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Inept Already

So I don't remember if I mentioned this here or not, but a couple weeks ago, our washing machine broke. (A week to the day, incidentally, after our dryer had been repaired. Why, oh why, couldn't they have both broken—and been repaired—on the same day? I mean, they were obviously scheduled to break after four years, right? How hard would it have been to make sure that they broke on the same day?)

I'd been washing the second and final load of baby clothes (and drying a load of regular clothes) when I noticed a burning smell coming from the laundry room. Of course I assumed that it was the dryer burning, since that had just been fixed, and I wasn't entirely convinced that it had been fixed properly because the Check Lint Screen light remained on even after the repair. While sniffing around behind the dryer trying to discern from whence the burning smell was emanating, I noticed that the washer was in soak mode (that is, it was just sitting there, mid-cycle). I figured this was normal for delicates, but as I continued searching for the source of the burning smell, I realized that the washer had been in soak mode for a LONG TIME, and that the lights on the control panel actually indicated that it was Spinning, not Soaking.

Ladies and gentlemen, I think we've found the source of the burning smell.

I ended up having to fish all the baby clothes out of the washer (which, thank god, had already run through the rinse cycle), wring them out as best I could, and dry them for about two hours. I then called Sears, scheduled a repair, and bailed out the washer *almost* all the way (the belly made it difficult to reach down to the bottom, and after carrying six buckets to the bathroom sink, I was tired). What usually happens when you schedule a repair with Sears (or at least, this was my experience with the dryer) is that the repair guy comes out, looks at your machine, declares that you need some part that must be ordered, and says he'll be back in a week. If you happen to get *our* repair guy, he will also call at 7:15 on the morning of the scheduled 8-12 repair window and say he'll be there between 7:30 and 7:45.

This is indeed what happened with the washer. After arriving at 7:45am last Monday, poking around in the control panel for a while, and asking to see my manual, the repair guy declared that we needed a new motor (something I could have guessed for myself, based on the burning smell and the fact that the washer would neither spin nor drain). He said it would come in a fairly large box and be heavy, and that he'd be back in a week to install it. (Keep in mind that at this point, we'd been laundryless for a week already.)

Twice last week I had to push my little-old-lady wire basket down to the laundromat at 21st and Sansom, contracting all the way, to do a total of four loads of laundry, so I wasn't the least bit annoyed when the repair guy called at 6:55 this morning to say that he'd be there between 7:15 and 7:30. Who cared that this man obviously had no sense of which hours actually fall between 8 and 12? I WAS GOING TO BE ABLE TO WASH CLOTHES AGAIN. IN MY OWN HOME. No tokens required, no funny smell on the clothes from the super-perfumed detergent the guy before you had used, no freaking out when a piece of your clean underwear falls onto the skanky laundromat floor as you pull your things out of the front-loaders. THIS is why you become a homeowner: To have your very own washer and dryer.

So the repair guy gets going around 7:30 this morning, and at quarter to 8 he comes upstairs looking for me. "Are you done already?" I ask, since it usually doesn't take him long to install parts. "Almost," he says, "but you've got something stuck in your pump, so I'll have to replace that too. I'm going out to get one off the truck [he actually had a part with him! it's a miracle!]; while I do that, can you find me a tub that's lower and smaller than a bucket?" I tried showing him a few options, but he didn't like any of them. He ended up asking if he could use a container that had a bunch of random desk stuff in it instead. I dumped it out, handed it to him, and said go ahead.

While he struggled with the basin and the pump, I asked how the pump could have gotten clogged. "Overloading the washer, usually," he replied. I assure you, people, that this is something I NEVER DO. And I certainly hadn't done it with the baby clothes load... hm, wait a minute. Baby clothes. Small items. Is it possible something small had been sucked into the pump? Those of you with psychic powers already know the answer, right? Well, for those of you without psychic powers, the answer is YES! Yes, it is possible that something very small can be sucked into the pump EVEN IF YOU DON'T OVERLOAD THE WASHER. That small thing turned out to be... a single blue sock. "Oh," I said, when the repair guy told me that the sock was the culprit. "I guess maybe I have to hand wash those?" "Nope," he replied. "Just get one of those mesh bags. See ya."

So it turns out that Sears is off the hook for not properly coordinating their washer/dryer breakdowns. They may have been at fault for the dryer, but it was me and my inept baby sock handling that took out the washer. I haven't even had the baby yet, and I'm already fucking up as a parent. This tip about the mesh bag wasn't in any of the books I've read so far (although it's true I haven't finished any of them yet). I called my sister to see if this was common knowledge among parents who do laundry, and she said, "oh, I knew about the mesh bag, but I always thought it was so you didn't lose the socks." Right, INTO THE PUMP. So for those of you pregnant or soon-to-be-pregnant people who didn't know about the mesh bag, now is your chance to buy one and USE IT. You'll save yourself a lot of hassle with Sears (or with the owner of the laundromat if you're doomed to do your laundry in public). And, of course, you won't be stuck with one mateless blue sock.

Birth Announcement

Mom: Swollen, sore, covered in bruises from failed attempts to place an IV, and completely ecstatic.
Dad: Already a stunningly good diaper changer and swaddler, and quite possibly even happier than mom.

Gory details to follow when everyone's had more sleep.

Help Around the House

I'll continue with the Gory Details posts shortly, but I wanted to give a quick real-time update first. Austen turns one week old in less than an hour on this, his original due date as calculated by the LNMP method. So far, so good. I am regularly violating the "sleep when the baby sleeps" rule—apparently I value time to myself far too much—so Al has proposed that I limit my computer use to one session a day without the power cord. When the battery runs out, my time is up. (No fair using the Dell with the backup battery in the CD drive slot, either.) For this reason, blog posts and e-mail replies will be sporadic. I still have to squeeze in occasional showers in my time spent not sleeping.

My mom is here helping us for a week or two; when she realized that Al would be staying home from work during the same time, she wanted to know what we needed her for, and wondered whether it wouldn't have been better to come in January, when Al's back at work. I think she understands exactly what we needed her for now: Mostly, an extra set of hands and feet. Al and I are doing really well caring for the baby, but I'm still limited in how much I can get around in what our contractor calls The House of Stairs. Mom has been charged with picking up painkillers and baby supplies at CVS; entertaining Austen while I'm in the shower; running up to the nursery (which is on the third floor, along with the guest room) to bring down more Onesies and bathing supplies and diapers; washing baby clothes in the kitchen sink and our things at the laundromat (yes, the washer is STILL broken; I finally lost it with Sears this morning, and they apparently heard the desperation of a new mom suffering through one diaper malfunction after another in my voice and agreed to come out this Thursday rather than making me wait until December 14—WTF???—which I was told yesterday was the first available service date); bringing me food and tea in the master bedroom; and helping me sort through the two boxes of baby clothes and paraphenalia that nj and Morrisa sent us (thanks, guys! I had no idea we'd need so many Onesies).

Dad stopped by last night on his way home from a jobsite to see the new kid, fix our garage door (the spring and cable snapped on one side about a month ago), and help Al get a Christmas tree at Home Depot. He stayed overnight and then left around noon today. As you can see, I have a very helpful family: My sister, who drove my mom up on Friday, brought us a ton of food, some diapers, and some Christmas clothes for Austen, and my aunt Jancy came by on Sunday with some extra newborn gowns and more food for the fridge. She and mom also did a Trader Joe's run for us, so we're set on the yogurt and snack front as well.

Austen is as cute as ever, and seems to get cuter every day; I really could stare at him for hours. It's fun to watch him growing and changing right before my eyes. Breastfeeding, which resulted in cracked in bleeding nipples in the first few days, is still somewhat painful, though only for the first few minutes after he latches on. He now seems to be on a regular schedule of feeding every 1.5 to 3 hours, with one 5-hour-or-so stretch per day (and I do mean per DAY; we're hoping that it moves to nighttime soon). He's regained most (but not all) of the weight he lost in the first few days after birth, but he's still definitely newborn size. Everyone warned me about how he'd probably never need Newborn size diapers, and not to buy too many size 0-3 months clothes because he'd only wear them for a week, but he's really not very big. He's at the low end of the growth charts, and with the aforementioned diaper failures, we're changing outfits almost as often as we're changing—yes, Newborn size—diapers, so we exhausted our supply of 0-3 month clothes by Sunday morning. (Why I lost it with Sears should now be obvious.) Thanks again to nj and Morrisa and to Jancy for supplementing our supply.

My hands and arms are still covered with bruises, and my feet and ankles are still so swollen they look more like polar bear claws than my usual slender-heeled 7-and-a-half Ds (ironic, considering that I didn't swell at all during the pregnancy), but the swelling in my upper legs has gone down a bit, and I'm down to one Percocet every 4 hours instead of two (plus one fat Motrin every 6 hours). Yesterday I also got to see the kitchen (two short flights of stairs down) for the first time since Saturday, and I've since visited it TWICE (!) more.

The battery life on the Powerbook is draining steadily (and so is my right breast, necessitating one-handed typing), so that's all for now.

The Things You Do

I can't believe I just got down on my hands and bare knees on a hard wood floor, with my exposed right breast hanging dangerously close to the dust bunnies and old Wall Street Journals that I never got around to reading this summer, just to fish the tube of Lansinoh out from under the bed.

Oh, The Difference a Week Makes

Things I can do this Saturday that I could not do last Saturday, the day we were discharged from the hospital:

• Ride in a car on pothole-infested Philly streets without crying.
• Distinguish my ankles and the tendons in my feet (and, it follows, fit into my shoes).
• Get on and off the toilet without assistance.
• Climb stairs one leg per step without relying heavily on the handrail to pull myself up.
• Get up from my chair while holding the baby (well, most of the time).
• Get into bed by myself.
• Get out of bed by myself (most of the time).
• Fit into my H&M maternity courdoroy pants with the adjustable waist (they're even loose now, and the waist is being adjusted inward on a daily basis).
• Walk—albeit very, very slowly—to Whole Foods and back.

For Jean: A Post Featuring Photos of Al and the Baby

I'm obviously behind on the blogging; there's one more installment of The Gory Details to post, some more recent photos of Austen are in order, and I have some bathroom reviews waiting in the wings (the reviews will now include an assessment of the changing facilities as well as the paper goods). I hope to rejoin the Washington Post- and New York Times-reading public in the near future, and to resume commenting on politics, government, and Philadelphia soon.

Right now, however, my focus is on getting used to parenting and tending to Austen's every need. Tomorrow parenting may well consume me entirely, leaving nothing but ashes behind by the time Al gets home from work. Yep, that's right: Tomorrow Al goes back to work. I'll be here by myself. (Well, for most of the day; I expect the washing machine repair guy to keep me company for at least 15 minutes, and if the washer isn't fixed by the time he's done installing yet another motor and a new control board, he'll be held hostage here all day until Sears agrees to get me a new washer IMMEDIATELY.)

Anyway, I'm a little nervous about being left here alone with the baby tomorrow, but hopefully I'll be able to manage. I (and Austen) may just have to endure a little more crying when I put him in the bouncy seat or the Pack 'N Play instead of handing him off to Al when I have to pee or refill my water bottle or get something to eat. Actually, judging by how erratically I've been eating even *with* help in the house, being alone with Austen might mean that I don't eat at all.

We just tried out the Baby Bjorn on me, and we found that it's not an option for now as the straps fall right on an extremely sore part of my anatomy. So there goes my mobility tomorrow. :( Al suggested that the car seat might be the best option for moving Austen around the house with me without having to hold him, but I reminded him that I'm still not supposed to lift anything heavier than the baby—and the car seat is pretty heavy on its own, even without the baby in it. Rats! Meanwhile, I'm still trying to figure out how to get out of the house for a walk, seeing as how the front steps are very steep and shallow (and there's no handrail), and the egress from the garage is blocked by the combination of the car and all the plywood and drywall that's being stored there by the contractor for our closet project.

I might be stuck in the house tomorrow, alternately feeding the baby and, if I'm lucky, blogging. Eating and peeing and running the dishwasher will just have to wait.

We Hold These Truths to Be Self-Evident

1. Breastfeeding is both painful and wonderful.
2. As soon as the baby latches on, you will have to pee.
3. It's easier to change a diaper than to change the sheets.
4. As soon as the guy from Sears leaves, the washer will start to smell like it's burning up.
5. When you finally get a chance to sleep—and you MUST SLEEP—you won't be able to.
6. Even if you go to bed at 6pm, you won't actually put your head on the pillow until after 11.
7. Big boobs are a total nuisance.
8. If you had a relatively normal figure before pregnancy, you will have Jane Mansfield's figure while breastfeeding. Alas, you will not have her wardrobe, and all your clothes will look ridiculous on you.
   • Corollary: If you had Jane Mansfield's figure before pregnancy, you will have the figure of a porn star while breastfeeding. Your clothes will look ridiculous on you whether you have the porn star's wardrobe or not.

Mother and Child

Merry Christmas from Lori (l), Austen (r), and Al (photographer).

Serving Eighteen to Life

Dear Friends:

After one month, I can tell you that parenthood is fine; it is pretty much what I anticipated. The best news is that Austen is both cute and relatively healthy. (The worst is that I now understand what my friend Michele meant when she said that after her son Owen was born, she would fantasize about going to a hotel so she could get some sleep.) I have adjusted, however, and am very busy.

My world is like an old-fashioned college campus—without the freedom, of course. Where I once used to walk all over the city and stay out for hours, I now limit trips to about 10 blocks in length or one hour in duration. This lessens the chance that I'll have to use any of the supplies in the diaper bag or bust out a boob in the middle of the CVS. I know that eventually I'll have to change my baby in public (for the record, I had to change an extremely poopy diaper in the Ladies' room at Sears last week—mainly because the Men's room didn't have a changing table—but I enlisted Al's help that time. Anyone who had a problem with it could find another bathroom, dammit), but I'm trying to postpone that day for as long as possible.

I am fine, really. I look forward to Al getting home from work each day, to getting back to my valuable blogging, to creating, baking, and taking photographs. I have not had time to think, time to write, time to exercise, or time to eat anything but chocolate, but I have had time to swear at the top of my lungs at 3am and to contemplate the future (and at 3am, it makes my hair stand on end). I've had my work here too. Feeding has been my job—first the left boob, then the right, then the left again, for hours on end, with only thirty- to sixty-minute breaks in between—but there's also diaper changing, laundry, soothing, rocking, singing, walking, and much more. But like every other new parent, I would rather be doing all of this during the day, and sleeping at night.

I want to thank you again, and again, for your support and encouragement. You have been so terrific to me and to Al. I appreciate everything you have done, your emails, your comments, and your kind, kind words.

Happy holidays,

Me**

The Indispensibles

Al and I were talking over the past couple days about the baby clothing and supplies that we've found most useful (and that we've wanted more of), so I decided to share our list. Your mileage may vary, of course; a few of the things we've liked best were specifically dismissed as useless by Baby Bargains, the pediatrician who spoke at our childbirth class, and relatives. Likewise, a few recommended items have gotten almost no use at all. Remember that every baby is different—and that stuff that might be great for a city baby born in November or December would be superfluous for a suburban kid born in July. These are just our observations.

Herewith, our list of The Indispensibles:

The gray felt BabyGap hat Allison and Lester got us. They also got us a matching coat, which we haven't had occasion to use yet, but the hat gets daily use. Austen seems to like it when the brim falls down over his eyes when he's in the car seat/stroller, and that same brim helps seal out the cold when we carry him in the Baby Bjorn outdoors. The handy chin strap keeps the hat on, unlike the hats we got from the hospital, which constantly ride up and eventually fall off.

The bundleMe fleece carseat liner we inherited from nj and Morrisa. I don't know if they ever used it (it's possible; Northern California winters can be damp and chilly), but it's absolutely necessary here in frigid Philadelphia. (Well, usually frigid; for some reason, it's been near 60 lately.) Austen seems very cozy and happy in it, and when we zip up the sides, it bunches up nicely to form a windbreak in front of his face without impairing his breathing.

Several mid-weight suits with feet, preferably with easy access to the diaper area. Al prefers the ones with zippers; although I am completely inept at working the snaps, I like the ones with snaps across the crotch and down both legs because they provide better access to the diaper. I don't mind the zipper ones, even though you have to unzip the whole suit to change a diaper, but I have no use for suits that snap only down one leg. We have about five suits in Austen's current size, and we bought another one today because they're easily soiled with spitup and diaper leaks. Why we like them: They're perfect for around the house, which we like to keep at a brisk 65-70 degrees, and for under the fleece carseat liner when we go out for walks.

The hooded terry-cloth towel Jean got us. This was the only hooded towel we received as a gift, and I don't know why it didn't occur to us to buy more before Austen peed on this one right after it came out of the wash. We got a second one today with the same giraffe design that's on the shirts, booties, and bib Jean also got us, so that we'll always have a clean one ready at bath time.

The pile of spitup bibs that everyone got us. This is one of the things that Baby Bargains said was virtually useless, so I didn't tap our stash until recently. I finally decided to give them a try when I got sick of running through all our footed suits in one day because the collars were soaked with spitup, and I've found them quite useful. I prefer the ones with velcro closures to the ones with string ties (easier to get on and off a wiggling child), and my favorite is the SUPER soft fuzzy blue one with the bear face on it, which I think my cousin Margaret my sister got for us (thanks, Lisa!). It's not only incredibly cute, but also fairly absorbent and soft enough to wipe a newborn chin with.

Baby socks. I live in perpetual terror of one of these accidentally making it into the wash outside of the mesh bag, but they're essential enough that we've set up a system where baby socks go in a separate laundry pile rather than discontinuing their use. These are the items that the pediatrician declared to be useless, because "babies kick them off anyway," but Austen keeps them on long enough to do some good (and often for all of the 48 hours or so between baths). When the washer was broken we often ran out of suits, so Austen would hang out in a Onesie or a gown, and his feet would get cold. We still use the socks when Austen wears a gown, and also under the footed suits if we're taking him outside in the Baby Bjorn. (Thanks to my sister for getting us about 8 pairs, and to nj and Morrisa for giving us another dozen more.)

The aforementioned mesh laundry bag. Without this, I'd have to hand-wash the baby socks or risk losing another washer to the black hole known as Sears Repair Service.

Super-soft baby washcloths. We haven't been able to find anything like these in the stores around here, so we're grateful to have gotten about four or five of them in the boxes of hand-me-downs from nj and Morrisa. They're small, thin, and as mentioned, super soft—easy to manipulate during bathtime, and not too rough for Austen's delicate skin.

The peri bottle we got from the hospital. This was supposed to be for me to use post partum, and if I'd realized when Al stashed one in the suitcase that he intended to use it for Austen's bath, I would have horked another one. As it is, we're currently sharing. Anyone who's had a baby will know what I use it for (hint: it's called a "peri" bottle for a reason); at bathtime we use it as a hand-held shower to rinse any soap off the kid.

Fleece sleeper bags. These are similar to the suits, only without the feet. They obviate the need for blankets, keep Austen cozy, and also give his feet room to move—but not too much room. We had one (the first article of baby clothing we ever got), and we bought two more today.

In addition to the above items, we're grateful for our large stash of Onesies (thank you Lisa, nj, and Morrisa), which are great alone and under suits, and t-shirts, which are perfect under the sleeper bags. We also recommend:

• The Diaper Dekor diaper pail (thanks Lisa!), which is easy to use and good at containing smells, though since it's the only pail we've used, we have nothing to compare it to (well, it's DEFINITELY better than a plastic shopping bag from Whole Foods hung on a doorknob).
• The bouncy seat (thank you Tony and Maria) is also a key apparatus for any mom who wants to take a shower or pee without holding the baby while doing it. For obvious reasons, we keep ours in the bathroom.
• A Boppy (thanks Mom and Dad), which saves my arms while breastfeeding. Al uses it too, when he's trying to calm Austen at night (mine aren't the only arms that get tired holding a kid). Some people swear by the My Breast Friend nursing pillow, which I haven't tried, but the Boppy works fine for me.

New Year, New Life: The One-Month Bonanza of Randomness

It's a brand new year, and 2005 brings a brand new life (and lifestyle) to the Hylan-Cho household. It mostly involves getting by on less sleep, eating with one hand, and lots of baby-calming trips up and down I-95 for Al and walks around town with the stroller for me. In fact, I find I can function without a daily nap, but I can't function without a daily walk. Why? Because if I didn't distract Austen with a walk, he'd want to eat all day—and frankly, my nipples can't take it. (Neither can his tummy; we're going through spit-up bibs and footed suits at a phenomenal rate.) Anyway, Austen had his one-month checkup at the pediatrician today (even though he turned one month old last Thursday), so I decided to post about where we are after a month.

Al and I had a bet going about how much Austen weighed; we could see that his cheeks doubled in size overnight last week (it was almost alarming), that his arms and legs now had rolls of fat where once they were skinny, and that his Onesies and footed suits no longer hung on him, but we weren't really sure how much weight he was expected to gain in a month. Last week we decided that the over/under was 10 lbs., with me voting under and Al voting over. When we moved decisively into the size 1 diapers over the weekend, however, and as the pains in my upper back became more acute as I carried Austen around the house, I started to think Al was going to win this bet. He did, handily: Austen was 10 lbs., 10 oz. today. He was also 22.25", which was a stunner for me. We knew he'd gotten taller, because he bumps his head on the wipe container when we change him on the Pack 'N Play, but I honestly had no idea he'd grown almost two and a half inches. Good lord!

What's shocking to me is that some people's babies are BORN THIS SIZE. Personally, I'm glad we had a medium-sized baby, even though being able to push him out turned out not to be a concern. It's hard to imagine *starting* at this size and missing the month of tinyness that we enjoyed. I'm also not sure I could have carried a baby this big around in the first couple weeks after the C-section, but I'm sure people do, since a huge baby is often the cause of a C-section.

I mentioned that we're getting by on less sleep in the first paragraph, so please don't ask if Austen is sleeping through the night yet. He isn't, and frankly, we didn't expect him to. He is smiling now, though, which makes all the screaming, the waking every three hours to eat, and the thrashing and snarfling in his sleep seem like not such a big deal. Between the smiling and the SpongeBob-like snoring he effects when snoozing in the Baby Bjorn, I want to kiss him so much that I've practically worn a bald spot into the top of his head. (I only scream "AUUUUUUSSSSTEN, WHAT DO YOU WANT???" every other day or so; the kissing is a daily affair.)

As for me, I gained 35 pounds with this pregnancy, and I've lost a little over 20 of them, which my friend Eric the math whiz could tell you leaves 15 pounds to go to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight. None of my regular pants fit yet (actually, I only tried the largest pair, and I only did it for shits and giggles—I didn't expect them to fit), but the Gap Body yoga pants I wore throughout the first trimester fit great, feel comfortable, and look nice, so I'm in no hurry to return to my skinny jeans. I'll get there when I get there. In the meantime, I've invested in a couple pairs of Old Navy jeans (on sale for $20 this week!) in a size that fits, so I have something warmer to wear than the yoga pants when it's 20 degrees out and windy.

I sometimes worry that I'm a little too subdued for Austen; that is, I'm a loner by nature and like the quiet and solitude afforded by my non-working lifestyle, and I wonder if he finds me boring, or whether he'd rather have a mom that tried to engage him with toys and that scheduled play dates with other new moms. I try to remember to read out loud to him instead of just to myself, but invariably when I reach a longer magazine article or pick up a book, I revert to my old silent, reading-without-moving-my-lips habit. I do sing to him regularly, however, sometimes even actual songs with lyrics that go beyond the "Annie boopster, Annie boop-boop-boop-boop-boops!" ditties that I used to sing to our beloved feline friend, and he seems to like that. He also seems to like Soul Coughing songs, which is a good sign; in month two, I'm going to try out Radiohead on him.

Oh, and we do have a new washer now. I'm very grateful for this, but as I discovered as soon as the Sears guys finished installing it last Tuesday, doing laundry while holding a baby (whether he's just in my arms or in a front carrier) is extremely strenuous. This is why, when Austen fell asleep after the 8am feeding one morning last week, I stuck him in the Pack 'N Play and dashed down to the basement to get a load out of the dryer, move the last load from the washer to the dryer, start a new load, and sort the remaining dirty items instead of going back to bed myself. (I did eventually get another 90 minutes of sleep after Al left for work.) This is also why I gave Al an extremely dirty look when I woke up next to a puddle of leaky-diaper pee the next morning and his response to my lament was, "at least we have a functional washing machine!" Great, more laundry for me. >:( The good news is that after a few days of laundry hell and with Al's assistance over the weekend, I'm now caught up. We even have enough of each kind of clothing for the moment that I can wash clothes every other day as I used to do pre-baby. Yay!

The Borg and The Bunny Dip

Today I have two observations on parenthood: one from me, and one from Al. See if you can guess which one is which:

Observation #1: Austen is like the Borg. Not in that he's trying to assimilate everything and everyone, but in the way that once you use a weapon against the Borg, it adapts, and that weapon is never effective again. This accurately describes our experiences in trying to get Austen to sleep each night. There's not much that's routine yet in our house, but if there's one thing we can count on, it's that Austen will go ballistic—whimper, scream, nurse, thrash, wimper, scream, repeat—sometime between 8pm and 10pm and stay in that mode until midnight or 1am, when he drops peacefully off to sleep, looking so sweet that you can't quite believe he ever cries or even soils a diaper. In trying to get him into this peaceful sleep state, we have tried swaddling, rocking, walking, side-lying, pacifiers, shhhing, turning on the vacuum cleaner, driving up and down I-95, and drowning out his sobs and screams with our own. What works one night won't work the next... but it might work again next Thursday with some slight modifications.

Observation #2: In order to get anything done while wearing the Baby Bjorn, you must become proficient at the Bunny Dip. Remember A Bunny's Tale, that TV-movie based on Gloria Steinem's experiences as an undercover Playboy Bunny, with Kirstie Alley as Gloria Steinem? Anyway, one of the things Gloria learns as part of her Bunny training is how to place a drink in front of a patron without her boobs popping out of her costume. Instead of bending forward at the waist as any normal waitress would do (and as the waitresses at Hooters do in hopes that their boobs *will* pop out of their costumes), Bunnies are taught the Bunny Dip: standing with your right hip adjacent to the table and balancing a tray in your left palm, you remove the drink with your right hand, slide your right foot forward, arch your back, reach behind you, and place the drink in front of the gentleman.

A similar maneuver is required when putting away laundry, loading the dishwasher, and doing other household chores while wearing the Baby Bjorn. The Baby Bjorn Dip goes something like this: standing with your right hip adjacent to the dresser and holding baby's butt through Bjorn with your left palm, slide your right foot forward, arch your back, reach behind you, and place the sock in the drawer. Unfortunately, performing this move while wearing a Baby Bjorn rather than a Bunny costume won't earn you any tips.

I Hate That Fucking Sling

On the advice of a coomenter, and because I'm willing to try just about any solution that costs less than $40, I went out and got a NoJo BabySling. Oh, how I hate that fucking sling. It's supposed to be SO WONDERFUL for the baby that on top of feeling thoroughly frustrated by my inability to get the damn thing on and him in it at all, much less without hurting my back and shoulder, I also end up feeling guilty that I'm denying my child this incredible developmental experience. The only factor mitigating that guilt is that Austen so obviously hates the sling, too. Of course, the knowledge that I'm causing his frantic screaming by trying to wedge him into the freakish contraption brings on an even bigger tidal wave of guilt and insecurity, not to mention a flop sweat.

The "instructional" video that came with the sling (which, like the chapter devoted to babywearing in Dr. Sears' Baby Book, is more promotional than instructional) says that with a little patience, babywearing will become easy and enjoyable. I already suspected that I was too impatient to be a parent, but thanks, Dr. Sears and NoJo for making me feel too stupid for the job on top of it.

Honestly, I'm trying, but I don't know how many more chances I can give this fucking piece of crap before I toss it into the fucking fireplace.

Austen Interactive

I'm excited to report that Austen, while still mainly an eating, sleeping, and screaming machine, has lately become much more interactive. He sits in my or Al's lap for 20 or 30 minutes at a time, several times a day, and stares, smiles, makes faces, and coos at us. It's captivating.

These Dreams

In the past week, I have dreamed the following:

• I met Dooce. I knocked on her door, asked, "are you Heather?", introduced myself, and the next thing I knew, we were going on a girls' night out with some other women. Dooce was pregnant again and looked great. I was surprised that she'd decided to have another baby so soon, but I didn't say anything (except that she looked great).
• I was lying in bed one morning, with Austen on his back next to me, looking like his normal six week-old self. He turned to me and said, "Mommy, can we please cuddle?" followed by another phrase I can't remember now. I do remember telling Al what he said later on in the dream.
• I accidentally screwed up a setting in the Movable Type preferences, and when I went to write a blog post the next morning, I found 25,312 spam posts on the site. (Not comments—POSTS.) Interspersed with the spam posts were entries from well-meaning regular readers attempting to alert me to the problem. I couldn't believe that many entries were added without filling up the server (and therefore corrupting all my MT databases).
• Austen (again, his normal six week-old self) climed out of his Pack 'N Play and stood up on the changing table. Alarmed, I told Al that we'd need to find somewhere else for him to sleep—preferably some kind of crib or pen with higher sides.

I had several other dreams that I can't remember the details of now, but what they all had in common were themes and subjects that I've never dreamed about before and no source in reality that I could discern. Normally my dreams have regular themes, and I often dream of the same places or situations repeatedly. I remember waking up after each one of these recent dreams thinking, "wow, that was a strange thing to dream about" or "why would *I* dream about *that*?"

I wonder if it's because I'm so sleep-deprived. I remember reading an article once about a study that showed that after being awake for an artificially long time (e.g., 24 hours straight), people would drop directly into REM sleep. That would certainly account for an increased number of dreams, but does it also account for the increased variety of dream themes? Perhaps I've been dreaming about these weird subjects all along and just didn't remember it because I wasn't being awoken several times in the middle of the night by a hungry baby. Anyway, it's a puzzler.

One of Us is Tired, The Other is Sleeping

Trapped

I have two rather long blog posts half-written; I'll post them as soon as I get enough free time (and free hands) to finish 'em up. At the moment a blizzard has trapped me indoors with the kid for the second day in a row (although yesterday Al was here to relieve me). Today we are enjoying the view out the window and seeing who can cry louder.

We're Out!

I managed to get the car out of our snow- and ice-covered alley driveway, so I'm able to send greetings from the Apple Store at the King of Prussia Mall. If you count double strollers as two instead of one, there are more strollers in the mall than people. Is it always like this? I'd never noticed before. Anyway, I can't get anyone to help me at the moment (apparently Macs and iPods are in high, high demand), so I have time for a bathroom review.

Nordstrom
Location: King of Prussia Mall, King of Prussia, PA (2nd Floor)
Shortest route to restroom: Enter from the top of the parking deck, and make a sharp left. From the mall, make a left at the piano and walk toward the glass doors. The restroom is on the right.
Ease of access: Excellent.
Quality of facilities: Excellent. While this isn't the cleanest restroom I've ever been in, Nordstrom is the gold standard in terms of Women's Lounges. There's a Mother's Room complete with a padded changing table, sink, and chairs and couches for nursing. There's also a general lounge area, which is where I sat to nurse Austen (I liked the big brown couch). There are paper towels, seat covers, automatic faucets, and plenty of soap—not to mention the lovely, live piano music that's piped in. (Caveat: When thr piano player takes a break, Nordstrom pipes in the same dorky instrumental music that The Weather Channel plays during Local on the 8s.)

