Going to the grocery, outfit by Grannypants
Waking from a nap, deeply suspicious. Outfit by Patty D.
Fully awake, bib by Tom Appleton
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Safety First
Iain in his carseat, both ready to ride and just hanging out:
Iain's Rules
Number 1: Never Play Favorites.
If you're going to throw up all over Mom, say at 9am while eating breakfast, be sure to pay equal attention to Dad. It's best to wait a while, though (like until 10:15) so that they don't suspect any deliberate attempt at even-handedness. Be sure to get as much vomit on Dad's arm as you got on Mom's chest. If you can toss some goo out your nose both times, that's even better.
Remember that if you don't treat both parents equally today, you'll have trouble later. Well-adjusted parents aren't born, they're made.
Think about it.
If you're going to throw up all over Mom, say at 9am while eating breakfast, be sure to pay equal attention to Dad. It's best to wait a while, though (like until 10:15) so that they don't suspect any deliberate attempt at even-handedness. Be sure to get as much vomit on Dad's arm as you got on Mom's chest. If you can toss some goo out your nose both times, that's even better.
Remember that if you don't treat both parents equally today, you'll have trouble later. Well-adjusted parents aren't born, they're made.
Think about it.
Duck Socks. You love them.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Grrrr
I'd just like the people who give baby advice to sit down and have a beer. Is that too much to ask?
On one side of the table would be the Baby Wise people. They're the ones who say: put your baby on a schedule! Don't feed him every time he cries, don't feed him whenever he seems hungry. Regulate his time because You Are the Parent! If you do this, he will sleep through the night at 8 weeks, learn discipline, and turn into a law-abiding citizen. If you don't, Mom will hate herself, stop nursing, spoil the baby, and eventually create a monster who will think the world revolves around him.
On the other side of the table would be the Attachment people. They're the ones who say: breast-fed babies can't be on a schedule! Feed them when they're hungry, not just because it's 3pm or whatever. He needs to be held and to have his needs met or else he won't feel loved. If you cuddle him, wear him, and feed him whenever he wants to eat, you'll teach him to feel secure, and thus to attach. Once attached to you, he can attach to other people and become a self-regulating, productive member of society. If you refuse him food to stick to a schedule, you'll become frustrated, stop nursing and give him formula, eventually producing a malnourished psychopath who has no immune system and doesn't know how to love.
For the love of Pete!
Meanwhile, you can't get an answer to basic questions. Basic. Questions.
So I'm going to call up a friend and ask her advice. Because she'll actually answer my actual questions, rather than flog her pet theory. But I'm pretty frustrated that (just like pregnancy) (and delivery) (and recovery) feeding Iain has turned out to require all sorts of Super Secret Knowledge that's delivered in contradictory, confusing bits.
In other news, I took a picture of the duck socks. So that's something you can look forward to.
On one side of the table would be the Baby Wise people. They're the ones who say: put your baby on a schedule! Don't feed him every time he cries, don't feed him whenever he seems hungry. Regulate his time because You Are the Parent! If you do this, he will sleep through the night at 8 weeks, learn discipline, and turn into a law-abiding citizen. If you don't, Mom will hate herself, stop nursing, spoil the baby, and eventually create a monster who will think the world revolves around him.
On the other side of the table would be the Attachment people. They're the ones who say: breast-fed babies can't be on a schedule! Feed them when they're hungry, not just because it's 3pm or whatever. He needs to be held and to have his needs met or else he won't feel loved. If you cuddle him, wear him, and feed him whenever he wants to eat, you'll teach him to feel secure, and thus to attach. Once attached to you, he can attach to other people and become a self-regulating, productive member of society. If you refuse him food to stick to a schedule, you'll become frustrated, stop nursing and give him formula, eventually producing a malnourished psychopath who has no immune system and doesn't know how to love.
For the love of Pete!
Meanwhile, you can't get an answer to basic questions. Basic. Questions.
So I'm going to call up a friend and ask her advice. Because she'll actually answer my actual questions, rather than flog her pet theory. But I'm pretty frustrated that (just like pregnancy) (and delivery) (and recovery) feeding Iain has turned out to require all sorts of Super Secret Knowledge that's delivered in contradictory, confusing bits.
In other news, I took a picture of the duck socks. So that's something you can look forward to.
Monday, May 26, 2008
6 weeks on Friday
On Friday, Iain will be 6 weeks old.
According to the web and the books we have, sometime in the first month, baby should raise his head a little, make some noises (uh, yeah - got that covered), respond to light and sound, etc.
Sometime in the second month he should smile.
Specifically, he should smile around 6 weeks.
Tick, tock. Tick tock. No pressure.
Only 4 days to go. 3 if you don't count Friday, and since Iain was born at 4:12am I don't think we really need to count Friday. So that's 3 days which is only 72 hours. But if you add the time between now and midnight (when Tuesday begins, starting the clock) you get 4 more hours which makes 76 hours. Minus 3 minutes, so that's 75 hours and 57 minutes.
No pressure, kid.
According to the web and the books we have, sometime in the first month, baby should raise his head a little, make some noises (uh, yeah - got that covered), respond to light and sound, etc.
Sometime in the second month he should smile.
