Well, we're back from a loooooooong weekend in Seattle, which is strange because we were only there for about a day and a half. It sure felt longer. We took the train up Friday morning, arriving in the late afternoon, and trained it back Sunday afternoon. The primary purpose of our visit was to see Tina and Dave's new baby, Finn. We high-tailed it over to the hospital as soon as we arrived. He is of course beautiful, wonderful, and small. Tiny. Not by newborn standards - he weighed in at just under 8 lbs. - but by Linus standards. I find it really hard to believe that less than 2 years ago Linus was about that size. But he was, I have pictures. It seems impossible that the 30 lb. juggernaut careening around the living room was ever that compact and demure.
After breakfast with my father on Saturday morning, we went back to the hospital for another Finn fix. We hung around Tina's room for a bit chatting and passing the baby around, then Orion left with Linus to change him and get him to nap. Then this thing happened that I feel very bad about. Finn started making the "I'm ready to eat" signs, so Tina got ready to try and nurse him. They hadn't had many opportunities to nurse yet, so they were still very new at it. As many of you know, figuring out the nursing thing can be hard at first. Considering that we've survived as a species, you wouldn't think it would be that hard, but it sure as hell can be. Especially given that most of us have never actually seen a woman nurse a baby, other than maybe a passing glance at a receiving-blanket-draped Mystery Activity by some woman trying to be unnoticed in an airport or some place similar. So, Tina and Finn were having a little trouble getting a latch going. I'm still nursing Linus now. I remember the challenges of the new nursing relationship, and I could see about 8 things going on that may have been contributing to the difficulty, but I didn't want Tina to think I was criticizing her, or come across as a know-it-all, so I didn't say anything.
For about one minute.
They continued to have trouble and Finn was starting to get frustrated and cry a little.
Now, in my defense, the sound of a newborn baby crying makes me crazy. Or maybe "crazed" is a better word. Since becoming a mom, I can't sit still in the presence of a crying newborn. I can't. Once, last year, I had to leave the dressing room at a department store because there was a baby in one of the stalls, fussing it up. The mom kept trying on clothes and saying things like, "You're ok. It's ok." while the baby continued to cry. I couldn't take it, I had to leave. I'm not saying that she was a bad mother or anything, or that I was angry and stalked out, I just couldn't stay. And it's not like I'm a "sensitive" person who feels things especially deeply or whatever. It's just - you know how they've done studies of brainwave patterns in different people in response to various stimuli, and new mothers show radical changes in their brainwaves when they hear a baby cry? I've got that, in spades.
So, Finn's starting to cry a little, and really at this point, I had 3 choices. I could have left - it was really time for me to go anyway. I could have just kept my mouth shut and let them struggle through it. Maybe they would've figured it out, or maybe not and would just have to try another time. Or, I could have taken the bull by the horns, so to speak, and gently but decisively told her what I thought the problems were and offer to show her alternatives.
Instead, I approached her bed and in a really half-assed way, kinda, sorta tried to "help". I did this by lamely pointing out a couple of things and maybe, sort of, suggested a few things. I think I was going for "gentle", but it was really just half-assed. Now mind you, Tina never asked for my help. And really, I pretty much just made things worse. Finn got more and more frustrated, and Tina and I got more and more tense in response, and Tina got more and more frustrated, and soon we were on the bad-nursing-experience spiral. I don't know what Dave and his mom were doing behind me - probably developing a deep dislike for me. Finally, Dave called in the hospital lactation consultant, and I skulked out.
So, to recap - things weren't going well, I stepped in and made them worse, then I left.
My only solace is that maybe after I left, they could blame me for the trouble and then settle down and get things working right. Maybe all the half-assed left the room with me. In case Tina reads this post before I have a chance to talk to her:
Lady, I'm sorry!
I left the hospital feeling so bad for Tina, and also so tense from the brainwave alterations. I tried to get Linus to nurse a little once I got back to my in-laws so that I could get a dose of those brainwave restoring nursing hormones, but for the first time in the History of Linus he wasn't interested. Of course.
So, there was that, but that's not why the weekend felt so long. There's just too much family to try to jam into a day and a half anymore. Of course, it's all about the baby and not about us. Now we're obliged to give everyone an adequate viewing of Poopenstein. My mother thinks that the bulk of our time should go to her and Orion's mother thinks the bulk of our time should go to them, and we still have to fit in my father and sister and round and round. We end up driving across town at least 6 times while we're there, and that's a serious deal in the gridlock of Seattle.
