How we met Dr. Cornelius

So I let the baby knock two heavy clay mixing bowls onto his head. I am such a freaking amateur! I never imagined he’d be capable. They had been sitting on the bottom of an open shelf about 5 inches off the floor, but their size and weight seemed to put them out of the category of anything he could effectively manipulate. I was putting his bottles into the diaper bag and set him down right at my feet on the kitchen floor. At the first sound of jiggling crockery I had turned and was grabbing him, lifting him up to safety as the bowls splintered into large, thick shards on the linoleum.

Thinking we had escaped unscathed, I gaped wordlessly as I watched his face pull into a frozen, totally silent expression of wailing. Finally, he sucked in a deep breath and….WAAAAaaaaahhhhh! Apparently, as the bowls tipped, they clocked him on the side of the head and a nice little bump was already forming.

Poor kid. He’s such a little toughie, though. He got over it pretty quickly and we had a fabulous long walk downtown and he got a certain new toy we like to call Dr. Cornelius. We found the doctor at the puppet hut that sits beside the Indian Restaraunt downtown. I had been dying to go there for some time and was happily admiring the vast array of unique puppets when I noticed Nathaniel continually looking in one direction and laughing. Finally I sought out the object of his interest. A blunt faced, fleshy pawed, crazy eyed monkey.

I tried to convince the baby that there were many other, finer, choices. I stuck policeman puppets and nurse puppets in his face, trying to coax a smile. He'd only regard me with a bemused look that seemed to say, "So very amusing, mumma. I'm glad you enjoy playing with your puppets. Now, about that fabulous monkey over there...."

And, I had let him knock a bunch of bowls on his head. My fate was sealed. Dr. Cornelius was destined to become part of our family. Now, I look at him and realize my initial reaction had been too hasty. He really is a very handsome puppet. He speaks with a broad, friendly English accent and is a respected member of the faculty at Oxford. Sometimes, when he's in a very serious mood or, if he has a second glass of brandy, he'll tell us about the dark time when he lived at the Laboratory.

Shipwrecked Morning

Sometimes, no matter how hard you try to keep this new foundering ship that is now your life afloat, you inevitably end up with your stern stuck up your bow.

It had been a long night. First, I stayed up too late watching a DVD. Probably foolish, but on a tight schedule you grab the good times where you can! Once I called it a night I then had to crawl out of bed several times at the baby’s cry. He doesn’t require much during these late night rendezvous, just help finding his bunny and his pacifier, but you still have to wake up enough to go lurching around through the dark with one eye half open, trying your best to make your tormented moans sound like loving words of comfort for the child’s sake. Then you find your way back to bed to try to fall asleep again.

Eventually, of course, dawn slammed through his curtainless windows and he was rocking and rolling and my day had officially begun. Later that morning, while feeding the baby a bottle, I fell into a fitful, cold, uncomfortable sleep on the living room floor. I did not wake until a growing feeling of doom filled me and the following mantra pulsed through my brain – Get up and look at a clock, get up and look at a clock…

Reluctantly, I sat up and felt the full weight of my disaster. First, my Aunt Flo (you know, “Aunt Flo,” wink wink) had come to visit and made a mess of the clothes I was wearing. Second, the baby’s diaper was full of poop. Third, I was due to work a 9 hour shift and hadn’t made anything yet to bring along for my lunch. And, I only had about 20 minutes to get out the door.

Whatta ya gonna do? Call work, sheepishly explain you are going to be a “little late” and then thank the stars that you have a boss who, after ascertaining that everything is alright, says she’ll see you when she sees you.

Lie to me and tell me it gets easier!

Halloween Rainforest

Walking among the trick or treaters Halloween night it occurred to me that the crowd swirling about us in the dark was very much like the different levels of a tropical rainforest. The rainforest, from top to bottom, includes the emergents, the canopy, the understory and the forest floor. Each stratum comprises its own ecological niche containing species of animals unique to that one level. Riding on my hip, his head bobbing just below my chin, my baby occupied the Halloween canopy layer, passing other babies on other hips, all of them sharing the same stratum together. Bumblebees and ducks and carebears floated by one another in their own, separate world, grinning and cooing at each other. Parents' faces, at the top emergent layer, smiled greetings as the older kids terrorized the understory and toddlers walked and tripped awkwardly along the forest floor of All Hallow's Eve.

My little guy was a duck and I was suppose to be a scary New Orleans' voodoo priestess. I think he looks better!

It's hitting the fan now!

