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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 so