Mall Material

I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I LOVE THE MALL!! Our trip there today totally changed my outlook on life. I went from feeling insanely sleep deprived, cooped up, cranky, and just plain insane to feeling cheerful and productive. It's probably because the baby slept almost the entire time we were out—even through a diaper change. He woke up to nurse and to smile at me periodically, but there was no crying. Amazing how the absence of crying can improve one's mood.

I know I'm going to pay for all this sleeping later (by not sleeping at all myself), but boy, did we have a good time. The best part is that Austen's wide awake now and charming the pants off me by mimicking my every move, from sticking his tongue out to flailing his arms (I'm sort of dancing in my chair). He's even cooing in response to my singing. Wouldn't you be happy, too, if you had a day like this?

So Close, and Yet So Far

I mentioned in a previous post that if we didn't get out of the house at least once each day, Austen would want to nurse practically non-stop. (This is the main reason I've been going so nuts with the snow-in.) If we can't get out (or in between outings, if we can), I spend all my time either nursing him until he conks out or trying to make him think of something other than nursing.

It occurred to me this afternoon that walking Austen around the house in the Baby Bjorn isn't the best way to distract him. I used to think that when he rubbed his nose violently back and forth against my chest he was just restless, but I now think he's hoping to wear a hole in my shirt so he can get to a nipple—trying to dig his way to China, so to speak.

I don't know why it took me so long to figure this out, especially since I've long been able to distinguish the "I WANT TO NURSE!" cry from any other. It's more of a bark or a roar than a cry (or a bark surrounded by a cry); phonetically, I think it'd be spelled RRAHR. If I deny him for too long and then finally offer him a nipple, he'll often RRAHR at me one last time before he latches on to let me know that HE'S BEEN WAITING, DAMMIT.

Last night when I tipped him on his side and held him in the crook of my arm (otherwise known—to him—as "nursing position") in an attempt to soothe him to sleep, he started shrieking OPEN THE FLAPS! OPEN THE FLAPS! like a hysterical Han Solo. Or at least, that's what I thought he said; it might have been "nyah! nyah! rrahr! nyah! rrahr!" Hard to tell on so little sleep.

We occasionally try to pacify him with, well, a pacifier (binky, dummy, nuk-nuk, whatever), and sometimes it works so well that we can't quite believe it: he's asleep in seconds, and stays that way for hours (6 in a row, in fact—a new record!—last night). Other times, he howls angrily as soon as the silicone touches his lips. My favorite reaction—or at least, it would be if I weren't already at my wits' end with all the screaming—is when he accepts the binky for a few seconds and then spits it across the room as if to say WHAT IS THIS FRAUD YOU HAVE PERPETRATED UPON ME? To paraphrase a former boss of mine (who actually said what she said in an official review): my son does not suffer fake nipples gladly. Bring on the skin, baby. RRAHR!

Leaky

Whenever the subject of breastfeeding comes up, my mom likes to tell about how when I was a baby, every time I cried milk would shoot out of her breasts in response. As horrified as I'd been by the prospect of projectile breastmilk, I tried to prepare for the possibility. (I'm happy to report that as of last Sunday, when I originally started writing this post, it had never happened to me.) What I hadn't prepared for was the constant leaky faucet-like dripping that seems to defy any containment system.

I first learned of the leakage issue when Dooce mentioned it on her site (and re-reading the post now that I have an 8 week-old baby, I realize how true everything she said is); I'd never heard of breast pads before that, or considered why one would need such things. In my 9th month of pregnancy, however, I decided to buy a box of 40 Avent Breast Pads just in case I, like Dooce, leaked at night.

At the time I remember thinking that 40 was a lot—and that "breast pads," while an accurate description, sounded (a) gauche, (b) like "maxi pads", and (c) confusing, given that so many other maternity-related items were also called "breast this" and "breast that". I announced that in our household we would call them "coussinets", which was the French translation on the box.

Fast-forward to my first couple weeks home from the hospital, which included lots of incredibly painful breastfeeding (YES, I CHECKED THE LATCH! sheesh!)... and an enormous amount of leaking. I went through all 40 of those Avent coussinets in no time flat. Luckily I remembered that Morrisa had included a couple boxes of the Medela brand (120 total) in the box of baby clothes she'd sent us, and I sent my mom up to the third floor to get them.

When I saw how thin those Medela coussinets were, I was fairly skeptical. I tried them, though, and found them to be much more absorbent (and comfortable) than the Avent brand (although the word "coussinet" appeared nowhere on the Medela box; thank god we bought the Avent ones first, or we never would have known about the French translation). Unfortunately I didn't really get to take advantage of that extra absorbency because soon after switching to Medela, I read that the pads should be changed as soon as they got damp to prevent chapped nipples. (And boy, did I have chapped nipples!)

After almost three weeks of breastfeeding, my nipples were still so sore that after a nursing session my bra felt like it was made out of fire ant-infested fiberglass insulation. I got some breast shells to give them a break—and to provide some protection from the ill-placed straps of the Baby Bjorn. Note: It's important that you know, in case you didn't follow the link above, that these shells are "vented on the top to provide proper air circulation" and come with "highly absorbent foam inserts protect against leaking." OK? OK.

The first time I put the breast shells on, I thought, "wow, these things really work! My nipples don't hurt nearly as much!" (Never mind the angry red circles that appeared around the nipples; I didn't notice those until I took the shells off, and they didn't actually start to hurt until the circulation returned to that area.) I was thrilled. Yay, breast shells!

I'd had the shells on for about an hour that first time when we decided to take Austen out with us to run some errands. Al got him in the car seat and set him on the floor next to me. I bent over to put on his hat... and promptly spilled like a liter of breast milk through my bra, through my sweater, and onto the floor. (OK, maybe it wasn't an entire liter, but it made a huge puddle.) See? Aren't you glad you knew that the shells were "vented on top to allow major spillage when you bend over" and come with "easily overwhelmed foam inserts that do nothing to prevent leaking"?

I had to learn the hard way that (a) the extra foam inserts weren't included in case you lost the first set, (b) the shells needed to be removed every 30 minutes or so and the foam inserts wrung out, and (c) I shouldn't plan on bending over with the shells on unless I had a couple of the coussinets stuffed in my bra as backup. I eventually decided that the shells weren't worth the trouble and abandoned them.

I am still so leaky, however, that I haven't been able to abandon the coussinets, despite the fact that they, too, sometimes fail me. (Or I fail them; TWICE last week I accidentally put them in backwards, with the adhesive side facing in. OUCH, OUCH, OUCH.) I think I've gone through 5 boxes of 60 Medela coussinets, and I'm halfway through box number 6, despite attempting to conserve (i.e., screw the chapped nipples). I've been advised to try the washable cotton inserts, but I can't help but think that I'd need like 40 pairs in order to keep up with the leakage and the laundry.

Think I'm exaggerating? Last Sunday morning, around 3am, I woke up in that puddle of breast milk Dooce mentioned in her post: the one the coussinets were supposed to prevent. This time it wasn't my fault; I hadn't put one in backwards or upside down, and neither had the adhesive failed, causing it to slide out of position. No, what happened is that I SOAKED THROUGH THE DAMN THING. It was so saturated that it couldn't hold another drop of milk, and again I ended up with a wet bra, a wet t-shirt, and this time, wet sheets.

This weekend saw a repeat of last Sunday—as well as an episode of the dreaded projectile milk—thanks to a combination of Al's soothing and Austen's sleeping that allowed for 6- and 7-hour breaks between feedings. My breasts have obviously not adapted to such a long stretch of disuse. The good news, if there is any, is that I was actually able to collect almost 4 oz. of milk over two nights just by standing over an open Avent bottle, no pumping necessary.

More On Sleeping Through the Night

Austen slept for 7 hours straight on Saturday night (and I didn't soak the sheets with breastmilk!). It was lovely, for a couple reasons: (1) I also got to sleep for 7 hours straight, and (2) I didn't end up lying awake in bed at 4:30 in the morning thinking about missing files.

This morning Austen woke after only 4 hours, and after an only partially-successful attempt at feeding him in the side-lying position, I found myself awake—with pasty mouth, burning eyes, and swirling thoughts. I finally managed to finish the feeding at 4:45, but despite a desperate desire to get back to sleep, I couldn't help mourning lost belly photos.

And then I thought, "I *know* I burned a CD off my Windows machine before the baby was born." So I got up, went downstairs, and prepared to pry open the CD burner in search of it. No need: When I removed the stack of papers waiting to be filed from on top of the burner, the CD revealed itself, gloriously labeled with phrases like "belly_web", "remodel_web", "cruise_web", and "blog images".

It's not everything, but it's a start. The belly photos I'd been trying to re-construct for the pregnancy archives were all there. Annie's memorial pictorial was there. Our trip to Mechanicsburg. The photos from our "last hurrah" cruise and kitchen remodel (links coming as soon as I rebuild the ~ lori and al ~ blog). As soon as I finish uploading, I can go back to bed.

Of course, that's when Austen will wake up.

Apologies for Anxiety

To those of you who started visiting avocado8 during the pregnancy (or the election; they were going on at the same time)—and also to those who've been reading this blog for years—I want to apologize. Not for all the broken links, but for blogging about all the broken links. Just because they're tormenting me doesn't mean they should be tormenting you.

To attone for my recent bout of manic-depressive blogging, I offer this photo of Al and the Beaner watching the Super Bowl last night. (Too bad the Eagles didn't win!)

Our Newborn is No Longer Newborn-Sized

When Austen was born, he was a very average newborn size—and next to me and Al, he was downright tiny. We could hold him in one arm with no trouble whatsoever. He wore Newborn size diapers and Newborn size clothes. Many of his 0-3 month sleeper suits were too big. At six days old, his head circumference was in the 10th—the 10th!—percentile, news that almost made me wish I'd been able to have a vaginal birth. His height and weight were somewhere around the 16th or 17th percentile.

At his one-month checkup (which he got at 5 weeks old), Austen had lept into the mid-30s percentilewise and was fast approaching 11 lbs. It was around this time that I remarked to Al that had the Incredible Hulk been born rather than developing as the result of an overdose of gamma radiation, Austen is probably what he would have looked like. I could swear I could see Austen's clothes shrinking and ripping as his little body expanded.

At 8 weeks—just after the big blizzard—I had to make an emergency run to the Baby Depot because Austen outgrew even the biggest of his 3-month sleeper suits, and both of the 6-month sized ones we got from nj and Morrisa were in the wash, the victims of spit-up and diaper leaks. He never even got to wear a few of the 8-11 lb. onesies his cousins made for him at our baby shower, and I think he only wore the suits his godmom bought him for New Year's a couple times each.

Over the past three weeks or so my back has started to ache so badly that it often wakes me up at night, and I began to think that perhaps Austen was expanding faster than I could build up the muscle strength with which to lift and carry him. (For those of you thinking, "lift with your knees, not your back!", I've been doing that, and now my knees hurt, too.) We knew Austen had to be at least 12 lbs. because of the way his clothes fit, but since our pediatricians' office is quite busy, he won't be weighed officially until he gets his two-month checkup... at three months. We decided to try the step-on-the-scale-alone-and-then-step-on-with-the-baby method after his bath on Sunday to get an approximate weight. Ladies and gentlemen, that scale said he weighed 15 POUNDS. Granted, this probably isn't a very accurate method, but as my friend Shannon said recently... holy crap, Batman!

Austen is 10 weeks old today, and he's now straining the Velcro tabs on his size 2 Huggies. The snaps on his 6-month suits are about to pop around the diaper area, and they already have around his neck. (Like both Al and me, Austen's torso is long for his overall height, so he still has a little room in the suit legs as long as he doesn't point his toes.) Everyone who sees him comments on how big his cheeks are, and every woman who even peeks into the stroller—complete strangers on streetcorners, I'm talking about—asks me if I'm breastfeeding.

It's starting to wig me out a little. All I can do is reassure myself that Austen's healthy, alert, and interactive. He sleeps and eats well. He poops and pees normally. And he's super cute.

Yummy!

I now understand why mothers are always talking about eating their babies—noshing on chubby thighs, swallowing cute little cheeks whole, nibbling on tiny ears. It's because BABIES SMELL SO DARN TASTY.

Sunshine Day

When I was a kid growing up in Massachusetts, we'd always look forward to the day when you could finally go outside without your coat after a long winter. Usually that day would be in the 50s, a temperature that would cause you to don your coat in fall but that in spring felt wonderfully warm. Today was that day here in Philadelphia.

I managed to get outside for no less than *three* walks today, which probably accounts for my good mood despite a relatively sleepless night. (The sleeplessness was my fault, not the boopster's—he slept for about six hours straight.) Austen was also in a fabulous mood today, whining only rarely and crying only once, if I remember correctly. [Aside: It always bugs me when people ask if Austen is a "good baby", as if there's such a thing as a "bad baby", but I suppose the people who ask are imagining a string of days like today when they think "good".] Austen seems so far removed from the squawking little alien we brought home from the hospital 11 weeks ago.

It's not just a size thing, although he is, admittedly, huge. It's that he's alert and hyperinteractive and vocal and happy. There's more to him now than just sleeping, eating, and crying. He now has smiling and singing and flailing to his very own iTunes playlist in his repertoire. He spent an amazing amount of time awake in the stroller today, which made the walks even more enjoyable. And to top it off, we explored a new neighborhood and took some photos for about town II (I'll post them over the next few days). Yay, it's a sunshine day!

The News From Babyland

The title of this post is what I say to Austen when he babbles at me while getting his diaper changed: "Are you giving me the news from Babyland? Well, what's the scoop? Give me the dish!" Here's what's been going on:

A sign that perhaps I should dial back the junk food consumption
Al, while changing Austen's diaper: "There's a little spot of poop on Austen's onesie. Do you think I should change it?
Me: "Nah, not if it's just a spot."
<LATER>
Me: "Yeah, good call on not changing the onesie. That's not poop—it's chocolate."

Once a dad...
Last Friday night I was still awake (and working in the living room) when Al got home from hockey. I heard the garage door open, but I didn't notice if it shut or not. I know I didn't hear Al come in. Next thing I know, I hear Al shrieking. Thinking that he's being attacked in the back alley, I leap out of my chair and race down to the garage... where I find him struggling with the car seat base in the back seat of the car. The shriek was a shriek of frustration.

"Did I wake you up?" he asks. Me: "No, I was working. I thought you were being attacked... I... I need a moment." Because my emotions are very close to the surface these days (closer than usual, even), and I can't shake the image of my husband being hurt or killed, I start to cry. Al takes me in his arms... and starts to pat me rapidly on the back. I lift my head off his shoulder and start laughing. "That only works with the baby," I say.

And for dessert?
While I've been feasting on chocolate, Austen has been feasting on his hands. (Apparently I'm not the only one to whom they look tasty.) He has them as an appetizer before meals, for dessert after eating, and occasionally as a mid-meal palate cleanser. The drool is starting to puddle on the floor around him.

No more slouching, but lots of tipping over
Austen's latest obsession, besides his hands, is with sitting up. The bouncy seat he used to love hanging out in is no longer in fashion, as it only allows him to recline at an angle. He either cries when we put him in it, or spends the entire time in it struggling to sit up. This week I was able to sit him up on the couch by himself a few times, although eventually he'd keel over to one side or the other, hands in mouth.

I want to be a part of it!
Yesterday we made the trip we'd planned to make last Saturday but cancelled after getting very little sleep the night before: We drove up to NYC to see Christo's gates. It was Austen's first trip to New York (and our car's), and it went pretty smoothly. As for the gates, they were more impressive than I'd imagined they would be. I'll be posting the photos we took over at ~ lori and al ~ later this week.

Two-Month Checkup (@ Three Months)

Austen went to the doctor for his latest well-baby visit—the first one involving shots—this morning. The over/under for his weight was 15 1/2 pounds (it was going to be 16, but both Al and I voted under, so we backed it up to a point where one of us was under, and one of us was over). Technically Al won again, though we were both so far off that I'd say there was no winner this time. I guessed 15 lbs. 4 oz., and I think Al guessed 15 lbs. 13 oz. Austen, at three months old, weighed in at 16 lbs. 15 oz. Yes, people, that's 1 oz. shy of 17 pounds. The nurse was a bit surprised, especially since her 6 month-old daughter had just weighed in at 16 lbs. 13 oz. the day before.

This massive weight gain has put Austen off the growth charts for weight. He measured two feet exactly this time, so he's only in the 75th percentile for height, but even that was a big jump from last time. It might be time to move to the size 3 diapers... and to wash the 6-9 mo. clothes the nice people at Perfect Order got us. (I'm also starting to wonder whether Austen was so small—and breech—at birth because my uterus just isn't very big. Maybe he had to wait until he was on the outside to catch up with all the other huge babies that run in my family.)

Anyway, Austen actually tolerated the shots (three of them) pretty well. He cried, of course, but as soon as each needle was removed, he'd back down on the volume. By the third shot he was a little annoyed—and probably wondering how many more sticks were coming—but he only let out a couple residual roars after I picked him up. A few minutes later he was cooing happily and eating his hands. Honestly, I think the dose of Tylenol bothered him more than the shots did (cherry-flavored medicine has nothing on breast milk, it seems). Perhaps those hamhock thighs provided some cushion against the sting of the injections.

The doctor had asked me at Austen's one-month vist whether he startled at loud noises (he did), but in the past couple days I've noticed that he's much more sensitive to them now. When we went to our first Reel Moms movie in Cherry Hill on Tuesday (it was Sideways, which I really liked when I saw it with Al last month), they apparently forgot to turn down the sound to the promised baby-friendly level, and at the first cymbal crash (during the "visit the concession stand!" promo), he jumped a mile and started SCREAMING in terror. Similarly, it used to be that I could holler Austen's name in frustration when he wouldn't sleep at night, but when I did it last night I got a repeat of the popcorn promo reaction. :( Today he startled a couple times (but didn't cry) when I raised my voice while recounting a story over the phone to my sister. I wonder if I've made him nervous that he'll get shouted at again...

Meanwhile, I was reminded of my friend Shannon this morning when I considered the fact that after three weeks of going to bed between 9:00 and 10:30 every night and then sleeping 5-7 hours straight, Austen suddenly wants to stay up past midnight again. Shannon had been feeling some pressure to get her baby on a schedule, but her pediatrician said that it's really not worth the trouble. For the first few months babies are developing so rapidly that by the time you get them on a schedule, they change—and you have to start all over again. Although Al and I never really tried to get Austen on a schedule, I guess we thought that the previous sleep pattern was pretty predictable—and that it would only improve over time. In reality, it's more like a three steps forward, two steps back kind of thing. (And really, I shouldn't complain too much: Although it took five tries between 8:15 and 12:40 to get Austen to sleep last night, he didn't wake up in the middle of the night. I had to get him up at 7:20 this morning because if we didn't get a feeding in before heading to the doctor's, my boobs were going to explode.) I'm very interested to see what happens tonight, especially since the shots could throw him off his game completely.

Thank God That Baby Bjorn is Washable

Austen just vomited up the entire contents of his stomach while facing me in the Baby Bjorn. I was so stunned a first that I froze, but when I heard the splat, splat of curdled milk dripping onto the kitchen floor through the legholes, I sprang into action and dashed upstairs. I got Austen out of the Bjorn and his sleeper suit (luckily the vomit hadn't soaked through his onesie), tried unsuccessfully to rinse the giant splotches of spew off my shirt in the bathroom sink (I finally just Shout-ed the heck out of it), scrubbed the tentacles of white goo that had crept down my pant leg with a wet washcloth, dressed Austen in a new sleeper suit, donned a new shirt myself, and called Al to tell him what happened—all in the space of five minutes. I've obviously moved on from Motherhood for Beginners to intermediate level.

I'll know I'm ready for Advanced Parenting when I no longer freeze before running up the stairs.

Screening Day

Instead of driving over to Cherry Hill to see a Reel Moms movie I'm only vaguely curious about, I decided to attend a screening at a venue that also has a changing table set up, baby-friendly lighting and volume, popcorn, and—unlike the Loews Theater—really good hot chocolate and a Boppy to support my arms while nursing. Yep, I decided to avoid the icky weather and stay home.

The rain changed to snow earlier than predicted, and the wind is howling past the chimney, but we don't care. Austen and I are busy watching the second season of Sex and the City on DVD (which I bought it four years ago and somehow never got around to watching) and snacking on tasty treats like yellow peppers stuffed with smoked salmon salad, hot chocolate made with dark chocolate imported from Spain, and California navel oranges at the peak of sweetness.

Who needs Chili Palmer and a cupholder when you can have Carrie Bradshaw and your own cozy couch?

The Claw and the Kung-Fu Grip

It's been a busy week for Austen and me. In addition to contracting for a couple hours a day for my old company, I've also managed to get out to the endocrinologist, the Philadelphia Flower Show, and the King of Prussia Mall, in addition to my regular haunts. Meanwhile, Austen has exhibited a bundle of new behaviors this week.

Although he's been grabbing my thumb with one hand while digging his fingernails into my boob with the other every time he nurses since birth, Austen just this week started grabbing things purposefully—and, oddly, raking his fingernails across everything he can find, including the Baby Bjorn and my arms, face, and neck.

From purposeful grabbing and gripping it was a short leap to stuffing things in his mouth; first into the maw was the silly monkey toy his cousin Henry (aka Henry's mom, Tris) got him for Christmas. (I was lucky enough to catch this event on video, the first we've shot since we brought Austen home from the hospital.) This morning he moved up a weight class and took on my teddy bear, but I think the bear got the best of him. He'll be moving back down to silly monkey class after this, I think.

Also new in Austen's repertoire is a "shy baby" routine. He pulled it on Al the other night, burying his head in my chest and then peeking out when Al greeted him. Very surprising—and very cute.

Oh! And Austen celebrated his 100th day on the outside yesterday, something my father-in-law assures me is a very big deal in Korean culture. Does this mean the honeymoon is officially over?

More Austen Updates

Austen's body clock got a little messed up last night. For the past couple weeks it's been taking us 3 to 5 tries to get him down for the night, but once he finally conks out for good, he sleeps until at least 6:30am. Last night he fell asleep while nursing at 8:30, so I put him down... and he stayed down. We went to bed around 10:45, congratulating ourselves on a baby well managed and looking forward to almost 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

No such luck. Austen woke in his usual good mood, squawking and cooing to himself for a good 10 minutes before changing over to extended, "ok, COME GET ME" groan-whines... at 2:56am. He obviously *thought* it was 6:30, because he was wide awake and didn't cry when Al changed his diaper, which is his usual up-for-the-day M.O. We couldn't convince him that it was too early to be up, and that mommy and daddy were non-functional zombies who were not ready to play games.

I spent the next 6 hours alternately feeding him and dozing before I was finally ready to face the day, and I know Al held him and did a diaper change or two in there somewhere before heading to work. Tonight, I suspect that Al and I will be ready for bed at 9:00, and Austen will want to stay up until midnight.

Because Austen and I were slow getting out of bed this morning, we decided to forego the Reel Moms movie ("Robots") and instead spent an hour or so grabbing each other's noses and cheeks. (Gotta be careful if a baby finger makes it up your nose—those fingernails are sharp, and you could end up with a cut that hurts like hell and takes forever to heal. I learned this with my niece and nephew 10 years ago.) Although Austen's grabbed/scratched my face before, this is the first time his aim was sufficiently accurate to get my nose, eyes, and mouth one at a time. Pretty neat.

Oh, and here's something that's totally freaking me out: Austen appears to have at least one tooth coming in. He's been knawing on everything he can get his mouth on and drooling up a storm for a couple weeks now, and this weekend I thought I saw a little white speck on his lower gums. I felt around in there with my finger, and sure enough, there's a sharp bump. FREAKY, I tell you. He's only 15 weeks old! As if his enormous girth weren't astonishing enough... I'm seriously starting to wonder if my breastmilk is radioactive or if he was exposed to gamma rays in the HUP nursery. It can't be all the chocolate, can it?

Tumbling

The thing I've been fearing would happen just happened: I fell down the stairs while wearing the Baby Bjorn. (Actually, my worst fear was falling down the stairs while carrying Austen in my arms, but this was almost as scary.) Luckily I only fell down the last two, and I seem to have instinctively twisted onto my side to protect Austen, who was unhurt. He seemed startled and puzzled, but he didn't cry, even when it took me a few minutes to get back up.

I banged my left knee and my right elbow pretty hard, and I seem to have twisted my back and my right ankle, but I'm still mobile (and still wearing the Bjorn), so the injuries must be very minor. Next time I will make sure that I really am completely down the stairs before I start reading the Wall Street Journal.

Growth Spurt -> Stroller Shopping

I think we might have discovered the reason for Austen's run of sleepless nights last week: Somewhere during that time he grew another 2", give or take a hair. That means he's roughly 26" long now, the limit of the infant car seat that we've also been using as a stroller bassinet. Consequently, Al and I spent Saturday afternoon stroller and convertible car seat shopping. (Last night my friend Jean pointed out that as long as Austen doesn't mind sitting in the infant car seat, we can continue to use it on the Snap 'n Go stroller frame; we just can't use it as a car seat beyond 26" or 20 lbs., which Austen must also be getting close to.)

We actually performed this exercise last weekend as well, but we ended up not buying anything because (a) at the time, Austen had yet to undergo this crazy growth spurt, and (b) we didn't find the stroller of our dreams at Babies 'R Us. We did find a convertible car seat that we liked (one of the Graco ComfortSport models), but again, as Austen had yet to spurt, it didn't seem urgent to buy it that day.

Post-spurt, the pressure was on. Pressure sometimes makes me stupid, as is evidenced by the fact that when we went out shopping this weekend, I forgot to bring the Baby Bargains book I'd had on hand last week, and I also forgot to print out the specs on the strollers we were most interested in from the Zooper and Maclaren websites. Duh. These things probably would have helped, because the choice wasn't obvious.

It was pretty easy to rule out the Peg Perego and Ingelsina models we tried—they were too short for me. Ditto any brand of jogging stroller (although Zooper's Boogie was kinda cool)—too big and too heavy for daily use in the city. It really did boil down to the non-jogging Zooper and Maclaren models, but which model and which manufacturer?

We tried out a floor model Zooper Swing, which was on sale for the incredibly low price of $149. Although we liked how light and steerable it was—and the fact that it included all kinds of accessories—we abandoned it as an option because the access to the basket area wasn't great, and (more importantly) one of the pegs on the reclining seat didn't fit properly in its notch. Seemed like a defect—and therefore a deal breaker—to us. Because we only saw the Swing and the Boogie on the floor, we asked if the store (a Babyland USA) had any other Zooper models. We expected to be told WYSIWYG, but one of the sales guys said he thought a whole shipment of Zoopers had just come in. Another sales guy was kind enough to remove a Waltz from its box and assemble it for us to try.

While he was working on that, we tested out a Maclaren Techno Classic (I've looked at the product comparisons on the Maclaren website, and I honestly don't know what the difference is between the Classic and the XT). I loved the fact that the handles were adjustable... except that raising them to their full extent didn't stop me from kicking the wheels as I walked. Al fared better with the handles in their lowest position and had no complaints about wheel kicking.

Both of us loved the clear plastic peek-a-boo window on the hood, as it gave us a clear view down onto Austen. This is an important feature for me, as I'm not sure I'm quite ready not to see Austen when we go out on our walks (currently he faces me in the Snap 'n Go). We also both appreciated the sleek, no-nonsense styling and especially the compact fold.

Next we tested out the Zooper, and I found that while the handle bar was 1.5" lower than the lowest Maclaren handle position, the fact that it stuck out rather than up meant that I could walk more upright. That, coupled with the wider wheelbase and single rather than double rear wheels, also meant that I didn't kick said wheels when I walked. Brilliant. I also preferred the single handle bar to the separate handle grips; it made it easier to steer with one hand, which is key for someone like me who makes an almost-daily trip to Starbucks and then continues on, pushing the stroller with one hand and drinking a hot beverage with the other.

Al and I made several trips up and down the aisle with both strollers, agonizing over the pros and cons of each as we went. Here's what our discussions boiled down to:

Maclaren Techno Classic
Pros	Minimalist styling; compact fold; adjustable-height handles; great maneuverability; perfectly-positioned peek-a-boo window in canopy; foot-activated front wheel locks.
Cons	Narrow wheelbase and double wheels leave little room for feet of driver; handles extend up rather than out, so I had to bend over to steer no matter what setting they were on; small basket with terrible access; high price that doesn't include accessories like boot, rain cover, or sunshade. [It seems the Classic does come with a boot and rain cover—they just weren't out with the floor model for inspection.] No napper bar.
Zooper Waltz
Pros	Handle bar allows for one-handed steering; great maneuverability; wide basket with easy access, good for shopping; wide wheelbase and shallower handle angle allows for upright walking without kicking wheels; $90 less than Maclaren—all accessories included.
Cons	All that extra stuff means it's bulkier, with a less-compact fold; peek-a-boo window in canopy not positioned directly over child; god-awful Fabreeze-like smell that gave me a headache and a mild allergy attack.

Overall, the biggest pro for the Maclaren was the minimalism (and related compact fold); the biggest con was the wheel-kicking issue. I was afraid we'd buy this stroller, and after kicking the wheels a few times, I'd be miserable. The biggest con for the Zooper, honestly, was the smell; the biggest pro was the fact that I could walk in an upright, relaxed position without kicking the wheels.

Since the wheel-kicking issue seemed the most important one, we ended up going with the Zooper. We're hoping that leaving the stroller unfolded in the basement or garage for a while will cause the smell to dissipate, and that even if it lingers for awhile, the fact that we'll be using the stroller outdoors will help keep headaches at bay. Surprisingly, cost didn't really matter too much; I think both of us were OK with anything under $300 (which of course ruled out the $700+ Bugaboo Frog right off the bat). It was nice to save a little money with the Zooper, though.

The real test will come when I get brave enough to actually stick Austen in the new stroller and take him out for a spin—and when we try to take the Zooper on an airplane. The latter will be happening rather soon, as I'll be booking plane tickets for an April trip to San Francisco tonight.

Test Drive

I took the new stroller out for the first time today—in a driving rainstorm. I was so impressed with its performance! As light and maneuverable as the Snap 'n Go was, the Zooper was more so. It handled rough curb cuts and potholes so much better—no lifting of the front wheels necessary, no loss of steering control. And boy, was the ride smoooooth.

I think some of the improvement in handling can be accounted for by the shift in weight/center of gravity: In the Snap 'n Go, Austen was facing me in the car seat and was rather high up; in the Zooper, his weight is mostly back toward my feet and lower down. This means that there's not as much pressure on the front wheels, so they tend not to dive into divots and cause the stroller to tip forward as the Snap 'n Go sometimes did. (Btw, this divot dive causes the handle to come up while forward motion stops—meaning you drive the bar into your chest. Painful enough when your boobs *aren't* full of milk, excrutiating when they are.) The rest of the handling improvement is probably attributable to the larger, wider rubber wheels.

The rain cover fit very nicely (it gapped a bit at the sides, and I was afraid Austen would get cold or wet, but he didn't), and it was more flexible and easier to handle than the Graco one we bought for the Snap 'n Go. It was easy to lower the seatback when I noticed through the peek-a-boo window that Austen had conked out, and to raise it when he woke up. (Austen *loves* sitting up, though he tends to slump to one side a bit. Part of the reason I decided to go out in the rain is that I put him in the stroller inside the house to see how all the straps worked, and he showed every sign of being completely happy—no screaming fit when I buckled him in as with the car seat.)