Specifically, he should smile around 6 weeks.
Tick, tock. Tick tock. No pressure.
Only 4 days to go. 3 if you don't count Friday, and since Iain was born at 4:12am I don't think we really need to count Friday. So that's 3 days which is only 72 hours. But if you add the time between now and midnight (when Tuesday begins, starting the clock) you get 4 more hours which makes 76 hours. Minus 3 minutes, so that's 75 hours and 57 minutes.
No pressure, kid.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Ok, Ok, Stop Begging
So here's Iain all noodly:
And here's Iain with Dad. You can tell from the look on his face that he's plotting his next vomit explosion.
Pot, Meet Kettle (Thwarted)
So I had this blog post going in my head:
"This morning, we had the following exchange with Iain:
FDH: Let's wear this!
CRH: Iain, your mother is relentlessly preppy! Everything she puts on you has a polo collar!
FDH to Iain: Son, meet the pot. I'm the kettle. Your father refused to greet the sun without a collared shirt for a decade. These days, he wears a T-shirt twice a week and thinks he's extremely relaxed.
CRH: [snorts] [drinks coffee in rocking chair while FDH changes diaper, talks to Iain, dresses Iain...]
FDH: Just to be daring, let's put on RED SOCKS!!
CRH: That's just wrong. It doesn't even match.
FDH: See my point? Who's preppy now? Or just conservative in dress? Ok, no red socks [strips off super-cute red socks] how about these? [puts on duckie socks - they are white socks on the bottom of the foot but on the top they have 3-dimensional stuffed duckies, making Iain's feet look like little ducks]
CRH: Nice. Undermining Daddy with the baby. And him only 5.5 weeks old."
I was going to accompany this post with cute photos of Iain in his collared shirt, Iain with duckie feet, etc.
BUT...
Iain spent 10 minutes in his bouncy seat (thanks, Stacey and Chris!) in the bathroom while I showered. The steam helps clear his sinuses.
So I'm all shampooing, soaping, adjusting the water so it's not quite nuclear...all the usual stuff. And Iain? Oh, he's fine. NO, really.
Or maybe he's puking up a gallon of milk. All over his preppy shirt. And his bib. And the kleenex we put over his bib. And his socks (ducks!). And the bouncey seat. And his arm. And his face.
It's even coming out his nose. Charming.
So I get out of the shower, strip him, run a bath, bathe him, gather up the load of laundry he's created, re-dress him, re-diaper him [those last two in reverse order], and ponder the question: where does a baby this small come up with approximately a gallon of puke? Where's it coming from???
Hence, no post. No photos of Mr. Cute in his preppy onesie with his duckie socks.
Sorry.
"This morning, we had the following exchange with Iain:
FDH: Let's wear this!
CRH: Iain, your mother is relentlessly preppy! Everything she puts on you has a polo collar!
FDH to Iain: Son, meet the pot. I'm the kettle. Your father refused to greet the sun without a collared shirt for a decade. These days, he wears a T-shirt twice a week and thinks he's extremely relaxed.
CRH: [snorts] [drinks coffee in rocking chair while FDH changes diaper, talks to Iain, dresses Iain...]
FDH: Just to be daring, let's put on RED SOCKS!!
CRH: That's just wrong. It doesn't even match.
FDH: See my point? Who's preppy now? Or just conservative in dress? Ok, no red socks [strips off super-cute red socks] how about these? [puts on duckie socks - they are white socks on the bottom of the foot but on the top they have 3-dimensional stuffed duckies, making Iain's feet look like little ducks]
CRH: Nice. Undermining Daddy with the baby. And him only 5.5 weeks old."
I was going to accompany this post with cute photos of Iain in his collared shirt, Iain with duckie feet, etc.
BUT...
Iain spent 10 minutes in his bouncy seat (thanks, Stacey and Chris!) in the bathroom while I showered. The steam helps clear his sinuses.
So I'm all shampooing, soaping, adjusting the water so it's not quite nuclear...all the usual stuff. And Iain? Oh, he's fine. NO, really.
Or maybe he's puking up a gallon of milk. All over his preppy shirt. And his bib. And the kleenex we put over his bib. And his socks (ducks!). And the bouncey seat. And his arm. And his face.
It's even coming out his nose. Charming.
So I get out of the shower, strip him, run a bath, bathe him, gather up the load of laundry he's created, re-dress him, re-diaper him [those last two in reverse order], and ponder the question: where does a baby this small come up with approximately a gallon of puke? Where's it coming from???
Hence, no post. No photos of Mr. Cute in his preppy onesie with his duckie socks.
Sorry.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
More Photos
Iain with his grandmother Nina
Iain with his grandfather John
Iain contemplating.
Iain in a quilt, thinking about how great orange is, wondering why this pacifier tastes kind of furry, considering a bath, planning when it would be best to poo again, stroking his chin thoughtfully and counting out how many hours he'll need to nap today in order to keep Mom and Dad up all night...
A lady in the grocery said, "I just want to pick him up and squeeze him!" and I said, "Lady, do it at your own risk." But she didn't seem frightened. I bet she likes sky-diving, too. Or perhaps bungee-jumping. Or parasailing. Or free-climbing. Or eating blowfish.
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