I finally let go and gave the boy the chance to totally eat on his own. Handing him a bowl and a spoon, I just stood back and let the &#%!* (ie, the pureed squash) hit the fan!

September Bottle Bullets

Baby's first visit to the park and first swing ride...he laughed so hard he couldn't catch his breath.



Baby succeeds at picking up spoon and inserting the correct end into his mouth.




Baby crawls!

August Bottle Bullets

"Neck Flossing" - the new technique for getting the gummy milk residue out of the creases of his neck.



Only called the baby by the dog’s name three times this month.



Tried to open the car door with an oversized set of plastic keys.

I’m already jealous of his future girlfriends (or boyfriends, whichever the case may be).

Baby sat up for the first time.



Baby says his first words -- “Evolutionarily viable.” Just kidding!

Cuisine of interest: carrots, sweet potatoes, rice and oatmeal cereals.

Am I the Dingo?

Talking with someone the other day, I happened to mention that my baby was so yummy I could just gobble him right up. I mean, really! He is positively scrumptious. Yum yum yum!

“Ewwww,” grimaced my friend. “That’s disgusting! You’re talking about eating your baby.”

Turning to an acquaintance standing nearby I begged for assistance. “Come on, you know what I mean, don’t you? Tell him. It’s perfectly normal to talk about your baby being delicious enough to eat.”

The innocent bystander stroked his long beard and considered. “Well,” he said seriously, “it’s actually just an abbreviated metaphor. I mean, what you’re really saying is that your baby is as wonderful as a bowl of ice cream and, as such, you could eat him.”

“Yes!” I cheered. “That’s it. An abbreviated metaphor. Well put!”

“But,” he added then, “it is most certainly the vestige of some kind of ancestral cannibalism.”

I have walked to the edge of the abyss and looked into the face of the dingo and the dingo was I.

Let it Be

Is it the magic of anxiety meds or is it having a baby that seems to suddenly give me courage to do things I normally would not? I, who doesn’t even like going to the Post Office, now find myself eagerly jumping at the opportunity to go out and show my baby something new in the world that he hasn’t seen yet.

Last Saturday, the baby and I packed up the stroller and, even though we couldn’t find anyone who wanted to go with us, we struck out by ourselves to the park downtown and joined 200 other people to watch the Volkswagen parade and listen to Bluegrass music. He did, indeed, seemed intrigued with this new slice of the world I was sharing with him, all except for the hot little yellow VW cart that roared its engine and popped its wheels to the noisy delight of the crowd. The upside is that now when we go out, he doesn’t even cringe when a loud motorcycle revs past us. Apparently a Harley can’t touch a Volkswagen dune buggy when it comes to showing off!

A highlight of our outing was when we came across a very good friend of mine who was in the park playing his guitar. This friend was, well, how shall we say it? It seemed he had spent the day indulging in one of the more common vices. Okay, he was falling down drunk, but that did not hinder is eloquence over the beautiful new guitar he had just purchased the day before.

“Wow, is that maple?” I asked, admiring the gleaming finish and delicate inlay. He looked at me like I was talking a foreign language, promoted my baby to a Lieutenant Commander in Starfleet Command, and offered to play us a song.

Baby Nathaniel watched in utter fascination as the musician’s hand dragged heavily over the chords and his voice rang out with the harmony of a drunken pirate, and when he was finished with his tune he took off his straw hat and threw it like a challenge onto the ground in front of him.

“Got any money?” he asked the row of tourists sitting nearby. “I’m working hard over here, you know.”

The group shared a worried look with each other, but then smiled. One of them stood and started digging in his pocket. He pulled out a quarter and began to drop it in the hat, then hesitated. “If I give this to you will you play us another song?” the man asked in the generous tone you might use on a seven year old who’s playing street musician with a Parker Brother’s guitar

“Sure, but it’ll cost you more than a quarter,” growled my friend.

“Oh, um, well…!” sputtered the man uncertainly. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out all of his change. “How about 50 cents?”

The performer considered for a moment, yanking irritably at his unruly beard. “That’ll do!” he said with sudden cheer and then treated us all to a unique rendition of the Beatles’ “Let it Be.”

Life Lesson for baby: Never settle for the first offer.

Happy 4th of July

We celebrated Independence Day by setting the little tyke on the road to his own eventual independence - his first meal eaten from a spoon!

June's Bottle Bullets

The old Bronx Cheer! Yes, baby has learned to blow raspberries... on and on... all day long... neverending...

Cradle Cap report: improving!



Able to reach out and grab toys.