I was hoping to test out the steering-with-one-hand-while-drinking-coffee scenario, but I don't think today's weather really permitted a fair test—I had to expend some effort to keep the gusty winds from blowing the rain cover off, and that same wind make it challenging to steer, period—so I didn't really get to steer properly with one hand.

The only things I missed about the Snap 'n Go were its narrower width (I did manage to squeeze through the checkout at Trader Joe's, but it was tight) and its cupholder. The latter was like the space between the front seats in a minivan—it regularly held the garage door opener, my cell phone, my keys, and a little bowl of change. There's a mesh bag for my cell phone on the Zooper, but I didn't use it today because of the rain. I zipped the garage door opener into the pouch on the back of the canopy, but sadly there was no place for the change bowl. :( I might see if I can buy a cupholder attachment or something, as it was nice to spend my change rather than have it pile up in drawers around the house.

For my next adventure, I'll try out the new convertible car seat. I just have to figure out what to do with Austen when we get where we're going (unlike the infant car seat, I can't take the convertible out of the car and snap it on the stroller frame or a shopping cart). Since the Baby Bjorn is now too heavy for me with Austen in it (as of yesterday), I may have to resurrect the fucking sling as a means of strapping him to my hip.

Test Drive II: The Mall

I took the new stroller out to King of Prussia Mall on Thursday—which means I also tested the new car seat. Austen still hates being strapped into anything, but he seemed to prefer the more upright ride of the convertible car seat to the infant carrier. I was a little unnerved by the fact that his head flopped forward onto his chest when he fell asleep on the way to the mall, but he didn't seem to mind.

I've gotten the hang of folding the Zooper, and it's not super heavy considering all the stuff that's on it, so it wasn't too hard to heave into the trunk and back out again. Getting Austen out of the car seat and into the stroller proved no more difficult than taking the infant carrier out of the car and strapping it to the Snap 'n Go frame, so it turns out I was worried about nothing there.

I was surprised to find that the Zooper was harder to steer in the mall than in the city; apparently its suspension and tires are better suited to rough terrain than smooth. This theory was confirmed when I followed the pedestrian path from one mall building to the other, as it happens to be paved with an uneven brick design. What used to be uncomfortable with the Snap 'n Go, the Zooper handled like a champ.

The Zooper also proved difficult to steer with one hand (unless you're going in a straight line—but then, that's not really steering, it's pushing), but I think this was partly because the stroller was harder to steer in general on the smooth mall floors. The wider stance of the Zooper, which I love because it prevents wheel-kicking, was a bit of a liability at the mall; I ran into more displays than I usually do with the Snap 'n Go.

On the plus side, Austen seemed to enjoy facing out, and he got a lot more attention than usual because people could actually see him. Overall I'd say that while the Zooper is easy enough to get in and out of the car and is comfortable for the baby in the mall, it really is better suited for the Urban Jungle than the Mall Crawler [these are Baby Bargains terms].

This impression has been confirmed in the couple times I've taken the stroller out and about in Philadelphia since the mall visit. The Zooper seems to beg for rough terrain; it loves potholes, uneven pavement, cobblestones, you name it.

I also got a chance to try one-handed steering when it wasn't rainy and blustery out and found that it's almost as hard to steer with one hand in the city as at the mall. Part of this is probably due to the fact that the baby's weight is lower down and further back than in the Snap 'n Go (that is, what you gain in curb-jumping ability, you lose in one-handed manueverability). I did discover yesterday, however, that one-handed steering improves with a lighter touch. A common move for me is to back out the door of Starbucks with a coffee in one hand and to swing the stroller around to forward-facing position with the other, and at first I found it almost impossible with the Zooper. Loosening my grip a bit solved the problem, and I can now perform the same trick almost as easily with the Zooper as with the Snap 'n Go.

One thing I've been disappointed about with the Zooper (though I don't think I could have done much better with any standard stroller): the basket accessibility. I somehow failed to notice a silver support bar below the seat and above the basket (I think it was obscured by the back of the canopy), which makes the opening to the basket fairly narrow. I wasn't able to get my two bags of Whole Foods groceries into the basket on Friday without unpacking them. (Actually, this might save some bags, and thus the environment; I can just throw everything into the basket loose and forego the bags entirely.)

Oh, and Austen Rides In It, Too

I've talked at length about how the new stroller handles, how easy/difficult is to push, etc., and after all that, I realized we didn't have any photos of Austen *in* the stroller. To rectify that oversight, I took the following photo of Austen, who is 4 months old today, on our way back from meeting Al for lunch.

Travel Preparations

We leave for San Francisco tomorrow at 6:45am. Part of me is happy/excited, and the other part is anxious because I have so many little things to do before we go.

The big things have mostly been done: laundry, packing, taking Austen to the doctor to make sure the hacking cough and snarffle-y nose he got from me weren't serious (they aren't). I still have to take a shower, clear off the camera's memory card and charge its battery, throw various toiletries into the suitcase (we bought a Wheely Beast to use as a family suitcase so we'd have fewer things to carry), get the car seat out of the car, take the car into the shop, oil my shoes, find the card reader (or else the CD withe the camera software on it), and give the kid a bath. I think that's all...

Meanwhile, between nursing a sick baby round the clock (apparently sleeping through the night goes out the window when babies are sick), working, and trying to sort out our taxes, I haven't had time to blog about the daily doings. Here are the headlines:

Austen rolled over for the first time this weekend. He's also grabbing with more accuracy, propping himself up on his elbows when on his stomach, and raising himself from a reclining to a sitting position.

I can finally fit into my size M+ Bravado nursing bras again. This is something all the books I'd read (and the Bravado website) said would happen 4-6 weeks post-partum, but it took me 4 months. I'm not sure whether it's due to the fact that I'm making a final push to lose the remaining 12 pounds of pregnancy weight (6 down, 6 to go), or whether my breasts are becoming engorged much less often now, but it's probably some combination of the two.

Austen got weighed at the doctor this morning, and he was a little lighter than I thought he'd be: 18 lbs., 9 oz. That means he gained a little less than 2 lbs. in the past month, as compared to the 3+ he gained in each of the previous months. I'm glad the torrid pace of growth is finally slowing a bit.

The nursing station, which I'd planned to write about back in January but never did, has been dismantled. It was the perfect setup for the first few months: a comfy chair set next to a wheeled cart that held snacks, pens, paper, coussinets, water, Kleenex, and (of course) computers. I now have my old desk set up in the gallery (the small space at the top of the stairs, outside Austen's room), and I nurse Austen in whatever chair/couch/bed happens to be nearby when he's hungry. I don't even use the Boppy most of the time.

By the time of its dismantling, the cart had moved to the right side (of the person in the chair) and had gained a monitor stand and two more laptops, but in January, it looked like this:

PHL to SFO

The car is being repaired, the house is being watched, and we have made it through airport security (no mean feat with an infant, a stroller, two carry-ons, and two laptops). All that remains is to get on the plane.

Austen is being even more talkative than he was yesterday, which was a new high water mark. I can't tell whether everyone's staring at us because they're trying to gauge how awful it would be to sit next to us, or because they find my purple hair intriguing. Probably both.

Time Zone Trauma

We were hoping that somehow flying six hours across three time zones wouldn't affect Austen's body clock, but of course that was a totally ridiculous notion. The poor boopster is still sleeping at the moment, probably convinced that it's the middle of the night. He woke up at 3:30am screaming; Al hypothesized that he was just waking up at his normal 6:30am ET, but as the person he was sleeping closest to (he kept pursuing the boobs with such zeal, even in his sleep, that he had me hanging off the side of the King-sized bed), I can confirm that his nasal passages clogged to the point where he couldn't breathe. The scream was a scream of panic.

We've been humidifying his room at home for the past couple nights because he caught the respiratory infection I had, and the doctor said a moist room would help him breathe. I think between the airplane and the extra-dry hotel room, the snot in his nose solidified and his delicate nasal passages swelled to the point where it was like trying to breathe through a coffee stirrer. I got him up, steamed up the bathroom, and sat in there for a while with him, which seemed to help. I'll be buying a small humidifier for him today.

Oh, he just woke up. Good morning, sunshine!

Austen's also probably all out of whack because of the extra stimulation he got yesterday. Between smiling at everyone in the airport and on the plane and playing with half my former colleages at Macromedia (the other half were working at home yesterday), he was pretty exhausted by the time we went out for dinner at around 6. (A big hooray again for Taylor's Automatic.)

OK, the kid is now well and truly awake, so I'd better get on with the diaper changing. We're going over to Oakland today to see Morrisa and Miranda—yay!

Morrisa, Miranda, nj, and Austen

Had a lovely time visiting with Morrisa and Miranda (and nj, who was there for a few minutes before he had to leave for work) yesterday. It's so interesting for me to catch up and compare notes with my friends who've become parents in the past year or two (and there are so many of us!). I was so shocked to see Miranda walking and talking! Last I saw her she was only a little older than Austen is now. It's hard to believe that Austen will be at that stage someday... I try not to think about it too much, though, since living in the now helps keep me from being completely overwhelmed with parenthood.

Today I'm meeting Jean and Ellen for coffee/breakfast, and then I'll hop over to Macromedia for lunch with Winsha. Unfortunately, it's raining—AND I FORGOT THE RAIN COVER FOR THE STROLLER. I'm such a freaking idiot! I had had every intention of bringing it... I guess I just forgot to think about where I'd put it, and so I didn't put it anywhere. Fart! After running a couple errands in the immediate vicinity of the hotel while wearing the Baby Bjorn yesterday afternoon, I can say definitively that the Bjorn would not be a good substitute for the stroller on outings lasting more than an hour (especialy when I'm also carrying packages).

I'm hoping that the rain is more like a drizzle, and that the combination of the sunshade and the canopy will provide sufficient protection for Austen. Unfortunately, I'm also down a blanket, since he kicked off the one we brought, and it ended up going under the wheels of the stroller (and my feet) on Market Street. Ew. While we weren't in the urine-soaked stretch of Market between 5th and 9th, I'm still unwilling to put the blanket back on the baby until it's washed. I guess I will hunt around the hotel room and see if there's a suitable substitute, like a towel or something.

Dodging Downpours

Yesterday was a weird day weatherwise: It alternated between partly sunny and incredibly rainy. The valets/bellstaff at our hotel ushered me down to the garage to get into the car in the morning so I wouldn't have to load the baby and the stroller in a downpour (so nice!), so the only time I got wet was when I had to get Austen out of the car at Sally's. The rest of the day I managed to be outside only when it was sunny/cloudy, and not when the sky opened up.

Sally's was where I met Jean and Ellen for coffee, baked goods, and baby interaction. It was so neat to see Ellen in person at 7 months; we'd last seen her when she was only two weeks old, and I was at 7 months. :) I got advice from Jean about how to find a nanny to help me out one to two days a week (I think I'm going to continue contracting for a while, and the current system of Al working during the day while I watch Austen, and me working at night while Al watches Austen isn't sustainable), and we compared notes on everything from sleeping to soothing to installing car seats. We also did a lot of playing with the babies.

When Jean had to leave, I moved the car over to De Haro Street and then walked over to Macromedia to say hi to some friends and meet Winsha for lunch. On the way, Heather called, and we made plans for lunch on Monday. I love that we're here for a whole week! Incidentally, people keep asking why I'm here, and when I explain that Al came out for Flash Forward, meetings, and college recruiting, they seem surprised that I came along, too. One person even said, "well, at least you know people here, so you're not stuck in the hotel room the whole time." People, I wouldn't be stuck in the hotel room even if I didn't know a soul. If I don't stay in the house when I'm at home in Philadelphia, why would I do that here? I am someone who would explore any city I happened to be in, kid in tow. And as for tagging along with my husband, all it costs us is airfare and whatever I spend on food—and it doesn't cost his company anything extra, since they'd be putting him up in a hotel room whether I came or not. Let's see: Traveling with my husband to an interesting city vs. staying home alone with the baby for 8 days. Which would you choose? Throw in a ton of friends and former colleagues to visit, and if the choice wasn't obvious before, it should be now.

Anyway, there was a massive downpour while I was in the Macromedia building, but it stopped by the time Winsha and I went out the front door. We had lunch at Pazzo (tuna and avocado sandwiches for both of us) and caught up on work, commutes, and life in general while Austen kicked off his new socks, grabbed my napkin, fussed outrageously, and had his first taste of something other than breastmilk and Infant Tylenol: a bit of avocado smeared on my finger. (Seems fitting, no? :) We've never been able to get a good photo of Sad Face at home, but I managed to get one version of it here—I just missed the lower lip jutting out first. Austen's mood is no reflection on Winsha, whose cheerfulness and whimsy rank among the top things I miss about living here. I think Austen had just had enough of interacting with new people—and not quite enough sleep.

After lunch (which was fairly late), I drove over to the Herbst Theater to pick Al up from Flash Forward, and we had a little family time in the evening. We took a walk over to the Jamba Juice at the Macy's Cellar and to Starbucks for a Chantico, picked up water and wipes and a copy of Sideways on DVD, and then came back to the hotel. Al ordered room service, and I walked over to the Metreon with Austen in the Bjorn to get something for myself. (Our only complaints about this hotel are that the toilet seat is pretty cheap and ill-fitting, and that the room service menu is fairly limited and not particularly vegetarian-friendly. Otherwise, everything from the room to the bell staff has been fabulous.) I got some incredibly yummy (but at $9.49, outrageously expensive) udon with shrimp and tofu from the Long Life Noodle place. If price is no object, I'd recommend it.

We watched most of Sideways on my laptop before finally following Austen's lead and conking out. We finished it off this morning, and are now planning to head over to the Embarcadero for a walk before driving down to Los Altos Hills to visit friends for dinner. I leave you with this morning's cute-baby-in-bed photo:

Exersaucer!

As I mentioned at the end of yesterday morning's post, we headed down to the Embarcadero to see the farmer's market at the Ferry Building and to have some more sweet potato fries at Taylor's. Austen was great through lunch, but afterwards he got grumpy, and his mood rubbed off on me. (Add to that the fact that I had to pee, and the lines were so long at the Ferry Building bathrooms that it wasn't practical to wait with a baby for the handicap stall to open up.) We bought a bottle of wine to bring to dinner at Craig & Nico's and some oranges at an organic farm stand, and then we headed back to the hotel (well, after a stop at See's).

We were all a bit tired—Austen is sleeping in the bed with us, which means he wants to nurse every couple hours through the night—so we just rested for a while before driving down to Los Altos Hills. I think Al got actively sad as we drove down 280; the views were so spectacular that he couldn't quite believe we left them. This reminded us, too, that we'd picked up copies of the Real Estate Times to look through while eating at Taylor's, but we were so busy holding Austen while stuffing down fries that we never got a chance to open them.

When we arrived at Craig and Nico's, we found that Nico had gotten out some toys for Austen that her sons had liked but had mostly outgrown: a little tent to lie under, some colorful stuffed whoozits, and an exersaucer. Why it had never occurred to us that Austen might like an exersaucer—and that if he did, it could replace the swing and bouncy seat that Austen's now too big for—when his favorite thing is to stand up, I couldn't tell you. It seemed like the most obvious thing in the world as soon as we put him in it.

Al and I looked at each other and declared, "WE ARE SO GETTING ONE OF THESE." Nico advised us to borrow one, if possible, since it's only useful for a few months and then must be stored or given away (and the thing is huge), but we'll probably end up buying one and then passing it on to our friends who are now pregnant.

We had a lovely dinner with Craig, Nico, Stosh, and Rey, and then all the kids seemed to get cranky at once, so we went our separate ways to soothe. Austen fell asleep in the car on the way back, and a walk to the Starbucks at the Metreon in the Bjorn cemented the deal. Al and I were able to stay up for a little while reading the Real Estate Times and uploading images to the baby blog for the grandparents to see. As for the former, it seems that every time we visit we discover that housing prices have gone up AGAIN. We are starting to despair that we'll ever be afford to move back!

Today I'm planning to hang out with Kristin while Al hits golf balls. I'm looking forward to heading west in the city and revisiting some old haunts!

Available

I'll write more about what we did today in the morning, but I wanted to post a quick photo from the hour or so Kristin, Austen, and I spent in Dolores Park. Aren't they cute?

Sunshine (and Overstimulation) in San Francisco

Had a lovely day walking around San Francisco, eating incredibly yummy chocolate pudding from Cafe Tartine, soaking up the sun in Dolores Park, drinking cappucino at Squat 'N Gobble, and just generally enjoying spending time with Kristin yesterday. I had less fun trying to get Austen to nurse properly at practically every place we stopped, but I got him fed and calm eventually. Everyone (including us) thought the long plane ride would be the hard part about traveling, but overstimulation has been a much bigger problem.

We have loved introducing Austen to all our friends and taking him to our favorite Bay Area places, but we've learned that the little guy has limits: He can really only smile at so many new people each day before he melts down. By about 4pm yesterday Austen was done for the day, but we still had things to do and people to see. We drove to the Outer Richmond to see Beth & Matt (who served us wine and cheese in their lovely back yard), and then met up with Kristin again for dim sum at Ton Kiang. That's where the meltdown happened, unfortunately; the food was great and so was the company, but I felt bad for possibly ruining other diners' dinners when Austen started wailing. I know I would have hated it in my former childless life.

Today we're trying to spread out the activities and introductions a bit. After a quiet morning I had a really nice lunch with Heather and Derek down near the ballpark (it was my first time meeting Derek in person—such a great guy!); to my relief Austen was calm and smiley and sweet the entire time. I was glad to see that he could recover well from the trauma at Ton Kiang. Derek was more of a natural with a baby on his lap than he realized, and Heather impressed Austen with her knowledge of cartoon theme songs (I've now got the Banana Splits theme stuck in my head, too).

While I was lunching with people from my early Internet days, so was Al: He and his friend Morgen, with whom he worked at @Home (and later at OSAF), were taking on tapas at the Thirsty Bear. I stopped by the restaurant so Morgen could see Austen, and then we went back to the hotel so Al could work and Austen and I could rest.

I know we're pushing it going down to Palo Alto to have dinner with our friend Ken, but hopefully Austen won't go ballistic until the car ride home...

Reel Moms and Real Work

The Loews Theater inside the Metreon, which is a block away from our hotel, is a Reel Moms venue, and since today is Tuesday, I decided to go to the movies. The film was actually one I was curious to see—Fever Pitch—since I saw the original British version recently, and I like Nick Hornby's novels. The original was really only a 2-star movie, but I figured that left room for improvement, and making it about the Boston Red Sox seemed like a smart move.

Oh, how I wish there were anything else smart about this movie. I'm not sure I can adequately describe how awful it was, but here are just a few of my complaints:

1. Is it really that hard to find someone with a Boston accent for a movie about the Red Sox? They explained Jimmy Fallon's lack of accent by making him a New Jersey transplant, but they failed to explain why everyone else sounded like they were from California or New York.
2. All the lines (yes, ALL of them—at least, all the ones in the first half, which is all I stayed for) sounded like they were one-off statements rather than components of dialogue. The characters weren't talking to each other; they were just talking. Stiffly.
3. There were several moments of what was supposed to be high hilarity, but since these were as ill-integrated as the "dialogue", they just made me wonder whether the people behind this dreck thought they were making a romantic comedy or a Leslie Neilsen vehicle. Also, note to writers: People getting hit in the head, dropped from a great height, and punched in the face? Not funny.
4. The product placements (HELLO, MARQUIS JET!) were even more ham-handed and incongruous than either the dialogue or the moments of "comedy", which is saying a lot. What exactly does Marquis Jet's promising business outlook have to do with loving math and numbers in general? The company's mission statement is articulated more clearly than how Drew Barrymore's character is putting her math degree to practical use (the demonstration of which is supposedly the point of that scene).
5. I've seen Drew Barrymore perform admirably in a well-written film, but I've never thought she was that great an actress—and she certainly can't make a bad movie bearable. Quite the opposite, in fact.
6. Can there really be someone in Boston who doesn't know who Carl Yastrzemski is? Especially someone over the age of 25?
7. Drew Barrymore's friends in this movie are positively TOXIC. It's hard to believe anyone could think that women are this mean, spiteful, stupid, and obsessed with "tagging and bagging" men... except perhaps this guy or this guy. I'm seriously starting to worry that it's becoming socially acceptable to trash women (again).

I could go on, but as I noted in #2, Austen and I gave up and left about halfway through. He was hating the movie as much as I was. The only interesting part was comparing this venue to our home theater in Cherry Hill. Apparently the Metreon doesn't enforce the "under 1 year" guideline, as there were several children in the 1-3 range running around the theater. When I asked one of the other moms where the changing table was, she seemed surprised; her friend said, "we should ask them to put one in!" I thought they were standard at Reel Moms gigs, but I guess not. One thing that was the same, much to my dismay: They forgot (or never had any intention) to turn down the sound. Note to Loews: Lower the fucking volume, already! The mooing of the cows in the THX intro nearly blew out my eardrums, and Austen positively writhed in agony.

We emerged from the theater to find like eight Bugaboo Frog strollers parked outside, and when we hit the streets, we passed two more. Al and I have been looking for signs that the Bay Area economy is picking up; there've been several, but this glut of $700+ strollers may be the best sign yet.

After a couple stops to pick up presents for friends here, I went into the office to meet with my manager (the person whose budget my checks come out of? the person who tells me what to work on? as an independent contractor whose full-time job is raising a kid, I don't really think in terms of managers anymore...). He wants to extend my contract through August, and I'm interested in doing the work he described, so Al and I have agreed that we will try to find a nanny who can come to our house a couple days a week (I agreed to 15 hours, which translates to about two full workdays). This is a big step for me, hiring a nanny; luckily we discussed the possibility a couple weeks ago (I vetoed it vehemently then), so I've had a chance to roll the idea around in my brain for a while. I'll probably have more to say on this topic when I'm less tired and have had a chance to comb craigslist looking for prospects. For now, I leave you with the cute baby photo of the day, and the news that Austen rolled from his tummy to his back for the first time (and then several more times, once he realized he could do it) this morning.

We're Back

After spending a week in San Francisco with friends I dearly miss (many of whom also now have babies Austen's age), I've been having fantasies about moving back there. Upon landing at PHL, however, I learned that Philadelphia had a plan to win me over with the same weather we had in SF (upper 50s and low 60s, bright sunshine, low humidity), lower gas and food prices, and a house we love. Of course, then I did our taxes and discovered that in addition to paying local wage taxes, we were also on the hook for over a thousand dollars in Philadelphia school taxes—and the schools here aren't even that good. Harrumph.

Anyway, we were so busy cramming last-minute visits and activities into our San Francisco schedule (and the line for the computers at Tressider on the Stanford campus was long on Wednesday), I haven't had a chance to write about what we did on our last day.

Al was scheduled to work a booth at a job fair at Stanford, so we went a little early and had coffee with Beth, who's a professor there. She and Matt got a dog since we last saw them, and every day Moxie makes the commute from San Francisco to Palo Alto with Beth.

After coffee Al went up to the job fair, and I went to Stanford Shopping Center to buy Austen some more cute Gymboree clothes (thanks to Al's parents for financing the baby-clothes shopping spree). I found a great hat and onesie from the same robot line as the bleep bleep shirt—on sale!—and also got him another cute golf onesie. When I got bored at the mall I went back to the Stanford campus and noodled around until Al was finished at the job fair.

From Palo Alto we drove down to Los Altos, where we met John and Kathy for dinner at the Los Altos Grill (formerly Bandera). Kathy is pregnant with their first child, and it was exciting to swap pregnancy stories and show them what'll be coming their way soon. :) What I didn't intend to show them was my complete ineptitude when it comes to changing a diaper in public. I left the wipes in the car and didn't notice until I had Austen on the changing table and undressed; luckily, I hadn't removed the poopy diaper yet (mainly because I normally get the wipes out first before removing the diaper). I had to come back out of the handicap stall (one of only two) so I could let the next person in line pee and so I could call Al at the table and ask him to go get the wipes. Of course, I had the keys to the car, so Kathy had to come get them while I held a squirming, half-naked Austen. Al returned with the wipes a few minutes later, I waited in line again for the handicap stall, and despite the fact that I blocked the lovely spot lighting in the stall every time I leaned over to wipe Austen, managed to get all the poop out of his folds (I think).

Anyway, after the diaper incident, dinner progressed normally. I had a wonderfully tasty vegetable plate, the corn bread was delicious, and the conversations about Project Greelight and parenting were stimulating as ever, if too short. Wish we had more time to visit.

Leaky II

My friend Shannon and her baby, Madison, came over for a visit yesterday. It was a lovely day to be outside, so after chatting a bit and feeding up the kids, we grabbed some cool and refreshing chow at the Pad Thai Shack and headed to Rittenhouse Square.

It was great to catch up on all the goings on in our respective households; since Madison is exactly 6 weeks younger than Austen, Shannon and I do a lot of note-comparing on all kinds of baby subjects. One thing she asked me was whether I still needed the coussinets, or whether the leakage had stopped. I replied that it's mostly stopped, but since I still dribble a bit occasionally, I thought I'd just use up my remaining supply (I bought a new box of 60 when we got to San Francisco).

Apparently this comment angered the breast milk gods, because when I went to get Austen out of his crib this morning at 7am, I found that my nursing bra was wet on the right side (the one that's usually *less* leaky!). The coussinet inside was completely saturated—heavier than a full pee diaper, if you know what that feels like. Good thing I've still got 30+ coussinets left...

Speaking of leakage, here's a new example of Murphy's Law: We've noticed that every time we give Austen a bath, his diaper leaks the next morning. Why is that?

In other baby news, it seems my instinct to look for new earrings today was right on the money (I was trying to find some simple but pretty studs): While playing with Austen after shopping, he grabbed my face, turned my head so he could get a better look at my right earlobe, and then reached for the little ring in the bottom hole. Luckily I figured out what he was up to before he made the grab, so I was ready to catch his hand in mine to keep him from pulling once he caught hold of the earring. It's really amazing to me how good his grabbing skills have gotten over the past three weeks or so.

I mentioned that we'd planned to buy Austen an exersaucer when we returned from SF; we did indeed do that on Saturday. We couldn't find the exact one that Craig & Nico had (apparently baby toys rev even more frequently than software), but we picked out a model that had a gadget similar to the one Austen was so enamored with on it. I actually thought the model we picked had too many gadgets, but I figured we could just not install all of them. As it happened, Austen got the hang of turning in the little seat pretty quickly and expected to see some new toy with every quarter turn, so I kept adding toys until they were all on there. It looks overwhelming when he's not in it, but he seems to love it, so I can't complain. About half the toys were installed when I took this photo:

Interestingly, his favorite items seem to be the orange jester thing on the right, the frog (which tends to bop him in the head a lot, as if reminding him to stuff it into his mouth), and the king and queen (which I think are supposed to make sounds, but don't—to my immense relief). He hardly plays with the bead-filled cylinder that was our reason for picking this model at all. (Actually, I'd pick the orange jester over the bead cylinder, too.)

More later, when I'm not so tired (and when I don't have a million other things to do with my limited free time... oh, wait, that might be never. <sigh>).

From the Car

I'm risking carsickness by blogging, but ever since I discovered I could blog from the labor and delivery floor on Nov. 30th, I can't resist the temptation to do it whenever Al hands me his Blackberry.

We're on our way to NYC to celebrate Al's dad's 70th birthday, and we'll stay overnight at Al's brother's place. Technically this will be the second time Austen has met his cousin Henry, but it'll be the first time he'll get to interact with him because Henry was recovering from a cold at Christmas, and Austen was really too little to know what was going on.

When we get back from NYC, a new person will enter Austen's life (and mine): I found someone to babysit for him two days a week while I work. I'm still a little nervous about it, even though I'll be in the house the whole time, I'll be handling feedings, and the person I hired has agreed to take it one day at a time.

I'm excited about getting some work done, and about Austen spending time with someone who knows a bit about child development (and who speaks fluent German!), so I hope it works out.

Treats

Thanks to our new babysitter, I was able to spend time with Austen yesterday *and* get a full day's work in. It felt like a revelation.

Today ratphooey and Alexander came over, so I got an extra dose of cute baby, some stimulating conversation, and an excuse to buy (and consume) yummy baked goods.

And although last night was a rough one, Austen and I got to sleep in this morning—which meant I had the energy to cook a delicious dinner of pan-fried salmon, wilted spinach, and miniature butternut squash ravioli, share it with my wonderful husband, and then go for a pre-bedtime family walk.

I'm so lucky.

5 on 5.5.5

Austen went for his 5-month checkup today. The weight over/under was 21 lbs., with our specific guesses being 20 lbs. 6 oz. (me) and 22 lbs. even (Al). I usually get killed by going under, but this time I won handily. At first the nurse declared that he weighed 17 lbs. 8 oz, but both of us said, "that can't be right!", so she weighed him again (much to his dismay—he screamed loudly and peed all over the place in two great bursts). I don't know what was wrong the first time, but the second time he was clearly over 20 lbs. (20 lbs. 2 oz., when the nurse finally pressed the Hold button).

Al won the height category, but it was close. I'd guessed 26 3/4" and Al guessed 27"; Austen was just a hair under the latter. He jumped from the 75th to the 90th percentile in height, and his weight moved back onto the 95th percentile curve from its previous position in outer space. The doctor mentioned that his weight is likely to drop into the 70-75th percentile by his next visit because he'll be more mobile and will burn more calories during his daily activities. (The exersaucer might even be the reason he's not gaining so quickly anymore.)

We didn't really have any questions for the doctor; instead, we mostly answered hers. Is he blowing bubbles? Yes. Can he grab things and hold onto them? Yes. Does he roll over? He can, but he'd rather not most of the time. (He can also sit up on his own for short periods, and he even stood up from a seated position on my leg this weekend.) Is he eating any solid food yet? No. Are we going to stick with breastmilk only until 6 months? Yes. We mentioned that he's started biting me during feedings, and we discussed teething rings (all the ones we've found are rather heavy, and we've noticed that Austen prefers gnawing on his key ring; the doctor also recommended refrigerating a damp washcloth and letting him chomp on that).

This was another shot visit (five vaccines administered as three shots, same as last time), and Austen handled it about the same way. The only difference was that he was already upset about being left, cold and naked, on the scale—twice!—so he was in no mood to be put down. I ended up nursing him while the nurse stabbed him with the needles, and before and after the squirt of Tylenol (which he cried over, but didn't seem to be as bothered by as last time). He hollered for a couple minutes when I had to pop him off and put his clothes back on, but when I flipped him into the Bjorn, he returned to his usual amiable self. He later slept for two hours in the stroller while I ran errands on foot, and he woke up happy.

At the moment the little guy is in the exersaucer, sucking his thumb, listening to iTunes, watching the photos from the camera get imported into iPhoto (I wonder if he recognizes himself—like, "hey, I know that guy! I've seen him in the mirror!"?), and looking very fashionable in his first pair of Robeez, which I caved and bought for him this weekend. He can now stand almost flat-footed in the exersaucer when it's on its highest setting, believe it or not.