AND, to top it all off, I was reminded on more than one occasion that my family is a BUNCH OF CRAZY FUCKERS.
I'm not kidding. Orion's family is a little odd in mostly charming ways, and all families have that nutty uncle or the cousin that no one talks about. But every member of my family is a life-long resident of Crazyfuckerland. My first reminder came on the way to breakfast with my father. I have only one sister, and she is a single mom and has one son. My nephew decided to ride with Orion, Linus and I over to the restaurant, while my father and sister followed on. Once we were all in the car and on the way I said, "So, how's it going?" He says gravely, "You were mean to my mother as a kid and I will NEVER forgive you for it!" My nephew is 6.
It is true that I was mean to my sister when we were kids, and she has never gotten over it, BUT WE WERE KIDS. I was mean to her, she was mean to me, and the circle of sibling life was complete. I'm four years older, so I always had a bit of a height/weight/wits advantage (still do, in fact), but that's one of the perks of being the elder sibling. Yeah, I would push her around and generally act like an asshole, but then, she STABBED ME IN THE KNEE once. That is the nature of contentious sibling relationships. I have apologized many times for any and all things I may or may not have done to her when we were growing up, and I would again if I thought she'd shut up about it, but she won't. By the way, I'm 37 and my sister is 33. We haven't even lived in the same house for almost 20 years.
Honestly, when my nephew said that, I wasn't exactly happy about it, but it didn't really phase me either. It pretty much seemed par for the course, but it really upset Orion. Anyone who knows Orion knows that it's unusual for him to get upset. He's pretty much the poster boy for Mellow, but he kept saying that he just couldn't believe that she was setting my nephew up against me. He fumed about it for the rest of the day. I briefly considered bringing it up to my sister, but you don't need to go looking for drama in my family. Pretty much any conversation with her can end up in... what word am I looking for? Histrionics? Yep, I just looked it up and "deliberate display of emotion for effect" is exactly right.
So, that is one tiny example of crazy fuckerness. Here's another - at lunch with my Mom later that same day, she drops the news that my father had sexually harassed an employee at one of their businesses and they just settled the suit for $75,000, putting their company in danger of failing. Oh, and this all happened 2 years ago. What the fuck!? I'm just finding out about it?! And it's not like it was being kept a big secret or anything - my aunt, uncle, and sister (and probably all my cousins as well, knowing my aunt) knew all about it from the beginning. Also, this is apparently the reason my mother finally decided to divorce my father. Their divorce was final last fall, but I'd just assumed that my mother had finally gotten sick of what a huge asshole my father is. He really is. Big, big asshole. She should've left him 30 years ago, frankly. I've always thought so.
And here's a rich detail - just at breakfast that morning my father asked me if I'd been surprised that he and my mom, "had split the sheets" (wtf?!). I choked on my pancakes and tried not to let coffee come out my nose while I thought about whether I wanted to answer, "Are you fucking kidding me?!" That wasn't the first time he'd asked me that question either, but I'd just chalked it up to his impending Alzheimers. In retrospect, I think he was fishing to see if anyone had told me about the lawsuit. He should've rested easy in the knowledge that of course no one had. My mom probably would've never told me if I hadn't mentioned that my father said he thought it was, "better this way", like it was some kind of mutual decision.
Crazy, crazy fuckers.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Monday, April 17, 2006
Aaah, to be the favorite
So those memories about thinking Linus didn't like me when he was new have been on my mind lately because I am currently the Favored Parent. It's a pretty sweet gig, I tell you. Any parent out there will know all about how sometimes you're the cat's pajamas, and other times you're completely repugnant to your toddler. I think moms generally have a bit of a leg up, especially nursing moms, but we all end up doing time on the Losers List. There doesn't seem to be any sort of pattern in when or why positions shift, they just do.
I mentioned before that Linus sleeps with us. He also goes to bed whenever we do. I think we ended up with this arrangement because, as I've mentioned before, I'm lazy and this is easy. We all get ready for bed, climb in, lights out, everybody falls asleep. Some parents like to put their kids to bed early, but that usually means that the kids wake up at some ungodly hour and that would annoy the hell out of me. I'd much rather have a couple of quiet, kid-free hours in the morning than in the evening. Linus usually sleeps until 9:30 or 10. Weekdays I get up around 6:30 and head off to work before even Orion is up. I work a 4, 10-hour day schedule, so I get my extra hours in before Linus is even aware that I'm not there, and since he stays up late with us in the evening I get lots of time with him. On the weekends, I'm usually up by 7:30-8 and that gives me plenty of time for a jam-hands-free cup of coffee and a newspaper, or whatever. I'm not so perky in the morning. It takes me awhile to become fully interactive.