First mouth kiss from a cute one year old girl.

First mouth kiss from a cute two year old boy.



His favorite thing to hear you say: "Darrrrling, are you ready for your brrrrandy now?"


The dog has officially changed her sleeping place and now spends her nights on the floor right next to baby's crib.


The dog was busted with a secret stash that was found to include a used diaper and a baby bottle. Next I'll probably find some bizarre shrine she's erected to the baby hidden in a closet or under a bed.

Scary Clown Song

One day, while trying to soothe my poor, screaming infant I landed upon this nonsensical song and it, combined with rhythmic marching around the house, worked like a charm. In the song, baby goes through the house asking various pieces of furniture and appliances if they have seen a clown. Each item answers back with some response vaguely connected with their function. The inspiration...a clown doll which, with the help of a black magic marker, leers with a menacing and naughty expression from the baby's cradle.

[Disclaimer: To date, no clown dolls have actually come to life and, possessed with evil, harmed any babies]

It's called "The Scary Clown Song" and it goes a little something like this...


I’m walkin’ roun’ town
Lookin’ for a clown
Won’t give up
Till that clown is found.

Mr. Couch,
Have you seen a clown?
Have you seen a clown
Walkin’ roun’ this town?

Mr. Nathaniel,
Nathaniel Grey,
I ain’t sat on no clown
in this town today.

Chorus:
I’m walkin’ roun’ town
Lookin’ for a clown
Won’t give up
Till that clown is found.

Mr. Stairway,
Have you seen a clown?
Have you seen a clown
Walkin’ roun’ this town?

Mr. Nathaniel,
Nathaniel Grey,
I ain’t stepped on no clown
in this town today.

Chorus:
I’m walkin’ roun’ town
Lookin’ for a clown
Won’t give up
Till that clown is found.

Mr. Piano,
Have you seen a clown?
Have you seen a clown
Walkin’ roun’ this town?

Mr. Nathaniel,
Nathaniel Grey,
I ain’t played no clown
in this town today.

And so on and so forth....until you find the clown.

Feeding Frenzy

Battle weary and sleep deprived, we find ourselves suddenly the leading stars of our only little Theatre of the Absurd....

Daddy: So, we should talk about the 4am feedings.

Mommy: What about them?

Daddy: Can we switch to you doing them for a while?

Mommy: I thought I was doing them.

Daddy: No, I've been doing them.

Mommy: I thought you were doing the 2am.

Daddy: I've been doing them both now for a couple of weeks.

Mommy: Nooo...I do the 4am.

Daddy: No you don't.

Mommy: What are you talking about? I know you did all of them when I was sick last weekend, but -

Daddy: I only started doing the 4am as a favor to you.

Mommy: What?!

Daddy: Because you were going back to work -

Mommy: That's not how it -

Daddy: I didn't plan to keep doing the 4am's permanently.

Mommy: Please, just let me say this all out. I just want to tell you how I understand it, then you can tell me where I'm wrong.

Daddy: Okay...

Mommy: First, I was doing the 2am and you were doing the 4am. Then we switched because I didn't want to do the first feeding any more. After a couple of days, you said how you didn't think it was fair to ME because he wasn't doing a 2am feeding anymore and so I was the only one getting up in the middle of the night.

Daddy: Yes, I did say that.

Mommy: So, if I don't do the 4am feeding, why would you have said that?

Daddy: You don't do the 4am, you do later in the morning. The 2am became the 4am.

Mommy: Well, a couple of times he's gone till 5 or 6am...

Daddy: Right, and I've been doing all the ones before that.

Mommy: You mean he's been feeding at 2 and 4 and I haven't been doing one until, like, 5am?

Daddy: Yes.

Mommy: Well, I didn't know that! I thought we were trading off. I thought you were doing the first feeding and I was doing the second. I didn't know you were doing all of them now. You said he wasn't doing his first feeding any more...

Daddy: Well, I mean, he does one somewhere between 2 and 4. Sometimes it's 3am. But I call all of that the 4am feeding.

Mommy: Oh, okay! You're calling the first feeding the 4am feeding.

Daddy: No, it's the 4am one.

Mommy: Okay, but it's the first one of the night now.

Daddy: Do you really not understand this!?

Mommy: Don't get mad! I really don't. I'm not trying to piss you off. All I'm asking is if you are calling the 4am feeding the "first" feeding.

Daddy: Yes!!

Mommy: Okay, so what you're saying is that you want me to take back over doing the first feeding at night.