Meanwhile, the babysitter arrangement continues to work well, though I am having some work/life balance issues as a big milestone approaches (er, that would be product development milestone, not baby development milestone). I am feeling alternately exhilarated by the amount of work I can get done, guilty for the amount I am not able to do, and like a horrible person/mother for sometimes giving my computer more attention than I give my child. (This last observation was made by someone who didn't *intend* to hurt me, but it nevertheless wounded me deeply. I very nearly called a halt to the contracting because of it, and it's been in the back of my mind every moment since it was uttered. I'll probably write another post devoted solely to my angst over this issue at some point, but not right now.)

In summary: Austen is "perfect", according to our warm and enthusiastic pediatrician; he's healthy, happy, and huge. I am doing almost as well, although there's this gaping wound in my heart that I have to do something about. And K, our babysitter, is great. She's coming again tomorrow, when I hope to carve out some time to post more photos and write about the weather.

My First Mother's Day

I think of Mother's Day as my mother's day, probably because her birthday (May 9) often falls on Mother's Day, and even when it doesn't we usually celebrate the two occasions together. But since ratphooey just IMed (while I was in the kitchen doing dishes and not in front of the computer, sadly) to wish me an early Happy Mother's Day, I figured I'd acknowledge that ping here and say a few words about what it's like for me to be a mother.

joyful . wonderful . amazing . sweet
tiring
time-consuming
enlightening . maddening . emotional
heart-rending . hopeful
educational . endearing
unnerving
unending

This year we will not be celebrating Mother's Day in my honor. It seems a little strange to pick one day to acknowledge my motherhood, when I'm reminded by it—rewarded by it and rent by it—every day. Someday, maybe, when Austen is old enough to make me a card at school, I will celebrate Mother's Day for me. Until then, the day belongs to mom.

Leaky III: Revenge of the Milk (and the Pee and the Poop)

I could easily write a lengthy post on this topic (well, if I had enough time with two hands free), but since Austen will likely only amuse himself in the exersaucer for another five minutes or so, allow me to summarize:

• Both boobs leaked more milk than the coussinets could absorb last night, and I woke up at 3am with a completely saturated bra (luckily, I was on my back, so I didn't soak through my shirt and the sheets).
• At the 6:30am feeding, I grabbed Austen's side to roll him toward me and found that his diaper had leaked. His suit was soaked on the right side. I did a very bleary-eyed diaper and onesie change at 7:00am, and when Austen wouldn't go back to sleep (or stop kicking and punching me), I plopped him in the exersaucer next to the bed.
• At 7:30am, after much grunting and squealing (and therefore no more sleep for me), Austen started to scream that he wanted out of the exersaucer. Al was good enough to lift him out, and when he did, I smelled poop. "Check his diaper," I said sleepily. "I smell poop." Al replied that he didn't smell anything (but then, he almost never does), so he put Austen back in the bed. A few minutes later, Al said, "oh, I smell poop now, too." Well, ladies and gents, there was a reason for that: Austen's diaper had leaked again, this time utterly ruining one of the cute Gymboree onesies that Larry and Kaori got for us (and which I'd finally found a pair of pants to match on Thursday). <sigh>

For those of you who prefer to skip to the punch line, I now present a summary of the summary:

LOTS OF LEAKS, NOT ENOUGH SLEEP.

Not What I Had in Mind

We were planning to start Austen on solid foods when he turned 6 months, which is at the end of this month. I was thinking we'd try avocado, since it's mushy and nutritious and he didn't seem to mind the little taste of it I gave him when we were in California. If avocado didn't go over well, I figured we'd try sweet potato. (I was planning to avoid rice cereal; too conventional.) I liked ratphooey's choice of gelato for Alexander (because they were in Italy at the time) and considered trying something uniquely Canadian while we're in Vancouver at the end of the month. I've been having a brain block, however, and haven't been able to think of any food that's uniquely Canadian besides back bacon.

Anyway, it doesn't much matter now. Austen has taken the choice of his first food out of my hands by snarfing down my Hockey North America Summer League flyer. I wonder if he'll be horrified to know, when he's twenty, that his first food was... paper.

In the Park

Austen and I spent a little fresh-air time on a park bench in Rittenhouse Square earlier this afternoon.

It's All Just a Dim Memory Now

On the day I went off the pill last year, I started a private blog about our quest for a kid (it's not online at the moment; I never reconstructed it after the rm -r debacle). The "baby blog" was the outlet for all my fears, anxieties, and excitement about the prospect of becoming a parent, a place where I could say I'M PREGNANT! before I could really tell anyone besides Al. And because only Al and I were reading it, there was no thought I couldn't express for fear of hurting someone's feelings or inviting a barrage of critical comments.

I honestly can't remember whether I'd intended, when I started it, to keep writing in the baby blog after the baby was born, but I know that I spent the first couple weeks of his life wishing I had the time, energy, and free appendages to record what was happening. I know I wrote about some of it here (thank god), but I have this vague memory of wishing I had a private place to tell all without shame or guilt. I wish that even more now, when so much of that time is slipping from my memory.

You know how people say that you forget the pain of childbirth? I think it's more that you remember that there *was* pain, but you can't remember exactly what it felt like... and that the same is true of the first weeks and months of caring for a newborn. It's only when Al and I think very hard and remind each other of specific moments that we can piece together what it was like to be at the hospital those first four days, to be at home with Austen those first two weeks, to have Austen sleeping in the Pack 'n Play at the foot of our bed for four months. There *was* a time when we never slept more than 2-3 hours at a time (and when I could hardly sleep at all), when it was so painful to breastfeed that I cried every time Austen latched on, when I was so swollen from the IVs that my feet looked like bear claws, when a trip to Maryland took 5 hours instead of 2.

Al remembers that he used to drive Austen up and down I-95 so he'd stop screaming (and so I could get some sleep), but he'd forgotten about the times that he'd fallen asleep himself with his arm hanging over the side of the Pack 'N Play, holding the binky in Austen's mouth. I'd nearly forgotten that the reason for my twice-daily walks used to be that it was the only way to keep Austen from nursing every hour (now it's more to give my arms a rest). I'm sure there's more I'm forgetting, which makes me a bit sad, but I suppose it's the only way we can move forward with enthusiasm. For most people, it's probably also the only way they can consider having another child.

That's partly why we keep having these "remember when" discussions; we want to make sure we don't do something insane like get pregnant again. (When I was the age Austen is now, my mom was three months pregnant with my sister—thanks to some misinformation about the efficacy of breastfeeding as a means of birth control.) While I purposely didn't have my tubes tied during the C-section—I wanted to keep my options open, given that I never thought I'd have even one child—I think we'll probably count ourselves incredibly lucky to have gotten such a beautiful, healthy baby the first time, and not tempt fate (or our capacities for patience and lack of sleep) by trying for a second one. We admire people who can do it, but I don't think we're two of them.

Of course, we could always change our minds... though with this post here to remind us, the memory of how hard it was to care for an infant *without* a toddler in the house will never fade completely. This cute photo will be here to remind us, too, should Austen someday become a two year-old tyrant, why we decided to have even one. We love you, buddy. And that's something we'll never forget.

Recent Events

Remember how I said Austen's first food was paper? It's also been his second, third, fourth, and so on: If he's in the Bjorn when I'm opening the mail, he'll grab it and stuff it into his mouth with stunning quickness and force. (It reminds me a bit of a shark attack: one minute he's eyeing a solicitation from Capital One calmly, the next minute he's ripped it out of my hand and shoved it down his maw.) He regularly gnaws on paper towels, and he's made a meal of several napkins (to the amusement of both us and a waiter at Hamburger Mary's, and to the horror of my mother-in-law).

The other morning when Austen awoke at 5:30 or so, I discovered that his sleeper suit was wet (yes, he'd had a bath the night before, and as usual, his diaper leaked; he's definitely not drinking the bath water, and we put a larger size diaper on him, so we're still going with the penis-in-the-wrong-position theory). I was too tired to re-dress him, so I stripped off the suit and onesie and tossed him into our bed semi-naked. I don't think I've seen him asleep half-naked since he was in the hospital, so I snapped a photo.

On Saturday we joined in a neighborhood sidewalk sale and managed to get rid of about half of the extra stuff that doesn't really fit into our lives/house anymore. Al snapped this photo about an hour in, I think:

During the sale we also managed to snap photos of each other with the same enthusiastic smiles on our faces:

On Sunday morning we drove down to Virginia to visit Al's parents, and we spent the night so I could get to an appointment nearby more easily on Monday. We had some extra time before the appointment, so we stopped at a local mall and got me a new pair of glasses (I tried contacts for all of two days last week, but I found that I could neither tolerate them for more than two hours, nor see well enough to work, so I'll be returning them to the eye doctor tomorrow).

Upon our return on Monday evening we discovered that the rhododendron in our front garden had bloomed for the first time since we moved in 18 months ago. (Yay! It likes us! It really, really likes us!)

In honor of the occasion, I dyed my hair to match.

Anakin and Austen

Al and I went to see the last Star Wars movie tonight. I'll spare you my review (I enjoyed parts of the movie very much, others not so much, but as it's been analyzed to death in newspapers, magazines, and the blogosphere by now, I'm sure I'd be adding nothing new) and instead say a few words about what it was like to see it with Austen.

Overall he was very well behaved, and, except for the time he poked me in the eye, the time he bit me while nursing, and the time threw up on me, pretty good company. He watched the first 15 minutes or so quietly and without protesting the fact that I had my hands clamped firmly over his ears. (We found the sound level to be a little quieter in the back of the theater, where we'd moved after a few deafening previews, but I was still concerned that it was too loud for a 6-month old.) I then felt his body start to relax and asked Al to check his eyelids; Al indicated that they were wide open, and that he was watching intently. I had Al check two more times in the next 10 minutes, and the third time, he was definitely asleep.

I think he slept for about 15-20 minutes on my shoulder, and when he woke up, I nursed him on the right side. He was almost completely asleep—and I'd let the jacket I'd been pressing against his exposed ear slip—when Chancellor Palpatine let out a howl and attacked Mace Windu & Co. Austen started to howl right along with the Chancellor, and it took a minute or two to convince him that he was OK, that nobody was coming to attack him with lightsabers.

Once we got him chilled out again, he knelt on my lap for a while with his body toward me and his face toward the screen; it was very important, apparently, that he not miss anything. I then had Al hold him for a bit so he'd remember seeing Star Wars with his dad. When he fussed a little, Al handed him back, and I nursed him on the left until he bit me. At that point I tipped him up, and he watched a little more of the movie facing forward, barely glancing away as he threw up on me. I'm not sure what we missed in the frantic attempt to fish some kind of tissue, napkin, or towel out of the diaper bag; probably not much.

About the time that I started getting into the movie (I couldn't have cared less for most of it, but the last half hour sort of summed up all the backstory I'd heard about Star Wars between 1977 and 1999), Austen lost interest in it, and instead decided to focus on my face. He laughed, giggled, squealed, grabbed my nose, and poked me in the eye (hard enough to make my left eye water for several minutes, and it still hurts). I wished I'd put my glasses back on when Austen first removed them instead of handing them to Al, but I figured they had so many fingerprints on them that I wouldn't be able to see anyway.

We've been playing a game lately where whenever Austen shouts/growls/groans/auoogahs, I shout/growl/groan/auoogah back in exactly the same fashion, and at this point I think he decided that he would play it with the sound-effects-laden movie. At first he responded to the screen, and then, as I do with him sometimes, he anticipated the groans, shouts, and other sounds and managed to make the same ones in unison with it. Sometimes he also inserted his own sound effects, which is what eventually led me to take him down near the exit, so I could dash out if necessary. I didn't, because I wanted to see what was going on; Al said he could still hear Austen auoogahing (not surprising, since the theater was stadium style, and we were directly below where Al was sitting), and that his timing was sometimes hilariously spot-on.

We left the theater with Austen laughing, and he laughed and played in his carseat all the way home. There was only a little protest when Al put him to bed (Al ended up giving him a little speech about how all the images he saw tonight were just pretend, and that he shouldn't worry about them in his dreams), and he's been fast asleep since. All in all, a successful Star Wars outing.*

*Unless, of course, he wakes up at 2am screaming about the dark side, battle droids, or lava creeping up his legs.

Breastfeeding in Public

A friend sent me a link to a New York Times article called 'Lactivists' Taking Their Cause, and Their Babies, to the Streets (free subscription required to view), and it made me realize how lucky I am—and how nonchalant I've become—when it comes to breastfeeding in public.

The list of places I've fed Austen is probably shorter than the list of places I haven't, with the former including at least four different airports; several restaurants; random benches at the mall and the park; my local CVS pharmacy; the car; the ice rink; and the lovely 2nd floor bathroom at Nordstrom King of Prussia. Just yesterday I fed him at the Starbucks at 16th and Market while drinking a cappucino and eating an iced lemon pound cake, with no complaints.

In the first weeks of Austen's life the UPS man saw me nursing him on an almost daily basis; a spate of new baby and Christmas gift deliveries combined with Austen's every 90 minutes eating schedule meant that I was always answering the door with a baby on the boob. His response was exactly what you'd hope for as a nursing mom: he'd sign for me, put the package inside, and never, ever stare. I love my UPS guy for that.

I'm aware of how uncomfortable witnessing a breastfeeding mother makes some people. I was uncomfortable myself when my sister-in-law fed my 18 month-old nephew at the dinner table in Hawaii once, in fact. I tried to analyze what about the situation made me uncomfortable, and I realized that it was the fact that he was playing more than eating, leaving the giant nipple exposed and pointing at me most of the time. I couldn't understand, at the time, how my sister-in-law could continue talking to the rest of us as if her boob wasn't hanging out for everyone to see. (I can now, of course; when you're feeding an infant every 2 hours, you get used to going about your business while doing it, and you sometimes forget that you're half-naked. :)

To lessen the chance that I'll make others feel the way I did in Hawaii, I close up the shop if Austen shows more interest in looking around than in eating, even if he fusses. I never leave the boob exposed if I can help it (when the kid pops off, the shirt comes down). If I have a choice between a table in the corner and one in front of the door, I'll take the corner. But I also don't make a bigger deal out of covering myself up or hiding from view than I need to. I don't want to invite stares, but I also don't want to suggest that I'm doing anything odd or dirty. I figure the more women who breastfeed in public without making people think, "good lord, put that thing away!", the more comfortable everyone will be with it in the long run.

So thanks to my so-far positive public breastfeeding experiences, I won't be taking to the streets in protest. I'll just continue doing what I'm doing and try to return the consideration folks are showing me. But for Barbara Walters, and the guy complaining loudly on his cell phone about the breastfeeding mom across the aisle, I have a message: Yeah, I know, our exposed breasts are uncomfortably close to you, thanks to sardine-style airplane seating. But which would you rather have: An infant eating quietly on the ascent and descent, or one screaming his lungs out because his ears won't pop? I'd take the exposed breast and the quiet baby any day... but then, I'd also take the screaming baby over you and your shouted cell phone conversation, too, asshole.

My Little Sweet Potato

Batbaby, Batbaby

It's another hot day in Philadelphia, and I woke up wondering how Austen and I would spend the 10 hours or so until Al got home without overheating or going bonkers. My usual diversion, a nice long walk with Austen in the stroller, didn't seem prudent in the heat, and I didn't want to spend the whole day trying to work while fighting to keep Austen's little hands away from the trackpad buttons. (He's on my lap at the moment, but he's busy with a frozen washcloth.)

I managed to get us both dressed and fed by 10:30am, so I checked moviefone.com to see if there were any interesting films playing at the Cherry Hill Loews (which, as host of the weekly Reel Moms, is relatively baby-friendly). I noticed that Batman was opening today, and a quick visit to rottentomatoes.com told me that the movie was surprisingly fresh. We decided to go.

Long story short, since the wascloth is wearing off: I thought Batman was wonderful. OK, yes, it has a few flaws, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. It's the movie that all the others should have been, IMHO. Since I'm no fan of superhero movies in general, and I didn't know that the movie was directed by the same guy who did Memento, my expectations were fairly low despite the fresh rating from rottentomatoes, and Batman Begins had no trouble exceeding them.

Austen was pretty well-behaved through the first two thirds of the movie and fast asleep in the Bjorn for the last third (I stood in the entry aisle for that, but I didn't miss anything). And like our Star Wars outing, he emerged from the theater exceedingly happy, and he's been cheerful ever since. I ought to take him to the movies more often!

I Want to Vomit... All Over the Babysitter

Well, I'm gratified to know that my instincts are spot-on. What I'm nauseated about is that I don't follow them. I want to get this whole sordid story out of my system, mainly because I think that vomiting it up will make me feel better, but all I can muster right now are a few bullet points:

• The babysitter quit last night, via e-mail. Stated reason: The internship she interviewed for on Friday unexpectedly started this week.
• I've had concerns for a while about said babysitter's honesty and reliability, but I sat on them because (a) I had a sense that confronting her about lying, even just to say, "you know, I'd rather just have you tell me the truth, even if it's not as pretty" would burst some reality bubble around her and cause a mess, (b) I need a babysitter, and I'm too lazy/face-to-face-meeting-averse to want to look for a new one, and (c) Austen seemed to like her.
• Austen is fine. She played nicely with him and never hurt him in any way. I suspect, however, that the child development courses she said she'd taken were as imaginary as the flat tire that made her 15 minutes late one day (a flat tire makes you 30, 45, or 60 minutes late, not 15).
• Closing an e-mail with "Respectfully," doesn't make it respectful. Just so you know.

Antidote

I think it's a little hard to understand while I feel literally, physically sick about the babysitter situation without knowing me—and, more importantly, without knowing all the details. I just can't bring myself to go through them all here, however; suffice it to say that there's more than irresponsibility involved on the babysitter's part, and a painful history of being made a fool of on my part.

The best antidote for the gnawing nausea is my amazing husband, followed closely by the ever-cute Austen. I probably don't mention enough what a truly great person Al is, and how glad I am that I married him. Sometimes I'm just knocked back by what a great match he is for me. We're so similar it's scary, though he's more patient and kind than I am. Makes me smile just thinking about it.

Both Al and Austen, who are never stingy with their love, were also unexpectedly generous with their time yesterday. Al normally watches Austen when I'm at the dentist, but he went above and beyond yesterday afternoon when it took an hour and a half to shave down a tooth in preparation for a crown. Meanwhile, Austen set a new nap record—three hours in the morning, and 45 minutes in the afternoon. I was shocked to find that I could get in a full day's work (though it was accomplished in several shorter bursts rather than in long stretches), a dentist appointment, and a family walk without the aid of a sitter and without going crazy.

I should also mention that the rest of my family is also incredibly supportive; both my mom and my sister offered to help watch Austen until I could find another sitter. Mom is willing to come here, and Lisa offered to host me and Austen at her house. I need a fast Internet connection to work, so unfortunately Lisa's house is out, but wasn't it sweet of her to invite us down? I may try to work something out with my mom, though, since I know she'd consider it a treat to spend a week with Austen. :)

Today I was supposed to meet with a new babysitting prospect, but she had a family emergency last night and had to go out of town. No worries; it just means I'll have time for lunch with my husband! Yay!

I Forgot What I Was Going to Say

Last night I thought of like five different things I wanted to blog about (some parenthood-related, some politics/media/news-related), but I figured rather than trying to type while holding the baby, I'd wait until I had both hands free today to blog. Of course, now I can't remember what I was going to say....

Random results of the Google search I'm running on my brain in the background:

• We found a new babysitter on Friday, and she started today. So far, so good.
• The alarm system went off in the house at 10:40pm on Friday (when we were in Baltimore) and caused a bit of a panic on our part. The police still hadn't responded 40 minutes after the alarm company notified them, so we asked an amazingly understanding neighbor to have a peek at the house for us. She reported that no windows were broken and house looked intact, and also mentioned that there'd been a hellacious thunderstorm at 10:40, which is probably what tripped the alarm. Phew.
• Live 8: Glad we were gone. Was the TV coverage as bad for Live Aid? Al and I seem to recall that it was...
• We're being jerked around by Sears again, this time for the dryer. We had a repair appointment for 8am-12pm on Friday; when the guy hadn't called or shown up by 1:15, we left for Baltimore. He called my cell phone at 2:20pm to say he was ready to come over. I said too late, we'd left when he was only an hour late. He said that 8am-12pm really means 8am-5pm. Me: "Really? Then why tell me 8am to 12pm?" Him: "I'm just telling you the company policy, m'am. I can come back on Tuesday, 8am-12pm." Me: "Which means you'll be there by 5pm?" When he hadn't turned up by 2pm yesterday I called to find out when he was coming; turns out that he meant NEXT Tuesday, not this one. Fucker. And by the way, this is the same dryer that Nick, the old repair guy, "fixed" back in October.
• Sandra Day O'Connor. Hmmmm. I'm not sure I was totally on board with her case-by-case ruling style, but I'm glad she had the opportunity to serve. I'm curious to see who makes it through next... and I think I'll opt out of the partisan rhetoric (nay, hyperbole) this time around. One thing I will say: How about keeping to the spirit of one of O'Connor's rulings and using race and gender as only one factor among many when choosing a new justice?
• I'm looking forward to Austen's next doctor visit at the end of this month. As of right now, the over/under is looking like 23 lbs. As usual, I'm going under.
• Foods Austen has tried so far: sweet potatoes, peaches, plums, prunes, rice, rice cereal, bananas, avocado, apples, applesauce, watermelon, and organic vanilla-flavored teething biscuits. And paper, of course. Lots of paper.

The Nightmare Scenario

Greetings from the Internet Lounge at Flash Forward in NYC. Al is giving a presentation in about an hour, and the plan was for me to visit my favorite New York spots while he got ready. I'd watch the preso (if Austen cooperated), and then we'd all go up to his brother's apartment in the evening and spend the weekend. The plan did not include rain.

Rain, however, is what NYC is getting right now, in torrents. Oops, and poop is what Austen's delivering right now... hopefully not in torrents. Back after a diaper change.

The Nightmare Scenario, Continued

So as I was saying, it's pouring here in New York, and pouring rain wasn't part of the plan. I am wearing a skirt and neoprene flipflops. I suppose as raingear goes, these choices aren't so bad; the skirt material doesn't absorb water, and neoprene is what wetsuits are made of, so that's something. At first I was a little weirded out by walking through NYC puddles in almost-bare feet, but when the curb cuts disappeared under 2' wide, 6" deep white-water rivers I figured there wasn't any use worrying about germs anymore. I was literally ankle-deep in them, with the non-absorbent skirt plastered to my calves.

Austen, meanwhile, was managing to stay mostly dry beneath the rain cover on his stroller. I had to tilt the seat back a bit to keep him from trying to pull the cover off and eat it, and the (as far as I'm concerned, unnecessary) airholes at face level let in some of the downpour, but for the most part he seemed to be enjoying himself. At least, that's what passersby told me.

I never did make it down to the Magnolia Bakery (though I did get a couple cupcakes at Billy's yesterday; I just wanted some Magnolia ones to compare) or to Tea & Sympathy to stock up on Typhoo Decaffeinated, and I never did find an Adidas store (I want to see if I can find some lime green sneakers). In fact, I only made it 10 blocks before I caved and came here, to the conference hotel. I am finally mostly dry (except for my feet), and Austen's on his second nap. Al's preso is over (I saw about a third of it before Austen woke fully from his first nap and wouldn't stay still and quiet), and he just needs to make some calls before we leave. Sadly, it's still raining, so there's not much we can do in the way of kicking around before we head up to his brother's.

It's a funny thing, rain. I grew up on the east coast, and I've been back here for almost two years now, but still I never seem to expect it. Instead, I expect the endless sunny (or at least non-rainy) days that grace Northern California from mid-April until November.

Chelsea, Saturday Afternoon

I'm not sure if I explained properly yesterday why a downpour in New York was the nightmare scenario, so let me address that omission before I talk about what we did today: Basically, a downpour meant that I was trapped—with Austen, and without any of the tools for entertaining him or giving my arms a break that I'd have at home. Being wet as well just made things even less comfortable.

Today dawned better and brighter (and cooler and clearer). Al, Austen, and I were up early, so we walked down to H&H Bagels and got some breakfast for the household. On the way there and back, we stopped to pet about a zillion dogs, and I remarked to Al that if we ever move to New York I'm going to get a dog just to ensure that I get out early every morning. New York is so cool in the morning before everyone is up.

After snarfing down the yummy bagels, we took the subway down to 14th Street and walked toward the Bleecker Street playground. On the way we stopped at Mary's Off Jane for a mojito limeade (a little too tart for me, but very fresh—a couple packets of sugar would have smoothed it out nicely) and a slice of devil's food cake with "American buttercream icing" for later. (I just tried it now, and it was excellent: The cake was dense and chocolatey but still cakelike, very similar to my Aunt Judy's Black Cake, and the frosting was fluffy and sweet, a perfect balance of butter and sugar.)

At the playground Austen got to try his first swing; he was a little wary at first of being released into the black rubber contraption, but after a few pushes from Al, he really got into it. I have to say, whenever I have the opportunity to visit a playground in New York, I think how lucky are the kids who get to grow up here.

After the playground we had a delicious lunch at Mi Cocina on Hudson Jane. I had the Frijolades Oaxaqueños (spelling approximate) and a strawberry lemonade; like the mojito limeade, the lemonade was too tart, but the entree—two white corn tortillas stuffed with queso fresco and covered with a black bean sauce and a pepper-studded cylinder of scrambled eggs—was mouth-wateringly wonderful. I can still taste it in my mind. YUM. We then ambled over to a part of town I don't think I'd ever been to before this visit, surprisingly: Chelsea.

We crossed through the old meatpacking district to the bike/skate/pedestrian path that led to the Chelsea Piers and then walked out onto the piers themselves. Cool complex! If it weren't for the fact that I don't think we could afford to live in Manhattan on one (or even one and a half) incomes, I'd be scanning the real estate section right now. (Of course, I can picture myself living in lots of cities; our visit to Vancouver actually *did* spur me to scan a few real estate listings there. :) I love the West Village, what I've now seen of Chelsea is intriguing, and my brother-in-law's neighborhood up in the 90s between Central Park West and Columbus is also charming. I think it'd be as hard to narrow down what part of the city I'd want to live in as it was when I tried to move here back in 1995 (I overshot then and landed in Norwalk, CT).

We didn't get to stay in Chelsea long, as an approaching thunderstorm chased us back up to the West 90s (I'd left both the umbrellas and Austen's rain cover out to dry in the apartment, and I had my fill of rain yesterday, so I wasn't eager to get caught in another downpour). I hope to explore more of Chelsea and the West Village next time we come up. If nothing else, I'll be going back to Billy's for the cupcakes—and, if I have room, down to Jane Street for a giant slice of cake from Mary's!

Food News

All kinds of food items to share today, from the gastronomical delights of our last hours in New York this weekend to local Philadelphia finds. First, New York: Al and I got up early again on Sunday (though not quite as early as on Saturday) and made it out for another morning walk, this time with Al's brother Carl for company. We walked down Broadway to the Starbucks at 81st, where I ordered a cappucino and (as usual) got a latte. The coffee was smooth and the milk heated to perfection, however, so I didn't complain.

From there we crossed the street to Zabar's, but since it was only 8:30 and Zabar's opens at 9am on Sundays, we weren't able to browse or buy. Instead we cut over to Amsterdam so Al could get a bagel sandwich at Barney Greengrass. On the way there (at 83rd, maybe? somewhere between 81st and 86th, anyway) we passed what appeared to be a new outlet of Le Pain Quotidien and picked up a couple pain au chocolates, a blueberry muffin, and a banana chocolate chip muffin. Al then got his bagel sandwich ("for $11, this better be the best bagel sandwich ever"), an extra plain bagel, and a package of Tate's chocolate chip cookies, and we headed back toward the apartment.

Luckily the street we chose to walk down was the same one that Tris and Henry had taken to walk toward us, and we ran into them about halfway up the block. We determined that we had enough baked goods to have a breakfast picnic, so instead of going home, we went to the hippo playground (real name: Safari Playground) in Central Park to eat at the picnic tables.

I had the banana chocolate chip muffin (wonderfully dense and flavorful... but how did they manage to get the batter so yellow—and so completely devoid of those little brownish-black fibers that are the hallmark of banana bread?) and a couple bites of Al's bagel, which was piled with three slices of the freshest-tasting nova lox I've ever had. Al declared the sandwich to be absolutely worth $11. Austen, meanwhile, noshed on a bit of his first-ever NY bagel (the plain one).

After breakfast, we played with the kids for a while in the canoe and among the hippos, and then we climbed up to one of the treehouses and chased each other around. (Had to burn off breakfast so we could make room for lunch!)

And speaking of lunch... As soon as we'd had a proper rest back at the apartment, we trekked back down to 83rd and Broadway to eat at Artie's. We'd been promising Henry a bowl of matzoh ball soup all weekend, and it was time to make good on that promise. (All that promising had given Al a craving for matzoh ball soup, too.) Instead of the cheese blintzes I'd planned to order (and which I'd so enjoyed last time), I decided at the last minute to get chocolate chip pancakes instead. (I later completed the chip trifecta by having a Toll House cookie bar for dinner.) Al got the soup, a potato knish, and a chocolate egg cream, and both of us noshed on the communal cole slaw and pickles the water guy had brought to the table. We agreed that the cole slaw was excellent—creamy-tasting but not dripping with sauce—but we split on the pickles: I prefer the "new" (half-sour), and Al prefers the "old" (full-sour). I don't mind trading a little bitterness for extra crunch.

Artie's is popular with the stroller set

The chocolate chip pancakes were yummy, and the matzoh ball soup and egg cream very filling, so Al got the knish to go. We ate it for dinner when we got home, and I can say without reservation that it was the best knish I've ever had. As I said to Al, "this knish is to ordinary knishes what Mama's falafel is to ordinary falafel"... which brings me back to Philadelphia food news. I've been meaning to mention Mama's here (though Al has been begging me not to, lest it get more crowded than it already is :) for a while now; it's the best falafel I've had since college, when I used to haunt the Gyro Wrap on Broad Street in Athens, GA. Most falafel is dense, hard, and sometimes dry, while Mama's is crispy-crunchy on the outside and tender and moist on the inside. I could eat the falafel balls with no toppings or salads whatsoever and enjoy the heck out of them, but the fact that both the Mama's Sandwich and the Mama's Platter come with hummus, tahini, cucumbers, tomatoes, and a wonderful, slaw-like cabbage (not to mention a homemade pita baked in a special oven from Israel) make them absolutely heavenly. Try the sandwich or platter with a grapefruit drink (I forget the name of the one we like, but it's in a clear, nubby bottle with an orange cap), or make your own grapefruit spritzer with equal parts unsweetened grapefruit juice, Sprite, and plain or lime selzer. Very refreshing! Oh, and if you get a chance, try a "cigar"—a miniature egg roll-like snack that's filled with a potato mixture—for an extra $1. It was the perfect antidote to my knish craving on Monday night.

Sadly, I discovered yesterday that another Philadelphia food find (and hip hangout) is no more: Hamburger Mary's on Chestnut Street (and the Dragonfly Lounge above it, home of the city's best Lesbian dance party, according to Philadelphia Weekly) is now closed. We only got to eat there once, but I've been making a homemade version of their bleu cheese (veggie) burger ever since. HM's had avocado on it, but since a good, ripe avocado is usually hard to find when I have a craving for the bleu cheese burger, I make mine without. The recipe is simple: microwave a Boca burger for 90 seconds while you toast a sliced Kaiser roll. While the burger rests, spread bleu cheese dressing (I like Marie's) on each side of the roll, and then squirt a bit of ketchup on one side and a bit of mustard (I like a grainy horseradish version I buy in Canada) on the other. Stick the Boca burger in the middle, slice with a serrated knife, and enjoy. It's messy but oh so delicious.