Linus is a funny little guy. Sometimes he'll wake up in the morning and just walk out into the living room, but usually he wakes up, sits up in bed and yells, "Ma?!" I'll get up and go into the bedroom to get him, but usually not before a couple more "Ma?!"s. I'll open the door to the bedroom and he'll be sitting on the bed with a worried look on his face. I'll smile and say, "Good morning!", and he'll stretch his arms up to me. I'll pick him up and he'll relax against my shoulder. I'll carry him out to the living room and he'll stay in that position until he wakes up enough to ask for the booby, or, "B" as he calls it. He'll nurse for awhile and then climb down off my lap and head off to look for a ball, or a rock, or the cat. I really like this weekend morning ritual. I can completely relate to the desire to be carried around in a sleepy haze until breakfast sounds good.
Apparently, during my work week when I'm not around when he wakes up, Linus will still call out, "Ma?!" Orion will go into the bedroom to get him, and when Linus sees who it is, he'll throw himself prostrate onto the bed crying, "No! No! No! No!" Orion will pick him up and he'll cry, "No, Da-ee!" He'll settle down pretty quickly, but still... Fortunately Orion thinks it's pretty funny, instead of upsetting, which is how I'd feel.
I usually get the better deal, which is totally how it should be, but not always. Sometimes I'll load Linus into the car and get in, ready to drive off, when he'll ask, "Da-ee?" The baby-sign for Daddy that we tried to teach him is hand open, palm out, with your thumb against your forehead (it should be thumb against your jaw for Mommy), but Linus translated this to pointing with his index finger into his ear (he pats his chest for me). So he'll point in his ear and ask, "Da-ee?" and when I say, "Daddy's not coming to the store with us, honey." boo-hooery ensues, with wails of, "My Da-ee!" over and over.
Really, I think he'd like to have both of us within arms reach at all times. Orion and I were sitting next to each other on the couch the other night, which is unusual as Or usually sits in the easy chair. Linus was beside himself with joy. He squished in between us, cupping our cheeks with one little hand each, and recited, "Ma. Da-ee. Ma. Da-ee." in a dreamy voice. You'd think he'd never seen us in the same room before. Kook.
I mentioned before that Linus sleeps with us. He also goes to bed whenever we do. I think we ended up with this arrangement because, as I've mentioned before, I'm lazy and this is easy. We all get ready for bed, climb in, lights out, everybody falls asleep. Some parents like to put their kids to bed early, but that usually means that the kids wake up at some ungodly hour and that would annoy the hell out of me. I'd much rather have a couple of quiet, kid-free hours in the morning than in the evening. Linus usually sleeps until 9:30 or 10. Weekdays I get up around 6:30 and head off to work before even Orion is up. I work a 4, 10-hour day schedule, so I get my extra hours in before Linus is even aware that I'm not there, and since he stays up late with us in the evening I get lots of time with him. On the weekends, I'm usually up by 7:30-8 and that gives me plenty of time for a jam-hands-free cup of coffee and a newspaper, or whatever. I'm not so perky in the morning. It takes me awhile to become fully interactive.
Linus is a funny little guy. Sometimes he'll wake up in the morning and just walk out into the living room, but usually he wakes up, sits up in bed and yells, "Ma?!" I'll get up and go into the bedroom to get him, but usually not before a couple more "Ma?!"s. I'll open the door to the bedroom and he'll be sitting on the bed with a worried look on his face. I'll smile and say, "Good morning!", and he'll stretch his arms up to me. I'll pick him up and he'll relax against my shoulder. I'll carry him out to the living room and he'll stay in that position until he wakes up enough to ask for the booby, or, "B" as he calls it. He'll nurse for awhile and then climb down off my lap and head off to look for a ball, or a rock, or the cat. I really like this weekend morning ritual. I can completely relate to the desire to be carried around in a sleepy haze until breakfast sounds good.
Apparently, during my work week when I'm not around when he wakes up, Linus will still call out, "Ma?!" Orion will go into the bedroom to get him, and when Linus sees who it is, he'll throw himself prostrate onto the bed crying, "No! No! No! No!" Orion will pick him up and he'll cry, "No, Da-ee!" He'll settle down pretty quickly, but still... Fortunately Orion thinks it's pretty funny, instead of upsetting, which is how I'd feel.
