that surely there was some unwritten parent code that demanded you embellish your experiences.

I was wrong.

I am flabbergasted sometimes at how wrong I was. You guys weren't kidding. And here is why...

It is impossible to find reliable childcare. Friends offer, obviously with the best of intentions, and don't follow through ("I can come anytime next week and watch Owen for you for a few hours! It will be fun! Just wait to hear from me!!"...and that was 3 months ago.) You hire a nanny who thinks you should juggle your life to suit her needs ("Yeah, I can only work from 11pm-3:15am on Tuesdays because of my other job and my social life and my volunteer work with under-appreciated artists.") Family members make plans and big offers ("We would love to come spend the night with him so you two can have a night away!"); that never come to fruition. And hiring a babysitter is its own kind of nightmare. And here I was, totally naive, thinking all of those things; hiring a nanny, offers from friends and family, etc., meant that we would have someone to watch him once in a while. Silly me.

Another thing you all weren't joking about is the poop. Now I realize that this blog should be about more than poop, but come on. Let's be honest. Poop happens. And when you guys made jokes about the poopy diapers that shoot straight up the baby's back, I thought that was clearly not really what happens. I mean, sure, ok, maybe once or twice. But regularly? What's the point of a diaper, and all that lovely elastic, if it doesn't contain the poop? Diapers are made for that sort of thing, and I had total faith in their ability to handle all manner of poopy situation. Ha. That was a pipe dream. Every single time he has pooped for the last month is has managed to find a way to escape the confines of his diaper and travel north, toward his shoulder blades. So disgusting. And so surprising...

Sleep deprivation is another one of those things I need to apologize for not believing. Wow. You get a few nights, or even a whole week, where he sleeps through the night and takes a good nap in the morning and afternoon, and you think your sleep-life is going to get better, get back to normal. Nope. Just kidding. For every night he sleeps like a lamb there are 5 or 10 more he sleeps like a lion. And you have to find a way to function on 4 hours of sleep (and not 4 hours in a row, mind you...four hours total, spread out of a 9 hour attempt to sleep) every day for a month. And really, we can hardly call it functioning!

So when you're brian dead from lack of sleep, and facing carpal tunnel from wiping poop off his back, you still have to entertain him. Little did I trust the stories of how little time a stay-at-home parents has to his/herself. I mean, you lay the baby down on a play mat or a rug with some toys and a pacifier and they just make their own fun for an hour or so, right? And then you just plop them in a swing or bouncy seat and voila! Happy kid! Thus giving you hours of your day to do your taxes, bake bread, clean the bath tub, and paint your toe nails. Right...? Wrong. So very, very wrong. Little Mr. Fussy Pants wants you to PLAY with him! He wants you to talk to him and snuggle him some and move his little arms and legs, and give his toys creative voices and interesting monologues.  He wants you to describe the pages of the magazine he is shredding. He wants you to explain existentialism to him while bouncing him on your lap at high speeds. And he wants this to happen all...day...long...

So for these reasons, and many more I either have yet to discover or haven't got the time to write down, because nap time is officially over (sometimes I want to throw the baby monitor out the window, but you can't blame the messenger) I would like to reiterate my deep regret for not believing my fellow parents.

Please forgive me.

Solid food is not solid...

My child would rather gnaw on my textbook for Business 102 than eat mushy rice milk mixed with breastmilk...and can you blame him? The transition to "solid food" amazes me. It's not solid. It's barely food. It's like rice flake soup. It doesn't taste like anything. And the texture is less than appealing. It reminds me of vomit.

I want to feed him real food. It can be soft, it doesn't need to be pizza and sirloins. But good stuff. Bananas. Applesauce. Cheez Whiz. Ok, well maybe not the Cheez Whiz, at least not until his first birthday. But something that resembles food, something that tastes like food, that would be good. Instead we are stuck with soupy rice mush.

And he doesn't really eat it. He spits it out, drools it, dribbles it down his shirt, globs it on his fingers and spreads it with artistic flair all over his pants. I can't tell how much he swallows, if any. How do I know if he has actually eaten? How do I know if he needs to eat mommy milk afterwards? Ugh. I am not a fan of this...