Finally, I forgot to mention that Austen has also tried yogurt and ice cream in addition to his regular fruits and veggies. I've read that you're not supposed to introduce yogurt until 9 months and other dairy products until 1 year, but he seemed so interested in Al's ice cream on our trip to Vancouver and my yogurt last month that we let him have some. Both dairy products came right back up within a few hours, so we're going to wait until September to try again. In the meantime, Austen has lately been making a meal of his feet; I saw him try to shove his toes in his mouth last week without success, but on Monday he finally got the hang of it, and he's been noshing on baby toes and doggie shoes ever since. Yesterday he also tried a bit of my Kaiser roll and seemed to enjoy it. Ummmm, white bread: just like paper, only better.

Carrots For Breakfast, Plums For Lunch

On Babysitters, Blogging, and A Hard Day's Work

This whole nanny blog thing just creeps me out. (The nanny in question's actual blog is here.) Possibly because I had a dodgy babysitter experience; possibly because another potential babysitter happened to include her blog link in e-mail correspondence, and I had to fight not to be unnerved by what I read; or possibly because I myself am a regular blogger (and I've posted about the vomitous feeling the dodgy babysitter inspired), I've been thinking a lot about the article and the response over the past couple hours.

There are many things to be creeped out about in Helaine Olen's piece, but the three I find most creepy are (a) that Olen read the nanny's blog so obsessively, (b) that she doesn't seem to see the hypocrisy in writing about her experience—hyperbolically and occasionally libelously—in the New York Times, and (c) that the straw that broke the camel's back—the thing that led to the nanny's firing—was that the nanny considered watching Olen's children "work". Um, I've got news for you: caring for children *IS* WORK.

I know that some families want a babysitter/nanny "who'll be part of the family," as one of our current sitter's references put it, but the fact is that you are PAYING this person to watch your kids. (Incidentally, we weren't looking for someone to be part of our family, though I can totally see how our sitter would fit that bill if we were.) This person may love your children and treat them as if they were her own, but she's not your mother or your sister or your aunt. She's trying to earn a living watching your kids, not doing you a favor.

Watching kids is hard. Keeping them entertained, interested, fed, changed, and generally cared for requires patience, imagination, strength, and stamina. How do I know? Because when our sitter isn't here, it's what I do—and it's at least as challenging as the software engineering that I do when the sitter *is* here. It's actually surprising to me that babysitters don't charge more per hour for all this effort. When I first talked to my friend Jean about how to go about hiring a sitter, she mentioned that the going rate in San Francisco was $50/hour. This would have been tough for me to manage, but honestly, it wasn't completely shocking. I was prepared for anything. It was only when Jean mentioned that some nannies charge $20/hour for two children that I realized she'd said $15 for one, not $50.

Would I want my babysitter to blog about us? Well, probably not. But if it were really important to me, I'd probably make it a stipulation of employment: no blogging about this job. I think I'd feel somewhat hypocritical doing it, however, given that I write about so much of what's going on in our lives here, so I've never made such a request. (I did request that the former babysitter not post photos of Austen on her site, however.) As for blogging in general, what our babysitter does on her own time is her business; I'm actually more comfortable not knowing all the details of her life, so if she had a blog, I wouldn't seek it out anyway. I know enough to feel that Austen's safe and well-cared for in her company, and I see evidence of her common sense, good judgement, and strong work ethic on a daily basis. Anything else I need to know, I'll ask her. And as long as she never lies to me, tries to pass off complaining as conversation, or asks me to write her another check because she misplaced the one I wrote her yesterday, I'll never vomit on her—in person, online, or in print.

It's a Beautiful Day

Austen found his voice recently—and it's very shrill. Sometimes he babbles pleasantly, saying things like "ay ya ya ya ya ya" and "hey da da da da da", and it's super cute. Other times, he SHRIEKS. Loudly, shrilly, earsplittingly. It's annoying enough at home, but in public it's stressful in the extreme. I'm horrified and embarrassed that I might be bothering other hotel guests, restaurant patrons, and driving range golfers, and that I can't get him to stop. I used to think, "geez, can't you shut that kid UP?" when I heard toddlers shrieking in stores, and now I know that the answer is NO. I also understand why those mothers didn't even seem to be trying: Because as a parent, you have to tune some of the shrieking out in order to preserve your sanity. You know there's very little you can do, so you save the little amunition you have for when it actually might do some good.

So anyway, after collapsing, exhausted, onto the bed last night at 7:30 and failing to convince Austen to (a) sleep or (b) stop shrieking, Al finally took him and let me conk out. They apparently jumped up and down on the couch for a while, and then Al snuggled Austen in next to me for his bedtime nursing at 8:45, and then got in bed himself at 9. We got up early, as planned (though Al and even I could have used another hour or so of uninterrupted snoozing)—early enough to get into PJ's Pancake House on Nassau Street for breakfast before a line formed out the door. From about half a block away I saw a large guy standing in the doorway with a cigarette, and I muttered to Al, "who smokes in the doorway?" As we approached, prepared to dash around him quickly to avoid the cloud of stale smoke, he said, "two? You can park the stroller right out here..." Apparently this was PJ, or at least the owner or manager of the place.

He ended up letting us take the stroller inside, where we folded it up and stashed it next to the table to avoid blocking the aisle, and PJ (or whoever he was) brought us a little baby seat that attached to the table. (We'd seen one like it on our NYC weekend when a couple brought their own to a Korean BBQ place on West 36th Street.) It was totally perfect for Austen; he got to sit at the table right next to me, but the sides were high enough that he couldn't quite reach onto my plate. Instead he amused himself with my empty creamer containers while we ate. I said to Al that this could possibly be the best meal I've had with Austen in attendance, even though the chocolate chip pancakes weren't quite as good as (though they were more expensive than) the ones at Artie's. The best thing we ordered between us was on Al's plate: the "mashed browns", which contained peppers and onions. The coffee was also quite good, especially with cream.

From PJ's we started our tour of the Princeton campus. I already knew the stroller-friendly routes to the bookstore and the train station, and those for the most part also turned out to be the shady routes. We got a couple shirts for my sister's kids at the bookstore, walked down to the train station and had a rest on a bench there, and then walked back up to Nassau street via Alexander Street. By that time Austen had fallen asleep, so we sat on a bench between Mercer Road and University Place to give him time to snooze. From there it was to the CVS to buy a couple miniature notebooks for me to carry with me, and on the way back we passed the coolest little table and chairs outside Nassau Interiors. Both of us liked the set instantly, and the price was very reasonable, so we bought it on the spot. I'll drive back up on Monday to pick it up, as there isn't room in the car at the moment.

We detoured down Tulane Street on our way back to the hotel on the advice of a sign, which pointed toward The Little Chef pastry shop. An worthy detour, I'd say, as it led to a wonderful little shop full of French pastries baked by a gentleman with an actual French accent. I should have asked his name and where he was from, but I didn't. I did ask if he did all the baking himself, and he said yes. We purchased an apple-apricot brioche (a small bite of which I've just taken, and so far, so delicious) and a chocolate croissant for later, looked in another furniture store for a baby-safe ottoman/coffee table for our living room (the glass one with the pointy metal frame that we have now is really Austen-unfriendly), and then returned here to the room. We're about to go out again for lunch and a drive around the area, so there'll be more food news later...

This Week...

• Our babysitter (whom the Beaner and I really, really like) was on vacation.
• Our Mac Mini had a serious hard drive error that prevented it from starting up, that required a three-hour visit to the Apple store just to get most of the data backed up, and that required a complete reformat of the hard drive. Luckily, almost all of the photos I've taken over the past 8 months were salvaged, as was all the iTunes music. We'll be backing up more regularly now, of course.
• The Beaner fell out of our bed when a midday phone call from a fucking telemarketer woke him from a nap. He has a bruise on his elbow and his hand, but otherwise he's fine.
• We are trying to establish a new nap routine (Pack 'n Play or crib only, not our bed), and the angst involved is really wearing me (and the Beaner, I imagine) down.
• The Beaner has screamed so loudly and piercingly that my ears have shut down several times. It's like going momentarily deaf.
• I had a migraine.
• We ran out of Advil. (Not that it really helps anyway.)
• I won the over/under. At today's 8-month doctor visit, Austen was 22 lbs., 7 oz.

Let's Sing Along With the Bees, Shall We?

The Beaner has a Pooh bear that sings (why is it that in-laws always buy NOISY toys for your kids? at least this one is cute...) a catchy little tune about bees: "The BEES in my shirt are shining brightly" — and here Pooh's shirt lights up with little bee outlines — "oh so LIGHTLY! shining BRIGHTLY! The BEES in my shirt are shining brightly, oh my twinkle BEES." Then Pooh says something like, "bees, bees, silly bees," followed by "Let's sing along with the bees, shall we?" (twice) and "buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz, etc." to the same tune. There's more buzzing (from the bees this time), a giggle, and an assertion that "oh, I think the bees LIKE you" before Pooh moves on to his second little ditty: "Bees twinkle brightly, that's what they do; bees twinkle brightly, that's what they do; bees twinkle brightly, that's what they do... and they also love to buzz." All very charming.

Until the bees invade your house, that is.

We knew our back deck had a bee problem as early as last summer, when I was growing tomatoes and peppers out there. Large wasps would hover around me as I watered the plants, and they stung my sister-in-law as she stood next to Al while he was grilling one night. We didn't know where they were coming from, but we figured there had to be a nest.

Ladies and gentlemen, there were FOUR. Al found them when he finally got the combination of time and weather he's been waiting for to tackle his deck projects. He went through a can and a half of wasp and hornet spray taking them all out, though four or five bees survived and hovered around his head, asking for spare change with which to pay for a room, while he painted the railing. A couple got in the house, but we were able to shoo them back outside.

Since Al had to move all the pots and outdoor furniture into the house to clear the deck for cleaning, I weeded out all the pots indoors while he scrubbed and painted outside. We agreed to put the white plastic outdoor tables—of which the bees seemed especially fond—out with the trash on Sunday night, though for some reason Al didn't put the matching chairs out with them.

The deck didn't dry in time to stain it on Sunday, and we decided we wanted to go with a different color of stain anyway, so the deck project was put on hold until next weekend. The pots, chairs, and decorative table all stayed inside (though I moved the three pots with actual flowers in them to the front garden). I was a little eeky about having the pots stay inside for so long because I found a weird little bug in one of them while I was weeding, but rather than have to re-prep the deck again next weekend, I figured I'd try to get over my bug phobia.

So Monday passed without event; the babysitter came and played with the Beaner while I worked in the living room with the pots. I didn't see any bugs. Then on Tuesday, while I was holding The Beaner and simultaneously checking my e-mail in the living room, I noticed a bee on the sliding glass door. I thought, "huh, I wonder how he got in here?" and started formulating a theory about the bee squeezing in through the weatherstripping between the doors. Then I saw another bee crawling on the sliding door track. I called Al and asked where the wasp spray was.

By the time I located the spray, stashed the Beaner in the Pack 'n Play in the bedroom, and returned to the glass door, there were no less than FIVE bees in sight. I sprayed them all, wigged out, and called Al again. He said he'd come home as early as he could, but since it was only 3pm, I was on my own for at least a couple hours. About 20 minutes later I spotted another bee crawling up the leg of one of the white plastic chairs, and a new idea occurred to me: Maybe it wasn't the tables the bees were so fond of. Maybe there was a nest UNDER ONE OF THE CHAIRS. Which, of course, were in the living room now.

I killed the bee on the chair and another that had been playing dead (but who really wasn't! faker!) next to the doormat with the spray, but I didn't want to ruin the lovely fabric window blinds by spritzing the one camped out there. I was also reluctant to use a fly swatter on him because a bee authority (OK, the guy who ran the lemonade stand at the Maryland Rennaissance Faire) once told me that bees can smell bee blood, and it drives them nuts—kinda like how sharks smell blood in the water and get all attack-y. If my theory about the nest under the chair was correct, then smashing the bee on the blinds could cause all his buddies to come swarming out for vengeance. Instead, I cowered in the basement and in the bedroom, hoping that the bees, who seemed half-starved and a bit lethargic, wouldn't realize that there were other rooms in the house (including a kitchen full of tasty treats like lemons and peaches).

When Al got home, he carefully inspected the white plastic chairs and confirmed my theory: one of them housed a fifth wasps' nest. He gingerly carried the chair outside, sprayed the nest... and watched another TEN bees fall out of it. He didn't manage to get the bee that had been hanging out on the blinds, but I discovered another corpse by the sliding glass door this morning, so I'm hoping all the little buzzers are accounted for.

Amazingly, none of us was stung.

I still can't get the Pooh bee songs out of my head, but now the words go something like this: Ohhhhhhhhhhh, BEES freak out Mommy, that's what they do; bees freak out Mommy, that's what they do; bees freak out Mommy, that's what they do... and they also love to nest. Bzzzzz!

The Beaner at Eight Months

When the Beaner was only a couple months old, it was hard to imagine a day when he would be big enough or coordinated enough to ride in the front of a grocery cart.

It's weird to think that he'll be talking before long, and walking probably even sooner. (He's already standing up against the furniture and indicating that he wants to get down and walk around by diving toward the floor when someone's holding him.)

He's now eating a surprising array of foods, including a little ice cream now and then; he even had his first taste of meat this weekend when Al gave him a bit of pork from his sandwich. (He tried salmon last weekend when he shared a few bites of my entree at a new restaurant around the corner... more on that later.) His new favorite food appears to be Cheerios, which he now gets as an appetizer while I defrost cubes of pureed nectarine, plum, peach, or banana for his breakfast. He actually started flailing his arms and legs in excitement when he saw me get out the yellow box on Friday morning—and he'd only seen it twice before that.

The Beaner is now an odd mix of clingy and independent; he seems to want to be held (by me) all the time, and he cries when I leave the room or even move more than 20 feet away... and yet I know he can play quietly by himself for 15-20 minutes at a time (I've seen him do it), and he has hours of Mommy-free fun with our babysitter.

For all the I-want-my-Mommy screaming that the Beaner does these days, I think it's actually Al who soothes him better. Al does what I always said I would do but sometimes can't manage when the clinginess and the crying overwhelm me: He talks to the Beaner as if he can understand every word, patiently and quietly explaining that we love him, that it's time for bed or that Mommy needs a break, and that delayed gratification is a wonderful thing.

The Beaner is as charming around strangers as ever; he tends to be super smiley when we're out in public (as long as he's in my arms or in the Bjorn), and people often ask us, "is he always this happy?" We usually say yes or "most of the time." No one really wants to know that he can turn into a monster with snakes coming out of his ears when he's really mad or overtired. (The poor girl I sat next to on the train from NYC on Friday evening got to witness the transformation from cute and smiley to seething and screaming when we passed that invisible, mutable line known as "bedtime". She was pretty shocked.) For some reason, however, people keep mistaking him for a girl—which is totally puzzling to us. Perhaps it's his longish hair? We're not sure, but it's only started happening recently.

For a kid who started teething so early (3 months!), we've also been surprised by the lack of actual teeth in his mouth. He's got one coming in on the lower right side that looks like a canine, though canines aren't supposed to come in until the upper and lower front teeth do, so we might be wrong about that. Otherwise, he's all gums (and all drool).

In the first few days and weeks of the Beaner's life, people asked me all the time how long I was planning to breastfeed him. I always said I'd play it by ear; it might be two months, six months, twelve months, or maybe more. Those first two months were so hellishly painful that it's a wonder I kept at it, but here we are at eight and a half months, and the Beaner hasn't had an ounce of formula since the day he was born. (Al tried to give him some once, and the Beaner refused it rather vehemently.) I still don't know how long we'll keep at it; some days I'll nurse him only once in the morning and once at night and think that we must be tapering off, only to have the next day be one where he wants to nurse every two hours. On the days he bites and pulls and claws and scratches, I think that I'll be glad when it's over. On the days he snuggles into me and strokes my shirt or my face, I know I'll miss the closeness when we finally make the break.

Oh, and I think his height measurement at his recent checkup might have been off. He measured a little over 27", which means he really hasn't grown at all since his last visit and has dropped to about the 70th percentile in height. I suspect that he's actually a bit taller than the nurse gave him credit for, because he's now standing flat-footed in the exersaucer. As should be obvious from this photo, he's still in the 90th percentile for weight.

Baby's Got a New Pair of Shoes

The Beaner finally outgrew his second pair of doggie Robeez. I resisted the urge to buy another identical pair in size 12-18 months and instead got these charming goldfish. Aren't they (or at least, the one you can see) cute?

The Beaner

Believe it or not, the Beaner already has some new behaviors to report on since the Eight Months post—and I intend to post about them as soon as I have a chance. In the meantime, here's a shot taken yesterday that shows him looking more like a little boy and less like a baby.

Grateful

Whenever I think I'm not going to be able to make it through the day, Austen gives me the gift of a two-hour nap. Funny how a nap can improve one's outlook, even when someone else is doing the sleeping.

Education's in the Air

The very day that Michele commented about Quaker schools on my Independent Study post, and I responded that the nearby Friends Select School would be at the top of our list, cost permitting, I noticed that the cover story in this month's Philadelphia Magazine was a ranking of the area's top public and private schools. (This is probably no coincidence; what better time of year to write stories about education?) Since I'd failed to find any mention of tuition or fees (other than a few words on how to apply for financial aid, and who's likely to get it) on the Friends Select website, I thought I'd pick up a copy of the magazine in case the school and its tuition were mentioned. They were, and I'm afraid Friends Select is no longer at the top of the list.

I'm as encouraged as ever regarding the quality of the education Austen would get at Friends Select, which is number 28 on PhillyMag's list of top 50 private schools, but the tuition for day students is listed as $18,125. That's 10 times what my annual college tuition cost at the University of Georgia (granted, we're talking 15 years ago), and what a year of grad school at Stanford cost Al back in the mid-90s. There's no way we could afford that and still have money left over to send Austen to college. (I haven't actually run the numbers to see what we'd need to do to afford it—how much we'd need to set aside, what we'd have to do without, etc.—and I probably won't. I just object to K-12 education costs that high on principle.) The one upside to the high cost of Friends Select is that the average of the highest teacher salaries is $74,792, according to PhillyMag. I think of this as an upside because I believe teachers in general are underpaid, and private school teachers are usually paid less than public school teachers. At least some of the tuition money seems to be going to the staff.

Regarding Clem's question about what my home-schooling curriculum would look like, I don't have a specific plan yet, aside from the plan to do a lot of reading on the subject over the next three or four years. I do know that I don't believe in pre-school education per se (though the Montessori* approach mentioned in PhillyMag's "The $12,000-a-Year Pre-School" sounds close to my philosophy that play = learning), so aside from watching Sesame Street, singing everything from Aimee Mann to Ella Fitzgerald, reading books out loud, listening to Harry Potter and other audiobooks, and playing on the floor, I don't plan on educating Austen before age 4 or 5. [*Link goes not to the school mentioned in the article, but to the Montessori school that's just around the corner from our house.] This is actually one of many reasons why home schooling is appealing: If Austen doesn't have to compete to get into a public or private elementary school, I'll be less likely to cave to the prevailing societal pressure to start schooling before Austen is technically school age.

One idea that sounds appealing, either on its own or as a supplement to a home school curriculum, is online learning. More and more K-12 schools, both public and private, are offering courses online, which seems to me to be a good way for students to determine their own pace of learning and to be more self-directed while still getting the benefits of a tested curriculum and the guidance of a qualified educator.

Of course, Austen could turn out to be more like his dad, who enjoyed classroom learning far more than I ever did, than like me, and thus he might tell us when he's 5 or 7 or 10 that he *wants* to go to a regular school. There's a brief profile of a student who decided to attend public high school "after feeling he'd hit a wall with homeschooling" in the "Tales Out of School" story in PhillyMag, and I don't doubt that this would be likely with Austen as well—even if he turns out to be more like me—given that I'm probably unqualified to teach most subjects beyond the elementary level. I know I'll be relying on Al to give Austen an introduction to physics, for example, and I'll probably need someone else to handle biology, which I suck at. (For some reason I don't find botany nearly as confounding as biology, so I could probably cover that, if necessary).

I'm probably getting a little ahead of myself here; I know that Austen will need to learn how to add and subtract before he learns algebra and calculus, so I probably shouldn't worry that my math skills are a little rusty. This is where downloading or purchasing some established home schooling curricula will really help, since I'm not exactly sure at this point what kids are expected to be learning at each grade level. To a certain extent, a little ignorance of expectations is a good thing—expectations can as often limit growth as encourage it—but I don't want my first mistake to be to overwhelm my child with too much information.

ANYWAY! As usual, I'm overthinking this, I think. :)

One more thought on education before I conclude this post: I'm still not entirely clear on how the Philadelphia school system works, but I got a little information about it from two cashiers at Whole Foods and the woman behind me in line this morning. Apparently kids are assigned to schools by district, but there's also a certain amount of choice: My cashier said that there are special (magnet?) schools that kids can get into based on good grades, good attendance, or good behavior, and these are in addition to charter schools, which the woman behind me in line clarified are funded with public school money. You apparently apply to them (the charter schools, I mean) like private schools—and some have waiting lists a mile long—but they don't cost extra. I obviously need to find out more if we're going to stay in Philadelphia for more than a few years, but that's a start.

Nine Months

After nine months of pregnancy, I'd started to believe that I was going to be pregnant forever. Now I can hardly remember being pregnant at all... but I'm starting to believe that Austen's going to be around for a while. What's hard to believe is that he has now been on the outside roughly the same amount of time that he was on the inside. Some observations from Austen's ninth month:

We don't need no stinkin' bouncy seat. Austen's been sitting up on his own for a couple months now, but for some reason it didn't occur to me until a couple weeks ago that I could just set him down on the floor when I went to the bathroom. I think it was one of Dooce's anecdotes popping into my head one day—a story that involved Leta pulling things out of the bathoom drawers while Heather was on the toilet—that made me think, "why am I still using the bouncy seat? It rests on the floor [due to Austen's bulk] instead of bouncing as advertised anyway these days." So now whenever I have to pee, Austen sits on the bathroom rug, happily pulling the toilet paper holder to his mouth like a microphone stand, and then unraveling as much of the roll as he can before I scoop him back up.

We see teeth! That's definitely a canine coming in on the lower right, and we can now clearly see two more bottom teeth coming in. Austen's now chewing like a champ, too (mainly Cheerios, bread, rice, and pizza crust, though you can shove just about anything in there). Austen's eating so many different foods that it's hard to list them all anymore, and he's started eyeing whatever Al and I are eating, too. He actually tried some of my sweet potato-chipotle soup with mint cream when we were at Devil's Alley the other night, and the slow burn of the peppers didn't deter him one bit from begging for more. (I gave it to him.)

At some point, I'm going to need to go on a diet. It just occurred to me today that hockey isn't the (sole) reason I'm pretty much able to eat whatever I want without gaining weight these days—breastfeeding is. Suddenly, continuing to breastfeed for another few months seems much more appealing, despite the teeth marks on my nipples. And speaking of breastfeeding, Austen has a goofy new behavior on that front. When we're at home I almost always nurse him in side-lying position, mainly because he usually falls asleep, and he's more likely to *stay* asleep if I just roll away from him instead of moving him somewere else. (We've returned to the habit of letting him nap in our bed; we just barricade him in with pillows and other parephenalia and listen closely for the sound of him waking up.) Anyway, sometimes instead of going to sleep, Austen will pop off, roll away and onto his tummy, give me a big, evil grin, and start stalking the nipple. He creeps forward on his elbows like a cat, grinning like a maniac the whole time, and then dive-bombs the boob. He thinks it's hilarious, so I usually let him do it a couple times before calling a halt to the nursing session (though the face-first position is surprisingly effective for milk delivery, it's uncomfortable for me—and annoying to boot, because he keeps popping off).

Austen dives face first into my cone at the Custard Corral.

He waves! The weekend before last, I picked Austen up after changing his diaper and carried him into the bathroom with me so I could wash my hands. As soon as I flipped on the light, I saw Austen wave at us in the bathroom mirror. I stood there with my jaw hanging open for a couple seconds...and then I waved back.

I think we got our first word. Austen's been babbling ma-ma-ma-ma and da-da-da-da for a while now, but there haven't been any distinguishable words until today. I wasn't even sure he'd said what I thought he'd said when I first heard it this morning, but when he bumped his head again this afternoon, it was unmistakable: "Ow." I'm just glad it wasn't "fuck!", which is what I usually say.

We've reorganized the kitchen cabinets for Austen's benefit. When we remodeled the kitchen, we made a big deal out of planning where everything would go. We wanted maximum accessibility and usability, and we got it. Enter Austen, who now knows how to open cupboards and who will sit on the floor playing with whatever he finds in them. Baby safety is now ranked above accessibility and usability on the priority list, which mostly means that all glass items have been moved to upper cupboards. Oh, and the toaster has, too.

Val came to visit. Val, who last saw Austen 9 months ago, when he was just a lump inside my belly, got to meet him in person when she came down from Maine for a visit. We walked all over town, stopped for some playtime in Rittenhouse Square, ate at Devil's Alley and Morimoto (the funky booths turned out to be very adaptable to high chairs), and played on the floor in our living room. Fun! Val brought us some amazing homemade blueberry jam (made with wild Maine blueberries), plus some sweet L.L. Bean clothes for Austen. Look for photos of Austen in the sweater around Christmastime. :)

Austen's a hit in Chelsea. Earlier in the month Austen and I took the train up to NYC to meet up with Kristin, who was visiting for the day. We went on a major food binge, walking around to places that Shuna recommended (plus a few places we found on our own, like the Chocolate Bar, where Kristin got Austen this cute "chocolate baby" t-shirt). Austen was a big hit in Chelsea; the bakers at Billy's came out to admire his rosy cheeks, and the host at Diner 24 played with him while Kristin and I sipped cocktails. (Photos from the day with Kristin on are on Flickr.)

There's now a baggie with some of Austen's hair in it. I've been wanting to cut Austen's Gollum strands off for a while now, and I spent the past couple weeks planning how I would do it so that he wouldn't look like he'd been mowed with a Flowbee. (I often cut my own hair, so I have some experience in this area.) Of course, when I finally got out the scissors on Sunday morning I discovered that babies cannot be expected to sit still while you move a sharp object toward their temples. We tried the distraction method advocated by the Baby Owner's Manual (there's a diagram of one parent holding a teddy bear in the baby's sight line while the other parent snips), but it didn't help much. Suffice to say that Austen's cut isn't particularly stylish, but at least the Gollum strands are gone.

I Need an Editorial Calendar

I have so many things I want to blog about that there's a sort of logjam in my brain. It's kind of like how when I have a ton of things to do, I often get completely overwhelmed with the length of my To Do list and end up doing nothing. In college I combatted this tendency to become overwhelmed and just go back to bed by scheduling my days in 15-minute increments so I could see that it was technically possible to get through my To Do list in a single day. Usually I'd only get through 70-80% of it, but hey, that's better than 0%.

The blog version of the schedule in 15-minute increments would probably be an editorial calendar. I guess I have something like an editorial calendar already, in the form of keywords scribbled on hotel stationery (for example, "40 y-o virgin", "stout at Legal", "no 2T at MIT", and three pages' worth of additional notes on Austen's 9-month milestones, written when he was napping and I could find nothing in the room to read except the TV Guide) and in the little spiral notebooks I've sprinkled around the house with CAR, NIGHTSTAND, DIAPER BAG, and STROLLER scrawled in black Sharpie on their covers.

The problem is that not everything that's interesting at the time is blogworthy when I get in front of the computer, or worse, it becomes less blogworthy over time—when I procrastinate so long that the window of opportunity to write on a topic closes. What I should probably do tomorrow (ha!) is write one bullet-point post that briefly explains all the keywords I've scribbled on pieces of paper over the past two weeks, and then move on. If the next post you see here is entitled Impressed With the Breast, then you'll know that I was overcome with laziness (or overwhelmed by the length of the keyword list) and didn't do it, because Impressed With the Breast is the next topic on the editorial calendar I've been formulating in my brain as I write this.

In the meantime, if you've been coming here looking for new posts and have been shocked and apalled that there haven't been any in two weeks, allow me to direct you to my Flickr photostream, which I've been updating with photos from our trip to Boston last week as well as other adventures (the latest three photos are what appear in the three squares on the front page of this blog); the ice hockey escapades, where after listening to the nagging of my teammates I finally got around to posting news from the four most recent games I played in; and about town II, where I've recently posted some shots taken during a family walk at sunset. Oh, and here's a recent photo of Austen, who is now "furniture surfing," as one of Al's work colleagues calls it (you can also see our new, child-friendly cube ottomans to Austen's right, which we picked up on Saturday):

Those Keys Look Tasty

Yes, I *am* going to write about all the stuff I've got jotted down on pieces of paper around the house, but I thought of something else I wanted to mention first: Austen managed to pry the Ctrl key off my laptop keyboard the other day (and of course promptly stuck it in his mouth). After 20 minutes of fiddling with it I managed to wedge it back on, but it's not quite as functional as it used to be.

I always feel a little bad when I have to reach around Austen to use the computer, and now it seems he's dexterous enough to have his revenge. I can't even read blogs—much less write in my own—when he's playing nearby anymore; I have to wait until he's down for a nap or the night. (I've tried reading/blogging while feeding him, but he gets annoyed if I don't keep the spoonfuls of food coming at a steady pace.)

Anyway, the Ctrl key incident inspired me to add a new item to my cafepress store (betcha didn't know I even had one, did ya?):

It's an infant/toddler t-shirt that says "Mommy may have all the other keys, but I've got Ctrl" on the front, and "www.avocado8.com" on the back in smaller type. I've already ordered one for Austen; if you want one for your little one, they're $10 each over at cafepress.

Mama

Austen called me "mama" yesterday. He's been saying "mamamama", "dadadada", and "babababa" for a while now, but yesterday he clearly associated "mama" and its variations with me. When he woke up from his nap, he called "mamamama" instead of crying. While playing, he'd pat my knee and say "mamama". And when we were at the ice rink watching a practice last night, he leaned out of Al's arms, reached for me, and yelled "MA!" several times.

I don't know if the fact that I've been trying to teach him to say, "Mommy, can I please have some more food?" instead of grunting angrily when he wants another spoonful of strained fruit has anything to do with the new "mama" talk, but I kinda suspect it does. The reason? He's been calling "mama! mama! mama!" every time he's ready for another spoonful this morning. [I can't wait for the Black Eyed Peas to go on Sesame Street and sing "hey mama, I want some more pears and raspberries/mama! I want some more fruits and vegetables."]

I also got a spontaneous game of peekaboo out of the boopster yesterday. I was sitting on the couch, and he furniture surfed around one of my knees, ducked down, and popped up. I yelled "peekaboo!", so he ducked down between my legs and popped up again. He kept doing it, varying the length of time he stayed down, and the speed with which he popped up. SO CUTE.