I usually get the better deal, which is totally how it should be, but not always. Sometimes I'll load Linus into the car and get in, ready to drive off, when he'll ask, "Da-ee?" The baby-sign for Daddy that we tried to teach him is hand open, palm out, with your thumb against your forehead (it should be thumb against your jaw for Mommy), but Linus translated this to pointing with his index finger into his ear (he pats his chest for me). So he'll point in his ear and ask, "Da-ee?" and when I say, "Daddy's not coming to the store with us, honey." boo-hooery ensues, with wails of, "My Da-ee!" over and over.
Really, I think he'd like to have both of us within arms reach at all times. Orion and I were sitting next to each other on the couch the other night, which is unusual as Or usually sits in the easy chair. Linus was beside himself with joy. He squished in between us, cupping our cheeks with one little hand each, and recited, "Ma. Da-ee. Ma. Da-ee." in a dreamy voice. You'd think he'd never seen us in the same room before. Kook.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Smiley Joe
When Linus was a couple of weeks old, I started to worry that he didn't like me. Before they start smiling it's all business with babies. They're either sleeping, or rooting around for food, crying if they don't find it. They'll spend some time looking at you, but it's a look like, "What the...? Who..? Who are you?" I knew that babies don't start smiling until about 6 weeks. I knew it in my brain, but in my heart I was becoming sure that Linus was developing a deep dislike for me. He'd stare at me like he was very disappointed to discover that I'm his mother. Then, when 6 weeks came and he still wasn't smiling, I was convinced. He just didn't like me. Oh, I'd make light of it and laughingly joke with everyone about it, but it chilled me to the bone. I'd kitchy-coo and baby-talk until I developed a blister, but he'd just stare at me deadpan, "Just give me the booby, lady." I'd think to myself, "Well, ok. Sometimes you just don't like someone. Nobody's fault. Doesn't mean you can't work with 'em. I've had plenty of coworkers I didn't like. No big deal, right? Sure. It'll be fine."
And, it's not like it was unrequited love at this point. I wasn't too sure about him either. Oh, I was down with the care-giving, his every whim was my command, no question about that, but I wasn't all google-boogle yet. It wasn't so much of a torch as a match that I was carrying for him at this point. But I did want him to like me, like really bad. I was afraid that if he didn't like me I'd pull a Reverse Grinch and my heart would shrink and harden, and I'd shrink and harden, until I looked like Nancy Reagan. Even if we didn't like each other, I didn't want Nancy Reagan raising my son. I didn't want the grape of new motherhood to become the raisin of indifferent parenting.
But then at 7 weeks he started smiling. Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows, people! That is really when I started to fall in love, you know? Who wouldn't?! Every time he caught sight of me, his face would light up. In truth, every time he caught sight of anybody his face would light up. It's like once he worked out this smiling business, he wasn't looking back. People would often comment that he was the smiling-est baby they'd ever met, and I believe it because he smiled all the time. And it's not like this lack of specificity in any way dampened the warm feelings that his smile engendered in me. It's baby magic. Think about it - when a baby looks at you and smiles hugely, don't you feel extra special? Like you and that baby have an unspoken connection? Like that baby's seen through your gruff exterior and into your gooey center? Yeah. Doesn't matter if you've never seen that baby before in your life, you are now BFF.
It's such a good strategy to get us to take care of their floppy selves.
And, it's not like it was unrequited love at this point. I wasn't too sure about him either. Oh, I was down with the care-giving, his every whim was my command, no question about that, but I wasn't all google-boogle yet. It wasn't so much of a torch as a match that I was carrying for him at this point. But I did want him to like me, like really bad. I was afraid that if he didn't like me I'd pull a Reverse Grinch and my heart would shrink and harden, and I'd shrink and harden, until I looked like Nancy Reagan. Even if we didn't like each other, I didn't want Nancy Reagan raising my son. I didn't want the grape of new motherhood to become the raisin of indifferent parenting.
But then at 7 weeks he started smiling. Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows, people! That is really when I started to fall in love, you know? Who wouldn't?! Every time he caught sight of me, his face would light up. In truth, every time he caught sight of anybody his face would light up. It's like once he worked out this smiling business, he wasn't looking back. People would often comment that he was the smiling-est baby they'd ever met, and I believe it because he smiled all the time. And it's not like this lack of specificity in any way dampened the warm feelings that his smile engendered in me. It's baby magic. Think about it - when a baby looks at you and smiles hugely, don't you feel extra special? Like you and that baby have an unspoken connection? Like that baby's seen through your gruff exterior and into your gooey center? Yeah. Doesn't matter if you've never seen that baby before in your life, you are now BFF.
