Wednesday July 1, 2009
Dear Emerson:
FIVE MONTHS
I can’t believe that you are already five months old. It seems like you are growing up faster and faster every day. Just in the past week you have become so much more gregarious and animated. The following list details some of your noteworthy life accomplishments thus far:
EXERSAUCER:
You have begun really PLAYING with your toys. That is, if we can define “playing” as “the act of grabbing on to objects, banging them around, and trying to shove them into your mouth in such a way as to deposit the MAXIMUM amount of baby slime onto said object.” You love your Exersaucer. An Exersaucer is like toy crack for infants, the pure definition of gratuitous excess as it applies to persons under the age of one. Imagine an oversized lifesaver…..then imagine that Disney Land AND Candy Land threw up all over it….next imagine that it requires EIGHTEEN batteries to operate this “Land” of wonder and excitement…..and you are getting pretty close to the “essence of the Exersaucer.” You are currently trying to figure out how to put EVERY part of the Exersaucer in your mouth……even if it is much too far away to reach your mouth or far too big to ever fit. We will see how you do. Just for the record, I am putting all of my money on you; the Exersaucer doesn’t stand a chance.
SNAGLETOOTH:
Thanks to a surprise gift bestowed on us by Baeten genetics, you have treated us all with the joy of early teething! You have one little tooth and it is really out now. Despite the tragedy that brought it to us, it is undeniably adorable. You can see it when you smile, and you can DEFINITELY feel it when you chomp down, especially if that happens to be when you are nursing. This is a topic that needs some further discussion……there are some ground rules that need to be set…..some negotiating that needs to be done. According to the “literature” I am supposed to firmly and with sharp tone say “NO!” and remove you from my breast. When I first read this (in preparation for the days of teething) I naively wondered if I would be able to muster such a tone with my precious little darling. I assure you that the firmness and the sharpness of my tone have not been a problem, as they occur as an automatic reflex whenever you CHOMP DOWN ON MY NIPPLE WITH YOUR SNAGGLETOOTH DAGGER OF DEATH! My tonality is not the problem. The problem is your reaction, which is consistently a very large snaggletoothy grin. As if to say with great eloquence and clarity, “tonality message NOT received.” You seem neither startled nor dissuaded. Hmmmm….Still working on this one.
FEET:
You have officially discovered your feet. The first few times I helped you to grab them while you were on your changing table, and you were like, “Oh my God! What are these things….and can I..……get them to my mouth…….(grunt grunt)…… Hmmm….not quite yet, but definitely an intriguing and worthwhile life mission. I will continue to strive towards this worthy goal.” Now that you have perfected the “grabbing your feet on your own” skill, you like to grab them both at the same time and grunt as you rock back and forth (Perhaps in an attempt to roll over? If so, an excellent segue to the next bullet point). This of course is unreasonably entertaining to your father and myself, which I suppose is to be expected of new parents. You have mad foot grabbing skills little one.
ROLLING OVER:
However, the “rolling over skills,” need a bit of work. You are SO CLOSE! So close that every day I think to myself, “Today is the day!” But I have been thinking that “today will be the day” every day for several weeks. So maybe today won’t be the day, but SOON (and probably followed by an impressive display of fireworks & an award winning routine performed by the squad of professional cheerleaders that I have waiting on-call)! I have even made you watch YouTube videos of babies rolling over, in a blatant attempt to motivate and inspire you – but so far, the efforts have been for naught. In your defense, you really don’t spend a great deal of time on the floor. I try to be a good Mommy and make sure that you get a little floor time every day, but our two rambunctious puppies make it a little bit hard for you to spend a lot of time just hanging out on the floor. I am thinking that teaching yourself to roll over requires just the right combination of opportunity, practice, & frustration, which will then manifest itself in motivation & action (or maybe, I have just thought about this TOO MUCH, and you will roll over when you are DAMN WELL READY!). Whatever the case, it may require a little more “alone time” on the floor. Coincidentally, that is what you are doing right now, as I write this. Chilling out on your blanket next to the couch. Perhaps TODAY IS THE DAY!
Love,
Mommy
Filed under: Family
Gettin’ ready for de trip da Green Bay!
Gotta make shur ya’ membered everyting…..ya’ kno.
Lookin’ furward ta seen da family!
Don’t ya’ be callin’ Child Protective Services on us, now.
We put ‘er in ‘er carseat eventually….Geez.
Filed under: Family
Emerson & Daddy at the hospital.
Emerson & Daddy watching TV.
Emerson & Daddy first thing in the morning.
Emerson & Daddy taking a nap.
Emerson & Daddy after a bath.
Emerson & Daddy admiring her silly hat.
Emerson & Daddy getting “SO BIG!”
To the best daddy.
We love you.
Happy Father’s Day.
