theology&geometry

In addition to Mr. Buds and Stretchy Buds, we’ve got:

Yawny Buds
Seepy Buds
Sweet Baby Buds
Shrieky Buds
Poopin’ Buds
Stinky Buds
Grumpy Buds
Burpin’ Buds
Sad Buds
Splashy Buds
Bouncin’ Buds

• babies can sleep soundly with their heads at 90-degree angles from their bodies, but they scream in agony the instant you take them out of the bath tub because of the slight change in temperature?
• I am 30, a homeowner, and a parent, but I feel most like an actual adult those times when a light bulb goes out and I know I’ve got a backup bulb stashed away?
• the women on the network morning shows dress in tiny tiny tiny dresses year-round, even when it’s cold out? And hooker heels?
• Google is fucking up my world? I mean, I know they’re allowed to and I never really thought the “Don’t be evil” thing would hold sway forever. But still. Why can’t they just chill with the stupid? Who is in charge over there right now who’s making these Facebookesque decisions?
• people post text-heavy shit on Pinterest? It’s a visual pin board. If you want to bookmark text posts, use that handy “bookmark” feature on your browser.
• It’s nearly February and I haven’t worn a single sweater this entire winter? WHAT IS WITH THIS WEATHER?
• I bought a house that isn’t in walking distance to any restaurants or grocery stores? There’s a corner store a couple of blocks to the west, but some dude was shot and killed in that area a few days ago. Besides, all they have is crap food anyway.
• I look even more supersized now than I did when I was nine months pregnant, despite having lost 10 pounds (during birth) and breastfeeding around the clock?
• my feet are constantly getting mangled from unseen pieces of glass or wooden splinters that apparently litter the kitchen floor, no matter how often I sweep?
• Mitt Romney is allowed to call Barack Obama “detached from reality” without the entire country collectively laughing in his face and then ignoring him for the rest of the year?
• my dad has an epic mancrush on Newt Gingrich? He has really liked him for as long as I can remember. I don’t think they would get along in real life.

I start back to work in two weeks. The plan is to work from home for a while before going to the office full time. The change of pace seems nice in theory but I have no idea how we will do it, practically, from day to day. How any parents do it. How parents with more than one child do it. Things now are so frantic and hurried, showers taken quickly and chores done at breakneck speeds. If I think about subtracting 40 usable domestic hours from my week, my mind reels.

Every day I feel the ache to sit and write but it’s something I just can’t seem to carve out much time for. The mornings are my best chance, but I often find myself dozing on the couch instead, if the baby nods off too. That way I can get sixish instead of fiveish hours of sleep for the day. It’s like a little sanity booster shot.

We’re all sick right now. A nagging cold that has us leaving rolls of toilet paper placed strategically around the house for nasal downpours. Holden is congested too and snorts his way through the day, tolerating the saline sprays and periodic invasion of the bulb syringe. He’s cranky now and again when he feels bad but usually in good spirits because he’s awesome like that.

Things are good these days, mostly, although I wish both our cars were working so we didn’t have to do the car coordination dance all the time. I’m excited for Holden to get a little bigger and stronger and easier to cart around so that we can continue our long and arduous reintroduction to society. He’s my pal; I can’t wait to have adventures with him. There are friends I’ve not seen in months because I’ve been holed up in the baby bunker. Of course, some friends tend to drop completely off the radar once you have a kid. I’ve been on both sides of that fence so I can’t much complain, I suppose. Never did I consider how completely consumed by your child you become once he’s here. Bah! I will always retain my unique sense of self! And my work! And my hobbies! I thought snottily when I’d encounter women who seemed to be all about their (especially young) children. What I didn’t realize is that to a great degree, you have no choice, at least in the beginning. Your unique sense of self IS your child, and all the finicky, mundane tasks that make his existence start out smoother are what comprise your existence. So much is wrapped up in getting that little squirt going in the right direction that everything else fades into the background. Unless you’re a crackhead. Those people don’t give a fuck.