It's such a good strategy to get us to take care of their floppy selves.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Rocks and sticks
Raising a boy is weird. I imagine raising a girl is weird too, but what do I know? I do know that raising a boy is weirder than I expected. I'm not sure what I expected exactly, but I know I didn't expect to spend so much time admiring rocks and sticks.
Linus loves him some rocks and sticks. You'd think they're much rarer than they are, given his response. We have a little patch of gravel outside our front door. Whenever we go out he'll stop and pick up a rock. He'll then exclaim excitedly something like, "Look at this AWESOME rock I just found!" Except, not in adult english, or any intelligible language. Then he'll hold it up for me to see. He'll insist on taking it into the stroller, or car, or whatever conveyance we happen to be using. He'll repeatedly examine it, then hold it up and exclaim it's virtues for all to agree. Over and over. Sure, he'll either eventually drop it and forget about it, or chuck it at something. Sometimes when he's getting out of the car, he'll find the rock he dropped at some point during the ride and it's all, "Wow! Look at this awesome rock I just found! Right here in the car of all places! Isn't it great?!"
And if it's not rocks, it's sticks. The bigger the better, of course. There are lots of parks with nature trails all around the edges of town here, and I'm trying to get more exercise and other such crap, so we spend a lot of time walking the trails. Linus will immediately find a stick, carry it for a few feet, then abandon it for another, better stick. He'll eventually settle on the stick, then he starts whacking the shit out of the trail. I'm not kidding. If he's not beating the ground into submission, he's clutching the stick in both hands, pointing it at you while making emphatic, "p-shoo, p-shoo!" sounds. I try and play it off with, "Oh, is that your magic wand? Are you putting magic in my leg?"
Totally bullshit, but what's a parent to do? We don't have guns, or play that way with him. We don't watch violent stuff on TV, though I'm sure he's seen some of that - even watching the evening news you'll see gunplay. It's like the gun gene turned on at 20 months. Wtf?! And it's not like he's old enough for us to have a discussion about the implications. Mostly, I try to play it off. I'm hoping that if I keep acting like he's pretending he has a magic wand he'll eventually be like, "hmmm, maybe this is a magic wand. Awesome!"
But this is what I mean about the weirdness. He's not mean, in fact he's a really sweet, caring kid. But he runs around all day alternating between reciting toddler poetry about the sublime beauty of the common rock, and chucking them at anything that moves. When he's not pretending to shoot you with a stick or a pen, that is.
Linus loves him some rocks and sticks. You'd think they're much rarer than they are, given his response. We have a little patch of gravel outside our front door. Whenever we go out he'll stop and pick up a rock. He'll then exclaim excitedly something like, "Look at this AWESOME rock I just found!" Except, not in adult english, or any intelligible language. Then he'll hold it up for me to see. He'll insist on taking it into the stroller, or car, or whatever conveyance we happen to be using. He'll repeatedly examine it, then hold it up and exclaim it's virtues for all to agree. Over and over. Sure, he'll either eventually drop it and forget about it, or chuck it at something. Sometimes when he's getting out of the car, he'll find the rock he dropped at some point during the ride and it's all, "Wow! Look at this awesome rock I just found! Right here in the car of all places! Isn't it great?!"
And if it's not rocks, it's sticks. The bigger the better, of course. There are lots of parks with nature trails all around the edges of town here, and I'm trying to get more exercise and other such crap, so we spend a lot of time walking the trails. Linus will immediately find a stick, carry it for a few feet, then abandon it for another, better stick. He'll eventually settle on the stick, then he starts whacking the shit out of the trail. I'm not kidding. If he's not beating the ground into submission, he's clutching the stick in both hands, pointing it at you while making emphatic, "p-shoo, p-shoo!" sounds. I try and play it off with, "Oh, is that your magic wand? Are you putting magic in my leg?"
Totally bullshit, but what's a parent to do? We don't have guns, or play that way with him. We don't watch violent stuff on TV, though I'm sure he's seen some of that - even watching the evening news you'll see gunplay. It's like the gun gene turned on at 20 months. Wtf?! And it's not like he's old enough for us to have a discussion about the implications. Mostly, I try to play it off. I'm hoping that if I keep acting like he's pretending he has a magic wand he'll eventually be like, "hmmm, maybe this is a magic wand. Awesome!"
But this is what I mean about the weirdness. He's not mean, in fact he's a really sweet, caring kid. But he runs around all day alternating between reciting toddler poetry about the sublime beauty of the common rock, and chucking them at anything that moves. When he's not pretending to shoot you with a stick or a pen, that is.
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