Filed under: Links
For your reading pleasure: an interesting (and short) article by Nicholas Kristof of the New York Times.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/28/opinion/28kristof.html
Filed under: Baby Momma
Tuesday May 26th 2009
Dear Emerson:
Today you are three months and 26 days old.
THE NAPPING DILEMMA
So, we have yet to resolve the ongoing napping dilemma. While I have noticed that you have started to show more consistent signs of daytime sleepiness, you are still adamantly against an actual nap (which shall here-on-out be defined as: an extended period of daytime sleeping, preferably over one hour, which occurs in said baby’s own sleeping apparatus, during which, the mommy may exit the chamber of slumber and GET SHIT DONE!). Presently, the only way I can get you to sleep for an extended period of time is to lie down with you. The minute I try to set you down in your own bed, you invariably and immediately wake up.
I am really not sure what to do about this problem.
I am going to start with a modest goal: ONE consistent afternoon nap. I am going to try to have you go to sleep sometime between one and two o’clock each day. I think the timing alone will be the first goal – trying to establish some sort of schedule. Then perhaps we can work on getting you to sleep in your own bed. Baby steps. Baby steps.
Love,
Mommy
Thursday May 28, 2009
Dear Emerson:
Today you are three months and 28 days old.
TRIUMPH?!?!
It is 1:38 pm, and you are asleep – in your own bed.
I am not holding my breath, but this could be a FIRST. The first time I put you down for a nap in your pack-n-play (awake) and you actually (gasp) FELL ASLEEP. On your own. In YOUR BED. If this truth holds, do you understand what a MONUMENTAL ACHIEVEMENT has been witnessed on this day in the household of Baeten?
Despite many people telling me otherwise, I have generally been an opponent of the “let your baby cry” school of childrearing – especially for babies your age. I base this opinion on absolutely no scientific evidence or any personal experience. It is an opinion of pure instinct. It seems like letting a child “cry it out” before said child is able to really reason, or have any real concept of cause and effect is unnecessarily cruel. I think that you are too little to really know why you are crying or be deliberately unreasonable. So for me not to attend to you is to tell you that I don’t care about your distress, physical and/or emotional, and that just isn’t the way I want our relationship to start.
That being said, I will let you fuss and cry a little. The flip side of my previous comment is that I don’t want you to turn into a spoiled brat that lives in a world built around immediate gratification. Also, it sometimes happens that the circumstances of life prevent me from addressing your displeasure IMMEDIATELY. But, as far as nap and bedtime attempts go, I have always gone and gotten you when your crying passed “displeasure” and reached a timbre of actual distress.
As previously documented, the Battle for the Nap has been epic and ongoing.
Up until today, here is a breakdown of our general nap time routine:
- I nurse you in the bedroom, and if I am really lucky, you get sleepy while you are eating.
- I burp you and lull you to sleep in my arms.
- I put you in your bed.
- You IMMEDIATELY wake up.
- You fuss fuss fuss….eventually developing into a full blown crying fit. This process can occur in seconds or can be stretched over 10 or 15 minutes.
- I pick you up.
- You stop crying.
- I lull you back to sleep in my arms.
- We nap together on the bed.
- As soon as I get out of bed, you wake up.
Today, I decided to try something new. I fed you, burped you, and put you in your bed – fully awake. Then I went into the kitchen and made myself a salad. I decided that, barring hysteria, I was going to let you fuss and cry until I had eaten my salad. I call this the “Salad Method” of baby sleep philosophy.
You fussed.
You cried (although not with the escalating ferocity that you typically display).
I ate.
And then, as I chewed a bite of tomato……..God descended from the heavens on his silvery white steed of compassion and mercy, floated into our bedroom, hovered over your perfect little baby face, and bestowed tiny butterfly kisses of drowsiness upon you. And you slept.
Until now.
Now you are SCREAMING.
SCCCRRRRREEEEAAAAMMMMIINNNGGGGGG!!!!
It is 2:03 pm.
Almost a half an hour.
Baby steps. Baby steps.
Half an hour IS progress.
Love,
Mommy
Filed under: Booda & Max
Max has made a full recovery.
The Monday after my last post on the subject, Max was a little bit better, but still not his normal self. He had spent the previous weekend moping around, not eating, and looking generally sad and sick. So I took him to another vet for a second opinion. They gave him a pretty complete physical exam and then told me to take him home and give them a call if he wasn’t better in a week. Thank you ma’am, that will be $200.
Later that same evening, Max seemed much improved, and he continued to get better over the next couple of days.
The evidence suggests that his recovery was based predominantly on the fact that we passed the $5oo mark on his veterinary care. I am pretty sure that as soon as the debit card was approved for that $200 transaction, Max’s immune system sprang into action. The $300 we spent on the previous two visits just wasn’t enough to tip the scale of his immunological response.