I get it now, parents of the world. I feel bad for not getting it before, but no one gets it until she crosses that bridge for herself. I also get mom jeans and low-maintenance haircuts and constantly stained shirts and going to Target in pajamas and no make-up and arm fat and a too-wide middle thanks to a stretched-out tummy. These things are unfortunate but I get why they are things. They are collateral damage most women are not fortunate (or rich) enough to avoid, so we endure them. They are blinked out entirely when my baby boy catches a glimpse of me out of the corner of his eye and smiles wide, beside himself with happiness. That is what I live for now.

How can someone be in this world for a mere 10 weeks and know so well how to command my heart?

Ridiculous.

Buds
Mr. Buds
Mr. Buddy Buds
Buddy Boy
Smiley
Sweet Baby
Stretchy Buds (when I bring him up off the boob to burp and he stretches his arms up and his knees scrunch to his tummy)
Mr. Baby (sometimes I slip and call boy cat this)
Mr. Good Baby (when he’s chilling)
Mr. Sad Baby (when he’s grumpy)
Mr. Happy Baby (when he’s all smiles)

Baby boy,

This past month was a big one for us. You very noticeably started your transition from weird little floppy newborn with a smelly belly button to your current status as smiling, bouncing, sometimes shrieking-in-delight boy. You got longer and beefed up a little bit after a few weeks of struggles with your weight gain while we figured out that whole constant breastfeeding thing. You finally outgrew those newborn diapers and settled into size 1s. Your belly button began to resemble a tiny cinnamon roll, the way it swirls around. Your eyes lightened up and are now a cornflower blue ringed in deep cerulean just like your Daddy’s, framed by lovely long lashes. Your skin cleared up and your right eye isn’t goopy anymore. You started using your eyebrows to make hilarious expressions like a cartoon villain. You started smiling a lot and not because of gas. I heard you laugh for the first time early in the morning a couple of weeks ago as you drifted off to sleep. You showed us how strong you are by keeping your head up most of the time and scooting all over the place when you’re on your belly. Before you get too mad and demand to be picked up, that is. Tummy time can be very frustrating, as you know.

We finally got to say sayonara to those silly sponge baths (we only took two anyway) and dove in to real baths in the whale tub like the plastics lobby intended. You don’t hate baths, but you aren’t yet quite sure what to do about them. You just sort of sit there, perfectly still, as I wash your hair and narrate everything I’m doing. Then when you get out and I start to dry you off, you realize that you’re very grumpy and you let me know about it. It might be in part because I’m constantly putting those adorable hooded towels on you and then taking pictures of you, but let’s not dwell on that, okay?

We were a bit less afraid of getting you out and about this month, after a month of being more or less total hermits except for doctor’s visits. When your Aunt Krissie visited, you slept through our lunch at Chili’s, and then a few weeks later when Aunt Amber visited, our dinner at El Mezcal. You snoozed through trips to the Dollar Tree and Burlington Coat Factory. You even stayed conked out during a trip to the mall a few days before Christmas, kiddo. That is pretty amazing.

Just the other day you chilled in your carrier while I milled around Walmart. A worker there marveled over how you were just looking around, so bright eyed. You alternated between taking it all in and snoozing while I loaded up the cart and foolishly wheeled my way into the line of an associate who worked at a pace that can be adequately described as “non-breakneck.” You started fussing at me when you realized the cart was no longer moving, so I tried to keep you quiet while unloading the cart and deflecting the stares from baby haters in line behind me. Okay, they probably didn’t hate babies. But it always feels that way when people look anything but thrilled in the presence of a baby. Funny to be on this side of that equation now.

Speaking of baby haters, I took you up to the newsroom for the first time so you could meet my co-workers. Just kidding, most of them are baby compliant and they oohed and aahhed over you while you slept in your carrier. You squawked a little once while I was talking to my boss at her desk, and I literally ran over to you to shush and comfort you. You would think after seven years of having every work night complicated by noisy co-workers, I might be ready to give back a little.

Oh well!