Perfect Ten

So yesterday it was Ten Things, and today it's ten months: Austen turns ten months old today. Such a sweet kid he is, too. He's gotten really good at going to bed in the past month; I nurse him for a little while, and whether he falls asleep with the nipple in his mouth or ends the session by rolling onto his hands and knees and giving me a big grin, he knows that when I pick him up and carry him up to his room, it's bedtime. (He also probably knows by me saying, "it's bedtime, boo", but more on that in a minute.) I hold him for a minute or two, give him a snuggle, tell him that I love him, and put him down. Al then covers him up with the blanket, I raise the crib rail, we tell him we'll see him in the morning, and that's it. He's down for 8 or 9 hours at least. At most there's a small whimper.

I mentioned in the Boston post that Austen seemed to understand me when I told him that he had to leave his hat on if he wanted to stay on the swings, and now I'm certain that he's understanding at least some of the things I'm telling him. Today he sat down hard on the floor and bonked his head on the couch, and it couldn't have hurt that much—the couch is soft—but I think it startled him. He started to cry when neither Al nor I picked him up immediately, and then he positively screamed when it was Al who reached for him instead of me. When he started to go into hysterics, I motioned for Al to hand him over, and I sat him on my lap facing me and let him put his head on my shoulder. He huh-huh-huh-waaaaaaaaaaaaahed for a little while with me murmuring in his ear, "it's OK, sweetie. You're fine, mommy's here" (and whispering to Al that this was more of a mind-running-through-all-the-horrible-things-that-could-have-happened cry than an I'm-hurt cry). I then sat him up and tried to get him to make eye contact with me, and when he continued to cry, I said, "do you want a drink of water? Would that make it better?" He immediately looked toward the water bottle lying on the couch, and then he reached for it. See? The kid was paying attention. I gave him some water, and the episode was over. He also knows the word "peekaboo" for sure, and will duck behind my leg, my laptop, or a towel to play, popping up at varying intervals to try to surprise me or Al.

Austen is seriously making strides in the walking department. (Oops, yes, I guess that's a pun.) He's furniture surfing with gusto now, boldly walking the length of the couch, circling the child-friendly cube ottomans, and looping the cherry side table to try to squeeze between the couch and the window. This morning he pushed the lightweight leather ottoman (which we usually use as a shoe-donning station) around the kitchen while holding a wooden salad spoon in one hand. In fact, he often has something in one hand these days; he'll find something interesting and hang onto it for hours. Today it was the wooden spoon, then a Sharpie, and then a set of chopsticks from the Han Ah Reum (which he refused to let go of even when we put him in the tub); yesterday it was the X-10 remote that Al donated to his toybox; the day before that, it was my old hairbrush; and the day before that it was a set of baby nail clippers. I'm not sure whether the precious object fascination has anything to do with him no longer insisting that we hold both of his hands before he'll take a step, but he's definitely (a) not releasing the precious object, and (b) not waiting for us to grab both hands before he takes off. He tends to overthink the stepping motion a bit when getting an assist from only one side, causing him to move more sideways than forward; I know it's more of a mental problem than a physical one because I've seen him just do it—walk normally—when his attention is focused on something other than his feet.

Meanwhile, Austen is also getting more mobile when he's not on his feet. He's not crawling yet; though he often gets on all fours and wiggles a lot, he doesn't go anywhere from that position. Instead, he'll either roll onto one hip and scootch forward using one arm and one foot, or he'll roll onto his belly and wriggle backwards. He can get really far either way, as well as by ooching forward on his butt (i.e., by using his heels to drag his butt forward).

On the same day Austen clearly said "Mama" for the first time, I also thought I heard him say "up-pa" when he wanted to be picked up. I wasn't sure, though, especially since I couldn't remember ever saying "up" to him when I picked him up. When he said it again the next day, however, I started paying attention to what Al and I were saying so I could figure out where he'd gotten it. It turns out that I do ask him, "do you want to be picked up?" quite a bit, so that's probably where the association came from. In any case, he knows "up" now. I think I also heard him say "Papi" when David Ortiz came up to bat in the bottom of the first inning tonight, but I can't be sure. I'll have to test that theory tomorrow afternoon. ;)

One of Austen's bottom teeth has pushed its way up past the gumline, and its partner is now just breaking the surface as well. Meanwhile, the canine that started the teething bonanza is also sticking up/out, and once in a while, when Austen tilts his head while eating, we can see the top two teeth working their way down. The overall impression when you look at his mouth is that there are teeth, plural, even though it's really only the one sticking up significantly.

This has been my first month of full-time stay-at-home momhood since Austen was three months old, and it's been an adjustment. Today I'm feeling fairly positive about my mothering abilities, perhaps because Al took vacation and was around the house most of the day (except when he went out to play pickup hockey), but there are days I feel like a completely crap mother—especially when I can't actively play with Austen all the time like the babysitter did. I find I need to break up my week somehow, or I'll go bonkers. In the past couple weeks I've driven down to Maryland to visit my parents for a couple days mid-week, and to visit our friend Allison and her new 6 week-old, Nora, on a Thursday. (It helps to know that Allison was desperate to see us as we were to see her. :) I also met in person here in Philadelphia a woman I met online through this blog on a day when we both desperately needed some adult interaction.

When I can't think of anywhere to go (or I can't justify wasting gasoline just to save my sanity), Austen and I walk to Schuylkill River Park, our new favorite place to play on the swings. I like it better than the park at 23rd and the Parkway partly because the walk there isn't uphill, partly because there's rarely a line for the baby swings (despite there being only two), partly because the walk there is longer and more peaceful, and partly because the park is big enough not to feel crowded even when the dog runs, the basketball courts, the open grassy areas, and the playground equipment are all occupied. Austen is starting to get into the toddler climbing gym as well as the swings, and he gets really excited when other children get on the gym with him. He really wants to play.

We're still using the Bjorn occasionally, but it's more rare now. I mostly either carry Austen in my arms or use the stroller, though I did buy a Kelty Kids hiking backpack at REI this month. (I was mostly inspired to do this by our walk around Walden Pond; I'd like to go on other hikes with Austen and be able to see my feet.) So far I've only used the backpack once, when I needed to vacuum the house this week and didn't have anywhere else to put Austen while doing it. (The Exersaucer was retired last month; Austen's gotten too tall for it, but more importantly, he started to see it as a confining device rather than a source of freedom as he once did.) I found it quite strenuous to crouch down to suck up Cheerios and other debris in the kitchen and dining room, but other than that, the backpack worked like a charm. Austen just sat up there playing with the baby nail clippers, and he only pulled my hair once or twice.

Gigantor

When I went down to see Allison and her 6 week-old, Nora, a couple weeks ago, I was struck by how tiny Nora was. It was odd thinking that Austen was ever that small, but of course he was born even smaller. When Austen hit 10 lbs., I remember worrying that I wouldn't be able to lift him at all if he got any heavier, but I could hold 10-pound Nora in one arm. (Obviously, my body has adapted as Austen's grown; I actually have functioning biceps now. :)

Most of the time Austen still seems little to me, but I think it's because I measure him against me—and next to me, he *is* pretty tiny. Next to Nora, however, he looks like he swallowed something radioactive, as this photo (taken by Allison) attests:

Hurry the Fuck UP

If the fucking UPS man doesn't show up in the next five fucking minutes, I'm going to go round the FUCKING BEND.

I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE.

When Life Gives You Lemons, Call Your Husband to Come Home Right Away and Then Make Lemon-Colored Frosting

Hurricane Beanboy

In the time it took me to put on my makeup this morning (i.e., about 4 minutes), the Beaner:

• Emptied the "safe" cupboard in the bathroom of a giant container of Softsoap, a lightbulb, an old (but unused) ovulation predictor stick, and a package of pantiliners
• Dumped the package of pantiliners all over the floor and scattered them as widely as his little hands could manage
• Unraveled an entire roll of toilet paper, then ripped off two sheets and ate them
• Dismantled the standalone toilet paper holder and dumped the various small parts amid the pantiliners
• Raised himself to a standing position with the aid of the toilet
• Flushed the toilet twice
• Worked his way around the toilet to the (very heavy) magazine basket and pushed it aside like it was a Kleenex box
• Grabbed the bag lining the trash can and started reaching for the mounds of icky crap inside.

That's when I finally put down the mascara and called in the National Guard.

Good Plan

I'm going to try this: Instead of writing in the little book beside my bed each night what we did that day, I'm going to write what we did tomorrow!

Get Up, Stand Up... Scare Your Mom To Death

I was saying in an e-mail to Valerie tonight that I only seem to have time these days to write about Austen's milestones OR mine, not both. (Hopefully our new twice-a-week babysitter will help me remedy that, though part of the reason I searched for a sitter in the first place—so I could attend open hockey sessions at UPenn during the day—will also generate more hockey blog material with which to keep up.) In any case, since Al is refusing to switch from Monday Night Football to The Apprentice: Martha Stewart on TiVo, and I've lost interest in the game because I've already won my two fantasy league games, I have time to blog about Austen stuff right now.

I mentioned that Austen's been getting on all fours and wiggling around a lot but rarely going anywhere (except backwards), but the other day I actually witnessed him crawl across the bed to get to my nightstand. Al didn't believe me that he'd crawled —or at least, he wanted to see it with his own eyes before he'd confirm than an actual forward crawl had occurred. On Saturday he got his chance: While we were waiting for a table at the Rock Bottom Brewery, Al set Austen down on the floor...where he crawled around in a circle and then over to me. It's weird that his crawling skills seem to be developing in tandem with his walking skills (which are really getting good—he's now taking independent steps between the furniture instead of securing a handhold first).

A quick aside to mention our experience at the Rock Bottom Brewery before I continue, mainly because I know if I don't write about it here, I'll never write a separate post about it. We thought it was a fluke when the service completely sucked the last time we ate at the King of Prussia Rock Bottom, but it now appears that it's company policy (a) to understaff the dining room, making for long seating waits despite the many empty tables, and (b) for servers to take drink and appetizer orders and then return 10 minutes later, sans drinks or appetizers, to take entree orders. Both last year's visit and this one had us imploring the server to PLEASE bring us our drinks before putting the entree order in. Sadly, at this visit they'd also run out of the house-brewed root beer (at 4pm!), which is the main reason Al wanted to eat there. The good news is that the appetizer I ordered, a cheese and beer sampler that included apples, grapes, grainy horshradish mustard, summer sausage (which I gave to Al) and lavosh crackers in addition to three kinds of cheese and three kinds of beer, was excellent. One of the cheese types was a little pitcher of fondue, which inspired us to try making fondue for the first time ever on Sunday... but that's another story.

Austen, who'd finished his Cheerios and baby food before the drinks arrived, was cruising around under the table when another couple with a 10 month-old was seated next to us. They had a very similar experience to ours in that their baby finished his meal before any sign of adult food or drinks arrived; unlike us, they showed some sense and left when the baby started to squirm (without eating or drinking themselves). They missed out on the excellent cheese and beer sampler (and the $8.30 gallon of the Rocktoberfest brew—bargain!—that I got to go), but I still think their course was the wiser one. We'll be making our own cheese platters at home from now on (and getting the beer to go) rather than sitting down at Rock Bottom.

Anyway, back at home, for the second time in a week we had trouble getting Austen to bed. It's been the norm for a couple months now to nurse him for a little while and then put him to bed asleep or nearly so with no fuss. One night last week, however, he was refusing to settle down, so we put him in the crib at 8:30 and let him cry for a while. I figured I could take the opportunity to vacuum the house, since I wouldn't be keeping him awake, and the vacuum noice might even soothe him. After 30 minutes, however, he was still screaming inconsolably, so I went into his room to pick him up... and the smell hit me as soon as I opened the door. He'd apparently worked himself into such a frenzy that he pooped. I changed his diaper, nursed him a little more, and then put him to bed without incident.

Saturday night was a repeat of the previous incident, only without the vacuuming. Even though Austen seemed to be shouting more than screaming inconsolably after 30 minutes, I went up to check on him just in case all that red-faced hollering had resulted in another poopy diaper. I was already saying, "OK now, what's all the fuss about?" as I opened the door, but "it's bedtime" turned into "it's bedARIEEEEEEEEEEEEEAUGGGGHH!!!!" Austen's crib is just to the right of the door, and there he was—the VERY SCARY BABY—standing up at the end of his crib, shouting. Of course, my screaming and leaping about five feet forward into the room scared the crap out of him as well, and he switched from shouting to crying again. It turned out he *had* pooped, though whether his diaper was dirty because he was shouting, or he was shouting because his diaper was dirty, I couldn't tell you. It's also possible that I really did scare the crap out of him; the timing is a little unclear.

In any case, I changed his diaper and let him sit on my lap and play for a while, and then Al put him to bed at about 9:30 (after a long speech about the power of meditation and self-soothing). Al says Austen wasn't asleep when he put him in the crib, but that he was calm. We didn't hear another squeak out of him until 6:30 on Sunday. Needless to say, between football games and fondue on Sunday, Al went up to lower the mattress on the crib from level 3 to level 4.

Eerie aside: On Friday night I dreamed that I asked Al to lower the crib mattress because I was afraid Austen would stand up and fall over the side. Thank god there was no falling involved when Austen did stand in his crib for the first time—only a near heart attack, and that on my part.

Gratuitous Site Plug

I almost called this a gratuitous baby photo post (a phrase stolen from ratphooey), but really it's more of a gratuitous site plug that just happens to be on a baby.

They're Sharp!

I've been trying to get a good shot of the Beaner's teeth with the 10-D, but it's difficult—he'll only display the chompers when I'm not hiding behind the camera. Today I got lucky with the cameraphone, though: A missed headshot while the Beaner was swinging resulted in a closeup of all three of his bottom teeth.

11 Months

Austen turns 11 months old today. He took his first real steps on Friday, getting bolder with each run between the ottomans and the couch (a run that got longer each time because the babysitter kept moving the ottomans :). Sometimes he'd sort of plunge forward, and other times he'd really get the hang of walking completely upright, taking full, confident, heel-to-toe steps. It's hard to believe that this time last year, he had his head, feet, and hands all stuck underneath my ribs, and that despite his hearty thrashing, he couldn't even turn himself head-down, much less cruise around the room without me. In eleven months, Austen has gone from a tiny, grunty, swaddled little newborn to a sturdy, vocal, corduroy-wearing toddler.

On Thursday he went in for another well-baby visit with the pediatrician. We never got around to determining the over/under ahead of time; instead, we just looked at each other and said "how much do you think he weighs?" right before we plopped His Nakedness on the scale. Al's guess was 23.5 lbs, and I threw out 24 just for variety. I wouldn't have been surprised at anything between 23 and 24.5 pounds. (He was 23 lbs. 10 oz.) For the first time, he was allowed (or able?) to sit up on the scale instead of being forced to lie down. He seemed to tolerate the weighing better this way, though the socket into which the scale was plugged was in far too convenient a spot for a sitting 11 month-old who loves power cords. (Our first disciplinary battles have been over the touching of cords and diaper pails.)

Anyway, while I hadn't anticipated being able to sit Austen up on the scale, I *had* thought they might stand him up to measure him. No dice: He had to lie down, which seems like a great way to get an inaccurate measurement, if you ask me. This month's seemed more accurate than August's, however. I suspect that the August one was off because it indicated that he'd grown less than 1/2" since his 5-month visit, and this one indicated that he'd grown over 3" since August. My bet is that he grew about an inch between 5 months and 8 months, and about 2" between 8 months and 11 months. That he'd grown some in the last month or so was definitely noticeable; when we switched to long pants (size 12-18 mo.) in September, they had to be rolled up, but by last week this was no longer the case.

Partly because of the wonky height measurement at 8 months, and partly because Austen's much more mobile now (have I mentioned before that he's a very proficient crawler?), his dots on the growth charts have flip-flopped: Whereas at 8 months he was in the 90th percentile for weight and the 75th (or 70th?) percentile for height, at 11 months he is in the 75th percentile for weight and the 90th percentile for height. In short, he's tall, and he's growing faster than he's gaining weight (finally).

Austen is on target with all the developmental milestones, says the pediatrician, and from my own observations and others', he's happy, interactive, silly, curious, and amenable to new people and places. It's still easy to strap him into the stroller or the car seat and head out on errands or other diversions, and it's almost as easy to leave him with the babysitter for a couple hours at a time while I go out to play hockey. We even left him with the sitter for 7 hours AT NIGHT! on Wednesday when Al took me to a New Jersey Devils game for my birthday. Of course, I missed him nearly every moment of those 7 hours, but I only worried about him a little.

I used to wonder why a stay-at-home Mom who didn't work would need a babysitter, but now I know: Without help a couple days a week, nothing would ever get done. Even though Austen naps fairly regularly, and it's easy to take him on errands, it's no longer possible to cook, bake, or clean the house without someone else watching him. He can still technically fit into the Bjorn, but it's not particularly comfortable for either of us, and cleaning or cooking with him in the backpack carrier is a bit too strenuous for me. I'll admit that cleaning and cooking weren't the main reasons I hired a babysitter at the beginning of the month—hockey was—but they're the reason I asked the sitter to come twice a week instead of just Fridays.

I still struggle occasionally to get through the non-babysitter days; they're even a bit tougher than before I had help because Austen tries to make up for lost Mommy time by being clingier. You'd never know that he missed me at all when Hannah is here—they play and laugh non-stop—but as soon as she leaves he wants me to hold him all the time. He'll often wake up at 2 or 3 in the morning on Wednesdays and Saturdays (instead of his usual 5:30 or 6:30) so that he'll get some extra snuggle/nursing time in our bed. Basically, under the current arrangement both my highs and my lows are magnified: On the bad days my crankiness, my frustration, my anger, and sometimes even my despair seem overwhelming. On the good days, though, the joy is pretty limitless.

This week will be an interesting one because Hannah is away for a long weekend and won't be coming on Tuesday, and Austen and I leave Wednesday for Valerie's house in Maine. I debated for a long time about how to swing this trip, especially after getting some good advice about driving alone with a baby to Maine from my friend Shannon ("DON'T DO IT!"). I looked into flying, but in the end I decided to try something a little unconventional but possibly fun: I'm driving, but making frequent stops. On Wednesday we'll be driving from Philadelphia to Danbury, CT; on Thursday we'll go from Danbury to Lexington, MA (where we'll hopefully have dinner with our friends Anne & Peggy); on Friday we'll head up to Portland, where we'll stay until Sunday morning; and on Sunday we'll drive from Portland down to Springfield, MA. (These legs are all designed to be between 2 and 3.5 hours, which is about Austen's range in the car.) After checking in at the hotel in Springfield, we'll make a short drive down to Hartford, CT to pick Al up at the airport, and on Monday morning the three of us will head back to Philly. This last leg is the longest, but it's also the one where I'll have help—one of us can sit in the back seat with Austen if he starts to wig out.

I don't think I've ever been to Portland before (I might have been as a kid, but I don't remember), so I'm looking forward to seeing it, and of course to seeing Valerie. I'm also interested to see what it's like to go on an extended trip with Austen by myself. I do worry a bit that Austen will miss Al, especially since Al now gets up with him every morning so I can have a little extra sleep. Both of them really enjoy their morning time together; the father-son bonding has been spectacular. It's so cute when Austen wakes up/stops nursing, rolls over, sits up, and starts patting Al on the shoulder (or in the face, if the shoulder gets no response), saying "Dadda! Dadda! Up!"

When I get back from Maine, we'll need to buckle down and start planning Austen's first birthday party. As I've probably said many times before, first birthdays are a big deal in Korean culture, so it won't be your average kiddie party. The two things we've settled on are the date (Dec. 3 instead of the Saturday after Thanksgiving, for reasons that were obvious to everyone but us until recently) and the location (our house, because we can't find a good Korean restaurant in Philly); the rest is all up in the air. At the very least we need to figure out the food and lodging arrangements asap.

OK, before I go off rambling ad nauseam (too late!), I want to leave you with a perhaps-clichéd analogy: Parenthood really is like the Army, from the boot camp-like early days to the sometimes monotonous patrol duties to the singing of songs while marching around (I think only current parents will understand that last one). It certainly changes the way you look at and interact with the world, and it is indeed the toughest job you'll ever love.

Scary Halloween Photos

I still have some half-written entries to publish to the all hallow's eve blog, which by and large was not a great success this year. Between the mobs of kids who all came together and having a hungry toddler in a shark suit to manage, I had a hard time keeping track of the parade of costumes, the candy choices, and the funny kid quotes.

I've posted a few photos of Austen's costume on Flickr, of which the following is representative:

!Vacation

I had intended to blog about each day of our trip in the evenings after Austen went to sleep, but I've been too tired to keep it up. I've found that the toughest thing about this trip is not the driving—that's the easiest part, in fact—but being the only parent on duty for the other 21 hours a day. How do single parents do it???

Maine

Austen and I left Lexington, Massachusetts for Portland, Maine at roughly 8:45am yesterday. The tree colors as we traveled north moved more to the orange-umber end of the scale, with an occasional shockingly white birch trunk sticking out like an exclamation mark amid the brittle-looking browns. We made it to Portland at about 11am and headed straight for the Eastern Promenade (Valerie's "nice day" suggestion). Sadly, the nice weather only lasted long enough for me to get Austen out of the car seat and into the stroller (i.e., about 5 minutes of serious whining and wiggling). The sun went in as we locked the car and pushed off toward Casco Bay, and no sun + freezing wind = only 15 minutes at the playground along the Prom.

From our spot on Congress Street we backtracked to Cumberland and the Portland Public Market (Valerie's "icky day" suggestion). I bought two bottles of Shipyard Pumpkinhead Ale at the Maine Beer & Beverage Company stand and then continued around the market looking for lunch prospects. After a few loops, I settled on a potato-leek soup from Stone Soup (I think that's what it was called) to accompany my one remaining cinnamon-raisin peanut butter sandwich on Metropolitan Bakery sandwich wheat bread (I made three of them for the trip). The soup was a little thinner (and therefore drippier) than I like, but other than that it wasn't bad.

We did a few more loops around the market just for fun, and then we went out into the chilly-raw air of downtown Portland. Since buying the Pumpkin Ale had put me in a beer mood, and I don't think it's legal to drink beer in the open market, I had in mind searching for a good pub. I never did find one, but I did find some cool graffiti, the Portland Pirates' store and administrative offices (where I bought a t-shirt), and other random local color worth photographing. At around 1:30 we finally decided to get out of the cold and head to Valerie's house.

Once we'd located the keys Val had hidden for us and then determined which door of her duplex she lived behind, we went inside and were immediately greeted by Bonita, Val's cat. More doglike than catlike, I'd say, and obviously not familiar with the whisker-pulling, eye-poking, fur-ruffling ways of toddlers. Even when she had familiarized herself with these toddler techniques, however, she still seemed more inclined to hang around Austen than to run away. Doglike, I tell you.

Val came home from school at around 2:20, and we hung out and chatted until her violin students started showing up at 3:45. Austen was mesmerized by Val's pre-lesson warmups, which included stretching on the floor and playing a few scales and short songs on her violin.

And... We're Back

Austen and I returned, along with Al (who flew up to Hartford to meet us on Sunday), from Maine on Monday. We had great weather every day except Sunday (which was foggy and drizzly), and especially on Saturday, when the air was brisk but not cold, the sun was warm but not roasty, and the wind was cool but not frigid. Perfect Dreamweaver fleece weather. Val, Austen, and I started the day with a hike around Mackworth Island just north of Portland in Falmouth, Maine. Fabulous and varied views and terrain; it was somewhat similar to our walk around Walden Pond, only with the water on the outside of the loop rather than the inside. (Walden, if you'll recall, was what prompted me to purchase the Kelty Kids backpack, and I wore it on this hike with pretty good success. I had considered going over to Walden while we were in Lexington, Mass, btw, but I went to a playground instead.)

From Falmouth we drove to the opposite end of Portland to visit Portland Head Light on Cape Elizabeth. The spectacular weather really enhanced the experience of visiting the lighthouse and the park around it. Austen fell asleep in the car on the way there, so he didn't get to admire the lighthouse or the amazing view, but I've shown him the photos.

After all the beautiful views and brisk weather, we went to Silly's, a local Portland eatery, for lunch. There was a Magic 8-Ball on the table, and Val offered to get an answer for any question I cared to ask, but I found that I couldn't come up with anything I really wanted to know. (Guess I'm finally living in the moment!) Austen was another story; he was very eager to know when he would be walking on his own, when I'd let him drive the car, and especially when he'd get to eat.

I fed him a jar of apples & blueberries while we looked over the menu. Val ordered some crab-stuffed mushrooms to share and a greek salad with the feta on the side, and I got a giant Harvest Burger with BBQ and bleu cheese sauces (yeah, I'm really that decadent) and sweet potato fries. The fries were EXCELLENT; I had no trouble finishing them, especially since Austen ate quite a few. They were fried with their skins on and tasted more like baked sweet potato strips than french fries. Yummy. The Harvest Burger was homemade and HUGE, and although it was delicious, I couldn't finish the whole thing. Ditto the pint of locally-brewed root beer.

After a sufficient interval, during which we played with Austen in the house and napped, Valerie made the most awesome zucchini-onion-broccoli-mushroom-tomato soup for dinner. How something so simple (and so vegan) can taste so delicious, I'll never know; credit Valerie's talent in the kitchen and experience with fresh fruits and vegetables.

On Sunday morning Austen was up at 6:30, as usual (well, he wakes up and wants to nurse before that, but he usually sits up and starts poking me—or Al, if available—around 6 or 6:30). Luckily Valerie also rises early, so we didn't interrupt her sleep routine too much by being in the house. We went downstairs to say good morning, brush teeth, etc., and then I took Austen back upstairs so I could get dressed and pack while Val cooked breakfast (wheat-free apple pancakes for me, and homemade applesauce for Austen; now that I know how easy applesauce is to make, I've made three batches since returning home :). This is when the crying started.

Val was being kind, or at least circumspect, when she said "Austen gave us a glorious example of the highs and lows of a day in the life of raising a toddler." She definitely got to witness highs and lows throughout the weekend, but the low I suspect she was referring to here was the non-stop crying jag-turned-tantrum that Austen threw when I put him down so I could pack. At first I set him on the floor, but he kept UNpacking the suitcase while screaming, so instead I put him in the Pack 'n Play not one foot from where I was standing, got dressed, and tried to pat down my sticking-up hair. This was when I realized that my arms were so sore from carrying him for the past four days that I couldn't hold them over my head, and when Austen decided that I was going to leave him there and never come back. Or maybe he noticed that I couldn't get my arms over my head, and despaired of ever being picked up again. In any case, the screaming reached a fever pitch.

I relented and lifted him out of the Pack 'n Play and stood him up at my feet. He hugged my knees and clawed my thighs and screamed even louder. With my hair still looking like shit and makeup on only one side of my face, I picked him up and tried to console him. He scratched my face, pushed against me with his feet, and tried to strangle me. These are indications that I have become both his tormentor and his savior. He wants me to help him, to fix him, to MAKE IT BETTER, but at the same time he hates me for any number of crimes I've committed against him. He ends up looking like the Exorcist baby, writhing, crying, and clawing, giving both "PUT ME DOWN" and "DON'T YOU DARE LET GO" signals. I got down on the floor with Austen and tried to snuggle him, to jiggle him, to kiss his forehead and tell him I love him, but he wasn't having any of it. And after 10 minutes straight of screaming, I called Al.

Usually I can last at least 20 minutes before going round the bend, but after four days of being the only parent on duty, I was already near my wit's end. (This happens at home sometimes, too, when I don't get enough of a break to completely regroup: My anger and despair stay just beneath the surface, waiting to be roiled up by a Difficult Child Attack.) I needed help, moral support, another parent. Unfortunately, when I reached Al he tried to comfort Austen via phone, instead of trying to comfort me. I think I said the reason I was calling was that Austen was throwing a tantrum, but I didn't make clear that it was I who needed soothing, not him. Austen threw the phone across the room as Al said, "it's OK, buddy, it's OK", and that was it for the call. Neither of us called back.

As Austen continued to thrash and scream, I started to wail, "Austen, you HAVE TO STOP CRYING!", and then I started sobbing. The initial shock of seeing me blubber caused him to dial it back a bit at first, but then he continued the tantrum where he left off. It was time for desperate measures: I was going to have to impose on Valerie. I brought Austen downstairs, tears streaming down both of our faces, and managed to whisper, "can you take him for a little bit? I need to regroup." Valerie gave me a hug and took Austen from me.

When I came down about 10 minutes later, dressed and packed, Austen was sitting on Valerie's hip while she made applesauce. I said to him, "will you give Mommy a hug and tell me all is forgiven?" He reached out for me, put his head on my shoulder, and squeezed me around the neck, lovingly this time. Then he struggled to get down so he could play with the jars and containers under Valerie's sink.

After snarfing down applesauce and pancakes, I loaded up the car with our luggage and a much-coveted jar of Valerie's blueberry jam, took some final photos of Valerie and her lovely house and yard, and Austen and I headed out for Springfield, Mass. The goal was to get to the hotel around 3pm, feed Austen lunch, and watch a little football until Al's plane arrived at Bradley International Airport at 5:50pm. We made it with time to spare, at around 2:30pm. Austen ate a bunch of cheese, some more baby food, and some of the applesauce Valerie sent home with us, and then both of us got restless. I decided to just walk to the end of the street to see if there was a Starbucks nearby, but I ended up going completely around the block (no mean feat while carrying a 24-lb. baby). Good thing I did, because I noticed that we were adjacent to the Mass Mutual Center, where the Springfield Falcons hockey team plays... and that there was a game at 4pm.

I realized that Austen probably wouldn't last more than a couple periods anyway, so it was probably feasible to take him to the game and still pick up Al at the airport. I went back to the car, got the Bjorn and a sweater out, strapped Austen in, and walked back to the Mass Mutual Center. We ended up getting a seat right in front of the visitors' goal, which was a mixed blessing; great view, but I had to worry about one of us getting beaned by a misfired puck.

Luckily we didn't incur any injuries, though we did have to endure some loud and inane screeching from the teenage girl behind us, and some scary shouting from a 50 year-old guy in the next section over who wanted a specific Springfield player to know just how much of a pussy he was. That, and some ridiculously over-the-top cheering every time a fight broke out. This is the thing I'll never understand about minor-league hockey: Why do the teams, the leagues, and the fans all encourage—even promote—fighting? Go to a boxing match if you want to see a fight, for pete's sake. I want to see skating, passing, and shooting, thank you very much. In any case, it made me re-think the idea of taking Austen to minor league games in the future, even though they cost a fraction of NHL games.

We did indeed manage to pick Al up at the airport, and we had a nice evening together before heading back to Philly the following day. We made the requisite stop in Norwalk to visit Stew Leonard's and stock up on everything from asparagus to scones, and we even got the perfect photo of fall foliage when we put on the four-way flashers, rolled down the passenger window, and pressed the shutter button exactly once on the Canon 10-D before continuing on our way back to I-95:

It's Cold, So Please Touch

Today, as it was yesterday, it is cold here in Philadelphia. On Tuesday (which was decidedly warm) I had taken my bicycle in to Trophy Bikes on Walnut to get a baby seat installed on the back, knowing full well that doing so would cause a cold snap that would mean the end of bicycling season. Ah well, at least I'll be ready for spring.