If I had known that there was such a strong correlation between Max’s health and the amount of money that we spent at the vet, then I would have just forked over the money right away and saved our poor puppy a few days of misery.
We are glad that he is back to his goofy normal self. 
Filed under: Baby Momma
Baby is in her bouncy.
Happily she sits.
10 minutes.
No screaming.
Awesome.
Max the wonderdog is sick.
It all started this past weekend when we noticed that he was holding up his left hind paw. We assumed that he had just strained it a little bit while he was romping in the yard with Booda, but as the days passed it did not seem to get any better. So on Tuesday I made a vet appointment for him. He and Booda both needed to go in for their annual well-dog visits anyway, so Max’s injury just pushed that errand to the top of the list.
As the week progressed, Max’s leg did not seem to be getting any better. If anything, it seemed to be bothering him more and more. He has still been cheerful, but his overall “volume” has definitely been turned way down.
Then yesterday morning he didn’t finish his breakfast.
Now, if you have EVER met Max, not finishing his breakfast is a VERY BIG DEAL. Max has always been an incredibly food driven dog. In fact, we often worry about his eating habits because he has a tendency to not chew his food – he just inhales it. It is almost like a doggie magic trick. You know the one – the incredible vanishing food trick. When he was a puppy he swallowed an entire rib. Whole. In the flash of the splittest of seconds. I was sure that I had killed our brand new puppy. We took him to the vet, fully expecting an expensive surgical extraction. The vet sent us home with instructions on the emergency symptoms that might occur – NOTHING EVER HAPPENED. It didn’t even slow him down one bit. The days passed and turned into weeks…..and eventually we just figured that the rib was no problem for his SUPER DUPER digestive system.
Our present worry was further compounded when he wouldn’t touch last night’s dinner or this morning’s breakfast. Something is defintely very wrong in Max-land. Last night I coaxed him into eating some roast beef – but it was difficult, and I am not being sarcastic. This morning, he wouldn’t eat any of the wide array of tasty treats we offered him (roast beef, peanut butter, bread).
Today we took him to the vet. What ensued was like the very long doggie version of House. Dr. McGee looked him over from head to toe. He took his temperature. He palpated his leg. He drew blood. He ran several blood tests, which counted his blood cells, and organ function. He tested his urine. So far, everything has turned up in the normal range. Which is good because it rules out some of the really bad things that could be wrong with him, but frustrating because all of that testing and we are no closer to knowing what is wrong with him. So Dr. McGee gave him a shot of analgesic for his leg discomfort, and one of antibiotics – just in case, pumped a couple of syringes of “doggie nutrient paste” into him, and sent him home for observation.
Poor Maxie-poo has been lying in the same spot since we came home four hours ago. Poor puppy.
I have made some yummy boiled hamburger and rice dog food for him, and hopefully I will be able to get him to eat some of it.
Hopefully he will feel better soon.
The obvious, yet still surprising thing about having a baby is that it COMPLETELY changes who you are.
I think that statement deserves a resounding “DUH!” from the crowd.
While I was pregnant, and even before I was pregnant – when I was just contemplating motherhood in a vague and nebulous sort of way – I do not think that I underestimated the enormity of motherhood. I am a fairly pragmatic girl, and I knew that having a baby was going to be an enormous amount of work and something that radically changed the breadth and perspective of our lives.
What I did not expect; however, was how dramatically and immediately it changed me – the essence of me, the core of my identity, and the foundation of my self perception. While I understood that I was taking on a huge new job, I really thought that it was something that would be added to what I already was – like, “Hello, my name is Anna. I am an adopted Korean, college graduate, chocolate chip cookie lover, wife, small business owner, AND a mother.” I knew that the “and a mother” part was weighty, in all likelihood more weighty than any of my previously donned roles, but I still thought that the central object – the “me” – would stay relatively the same. It would just have adjusted to its additional new role.
But I was wrong. Having a child changes the central object. You are no longer “Anna” who is a wife, a business partner, a goof ball, a dancer – whatever….. You are now some new incarnation of “Anna the Mother.” On many days you aren’t Anna at all, you are just “Emerson’s Mom.”
This has been a major topic of self reflection for me and a HUGE adjustment, and I would have to assume that I am not alone. In fact, I would be so bold as to hypothesize that much of the “baby blues” and postpartum depression that you hear about is at least partially due to women dealing with this exact transition and adjustment.
It is a wildly confusing process because it involves such an intensity and polarity of emotions. Total selflessness vs. complete selfishness. Overwhelming heart melting love vs. extreme overwhelming exhaustion and frustration. Wanting to be with your child 24/7 vs. wanting some time (make that ANY time) of uninterrupted alone-ness.