We went out for dinner on your dad’s birthday and both of us were so paranoid that you were going to be the screaming baby in the restaurant because you didn’t fall asleep on the drive over. We got a booth in the back and I readied myself to nurse you if needed, but your dad was a little weirded out by the idea and didn’t want the waiter to see my goods, so when you started to fuss near the end of the (extremely abbreviated) meal, he scooped you up and hauled you out to the car while I took care of the tab. We’re still new at this, baby boy. So very new. We will get it figured out.

You had your first snow and two big holidays this past month. Christmas (which was total chaos for mama but probably pretty laid back for you, since you nursed and slept much of the time) and New Year’s Eve. Daddy had to work so you and I watched the horrible countdown programming on television. We were in bed by 12:30.

We’re still working on sleep, that enigmatic beast. During the week, Daddy and I take shifts at night and in the morning so that we both can get a solid chunk of sleep at some point in the day. Some nights it works well, other nights not so much. It just sort of depends on your opinion of sleep in general at any given moment. You’ve finally grown out of that (wonderful) phase where you could sleep easily anywhere and not be bothered by noise or light. You like to fight sleep now when there’s something going on in the room you think you should keep tabs on. This can be something as minor as the television being on a show where someone is talking, even at a very low volume. This can easily lead to you staying up for hours and hours and hours and getting overtired, which makes it so much harder for you to go to sleep EVER AGAIN. So we’ve started trying to put you down for naps in the bed, which is where you seem to fall asleep easiest because I can lie down with you for a while until you drift off, and it’s quiet and kinda dark back there. We’ve learned that you like to sleep on your side, just like your dad. You’re still sleeping for relatively brief stretches of time, maxing out at around four hours sometimes at night. But four hours in a stretch is pretty rare for you. An hour or two is much more common. You either poop/fart yourself awake, or you get hungry. It’s okay, it happens to the best of us.

You’re taking a bottle like a champ during Daddy’s night feedings, and still nursing during the daytime just fine, except for when you get really hungry and then you flail around and whimper as you wait for my letdown, and you get this look on your face like you’re worried you’re never going to get any milk ever again. You’re gaining weight, from what I can tell (you sure seem heavier) and you’re getting so long that your legs are beginning to wrap around my side while you nurse! You’re pretty sociable and don’t mind being held by any warm body who might offer, but you prefer not to get too far away from my boobs. It’s understandable.

In the mornings we watch horrible network programming, including Live With Kelly and The View (that’s you watching The View in that picture above, where you are clearly scandalized by something), and we play on the couch and on your play gym, where you shriek and kick until you get bored and then you holler at me until I change the scenery for you. I remember thinking while I was pregnant that I wasn’t going to keep the TV on all the time because I didn’t want your soft little newborn brain to get rotted so early (can’t we at least wait until you’re a teenager?) but I have developed a bona fide addiction to the crappy daytime offerings because, and this is important for you to understand and embrace because it will never change, your mother has horrible taste and loves things that are bad because they make her feel ALIVE.

Sometimes we nap together on the couch, your head up near my neck close enough that I can smell your sweet little breaths. Lately you’ve been having playtime in your crib, which I finally cleaned out and stocked with some of the cool toys our friends and family have given you. Now the trick will be keeping the cats out of there, because for so long they thought it was their bed, which is why we had it piled high with boxes — so they would stay the hell out.

Speaking of cats, they are coming around more and more now that they see you are not just a very grumpy temporary visitor. Mr. Kitty came and sat by you the other day. And he gets really worked up when he sees you playing with your balloon because he lusts so badly for the ribbon it’s attached to. Neither one of them has learned, however, to shut the hell up when I’m trying to get you to go to sleep or when you’re sleeping nearby. They think it’s play time at 5 a.m., or they think it’s appropriate to act like assholes until I come and check on the food bowl, regardless of how much food is in there or how busy I am trying to tend to your pressing needs. I have perfected the art of threatening them without moving or making a sound. It’s all about eye contact, and facial contortions, and being sure to transmit your burning hatred through your clenched teeth alone. I’m no match for your Daddy, though. He walks into the room and Sally disappears.

