Friday Round-up, or What I Learned

1) This New York Times article titled "How Do You Raise A Prodigy?" is not another parenting philosophy ala Tiger Parenting or French Parenting (I pictured flashcards for the womb, calculus for the under-two's, you get the idea). Instead, it's actually just an earnest question, "how do you raise a prodigy, if your kid happens to be one?" An interesting read.

2) I'm still on the third page of Harvey Karp's "Happiest Toddler on the Block," but so far, I'm digging it. Toddlerhood is like three parts fiesta mixed with two parts wrestling match and one part jungle safari. Um, yes, Harvey. I would have to agree.

3) These boots are uber cute.

Hope you all have great weekends. We're headed to a sign language class in hopes that Leo might turn "aaahhh!" into a cute sign for "milk." Will let you know how it goes.

xo,
Rebecca

PHOTO CAPTION: Snapshots on my walk to the office (and by "office," I mean "Starbucks.")

Small, but Big

I've been thinking lately about how the world — your world — often feels so small when you have kids. All those months spent breastfeeding in front of the TV, when a walk down the block is considered a big adventure. All those hours logged on the same few playgrounds, over and over again. All those pre-nap and pre-bedtime routines trying to cajole Wee One into his/her crib. It can start to feel like your entire universe revolves around sleep sacks, coffee, the washer dryer and that plastic Baby Einstein toy designated for use only in the car (where it's most needed) that you simultaneously canonize and want to throw onto Highway 101.

Life seems "small" because you just don't have time for some of the intellectual pursuits you might have devoted your free time to in the past. This morning, for example, I was listening to NPR in the car and couldn't wrap my head around how anyone could possibly have the time to dissect the childhood comings and goings of David Foster Wallace. I wanted to shout, "He wrote a book! It was long! I don't have time to read it, though, and I don't know how you people do either!*" You also have to schedule your life around the smallest (seemingly) things, like naps, feedings, and play time. It makes you start to wonder why your own life doesn't just consist of naps, feedings, and play time. Have we** been wasting our time all of these years trying to write, invent, learn and discover? Maybe we're just supposed to drink milk.

So maybe life feels tiny these days. But I wonder — is life also much, much bigger once you have a child? Maybe you are stuck on the playground every afternoon between 4 and 6, but have you noticed those little kids giggling? How their imaginations run wild and nothing they say makes sense, and that makes it even more adorable than if it did make sense? Have you noticed that hey, the sky actually really is blue? A fire truck drove past said playground the other day, and the super nice firemen drove really slowly and honked and waved at the kids for what felt like an hour. The whole playground stopped what it was doing, and in that moment, just paused and totally and completely enjoyed that connection with those firemen, and not a single person even missed it 'cause he/she was on his/her iphone. "Huh," I thought to myself. "I didn't know firemen ever did that."

So maybe I don't have time to read a 1000+ semi-parodic novel, but I do have time to look at the sky, and wave to a bunch of firemen.

*I definitely don't have time to learn that the author was a tennis pro.
**By "we," I mean civilization.

The Elusive Transfer

Every day, after I pick up Leo from his nanny share, I race home to get back, give him his bottle, and deposit him in his crib BEFORE he can have a chance to fall asleep in the car. If he does (fall sleep en route), it's disaster, since the odds of me being able to transfer him from car seat to crib with any success are very, very slim. And the idea that he'll only sleep twenty minutes in the car, and NOT AT ALL in his crib (leaving me with no time to rest, pay a bill, or work) is a scary one, indeed.

When Leo was a newborn, it was a different story. We could often do this (and carefully timed and executed "transfers" were a part of our everyday vernacular), but now, they just don't happen, unless it's late at night and dark out, in which case we can transfer him (during road trips, etc) no problem.

What is it with babies only being able to sleep in perfect conditions? I CAN SLEEP ANYWHERE, ANY TIME. LIKE IN CARS. ON COUCHES. ON THE FLOOR. IN SPAIN. DURING WORK. DURING CLASS. Why can't my baby?!

PHOTO CAPTION: That's "The Friend." We put him in Leo's crib to make him feel at home, and we often hear ourselves saying things like, "Look, your friend!" Suffice it to say, Leo cares not a whit about The Friend. It could be a piece of rubber. He'd probably like that more.