While the change is fairly immediate, the reconciliation of that change, at least in my case, is a process – an acceptance of the evolution or metamorphosis that parenthood necessitates. As my family moves past the three month mark, I feel like I am finally starting to wrap my brain and heart around this process, and in doing so, finding a path towards some sort of productive sanity. I am starting to realize that this new me doesn’t have to completely destroy the old me in order to be effective. Instead, I must find a way for the old me to evolve into something new and different. I am working my way towards a place where I can be this new “Anna the Mother” and still find room in the machine for some of the cogs that defined me in my old life (husband, work, dog lover, etc.).
This whole conversation is not to say that the first three months were not full of wonderful, amazing, life-changing moments – moments that brought tears of joy and amazement to my eyes, moments that felt cosmic in their significance to us as a family and to our place in the world. But the first three months were also months of brutal anarchy. Night was day. Up was down. Some days I could hardly find a coherent sentence, much less recognize myself as the same person I was before parenthood. And until it actually happened, I didn’t realize how unnerving that lack of recognition would be.
In the first few weeks, one of my friends wrote to me, “Don’t mean to scare you, but your life has changed. But by three months, your sun will shine, no matter what. But it is the longest three months–the most exhausting three months–boot camp has nothing on being a new mom.”
At the time, I read that with hope, but a streak of skepticism born of physical and emotional exhaustion. But we are officially past three months – and what do you know? The sun is shining.
Since a couple of weeks after Emerson was born, I have been writing her letters. They are more like journal entries really – written to her. I write whenever I have a chance. Sometimes a little every day. Sometimes every couple days. The entries chronicle all of the things that are going on with her, with us, with whatever really……..
It recently occurred to me that the the things that I write in her letters are often the exact same topics that would inspire me to write on my blog…..the point of view is just different. So, here I am, killing two birds with one stone. This has official become the lazy wo(man’s) blog. I am just going to cut and paste a couple of excerpts.
Written Friday April 17th, 2009
THE MILK COMA
This comment falls under the “Things I Love About Motherhood” category. Sometimes when you are nursing you get sleepy. Each phase of sleepy nursing should actually get its own subtitle, but in order to expedite the storytelling process, I will smush them all under one. First, your eyes slowly, ever so slowly, start to close. This is one of my favorite things about nursing you: watching your eyes go from all round and big – peering at me over my boob….and then the lids start to slowly droop…..it is so adorable it should be illegal. Next, you will sort of flop your top arm back behind your body. You sort of look like a drunk frat boy that fell asleep on the floor of the bathroom. It doesn’t look comfortable at all, but your body is totally relaxed, like a bean bag in the shape of a baby. Finally, if you have really fallen asleep, my nipple sort of just falls out of your mouth. It is too funny. Which brings us to the culmination of cuteness, the acme of adorable – the milk coma. You are all passed out and I pick you up to put you on my shoulder to burp you. You sort of grimace, groan, and stretch that baby back-arching stretch. Our faces are so close together that I have to strain my eyes sideways to really see you. You breathe your warm milky breath into my face. It is the best thing ever. Sometimes you stay asleep and sometimes it is a mini-coma and it only lasts for a few minutes, but it is some of my favorite time with you. It is so sweet that it makes me sad for everyone that doesn’t get to experience it on a daily basis.
p.s. It is 10:20 pm, and you are still sleeping. Hallelujah! Daddy is going to be so proud of us when he gets home.
Written Sunday April 19th, 2009:
HAPPY BABY
Over the past couple of weeks, it has been my great relief to discover that you are NOT the grumpiest baby that was every born. In fact, you smile quite often. Since you got the hang of the muscles in your cheeks, the smiles have been frequent and fabulous. You smile the most consistently for your Daddy. Whenever you see him, he gets a big one, often accompanied by your “silent laughing face,” the face where you look like you are laughing, but no sound comes out of your mouth. You have also been cooing and “talking” a lot, which is painfully adorable and reduces me to a big lump of baby talking mush.
Through the first couple of months, your father and I (okay, mostly me) were worried that you might never smile and that you would spend your entire life, starting from birth, being morose and unhappy. This would have been a difficult fate, but we would have loved and supported you anyway; although, it would have been very difficult to find black delinquent punk rocker baby clothes – they just don’t make them, and even if they do, they definitely don’t sell them in Fort Wayne, Indiana.
You may still become one of those pessimistic poetic preteens (How is that for alliteration? KAPOW! Or should I say PAPOW?) that will wander around wearing an oversized black sweatshirt hoodie and black eyeliner, whilst carrying a journal, and The Complete Anthology of Sylvia Plath. But since the wonderful emergence of your sunny adorable smile, it is not a 100% certainty and even if it does happen, at least it isn’t starting NOW. Thank you God. While I think that I can work my way up to handling your inevitable “angsty angry years,” I am grateful that I will have a good 12 or so years to work my way up to them. What is that story about boiling a frog? You have to put the frog in cold water and SLOWLY turn up the heat. Thanks for turning down the water a little bit. Mommy really appreciates it.