Anyway, having taken Austen out in the frigid weather yesterday, I knew it was really too cold for him to be out at the playground with the babysitter today. We were discussing possible indoor activities this morning when it occurred to me that Austen is now probably old enough to enjoy the Please Touch Museum, which is currently located 1 1/2 blocks from our house. (It's moving down near the Art Museum at some unspecified point in the future.) I figured that if an annual membership were $100 or so, it'd probably be worth it.

It turns out that a membership for 4 people (any four people over 12 months of age) is only $75 a year—a total bargain, IMHO. We walked over there together, I filled out an application, and violá, Austen and Hannah had an indoor acitivity. I can't wait to hear how he liked it, and to visit with Al on a weekend. Woo hoo!

This Boops Was Made for Walking

In three weeks, Austen has gone from three or four steps in a row to a walking MACHINE. He crosses rooms with confidence and without a specific destination in mind, swerves around obstacles, carries precious objects with him, and is unfazed when he trips. I could sit and watch him run circles around the living room all day.

It's particularly endearing (and amusing) to watch him amble around in just a onesie or just a diaper, with his sturdy, chubby legs poking out and his butt doing a little Nancy Sinatra waggle as he approaches the intriguing contents of a closet. (I don't have any photos of this scenario at the moment, so you'll have to take my word for its cuteness.)

At the moment Austen is careening around the living room, tripping over his own feet, pieces of string, and more substantial obstacles like bits of alumninum foil. I failed in my attempt to get him down for a nap an hour ago, when he gave every sign that he desperately needed one, which means he is now acting like a stumbling drunk. He's really too tired to stay on his feet, and yet he persists. I know I should pick him up and try again to get him to nap, but it's just so damn funny to see him wobbling around, bouncing off the furniture.

I Have to Work At It

I'm thinking about going back to work—traditional, for-pay, intellectually-stimulating work, as opposed to the heavy manual labor I do at home for free. At the moment I'm feeling too mentally and physically exhausted after a difficult day with Austen to explain how I came to this decision (or maybe I just did :), but suffice to say it's something I've been thinking about for a while. I think I'm finally at the point where I want to describe publicly what I'm looking for, and to post my resume.

Ideally, I'd work part-time (3-4 days a week), although a full-time job where I work at home at least two days a week might suit as well. I'm leaning toward technical writing for a software/web engineering audience—API documentation, feature specifications, internal process documentation, etc.—but my experience would probably fit other positions as well. I love writing sample code, tracking down and fixing bugs, and explaining how and why things work the way they do. I love watching (and helping) ideas evolve; in my 6 years with the Dreamweaver team I wore many hats, but I was probably most valuable as a combination of devil's advocate and team historian.

Anyway, I've posted my resume [link removed] if you want more details about my work history. If you have any questions—or know of an interesting job opening—feel free to e-mail me at lori at avocado8 dot com or comment on this post. I'm obviously living in Philadelphia, but I'm open to jobs in other locations if the employer is OK with me working remotely most of the time.

Update: I've gotten a new job, so I've removed the link to my resume and closed the comments. Thanks to everyone who forwarded me openings and suggestions! -- Lori, 01.27.06

Shopping

My favorite phonecam photo from yesterday's trip to the Please Touch Museum. It looks like an action shot you'd see accompanied by a news article about an approaching snowstorm.

Next time I'll bring the Canon and try to get some high-quality snaps; this trip was a spur-of-the-moment thing where I walked out the front door with Austen on my hip, so I didn't bring any accessories (or even a diaper bag). Last year at this time our Please Touch days seemed so very far off, and now here we are enjoying our proximity and shiny new 4-person membership. Hard to believe that tomorrow Austen turns ONE YEAR OLD. Wow.

One

Austen turns one today. At 3:36pm, to be exact. The Thanksgiving weekend brought back memories of this time last year, when I was debating whether to run errands or sit on the couch, but now that Austen's birthday is finally here, it's difficult to connect it with November 30 of last year. I was awakened at 5:30am this morning just as I was last year, but this time it was by a hungry Austen rather than my alarm clock. Around this time (10:30am) last year, I was asleep in a hospital bed; today I'm blogging in the dining room while Austen sleeps in the stroller. I guess that's mostly what's different: I'm at home. I'm not pregnant. I'm not anxious. I'm not hungry. Oh, and it's not all about me anymore, much as I'd like it to be; there's the little matter of the Beaner who follows me around.

It's difficult to completely reflect on the full year gone by in the sleepy state I find myself (mostly because of a late hockey game last night), but my overall impression is that it's been interesting. I might be able to blog more effectively about this crazy year tomorrow, or the next day, or maybe on December 4 (which is the day we brought Austen home last year); right now, all I can really describe is how I feel... well, right now.

When Austen smiles, he can light up a room (not to mention my heart). When he buries his head into my shoulder and squeezes me around the neck, I feel so loved that I want to burst. When he laughs that full, throaty, gaspy, whole-body laugh, I can't help laughing too. I love inspecting his teeth and stroking his chubby little cheeks, chasing him around the kitchen and dining room, and holding him upside down. I don't mind taking an hour to go five blocks because he wants to walk next to the stroller.

On the other hand, when Austen smashes his head into my cheek or my chin, he can completely ruin my day. It seems odd to say it, given that I still remember well the incredibly painful early days of breastfeeding, the Sleepless Nights of Solidarity, and being snowed in back in February, but I think this past month has been the hardest one of all so far. I'm sure I'm just forgetting how bad it was at times over the past 12 months, and I'm sure some day I'll look back and laugh that I thought this was tough. But for now, it is tough.

The sunny disposition Austen shows to practically every friend and stranger we meet tends to disappear behind the clouds when we return home. While most days are partly to mostly cloudy, there are days of extreme overcast and sudden thundershowers. On more than one occasion this month, Al has come home to a driving downpour, unsure of whom to console first.

This has been the month when all the reasons I didn't want to become a parent have been smacking me in the face on a daily basis. (My cheeks are pretty fucking raw, I must say.) The days of, "hey, I'm pretty good at this after all!" seem to have been some kind of cruel April Fool's joke. My emotional barometer seems to be stuck in the low-pressure zone of frustration, anger, and guilt, with occasional dips into complete inadequacy. I'd say I was suffering from post-partum depression, but after 12 months, that doesn't seem very likely.

It's hard to reconcile all these sad-end-of-the-scale feelings with my love for Austen, and I'm afraid with all the morose introspection I've been engaging in lately (mainly as an alternative to screaming, yelling, and crying), I'm going to miss some really great moments and milestones from this stage of his life. I've already noticed that I have fewer photos of him from the past month than I've taken in previous months, though to be fair that's partly because he doesn't sit still anymore. It's much more difficult to take photos of a baby who's (a) running at you; (b) might dash into the street while you're lining up your shot; (c) sticks his hands in the VCR or pulls plugs out of their sockets while you're reviewing the last couple shots you just took; or (d) won't stop crying. I suppose taking photos of the tantrums might be worthwhile for historical purposes, if nothing else, but all that screaming tends to chase thoughts of the camera out of my brain.

I did get several photos today while the babysitter was here to help corral Austen and keep him from running into the street; I'll post those with notes about this month's developmental milestones later tonight. As you'll see from those photos, he was pretty cheery today. And thank god, because a little sunshine goes a long way.

Twelve Months

Today isn't just a yearly milestone for Austen; it's also a monthly one. And this month, it's been all about the walking. It's hard to remember a time when Austen *wasn't* walking, but it was only at the end of October that he first put three or four steps in a row together, and the second week of November (the 11th, to be exact) when he really took off. I knew we had reached the point of no return when he crossed a Starbucks on the morning of the 12th to beg another patron for her baked goods.

This means, of course, that it's often a struggle to get him into the stroller now. I think some experience working with mental patients and straight jackets would be helpful at this stage, and unfortunately I have none. I have gotten rather deft at preventing Austen from slipping under the napper bar on the Zooper while strapping him in by using my arm as a center post, but the Maclaren, which has no napper bar, presents more of a problem. The good news is that once you get him in there, usually all it takes to keep him happy is a Starbucks cup or a cell phone.

The other night when we took Austen to the park (for the first time in a couple weeks), Austen didn't want to swing for very long, and he showed no interest at all in the slide. Instead he wanted to push the stroller—or at least, he wanted us to push the stroller so he could walk alongside it. We crossed from the far end of the park to 25th Street this way, and when we got to the crosswalk he seemed to understand when I said, "you have to hold Daddy's hand when you're crossing the street." I don't know whether he thought it was a one-time thing, whether he hadn't really understood the first time, or whether he really just wanted to DO IT HIMSELF, but at each subsequent crossing he would whimper, whine, struggle, and cry when we tried to hold his hand. And god forbid should we try to pick him up. It was after dark by the time he finally relented and let Al stuff him in the stroller just short of 19th Street. It was so cute to see him walking so determinedly that we probably would have waited all night for him to get tired enough to stop.

Fewer and fewer people have been asking me "how old is she?", but I still occasionally hear other parents admonish their children to "be nice to her, she's just a baby" or compliments that my daughter is very cute. The babysitter also remarked on this phenomenon today; apparently someone in the park also mistook Austen for a girl. Neither the babysitter nor I can figure out why; maybe it's just that we already know Austen so well and know him to be a boy, but we can't see anything girlish about him. That mullet is all boy for sure.

I mentioned in my last post that I don't have that many photos of Austen's twelfth month (or I didn't until very recently, anyway), mainly because it's hard to take pictures of an entirely-too-mobile toddler. Older children know to stop and pose for photos, and they know not to wander down a flight of stairs while you're focusing the camera. I learned this weekend, when I asked for Al's help in holding Austen still so I could take a Christmas card photo, that the trick to getting cute photos of a toddler is to have help. As long as someone's around to steer Austen away from the stairs, the street, the outlets, the VCR, the edge of the deck, the gas tank under the grill, the compost pots, the wet pile of leaves in front of the house, and any number of other things messy and dangerous, it's actually possible to get some reasonably cute photos—and even some not-too-blurry action shots.

I'm sure there's some major milestone I'm missing in this summary—like maybe that we're doing well with the weaning and are down to only one nursing session per day (the one he wakes up at 5:30am for)—but there are only two others that I have photos of to jog my memory. One is that Austen has finally learned how to use a sippy cup properly. Many months ago our pediatrician asked us if he could hold a bottle by himself, and we shrugged and said, "yeah, I guess"; we didn't know for sure because we never really gave him bottles. He either nursed, or he took sips from our glasses or water bottles. It was only when he started eating more and more solids and I wanted to give him water that I noticed that he didn't really know how to hold a bottle.

I got him a couple sippy cups last month because the bottles we have are for newborns, and he was making too much of a mess with regular glasses (he kept sticking his hands in them). He long ago mastered the use of a straw, so when he saw the spout on the sippy cup he immediately tried to suck it like a straw. For two or three weeks we had to tip the cup up every time we wanted him to have some water or milk, and each time he would drop his hands and let us do it for him. I was getting tired of assisting in this manner, so this weekend I handed him a sippy cup full of water and let him try to figure it out, no pressure. After walking around with it for about an hour, he finally realized what he had to do to get the water out, and he's now a sippy cup pro.

The other big thing I've noticed—and it was only today that I was sure that's what he was doing—is that he's picking up books and "reading" them. He'll open one of his board books and start saying "da dat dat da da, da dat dat dat dat dat da da," as he turns the pages. He usually reads to someone—in the photo below it's Hannah, our babysitter, who's sitting off camera—and by the end of today he was responding when I said, "can you read your book to grandma/aunt Lisa/[whoever happened to be calling to wish him a happy birthday]"? He also did something interesting on Monday: When I said, appropos of nothing, "Beep! Beep! Sheep in a jeep on a hill that's steep!", he rummaged through his toy box, found his Sheep in a Jeep book, and brought it to me. Huh.

Better

I was planning to dash off a quick post last night to let regular readers of this blog know that I was feeling better, but I ended up using my hour or so of after-dinner computer time to read blogs from my Bookmarks list and noodle with my Fantasy Football lineup. I had planned to write a few lines about how ratphooey's short but pithy remark on my One post had really struck a chord and made me realize that much of my discontent could be traced to my failure to adapt to The New State of Things. How I took a good hard look at Austen from his eye level, relaxed, and let him tell me the news from babyland. (Indeed, much had changed since the last time I had gotten an update.)

I had planned to write about how the prospect of returning to work soon has made me want to cherish my remaining days as a stay-at-home mom, and how when I realized that I was not only not going to have to hold Austen forever, but that I wouldn't be able to hold Austen forever, I started not to mind doing it so much. I was planning to say that the head-butts aren't so day-ruining when I'm not already edgy and angry about the clinginess and the squirming during diaper changes. (We had a talk about that squirminess, and about why Mommy yells sometimes—it's when he doesn't listen that I get mad. Moral of the story, kid: Listen up!)

I was planning to write all this, and then the sleepless night happened. Well, not completely sleepless, but still, enough to make me wonder, at 1:48am, after holding Austen for 40 minutes and failing three times to get him to sleep in his crib, what ever made me think things were better. All the anger and frustration came back in a flood.

Interestingly, though, when I started to lose it, Austen seemed to consider his options and decide that he had it pretty good already being held by Mommy, and maybe he would stop all the kicking and crying. So that's a step forward. That, and the fact that this one crying-at-1am-and-needing-to-be-held night was a total outlier. On Monday night he slept from 7:15pm to 7:15am with only a no-intervention-needed squeak at 10:15. By the time I sat down to write this post (many hours ago—I've got so many items on my to-do list, things keep intervening), I'd already quite recovered. I'm a little sleep-deprived, but otherwise I'm in good humor.

While Austen was taking a two-hour-and-fifteen-minute nap this morning, it occurred to me that last night's trauma might have been connected to a growth spurt in his body, brain, teeth, or all three. I do know that he ate an ENORMOUS quantity of food yesterday, as if he were carbo-loading for a marathon. And after the nap today, he was thoroughly cheerful and especially talkative. (He doesn't say anything recognizable beyond "mama", "dada", and "uh-oh!", but he chatters quite a bit.) There was no 5pm meltdown, and he was relatively pleasant on the car ride to and from the mall (where we dropped off Al for some Christmas shopping) and to the ice rink (where I went to get a skate sharpening). He only grunted loudly and annoyingly for a few minutes (it's this screechy, throaty "UHHHHNHHH!" sound that sometimes makes him cough afterwards), and he stopped when he realized he was really starting to piss me off.

So anyway, things are better, despite the hour-and-a-half of baby wrangling at 1am. I'm starting to adapt. I'm getting what I can done around the house when the babysitter or Al is here, and I'm getting down on the floor and playing with Austen when they're not. I'm losing it less and less, and sucking it up, coping, and enjoying Austen more and more. Oh, and the first birthday party that I was stressing about for the past month went stupefyingly well on Saturday. I'll write about that (and post photos) next time.

Our Incredible Hulk

So I'm now 100% positive that the reason for Austen's cranky night—and the two 12+ hour nights on either side of it—was that he was having a growth spurt. When I tried to dress Austen on Friday, I had trouble getting his sweater over his head. We thought it was a fluke, that maybe the sweater had shrunk, but after three days of *every* shirt and sweater getting stuck, his pants and pajamas unsnapping whenever he moves, and his hat barely reaching over his ears, it's time to face facts: he grew. I couldn't get his beautiful new Jacadi wool coat zipped today without taking off the button down shirt he was wearing underneath it, for crap's sake.

I fear that all his lovely 12-18 month size clothes will be put in the Give Away pile soon. <sigh>

Weaning

Yes, I know—I still need to post about Austen's birthday. Unfortunately, the photos that go with that post are on the Mac, and I'm here in the dining room writing Christmas cards next to the PC laptop, so updates are of the Random Thoughts variety until all the cards are finished.

I wanted to mention, for my own historical record more than anything, that weaning is going well. We had been down to one nursing session per day since Austen and I returned from Maine (this coincides with when he started walking for real, though I'm not sure whether the two events are related), but this weekend he went an entire day without nursing at all.

The feeding we'd kept was the morning one, since Austen would wake up at 5:30 or 6 a little out of sorts and seemed to benefit from the snuggle-nursing. Books I've looked at since recommend keeping the bedtime feeding and then gradually reducing the duration of that feeding until it can be skipped entirely, but Austen didn't seem to need the nighttime feeding to go to sleep, so it went even before the naptime sessions did. We figure we missed a couple opportunities to wean him last week, when he slept until 7:45am; we realized afterwards that Al should have just brought him downstairs to play or have breakfast instead of putting him in bed with me, since he woke up cheerful both times and didn't really *need* to nurse.

Austen seemed to decide for himself on Sunday that he'd rather just snuggle than nurse, however, and I haven't nursed him since. We happened to be in a hotel room that morning when he woke up at 6:30, so the strange environment might have been a contributing factor; on Monday morning, when he got up at the same time, he cried when Al bypassed our bedroom and took him straight downstairs to play. He got over his dismay in a few minutes, however. This morning he woke up all cranky at 4am, so we dosed him with Tylenol, I snuggled him until he fell back to sleep, and then Al took him downstairs at 6:30 as usual.

I was thinking that the boobs were probably about done anyway, and that if Austen really wanted to nurse again this morning there wouldn't be anything left, but judging from how tender they are at the moment, I'd say they're a little puzzled that they haven't been called up for duty in over 72 hours. I'm sure that'll pass, though, along with the slight nostalgia for the bond Austen and I have shared these past twelve and a half months. I think both of us were 90% ready to move on, 10% clinging to the past, and it was time.

I wonder if I'll ever get used to sleeping without a bra on again.

Slow on the Uptake

Does the fact that I'm an idiot make it more likely or less likely that I'll be picked for a jury today? I ask because I'm leaving for the courthouse in 10 minutes, and I need to know whether to arrange for backup childcare.

The evidence that I'm an idiot? Remember how I said (I did say this, right?) that getting down and playing on the floor with Austen instead of trying to get things done around him had made things much better around here? Luckily, I figured that out shortly after his first birthday party. What took me until yesterday to realize was why Austen was making the "pick me up" gesture and then struggling to get back down as soon as I picked him up. Turns out that he wasn't saying "pick me up"; he was saying, "come down here!" So I was right about getting down on the floor making all the difference, but I was still missing the signal for I NEED YOU TO GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR RIGHT NOW.

Judge, I'm too slow to serve on a jury. It will take me forever to understand the evidence, and even then I'll misinterpret it. If you're really lucky, I'll realize my mistake three weeks later, after the defendant has been released and has killed again. Please send me home where I can torture just my child and not eleven other jurors. Thank you.

Christmas Week Weeding

We actually managed to fill our digital camera's memory card this weekend, which made me realize that I should have asked for a second card (and a second battery, for that matter, since the current one doesn't hold a charge very well anymore) for Christmas. D'oh! I guess we can look for cards and batteries at the after-Christmas sales this week (if we ever make it to the mall).

I'd planned on writing a post about our Christmas in Virginia and filling it with photos from the aforementioned memory card, but at the moment Al is hogging the Mac so he can sort out which of the 30GB of music and audiobooks in the iTunes library he wants for the 4GB Nano I got him. That post, which should logically preceed this one, will instead follow it.

The other plan that changed this week was the one that involved us driving up to Boston for a few days. On the way down to Virginia on Saturday we made a list of all the things that we wanted to weed/reorganize in the house (everything from Austen's toybox to the cookbook shelf in the kitchen), and we realized that we'd rather spend this week working on the weeding than sitting in traffic or finding that the friends and relatives we'd hoped to see had left town to see other friends and relatives.

The Christmas/New Year's week seems like a good time to take stock of our lives as they are and how we'd like them to be, and to determine what's really necessary, what's nice to have, and what goes under the heading of "what the hell were we thinking when we got this???" How fitting to start the new year appreciating the things we have and not drowning under mounds of things we no longer (or never did) need. As such, we will be passing on a box of infant clothes, bottles, (unused) breastmilk storage parephenalia, and toys to friends who've had babies recently or to local charities. We will be donating books and videos to the library and its used bookshop. We'll be putting the racing snowboard that Al bought a few years ago and realized he would never use up for sale on eBay.

For every new something that we've received for Christmas (or bought recently), we will attempt to get rid of any item the new item has superceeded. (For example, I finally got two the half-sheet baking pans I really wanted, and I will donate to Goodwill three nonstick cookie sheets that I'll probably never use again.) We will refuse to be guilted into keeping a couple gifts that are just so not us and will attempt to trade them in for something that we will use every day, like good measuring spoons or a 3-qt. saucepan with a lid. I know how sad I was when Al returned the first iPod I attempted to give him (for his birthday in July), so I'm conscious of the fact that I might be hurting some feelings by trading in a gift, but I'm hoping that the giver (a) will never know, or at least (b) would be happy to know that we're using something we wanted rather than letting their goodwill gather dust in an upstairs closet. [Al traded in that original iPod for the driver he wanted, and he's got a Nano he loves now, so it's all good.]

As part of this weeding process, we'll also be reorganizing what was once a perfectly-arranged kitchen. What's changed are not our cooking or eating habits, but rather the makeup of our family: We now have a toddler who can get into all the lower cabinets and the bottom half of the pantry. We're perfectly happy to let him have all the plastic containers, empty butter boxes, pots, and spatulas he wants to play with, but we'd rather he didn't crush all our cookies and crackers or empty bags of flour onto the floor. Sadly, the Snack Drawer's days are numbered.

I promise that in between all the weeding this week there will eventually be posts with photos, including Austen's thirteen-month update. Stay tuned!

Lucky 13

Austen finally turns 13 months old today. I say "finally" because there've been so many developments and hilarious moments since the twelve-month update that I've been dying to write this one for at least two weeks. I wish now that I had started writing earlier—I have so much to say that it'll be a race to get this post in by midnight. (Thank god for back-dating!) I'll put the best news up front: This month has been infinitely easier than the last, mostly because I finally adapted to the New State of Things (which of course will become the Old State of Things in another month or two).

I never wrote about Austen's first birthday celebration in any detail, and since it started off this month, now seems like a good time to do so. We ended up moving the party from our house to a local hotel because we realized there was no way we'd be able to fit the 30 people who'd rsvp'd into our living room for the Toljabee event. [We still can't believe our luck in finding a hotel that had a room available on a Saturday in December at all, much less one that was perfect for us in every way. A shout-out to the Hotel Sofitel in Philadelphia for the fabulous space, food, and especially the service.]

Austen didn't seem to mind being dressed in the traditional Tol-bok—he even kept the hat on for the entire ceremony and then some, to my astonishment—though I found out later from my mother-in-law that I put the clothes on incorrectly. Apparently the blue vest was supposed to go over the peach jacket. Oops. In any case, it was fun to see Austen's reaction to the Tol table and to the audience arrayed around it (he kinda freaked at first). Once he stopped clinging to Al for protection, he actually made his way around the table by himself (tradition dictates that the father is to walk the child around the table, and that dad is also supposed to put the things he wants the child to grab closest to the edges, where the kid can reach them easily). He picked up the knife first, indicating that he'll be a good cook, and the caligraphy set second, indicating that he will be a scholar. Perhaps the combination means that he'll be a cookbook author? We're not sure. Only the first and second items grabbed have any real significance, but in case you're curious, he did pick up a rice cake—and promptly throw it on the floor—next. He steadfastly ignored all of Grandpa Cho's encouragements, both verbal and physical, to pick up the money.

Austen started going to the Please Touch Museum at the end of last month, but I think we more than got our yearly membership's worth in the month of December alone. Early in the month shopping was his favorite activity, but Al reports that on his last couple visits he didn't want to shop much at all. (This could be because I've started taping up empty butter boxes and soup cans in our own kitchen, and he got a little shopping cart for Christmas, so he no longer needs to leave home to indulge his taste for groceries.)

Austen was lucky enough to discover snow this month, and he totally loved it. It turns out that our back deck is the perfect spot for making snowballs and snowangels (the snow collects really well out there, and there's no chance that he'll run into the street while we're playing).

I've been keeping a list of the quirky behaviors that Austen exhibits, but I realize now I don't have any photos of him doing these things—either because they're noises, or because I'm in close as a participant, or because a still photo just wouldn't do it justice. Case in point: the Kramer Entrance. This is Austen's way of bursting into the master bathroom when we've forgotten to latch the door completely. He sweeps the door wide with his right arm and then leaps into the room, planting his feet like a superhero. If one of us is in the shower or on the toilet, we'll greet him the way Jerry Seinfeld did Newman. "Hello, Austen."

Other items on the list include the way Austen uses one of his three words to prove that he knows how the Sheep in a Jeep story goes (I say, "Beep beep! Sheep in a Jeep on a hill that's steep!", he yells, "UH-OH!", and I continue, "the Jeep won't go!"); the way he'll stop and boogie to anything that has the faintest of beats; the way he puts things in my mouth for safekeeping (not the smartest of moves); the way he's finally learned to "hand it to Mommy" when he doesn't like something he's been given to eat insead of throwing it on the floor; and the way he rearranges all the cupboards and drawers. He especially likes to pull things out of my nightstand, and as a consequence several medicines have gone missing recently. (Luckily, we found the most expensive prescription ones; the children's Motrin is still MIA.) There are socks in my t-shirt drawer and tubes of Lansinoh in the laundry, so "IT. COULD. BE. ANYWHERE." is a common refrain around our house these days.

One behavior I do have a photo of is the "pot/stirring fascination". I was making Austen some stuffin muffins one morning when he asked me to pick him up. I did, and then continued stirring my stuffing mixture. He reached for the spatula and gave it a few turns. In the interest of speeding the muffin-baking process, I handed him a pot and a wooden spoon and set him down on the floor. At that moment, our little chef was born. (Or maybe it was when he picked up the knife at his Toljabee?) He pulls pots and pans out of drawers, begs for the ones that are in the upper cupboards, likes trying out new utensils, and knows how to sample his pretend creations. He's taken to setting his pots on the ottoman by the front door and jiggling and stirring them like he's standing over a stove.

Austen's looking more and more like a little boy and less like a baby, and I'm starting to notice the resemblance to Al more. Everyone—especially members of my family—have always said that Austen "looks just like a little Al!", but until now I haven't really seen it. To me he looks like a mix of me and Al, plus a hefty dose of Original Austen. The top photo below, however, made me change my mind about whom he favors most. As for his laugh, however—well that's pure Grandpa Cho.

The other big event—after the birthday party—for this thirteenth month was Austen's second Christmas. He was less than a month old for his first (and consequently, he slept through most of it), so this was the first Christmas where he really got to open presents and enjoy the day. He received several books (including Sheep Out to Eat, two Carl the rottweiler stories, two Eric Carle color books, and an Applebee the Cat pop-up), a scary stuffed monster from his cousin Henry, a Thomas the Tank Engine toy (the first of the Thomas toys that I've found clever and fun—pressing on the conductor's head makes the train go), and his two favorites: the little shopping cart, and a Mozart music box. He was also rather enamored of the atrocious counter-spinning hubcabs on the giant remote-controlled F-150 truck that Henry received from his grandparents, but as that was Henry's favorite present, most of the time Austen had to admire the hubcaps from afar.

Last, but not least, Austen is finally getting some more teeth. They all seem to be coming in at once, which has made for a few feverish nights recently, but he's been such a champion sleeper for the past couple months that it's really not that big a deal. Most notable are the two front teeth, which seem to drop down a couple milimeters every night. The best way to get a good look at them is to blow raspberries on Austen's belly after his every-other-evening bath, as this makes him laugh heartily. Even the prospect of a belly blow will cause him to squeal and giggle in anticipation, making it a wonderful way to end the day.

Happy New Year!

It's just starting to sink in that it's 2006 already, and especially that it's January now, not December. We returned from a family-friendly New Year's Eve gathering at Matt and Shannon's house at around 10pm last night and were in bed, asleep, by 11:20pm, which is probably why we failed to notice the turn of the year. Today we drove down to Maryland for the day to play a game of Trivial Pursuit with my parents and our good friends Anne and Peggy (a New Year's Day tradition) and to eat a huge spread of food prepared by Anne and my dad. (Back when I was in college and later when I would visit as a singleton, I was part of the buffet preparations, too, but now I'm just an Eater of the Bounty.) Both nights we changed Austen into his jammies before heading for home, and both nights he did not wake when we transferred him from the car to his crib.

As I write this the Mac screensaver is showing me my favorite photos from the past year on the TV (which we use as the monitor); it's so weird seeing Austen grow from tiny baby to active toddler. There's the one where he first learned to stand, the one where Alexander is looking on as Austen sticks out his tongue, the one where he's bald and beautiful at the Philadelphia Flower Show. There's his first experience in an Exersaucer, the days when he fit on a forearm, the messy first feedings, his first pair of shoes. Oh wow, I'd forgotten about his frog hat, and the early post-partum days when I'd dyed my hair purple. It's been quite a year here at Casa Hylan-Cho.

Hope 2006 brings all of us peace, prosperity, and perhaps a little adventure. If you want it, that is.

Austen Has a Long-Lost Twin Named Charlie

I got hooked on a little pregnant back when I was, well, pregnant. Julie was due exactly two months after me, and it was fun and interesting to follow her pregnancy as I lived and wrote about my own. Needless to say, I was shocked when her son Charlie was born three days before Austen instead of two months after him.

I've been amazed to discover, despite Charlie's prematurity and attendant health issues, how much the two kids have in common. Although Austen doesn't eat at Friendly's regularly (it was one of our first meals out after he was born, but the service at the Friendly restaurants in our area is so abysmal that we don't bother anymore), almost everything in this post could be said of Austen as well. He is SO much more outgoing than either Al or I. It's one of the things I love about him, one of the ways in which he's made my life better—I'd be far more surly, far less interactive, far more awkward and fumbling if Austen weren't by my side, trying to engage every single person he sees.

I know it's New Year's, not Thanksgiving, but I just want to say how thankful I am that I got such a wonderful kid for a son—and how thankful I am that Julie did, too.

Mmmm, Mmmm Good

I feel like monthly updates are just not frequent enough to document Austen's development anymore. Perhaps they never have been, and I've just convinced myself over the past few months that I have to save everything up for the end of the month. Well, no more: I can't let another minute go by without detailing some of the amazing things I've seen in the past couple days. (Of course, they will be amazing to no one else, but I will relate them anyway.)

Mmmmmmmmmmm ~ When Austen started playing with pots, I would occasionally stir the pot for him and bring the spoon or spatula to my mouth, pretend to taste what was on it, and then say, "mmmmm, good!" He thought this was SO COOL and would occasionally poke me in the mouth with the spatula to get me to make the slurpy tasting sound. Within a few days, he was tasting the contents of the pot himself. When I said to him, "what are you cooking? Can Mommy have a taste?", he'd bring the spatula to his own mouth, chew on it for a second, and then say, "Mmmmmmmmmmm". It was a short leap from that to saying "Mmmmmmmmmmm" every time he ever ate or drank anything (and sometimes even just when sitting in his car seat, in an effort to engage me).

Tonight, Austen graduated from "Mmmmmmmmmmm" to "áhh!", which he correctly identified as the appropriate noise to make after taking a sip of a particularly refreshing drink. It's not that "Mmmmmmmmmmm" is wrong after taking a swig of milk or fizzy water or homemade chai eggnog latte (which we shared while playing on the floor after dinner tonight); it's that "áhh!" is more specific.