Daddy: Yes. I only started doing that to make it easier on -

Mommy: All right. I thought we switched because I didn't like doing the first feeding and we thought it would be easier for you to do it because you get home late. But, you're saying that didn't really work out for you.

Daddy: Right. I don't like doing it either.

Mommy: Okay, so I'll go back to doing the first one again. If the first feeding is 4am now, I don't care. That won't bother me.

Daddy: It's just that I only meant to do it for a little while...

Mommy: Fine, I'm telling you I don't care. I'll do the 4am.

Daddy: Fine!

Mommy: Fine!!

(Followed by 24 hours of mutual silent treatment)

Name the Hazards

Ahhh, the "baby in the sink" picture. But, can you name all of the potential hazards in this time honored tradition?

Answers:

A. Wok right over baby's head.
B. Dangerous potato "masher."
C. Baby Wash (warning from label: "safety tip: keep out of reach of children") .
D. Knife. Need I say more?
E. Old scrub brush that should have been discarded last year. Check out the wear on those bristles! What civilizations of microscopic creatures inhabit this?!
F. Dirty dishes.
G. Hot water tap.


[DISCLAIMER: NO BABIES WERE ACTUALLY HARMED IN THE TAKING OF THIS PHOTOGRAPH]

Where's Baby?

Somewhere in this photo is a baby! Can you find him?

Britney Litany

Britney Spears driving with her baby in her lap - that's bad.

Britney driving with her car seat facing the wrong way - bad, but please remember that the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration estimates that up to 82% of car seats are incorrectly installed, so she's hardly alone on that one, unfortunately.

Britney's nanny dropping her baby on it's head - okay, that sounds potentially a little weird, but I wasn't there...

But Britney Spears almost dropping her child because she caught the hem of her pants in her sandles? Oh, come on! Who could pick on her for that? I say: good save, Britney!

May's Bottle Bullets

I have developed the habit of biting my nails.



My baby looks unnervingly like Jabba the Hut when he tucks his chin and probes the air with his little, pointed tongue.


Unable to cope with life's new time constraints, I have cut off all of my hair. They know me on the streets now as "The Little Yeshiva Boy."


Hygiene problem of the month: trying to keep the milk out of the creases of his fat little neck.


Natty Grey passes his 2 month check up with flying colors - has doubled in weight and grown 4 inches. He's finally big enough to fit into "newborn" size!

Cradle crap persists...



Baby learns to smile.

Diaper Doubletake

I file this under the "how tired was I?" category.

One time, during the first month with the new baby, when I was getting dressed, I slipped on my undies and set off to get one of the small, absorbent pads that are necessary to wear for while after having a baby and which I kept in a cupboard in the bathroom.

NEXT THING I KNEW...

...I was standing in the bedroom next to the changing table with little memory of how I got there. I looked down and realized that I was in the process of attempting to fit a baby’s diaper into my underpants! The only thing that jarred me back into reality was my confusion over what to do with the adhesive tabs.

So, in short: I was so tired I tried to put on a diaper!!

Rub a Dub Doodie

Nathaniel’s cord took 3 weeks to fall off and so, by that time, I was really eager to give him his first full bath. However, in my delirious and sleep deprived state, I decided that there was no way I could learn how to use his new tub right then - I mean, How do you fill it? How do you empty it? These things seemed insurmountable to me and so I decided I would just put him in the tub with me while I took a bath.

"What’s the worse that could happen?" I asked my self. "He’ll pee on me? Big deal!"

What I failed to consider was the poop factor. Specifically, what exactly happens to loose poop when it comes in contact with warm water.

The first thing amiss that I noticed was a small, yellow speck floating by that I thought must be a fuzzy off of the yellow washcloth I was using. Within moments, however, the tub was filled with what looked like little crumbs of old, scrambled eggs. Nathaniel was pooping and it was quickly dissolving into the bath water. With rising horror, I looked down at him and imagined the scene that was undoubtedly taking place underwater as he continued to empty his bowels into my naked lap. Not wishing to embarrass the little guy, I very nonchalantly stood up from what had become, essentially, a giant toilet bowl and tossed the baby onto a towel I had waiting on the bathroom floor.

Urgently, I turned on the showerhead only to discover that there was no hot water left. I washed off as best I could in the cool water and then felt a sudden pang of guilt as I remembered the child I’d left lying on the floor wet and in the process of pooping.

I need not have worried.

Throwing open the shower curtain I discovered that the dog had come in and was busily taking care of cleaning the baby’s poopy butt for me.

Needless to say, I used the baby bathtub next time.