A Few Things

I don't think I've ever been this excited for an election to be over. This darn thing has been so stressful, for everybody, that I've been anticipating it like I anticipated labor: with dread, with hope, and with a strong desire for meds.

A few other things:

1) We are trying out the Honest Diapers (pictured above —for the record, that's *not* my baby's butt, okay it is). We like them so far. Adorbs hipster patterns + biodegradable is starting to equal worth the extra 10-20 bucks per month in my mind. We may become converts.

2) Anyone else starting to feel anxious for their babe to eat like a real person? I am trying to get Baby away from the baby food jars, pouches, et al and move towards actual food. Yesterday, Leo tried a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He seemed to approve of it, until he didn't and threw it on the ground (luckily, we were in the lovely outdoor parking lot at Whole Foods where somebody's dog quickly devoured it).

3) Is it okay if Baby insists on drinking his bottle standing up before bedtime and naps? Is this rebellion I should put a stop to? Or if he's drinking, should I just go with it?

That's all. Happy Election Day (slash not).

xo,
Rebecca

I Live in Fear

I live in fear nearly every day (and every moment of every day) of my baby hating me.Perhaps this sounds extreme, irrational, or alarmist. I could see how you might think that; I would think that, too, were I not in this position myself. Oh, I know what you're going to say. "You're his mother. Of course he loves you. You breastfed him until you literally could not watch another episode of Tori & Dean. You take him to the playground and let him chew on stuff out of the recycle bin. You buy him things like shoes. You transfer all of the good thoughts of the world into his little brain every day through osmosis. You read him Goodnight Moon."

All of those things are, for the most part, true. But I also force him to nap when he doesn't want to. I force him to eat things he'd rather not (who wants spinach when you can have baby gouda?) I won't let him eat Cheerios in the car. I make him go with me to Home Depot. I only sometimes let him play with my keys. I won't let him rifle through the medicine cabinet. I wouldn't let him hit that girl at the park.**

In all seriousness – I know, rationally, that it's not my job to play with my baby all day long. Sure, he'd love to be at the playground (pictured above) for all of his waking (and probably his sleeping) hours. But life needs to happen — grocery shopping needs to get done. And naps need to be taken. Peas need to be eaten. And I know I read somewhere that children like and need limits, even if they don't know it. But that doesn't mean I don't feel guilty about it.

**I just reread this and thought I wrote "hit on" that girl at the park. I won't let him do that either.

How do you deal with the endless "no"?

Friday Round-up (or what I learned)

My one-year-old says "Mama" (finally!) but only when he's mad or frustrated. (I love what my friend* said the other night — Mama is like air and water to kids, so that must be why they often say "Dada" first. Mom is like, obvious, so there's no need to say it (I'm going with that explanation).

Squishy playground floors are genius.

Library book covers are laminated for a reason.

Children don't like trips to Home Depot, as much as you (and by "you" I mean "I") might hope that they'll view it as a great adventure.

Little versions of coats and jeans just never get old.

Happy Friday!

xo,

Rebecca

*Heather

Aftermath

I realized as I was looking at yesterday's post that I had said it would be brief, and then it was anything but. So this one will be.* Halloween was a wonderful, chaotic trip. This is true of many, many things once you become a parent – and it sounds utterly cliche — but it's amazing to look at a seemingly mundane or been-there-done-that holiday (like Halloween) or an activity (swings!) through the eyes of your child. Our little frog had no clue what was up, but he "walked" all over the place, trick-or-treated for the first time (he put the candy back — could it be? Do we have a non-sugar-lover on our hands? Wishful thinking), and just generally enjoyed being alive, which is mostly what he does all the time anyway.

We were lucky to be in the company of some other adorable animals, like a fox, a dragon and a lion. The costume award, however, goes to my friends who dressed their cutie as a shark. Hello, irony much? I love it.

Hope everyone is coming off of their sugar highs in the aftermath of All Hallow's Eve. And, on a serious note, I hope everyone on the East Coast is staying sane and safe in the wake of this devastating storm.

PHOTO CAPTION: I can walk. And I'm a frog. Daddy, what's a frog?

PHOTO CAPTION 2: My Katniss costume was an epic fail. My friends only knew what I was because of yesterday's blog post. When I pointed out, "look -- combat boots!" or "Look, an army jacket!" they just said, "but those are your boots. And your army jacket. You look like... you." Ah, well.

*Egads! What is wrong with me? This post is long, too. Stop me. Please.