Bottle skillz ~ Remember how I said we weren't sure whether Austen could hold a bottle by himself, and how relieved we were when he finally figured out how to use a sippy cup? Well, he's now drinking out of 25 oz. sport-top water bottles all by himself. He even knows how to close the tops so they don't spill (though he doesn't always do it). It's a sight to behold... which of course means I don't have a photo of him doing it.

Push-ups ~ I noticed yesterday that Austen is finally using the technique I saw Miranda employ way back in early April last year when he falls and needs to get back up: Namely, he pushes himself up into a sort of downward dog pose and then stands from there. Previously he'd been shuffling over on his butt or knees to the nearest wall, toilet, bed, or other stationary object and using that as leverage to pull himself up. This, it strikes me, is progress.

It was interesting just now to read the first paragraph of the April post I linked to in the previous paragraph and realize that Austen is now the same age Miranda was then. At the time, I hadn't wanted to think of Austen at this age; now it's hard to remember a time when he wasn't walking and babbling and telling me in his own version of sign language and grunts that he's hungry or thirsty, that he wants a different pot, or that he's ready for bed.

He actually did this on Saturday night, incidentally: He ASKED to go to bed. He got Al to pick him up and then led Al, by swaying his body, to the stairs, where he rubbed his eyes and reached upward with both arms. The signal was unmistakable—as unmistakable as when he clapped his hands and then rubbed his eyes, clapped his hands and then rubbed his eyes again as I finished changing a poopy diaper at 11:15am yesterday. He'd obviously been postponing nap time—which is usually between 9:30am and 11:00am—until he could get a poop in, and now that the poopy diaper was taken care of, he wanted to go down asap. "MORE SLEEP, Mommy! MORE SLEEP!" (He was out cold by the time we got to the end of the block in the stroller a few minutes later.)

I'M FRUSTRATED!! ~ One of the other unmistakable non-verbal communiqués Austen's been sending us lately is the one that means, "I'M FRUSTRATED!!" (It can also mean "I'M ANGRY!!") He squats, balls his hands into fists and shakes them, and grunt-screams. He'll sometimes do it repeatedly, turning redder and redder each time. We're trying various methods to break him of this habit, including ignoring him, asking him to tell us what he wants, explaining that temper tantrums are not acceptable, or whatever seems appropriate at the time. We're hoping that as he acquires more vocabulary (currently we're still on "mama", "dada", "uh-oh", and an occasional "Hannah" and "nana"), he'll also have less need for such a simultaneously hilarious and annoying gesture. [I just totally cracked Al up by imitating the "frustrated" gesture in an attempt to accurately describe it.]

Surprise!

I remember being in the car with my mom one time, back when I was in college, when she expressed surprise at some detail or other I'd just related about my life. This intrigued me, and I asked her what else about me surprised her. She responded, "well, if the list were very long I'd have to say I didn't know you very well." I wonder if more about me would surprise her now, or whether I've become more predictable over time. I certainly suspect that in the early days of parenthood the surprises came fast and furious.

This is my experience, in any case; as well as I think I know Austen, he's developing so fast that there are times when he'll do something that just makes my jaw drop. There are other parenting surprises as well—perhaps the biggest one of all being that I actually have a parenting instinct—ranging from things we thought we knew but didn't to things we thought would never change but did. Some recent surprises:

Austen is watching. I knew that I could demonstrate behaviors and eventually Austen would learn to repeat them, but I didn't realize how closely he was watching me when my intention was not to model behavior. For example, last week I noticed that when he's "cooking" on his ottoman, Austen will tap the spatula on the edge of the pot when he's done stirring and then move the spatula to another pot. I do this when I'm cooking: I tap the excess food off my spatula, and then stand it up in an empty can or measuring cup. I've also noticed that he's picked up my stirring and scraping techniques. [This reminds me of the time my sister and I were in a supermarket with her two year-old son, chatting while we inspected the mangoes. We would sniff each one to see if it was ripe, and if it passed muster, we'd put it in our cart. The next thing we knew, J, who had his own little kid-sized cart, picked up a mango, jammed it up his nose, and then tossed it into his cart. My sister and I looked at each other with our eyes bugged out for a second, and then we CRACKED UP.]

Austen is expected to drink two cups of milk a day. I remember reading somewhere the question, "how much milk should I give my baby?", but I don't remember the entire answer. I only remember that there was an admonishment not to give too much, since cow's milk is designed for the nutritional needs of fast-growing calves, not slower-growing human babies. I found out at our doctor's visit on Friday that the cup to a cup-and-a-half that I rather guiltily admitted to giving Austen was actually insufficient. Apparently he needs at least two cups a day, unless he's eating two or three yogurts a day. (Luckily, most days he *is* eating two yogurts a day.) I realized I'm sort of winging it on the nutritional front, figuring that if Austen eats better than I do, he's ahead of the game. Honestly, though, I should never be anyone's nutritional standard, much less a growing child's. I'd say it's probably time to read up on child nutrition, but my instinct says to just keep feeding him a wide variety of stuff, and he'll probably turn out OK.

My, that's SALTY. I've definitely experienced the increased sensitivity to sugar that comes from not eating sweets, but I've never really believed—or had the opportunity to experience for myself—an increased sensitivity to salt. Compared to Al and his family, I'm a saltaholic... though compared to my own family, I eat hardly any. (My mom instituted the policy of "separate salt and pepper shakers for each person," probably because she could never wrest the salt shaker away from my dad. Mom salts EVERYTHING from cantaloupe to ice cream, and my dad can't eat anything unless it's covered in a crust of salt and pepper. For the record, all three of us have blood pressure that's normal to low.)

I've never been a big fan of salt *in* food, but I do love big, crunchy kosher or sea salt crystals on top of pasta, lentil stew, soft pretzels, eggs, and more. Since Austen started eating off my plate a few months ago, however, I not only stopped adding any salt to foods I was cooking (any recipe that said "salt to taste" or "season well with salt and pepper" got none), but I also stopped adding so much salt on top of the food. Sometimes I add a bit to half the plate, but more often than not I just don't add any. As a consequence, when we stopped at Tampopo for sushi a couple weeks ago, I said to Al, "something's wrong with this soy sauce. It's SUPER salty." Al laughed and said that that's the way it'd always been—I'd just never noticed before. Needless to say, it's now almost impossible for me to eat my parents' cooking, and I was a bit sad to discover that the two potato knishes I bought at Artie's in NYC on Friday were much saltier than I'd remembered. They were still the best knishes I've ever had, but so, so salty.

Austen can reach doorknobs, tabletops, and cooktops now. I should have known this day was coming, but it still caught me by surprise. I think what changed—in addition to Austen growing about an inch in the past three months—is that he's become very proficient at standing on his tippytoes and reaching. He's also become quite a climber (he tries to climb into the tub himself now), and he'll stand on anything that will help him reach his goal, from pillows and boxes to my laptop. =:o This new reach combined with his love of pots has required me to emphasize that he should NEVER, EVER grab a pot off the stove. I've also tried to teach him that the red lights mean that the cooktop is HOT. I hope he's soaking in this information.

Kneebouncers

Ann, the babysitter who worked with us this summer (and who was filling in with us yesterday), noticed that Austen was a BIG fan of typing on my laptop (and of prying off the keys—yesterday he got the F key, and on Friday he'd gotten the spacebar) and recommended kneebouncers.com as a site Austen might like to visit. It's a site designed by a group of creative dads who noticed that there's not much on the web for really little kids and decided to do something about it. They created a bunch of Flash games that respond to any key press (and often in a different way to multiple keys pressed at once). Don't worry if the games don't seem to make any sense; your toddler will still be mesmerized. Oh, and be sure to turn on the sound!

Sick

We are all sick here at Casa Hylan-Cho. Austen has been sick almost continuously since he caught the cold I had at Christmas, and I have been sick off and on with various chest and sinus afflictions since before that. At the moment, Al's the sickest of us all; he's been home from work for a couple days now. I've been washing my hands like a maniac, but as I've said to Al, that doesn't help so much when your infant son is sticking his boogers up your nose—booger-to-booger contact being the #1 method of disease transmission. I'm hoping that since we all seem to have the same thing now that we'll all get better at the same time, and that we'll stop giving this virus a chance to mutate and attack again.

Meanwhile, we're going through Kleenex (both the Lotion and Anti-Viral varieties) at an alarming rate, especially since Austen finds great joy in pulling as many of them out of the box as he can at one sitting. The other night I found him in the linen closet, attempting to pry great wads of tissue from under the plastic wrapping that covered one of the stand-up boxes. This morning he seemed to get the hang of the whole Kleenex Conservation thing, though: He pulled one out of the box, held it up to his face, made a noise that sounded like "ahroooooo", and then held the tissue to my face and gestured as if to say, "now you!" I guess it's better than having the boogers shoved directly up my nose.

As much icky goo as is coming out of Austen's nose, I think more of it's going down his throat and into his stomach. Yesterday morning, after waking up at the completely normal time of 6:10am, he rather abnormally screamed for 20 minutes and then conked out again on his sheepskin rug in the basement 'til 9:30. Al watched him sleep for two hours, but I only lasted 30 minutes before I had to get things done up in the kitchen. When I finally heard him stir, I called, "good morning, sleepyhead!" and headed down to get him. As I reached the gate at the bottom of the basement stairs, he said, "Uh oh! Uh oh!" and then horked all over the sheepskin rug. I quickly climbed over the gate, at which point he started to say "uh oh!" again but was interrupted by a heave. It was so cute how he was obviously fighting the urge to vomit (and he was largely successful—although he heaved a bit more, only a little dribble came out). Luckily, he held his breakfast of milk and Bear Naked Triple Berry Oatmeal down just fine.

Tomorrow we are all driving down to Wheaton, MD so Austen and I can get our hair cut by my favorite stylist, Toni at HUGO Salon. We're both looking rather shaggy these days; Austen hasn't had a proper haircut since I cut off his Gollum strands back when he was seven months old (which I guess means he's never had a proper haircut), and I haven't had one since my hair was purple back in May. I have some nostalgia for both that cut and the purple color, but I'm reluctant to dye it when we're about to take a vacation that will involve lots of swimming and sweating, and I'm not sure Toni will feel as inspired by my plain white hair as she was by the purple. I guess we'll see... I'll hopefully have some before and after photos of us to post tomorrow night.

Haircuts

As promised, here are the before and after photos from Austen and Lori's Haircut Adventure. The cut I got is very similar to the one I got in May, only with shorter bangs and the part on the opposite side. (I kinda wish she'd left the bangs a bit longer, but I think she did it this way to even them up—they were shorter on the right than the left.) Austen got his cut while sitting on my lap (good thing we brought a spare shirt for him to change into, because we didn't bother with a drape). We distracted him with a cell phone while Toni made a few strategic snips.

And More Sick

From about 9pm to 1am last night, I was plagued with what I can only assume was food poisoning. I'm guessing—but cannot prove—that the culprit was a Brazilian Shrimp Burrito from Whole Foods; I got a bad one once before and almost swore off them completely back then. I *will* be swearing off them completely from now on. I was worried that I might never be able to eat another orange as well after last night's drama—an orange being the last thing I ate, in an attempt to soothe myself, before the vomiting started—but I don't feel the same aversion to them that I did at midnight, thank goodness. California navels are in season right now (for east-coasters who are used to getting California oranges year-round and were unaware that there *was* a season, it usually runs from late January through March), which means they're cheaper, sweeter, and more abundant than usual. I've been known to subsist entirely on oranges when the CA navel season and a particularly stressful period at work coincided, so giving them up would have been so, so sad.

Although I find myself with no particular aversion to oranges this morning, I don't think it would be in my best interest to eat one for breakfast. I seem to be done with the vomiting, and I *am* starving, but it's hard to imagine actually eating any of the foods we have in the house at the moment. Maybe if I hunt around a bit more, I'll locate some saltines.

I think one thing that's adding to the lingering nausea is the fact that we have a temporary babysitter today; Hannah doesn't start full-time with us until next week, and I'm already working, so we needed to cover today and Thursday of this week. The temp sitter is totally fine, but as I hadn't met her before today, I have more butterflies than usual when Austen's out of my sight (as he is now—they're out with the stroller). I'm sure everything's OK, but I'm still fighting the urge to call her cell and tell her to COME BACK RIGHT NOW so I can hug my kid.

Stories from the Street

Recently I ordered Austen a copy of Songs from the Street, and it arrived yesterday. I popped Disc One into the Mac and pressed play in iTunes... and Austen kinda freaked out. He knows that when he sees the iTunes interface that he's about to hear some music, but this music usually means that there's a big yellow bird, some kids, some blocks, and Central Park up on the screen. WHERE THE HELL WAS BIG BIRD?

Austen looked stricken for a few seconds, and then he ran over to the table where I'd left the CD box—a table that's above his eye level—and started fishing around with his arm until he hit the box cover. He pulled it down, recognized his friends Big Bird, Ernie and Bert, Oscar, Elmo, and Cookie Monster, and he sighed with relief. He then brought the box cover over to the ottoman and pointed to each of the characters lovingly. All was suddenly right with the world.

Austen, as you might have guessed, is a total Sesame Street addict. He now brings me the TiVo remote both in the morning and at bath time—basically whenever we're in the master bedroom for an extended period—and gestures for me to turn on Elmo. He knows that the TiVo remote in the living room (an older model that's a different size and color, but the same peanutty shape) does the same thing as the one in the bedroom, and he'll make the same "turn on Elmo!" gestures when he comes across it. He'll sometimes run to get his Elmo doll when Sesame Street comes on, so they can watch together. More often, he prefers to sit in my lap for at least a segment or two (he especially likes watching the Count reveal the Number of the Day this way, perhaps because I sing along as the Count serenades the Countess, or because I shout, "oh, the suspense is killing me!" when the Count plays the organ).

I loved Sesame Street when I was a kid, too, and I'm loving it now all over again. There are minor annoyances, of course—some of the human characters say their lines a little too exaggeratedly for me, and Baby Bear's baby voice and adult vocabulary used to unnerve me at first (though he's grown on me lately)—but mostly there's so much to enjoy and appreciate. Aside from the Count, I love the science experiments (seeing what items float or slide, playing the Grouch game "What Happens Next?"), Elmo's World ("it's Mr. Noodle's brother, Mr. Noodle!"), anything that happens in Gina the Vet's office, and the adventures of SUPer Grover. (I look forward to Journey to Ernie, but I wish that the segments were a little more consistent.)

This morning I got one of my favorite combinations: a scene in Gina's office that involved Grover. After watching for a few minutes, I realized that, skinny arms and blue fur aside, I AM GROVER. Whenever Grover gets something wrong, he says, "why did you not TELL me that this was so?", which my husband will tell you is exactly what I would do. It's not MY fault I got it wrong—in fact, I'm always right!—so it must be you. Good grief! Well, at least I don't have Oscar's misanthropic attitude Elmo's self-centered worldview Bert's preference for reading over parties Telly's obsession with triangles!

Update Coming

Austen turns 14 months old today, but in the interest of being able to spend some quality time with my husband before we both collapse from exhaustion, I will be writing the update tomorrow. See you then.

Begin the Beguine

Avid fans of Sesame Street will recognize the title of this post as the line that the Count sings to the Countess after the number 14, which makes it appropriate for a summary of Austen's 14th month of being. (It's also, incidentally, the title of a Cole Porter song.)

This update is likely to be as much about me as about Austen, as this is the month I started working full-time again, under the best possible scenario: The team I worked on for almost 7 years when we lived in California had an opening right when I decided I wanted to work again. I get to work on a team I love, doing work I enjoy, creating a product I actually use (I'm using it right now, in fact)—and all from home, where I can take Austen breaks instead of coffee breaks. It's taken a couple months to get all the paperwork processed, but that gave us time to sort out our nanny issues. I'm thrilled to say that after many frustrating weeks of combing craigslist and being unable to find a good match for us, our current nanny decided to come on with us full-time. This is a good thing for me, of course, but it's also fantastic for Austen because Hannah and he have similar social-butterfly personalities. They're out right now playing with another nanny and her 16 month-old charge, in fact.

We also have Hannah to thank for the fact that Austen is now enrolled in a music class for toddlers; she did all the research, located a class near us, and called to see if we could come watch a sample class before deciding to enroll. I went to the first three or four classes, and they're really fun. We got a songbook and CD to play at home so Austen can become familiar with the songs, and now that he recognizes the tunes and the activities associated with them, he's TOTALLY INTO MUSIC CLASS. The great part is that even if I can't make it to any more classes, I can still sing and play with Austen in the evenings because I know the songs now, too.

[photos added 02.01.06, after this morning's Music Class]

In addition to the music and the activities—perhaps more than the music and the activities—Austen likes music class because it affords him the opportunity to hug and kiss other little kids. He's been hugging (and knocking down) other kids since before he could walk, and over the past month he's started trying to kiss them, too. He started by practicing on me a couple months ago, and once he got the hang of closing his mouth more and not probing with his tongue, he decided to spread the love around... which, now that I think of it, is probably why we've all been sick since Christmas. On Sunday he enountered an 8 or 9 year-old at the ice rink in Aston who crouched down and smiled at him, and Austen immediately moved in for the kiss. Unfortunately, the kid was wearing a skateboarding helmet on which Austen bonked his head every time he leaned in. Didn't stop him from trying five or six times before Al finally suggested to Austen that he give up.

After experimenting with a few different formats, we've settled into a regular routine around here now. Austen now gets a bath every night (unless we're out late) instead of every other night; Al gets in the tub with him and then takes a shower while I put Austen's jammies on. We watch a little Sesame Street together, and then between 7 and 8pm I say, "ready for bed?" Austen lifts his arms up in the "pick me up!" gesture, I say "kiss Daddy good night!", Austen kisses Daddy, and I take him upstairs. On go the HEPA filter and the humidifier, and then I carry Austen around the room while singing a series of standards and lullabies. The last tune is always the classic lullaby, though I vary the lyrics from night to night. I've settled on these two verses at a minimum, however:

Lullaby, and good night
In your crib you'll be sleeping
With your eyes closed, fast asleep
We'll be here when you wake up

Close your eyes, little bean
We'll be here in the morn
Sleep 'til seven or eight
And we'll come get you then.

The whole put-down routine takes from five to fifteen minutes, depending how ready for sleep (and how snarffly) Austen is. If he's especially resistent, I sing more animated songs first and then work my way to the slower ones.

Despite the admonishment to sleep until 7 or 8, Austen's up between 6 and 6:30 most mornings. Al gets up with him, plays with him down in the basement, and feeds him breakfast while I sleep a while longer ('til 7:45 most mornings, 7 on Mondays) and then get dressed. We trade off at around 8 or 8:15, and Al gets ready for work while I get Austen dressed. (Mondays are a little trickier, because Hannah comes at 8 instead of 9.) So far it's working really well for us, though I'm sure Al could use more sleep than he's currently getting. He much prefers getting up with Austen to putting him down, however, so I think the division of labor suits us.

Austen seems to be adapting fairly well to the fact that I'm working and that Hannah is here more often, although I think he's a little sad that he doesn't get at least one day alone with me during the week. The other day I held him while Hannah got her coat on in preparation for taking Austen out in the stroller, and Austen waved bye-bye at her. I said, "oh no, honey, she's not leaving yet. You're going out together." He waved again, more firmly this time, and both Hannah's and my hearts broke a little. He couldn't have been saying, "Mommy's here now, you can go" more clearly. I was secretly glad when we had an uncovered childcare day last week (Hannah wasn't full-time yet, and the temporary nanny got sick), so Austen and I could spend the day together running errands. I'm also making sure that I get down on the floor and play with him whenever I'm not working.

Of course, that means there's no time for chores. Obviously weekday baking has fallen by the wayside (though I can sometimes squeeze in a batch of muffins on the weekends), and the laundry tends to pile up now. I have figured out how to incorporate Austen into a couple chores, however; it started with stirring pots on the stove, and then progressed to unloading the dishwasher (perhaps because he realized that's where his beloved spatulas come from). I do all the dishes and glasses, and Austen unloads the silverware. He started by handing me one knife or fork or spoon at a time, which I would put away in the drawer while saying, "thank you!", but the other day he carried several spoons in a row to the drawer and tossed them in himself.

Austen also likes it when I vacuum, though the appeal of the vacuum cleaner is the exhaust that blows out the front—which means he's constantly standing right where I need to vacuum. We've worked out a game where I chase him around with the vacuum cleaner, and in this way he gets his hair blown back as desired, and I eventually get the whole room cleaned.

Chocolate Pretzel Trauma

Austen just had a total meltdown, both literally and figuratively, over a chocolate pretzel. Hannah got us some at Maron Chocolates, and I'd just pulled one out of the bag when Austen grabbed it and ran off. I chased him, because that pretzel was NOT A TOY, and I didn't want it to melt all over the place.

I managed to wrest it away from him... and he promptly went ballistic. Cried, turned blue, the whole works. I tried to give him a taste of the pretzel to appease him, but what he really seemed to want was to HOLD it. I finally shoved a little piece in his mouth, ate the rest, and then just held him until he stopped crying.

The Accidental Litterbug

When I left the house for my usual weekend-morning walk with the Beaner, he was wearing a bib. Sadly, not the Korean bunny bib with the two snaps that he can't get off, but a disposable Pampers bib on which it's frustratingly easy for a toddler to pop the velcro. It wasn't until he started begging for the cream-cheese brownie I'd bought at the Metropolitan Bakery just south of Rittenhouse Square that I noticed that the bib was missing. Well, FART. Not only would he be getting mixed berry fruit bar crumbs all over him (I'd planned ahead and stashed one in the bottom of the stroller so I wouldn't have to share my chocolate treats), but I'd also managed to contribute to the piles of trash that deface Philadelphia.

At least I could blame that first bit of littering on the Beaner. The second bit (at least, I think it was the second bit; it's entirely possible that I left an entire trail of old wrappers and receipts in my wake) I can only blame on the 21st Street windtunnel and my poor positioning of the Starbucks coffee cup that said Beaner had been playing with before he conked out. As soon as we stepped into the jetstream at the corner of 21st and Market, the cup flew out of the bottom of the stroller and down the sidewalk. I chased after it for a bit, but when it went out into Market Street I decided to abandon the pursuit and return to my sleeping baby. FART! Again I say, FART! I've got to come up with a better way to secure my trash (as well as my non-trash parephenalia, like my only copy of our auto insurance cards—the ones with our address and insurance numbers right on them—that becomes trash when it blows out of the stroller).

In happier news, I learned from Hannah that the Beaner met The Baby, who was out and about with his Auntie, in Rittenhouse Square on Friday. Apparently much hilarity (not to mention memory-searching) occurred when Hannah recognized The Baby, and the SIL/Auntie recognized the Beaner, but Hannah and the SIL didn't recognize each other. It was finally determined, just before ratphooey and Mom Phooey showed up, that the SIL recognized Austen because Austen attended The Baby's birthday party (which was held at her house), and Hannah recognized The Baby because The Baby was at Austen's birthday party (and because two cute photos of his 7 month-old self show up now and then on our Mac screensaver). The SIL and Hannah, only having had attended one party each, had not met each other.

In any case, much fun was had by all, especially since there was a violinist performing in the Square at the time, and both babies love music.

Vacation Summary, Part 1

So I didn't mention that we were going on vacation before we left for a couple reasons, but now that we're back it's probably safe to say that we were in Hawaii with both my parents and Al's. Al's parents go every year for a couple months (they're retired), but my parents had never been. Whenever we mentioned it, my mom would say that Hawaii was a place they'd go "someday."

We pretty much had to demand that they come, and even once they agreed, my mom was a bit nervous about what they would do, what they should wear, how much it would cost, etc. About halfway through our stay, however, I caught both of my parents saying, "next time, we'll...", so I think there's a good chance they'll go back with us in a couple years. I hope they do, because having both sets of grandparents there for what was also Austen's first visit was so cool. We all got time with the beaner, time to play golf, time to ourselves, and time all together. It was awesome.

A few of the highlights (er, yeah, highlights):

Tuesday
We arrive in Kahului after a 9-hour flight from Chicago, during which Austen didn't cry at all. Yay, grandparents! While waiting in the Lowe's parking lot for Al to buy a HEPA filter, Mom starts playing a game with Austen that involves a Kleenex and ridiculous questions—to which the answer is always "nOOOoooo."

Wednesday
I catch Austen practicing "nOOOoooo" and angry face (aka Hulk pose) in the mirrored closet doors in our bedroom.

Thursday
Al and I play our first round of golf, on the Village Course. I'm +30 through the first 9 holes; by the time we finish, we've lost 6 balls each. The Village is the easiest of Kapalua's three courses.

Friday
Austen signs "please" for the first time. It looks like he's making a slashing motion across his throat, or adjusting a collar that's too tight. Mom, Dad, and I take a golf lesson with Jerry King. I already love Jerry for what he's done for my game; by the end of the lesson, Mom and Dad love him too.

Saturday
Austen says "grandpa" clearly for the first time while Al is changing his diaper at 6:15am. We play the Plantation Course at 6:50am with our dads; despite two errant shots (one into the road) on the first tee and the difficulty of the course (which I was playing for the first time), I improve by 8 shots over my Thursday Village score.

Sunday
While our parents are out playing golf together, Al and I decide to take a drive so the beaner can have a nap. Al suggests taking the North road to a little artist colony to get banana bread for his brother; he denies that driving any part of the North road will violate our rental car contract. I swear I saw some red zones on the rental map of this area, but Al says no.

After several sharp turns (preceeded by signs instructing us to BLOW HORN) and major twists that have left me a bit nauseous despite the fact that I'm the driver, not the passenger, I ask Al if this banana bread recipe really differs all that much from my own. He replies that it's advertised as the best in the world, and that Carl has requested that we FedEx a loaf to New York.

After 20 minutes of twisting and turning, we round a bend and find ourselves on the downhill slope of a giant, one-car-wide U. There's a sheer rock wall on one side, and a sheer dropoff on the other. There is no guardrail, but there *is* part of a palm tree blocking 1/3 of the roadway about 20 yards further on.

Long story short: I make it to the bottom of the hill OK, but I burst into hysterical tears when a pickup truck with big tires and a lift kit meets us head on about 100 yards from the top of the U. I start screaming, "I CAN'T DO IT! I CAN'T DO IT! HOW DIFFERENT CAN THAT BANANA BREAD RECIPE BE FROM MINE ANYWAY???" and take my hands off the wheel. The driver of the pickup (whose right front tire is halfway over the edge of the road) waves me on, and Al encourages me to inch past her. I do, despite continuing to insist that I can't, and I manage to get to the pull-off at the top. I sit in the driver's seat screaming and crying for a full five minutes before Al talks me into moving to the passenger side for the return trip. We make it back OK and with only minimal hysteria, but there will be no banana bread for Carl (and no nap for Austen—I woke him up only 25 minutes after he fell asleep with all my screaming).

15 Month Update (and Vacation Summary, Part 2)

I think I'll remember month 15 as the one in which Austen learned to sign "please" and say "no". These two additions to his vocabulary have made a tremendous difference in his ability to communicate his wants and needs; when he points up at the kitchen counter and says, "uhhn," we can now hold up any items in the area one at a time (me: "sippy cup?" A: "no." me: "banana?" A: "no." me: "glass of water?" A: "no." me: "you want me to put on my glasses?" A: [smiles and makes sign for "please"]) and know for sure when we've hit on the one he wants. Of course, he also answers "no" to lots of questions to which he should really be answering yes, such as "did you poop?"

As I mentioned in the first (and so far only) installment of our Vacation Summary, Austen also knows how to say "grandpa"; we clearly heard him say it at least twice while we were in Hawaii. I also heard him say it the other night when he was looking through the latest issue of TIME magazine (Austen loves to read magazines, especially TIME and Martha Stewart Living). He'd gotten to the last page, which had an ad that showed a man of about 60 with close-cropped gray hair in a suit. He made the "I know that guy!" sound (it's similar to the "I want that!" uhhn, but with a different inflection) and pointed to the guy in the suit. I don't think Austen's ever seen my dad in a suit, but I suspected that that was who he thought the guy was. "Who's that?" I asked. "Grandpa," he said softly, staring lovingly at the photo. "No, that's not grandpa, but it does kind of look like him," I said. Oddly, he doesn't usually say "grandpa" when photos of my dad (or Al's) come up in our Mac screensaver rotation, but he does make the "I know that guy!" sound. I guess you have to ask him "who's that?" to get "grandpa."

I'll also remember month 15 as the one in which Austen had his first ear infection. It happened in Hawaii, and our first indication that something was really wrong was when Austen woke up on Wednesday morning at 3:30 am with a raging fever. I'd noticed he was a little pink (and warm) the night before and figured that despite our best efforts to keep him covered with clothing, sunscreen, and a hat, he'd gotten a sunburn while we were out whale watching. I'd given him some Tylenol in case it would help, and put him to bed as usual at 7:30. When he woke up with the fever at 3:30, his skin was a fiery red, and I was sure I'd been a rotten, irresponsible parent and totally sunburned my child. We were a little panicked; Austen had never had a fever (or a sunburn) before, and we were very far from home.

Luckily Al realized that with the time difference, our pediatrician's office would be open at that hour, so we called. The nurse who called back seemed to ignore my news about being out in the sun (maybe it's difficult to imagine getting a sunburn when there's 2' of snow where you are) and asked if he was pulling his ears or acting cranky. I said, "well, he's screaming now, but I suspect that's because it's 4am and he's burning up." She suggested that we go get some Children's Motrin (it's apparently better than Tylenol at controlling fevers), and while at the store, to pick up a thermometer. "It'll help put your mind at ease, for one thing," she said, "and it'll also help you figure out if the fever's going down. If it's not, or if you notice any behavioral changes—lethargy, etc.—then you should take him to a doctor."

We drove to Safeway and got an ear thermometer and some Motrin; the reading was 103.5. We dosed Austen with Motrin and let him sleep in the bed with us for the next couple hours, and when he woke his fever had broken. He also wasn't nearly as red/pink, which should have tipped us off that this wasn't a sunburn we were dealing with. So anyway, we went on with the day as scheduled and drove to Mama's Fish House in Paia, where we had an amazing lunch (with even more amazing views). After lunch Al and Austen played in the sand on the beach, and then we drove around Kahului and Wailuku for a while in a futile attempt to find malasadas. (Sweet Treats had closed, and The Home Maid Bakery only serves them from 5:30-9:30am and from 4-10pm; we arrived at 3pm.)

When we arrived back at Kapalua around 4:30 or 5, we noticed that Austen was really hot again. We took his temperature with our handy ear thermometer... and promptly flipped out when the reading was 104.5. I knew from reading nj and Morrisa's account of Miranda's high fever (I can't find the entry now, but it was when Miranda was less than a year old, I think) that brain damage wasn't necessarily imminent, so I was able to calm Al down a little. We called the Doctors on Call number and got the office in Ka'anapali (for some reason the one at Kapalua was closed that day), and we made an appointment for 6:20. We dosed Austen with some more Motrin and then headed out the door, figuring there was no harm in getting there early. On the way there I called Morrisa to see if she had any advice; she confirmed that while there was no need to panic, we were doing the right thing by going to see the doctor.

Getting to the doctor's office early did indeed work in our favor; we were seen a little before 6, and the young doctor (who told us he had a 17 month-old) quickly figured out that Austen's left ear was infected. (He also wasn't the least bit skeptical about our 104.5 reading, thank god—most doctors seem to think that the only readings that matter are the ones taken in their offices—and was pleased to see that the Motrin was already working,