Sometimes when you get tired of me and my silly voices and constant narration of all the mundane things we do, you like to hang out with your Daddy, who is much more entertaining than I am. He plays rock ‘n’ roll and soul music for you on the computer and you guys dance and he sings. You’re a demanding crowd, though; as soon as one song ends and he’s picking a new one, you like to yell at him to hurry up and pick something already. You don’t like dead air. You like the Black Keys a lot, and I suspect that could be because that’s pretty much all I listened to when I was pregnant with you. Because thieves stole the CDs out of my car and the only listenable CD left was a Black Keys mix.

We finally ran out of disposable diapers that had been gifted to us and I bought a new pack. On look at the price and I got on the ball and finally prepped the cloth diapers I bought months ago but had been putting off using because we still had Dreft and Purex to use. We’re easing you into them — wearing them during the day at home so we can get the hang of them before attempting nights and outings. They are comically bulky and you look pretty silly in them, but you’ll grow into them.

That head of dark hair you were born with is thinning out a bit, which makes me a little sad. I was hoping you could hang on to it, but now we’re sort of excited to see what your new hair might look like. When your dad was a little boy, his hair was dark at first but then grew in really light. Then he grew up with dark hair. As for your mom, well, she went through a pretty unflattering bald phase. Maybe you’ll be spared that.

On your two-month birthday, your Grammy and Pa came to visit and keep you for a few hours so your dad and I could get out and do something fun together. I was so excited, but after an hour away from you I missed you so terribly and just wanted to smell you. I wondered what you were doing and if you missed us too. I may or may not have cried when I started thinking about how much I love you and want you to be happy. I may or may not be tearing up as I write this, too. Sniff.

You are such a beautiful, sweet boy, Holden. And you are so, so loved by everyone around you. Your personality is starting to show itself and I’m so grateful to get to meet new parts of you as the days go by.

2012 is going to be such an adventure!

The kiddo is asleep and I’m waiting for him to wake up any second now, so I’ve been browsing old blog posts, and I came across this one about a dream I’d forgotten I had. Since I am not delusional, I know you are not going to click that link, so I am going to quote the post in its entirety:

I was in a swimming pool with [name redacted] and we were [activity redacted]. (Excuse the redactivity but telling the truth would be highly awkward.) When we finished, he made some sort of overture that something was going on down there, and I’m sure I don’t have to explain the exact geography of down there. I reach down and sure enough I can feel a heavy, round presence there, and it’s getting bigger. It’s a head! It’s coming out! I’m having the baby! And holy crap he is moving down that tunnel with a quickness!

I feel no pain as he makes his exit — he just slips right out into my hands, and I struggle a bit to get a grip under his shoulders as he’s underwater and slippery, not to mention heavier than I thought he would be.

I bring him up out of the water and to my chest, and he is lovely and warm against my skin, and such a nice rosy color. I can’t quite see if he is breathing but he is quiet and I feel his warmth next to me and the slight tensing pull of the cord against my skin.

He’s out and it was easy and unexpected and I’ve finally met him. All smiles.

I had this dream nearly three months before Holden was born, but what’s nuts is that this is pretty much exactly what happened, without elaborating too much. Except, of course, there was a period of many hours between the first activity and the birth. And it was anything but painless in the literal sense, but was indeed painless in a more philosophical sense. But good grief, that dream is spot on, down to the not being able to see if he was breathing and the cord tension (we had a short cord so I couldn’t hold the baby up and get a good look at him until it was cut.) Isn’t that weird? That is weird. Pretty amazing, actually.

Most of the time when we try to show Holden the cats, he looks everywhere but at them, or he shrieks in their faces and they gallop off. The other night we were chilling on the couch and Jack just plopped himself down beside the baby and hung out despite being kicked repeatedly. Like it was no big thing. I died of cute but came back to life thanks to the abundance of life-giving cute in the air.