Just wanted to post this.
How cute is she?

Happy family

Posts are getting fewer and further between. While this is partially due to sleep deprivation and Corrie's monopolizing the family computer for work, there's something else going on as well. It comes down to the opening line of Anna Karenina:

All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way

I fear that currently we're suffering from that bane of all creative endeavors, contentedness.

Back when I used to travel more, introductory conversations with other wanderers followed a fairly regular pattern. After some mandatory small talk we'd dive into trading horror stories. "So you missed a connection and ended up in Yugoslavia? That reminds me of the time I had to sleep on the sidewalk in Calcutta." The one-upsmanship was pretty blatant, but made for some great stories. Nobody would ever talk about the things that went right though. Never would you hear stories about the transcendent sunsets from an Alpine hut, or the subtle color schemes of a Chagall stained glass window. Gruesome, scary, and preferably tragic was what the audience wanted. Scars preferred.

Before Mia was born, we had a well of anticipation and anxiety to draw from. I had to stop myself from posting more than three times a day. Since then however, that necessary tension has faded away. We're happy these days, sleepless nights and screaming child notwithstanding, and happiness, while preferable to nail-biting fear, kills the muse.

We'll try to keep things lively on this end, let our loyal fan base in on all the milestones, but I just can't bring myself to post endlessly on the infinite varieties of poo we've seen, or the Pentecostal tongues she shouts in her sleep. It just seems petty next to the joy I get from holding her in one arm while I type this out one-handed.

Until then we'll just be wallowing in our dull, un-original happiness.

The weekend that was

Knowing that most of you stop by for your fix of cute pictures, and given that we're on a second day without our afternoon naps, and I fear I might sound somewhat punchy, instead of a heartfelt treties on the true meaning of parenthood, we offer a photo essay, in parts:

Of course, the NCAA tournament takes precedent for everybody:

Mia has U. Conn going all the way, and depending on the total points of the championship game, may get that pony after all. She's conflicted about Duke, but there's time to work on that.

My brother came to town to play with his Niece


She however, knowing her audience opened up the pipes for him on occasion. As any good guest would, he lied about sleeping through her wails at 10:45, 1:30, and 3:00 last night.

Walter and Mia spent time bonding


After which he burrows in a cave of his own making


She takes a bottle for the first time


And likes it perhaps a bit too much.


All this on what was the last day of the first month of her life. Much more to come.

Edited to add: We had other visitors too. But we don't have their permission to post photos. So S and J, didn't want you to think your visit (and your burritos) didn't matter!

Speaking in tongues

We've been blessed so far with a child that sleeps for significant chunks at a time. After a few stumbles, we've ended up with a fairly livable routine. We try to turn in anytime between 8:30 - 10:00 depending on when she last eats and naturally falls asleep. It's a mad dash to get to sleep ourselves and really milk every wink we can before she wakes up for the 1:00 feeding. More often than not she'll sleep soundly until the 4:00 feeding. If she doesn't go back to sleep, than that's it for my night, as I bounce her until she falls asleep close to 6:00. On a good night she'll fall right back to sleep after each meal, but more often than not, she needs some walking around to get her tired again.

I tried reading to her, but when she's crying it's really a two handed job to bounce her and shush at the same time, so I end up with the TV on low volume instead. With anywhere from 15 minutes to an hour and a half to kill until she gets that nice deep breathing going I'm forced to watch some truly interesting programming, and see what networks think of people that stay up late on a Tuesday night (not much).

Two things I would not have otherwise known that you might be interested in hearing about late night TV:

1) The weekly test of the emergency broadcasting system is at 2:51 am Wednesday mornings, on all channels. Mia was almost sound asleep until that piercing siren came on. Changing the channel didn't help, ensuring another half hour of bouncing.

2) Spike TV reverts from whatever they're showing (typically Caddy shack or some old Chuck Norris movie) into religious broadcasting at 2:55 am every morning. We could be committed to a classic final battle, only to find ourselves in a discussion of why abstinence is cool. If you're not fully awake when this happens it's easy to think somebody is kidding.

(So somebody likes to watch Baywatch? Isn't that special)

The last few nights though have witnessed a new development. She's keeping to our routine still, but in-between the feedings, whilst still sound asleep, Mia will grunt like a monkey. At times it sounds closer to two wet balloons rubbing together, with all the accompanying squeaks and whines, but the base line of all this is a real solid grunt. She isn't pooping. We thought she was trying to break free of the straight jacket we put her in, but the arm-free sleep sack didn't help either. Oddly enough she'll stop as soon as she's in my arms (only to start up again as soon as I put her down).

We asked our pediatrician who laughed and said it's just an immature digestive system. It should pass in the next three weeks, but if she's not waking herself up, we should feel free to sleep through it. Easier said than done, but it's comforting that it isn't a medical condition.

Our kid is just weird.

(After months of living in her natural habitat, we hope to better understand her)

Everybody's asleep

What you first need to know is how windy it is outside right now.

We’re on the second floor of a narrow wood frame house on a hill, and the wind is ferocious. It’s been getting colder lately, and we had a brief bout of hail today, but my wife is sound asleep in the other room, and Mia is yawning in the crook of my arm, and we don’t feel the cold at the moment.

There haven’t been many updates to the blog as of late, so let me first apologize to the handful of you that have faithfully checked daily for news or cute pictures. Who knows why the muse comes or leaves, but lately, the urge to write just hasn’t been there. There haven’t been many ‘firsts’ to speak of that need to be shouted from the rooftops, and I’m getting a better sense of what parents do. To summarize the past week, there’s been quite a bit of diaper changing, more than a few late nights spent rocking her in our arms. Mandatory afternoon naps, the occasional bath, trips to the vet for Walters foot (not better yet, but on the mend), and that’s pretty much it.

Once in awhile either Corrie or I get a bout of cabin fever, perhaps me more than her. I had thought that time spent at home would be full of productive chores and minor projects, maybe even just a chance to read a hundred books before going back to work. It’s been all that at times, but today was something different. There was no urge to fix that busted light bulb on our front porch, or organize our train wreck of a basement. No need to bake or cook any extravagant deserts. There are no movies that I’m dying to go see, the book I’m working on is decent, but hardly a page-turner. Nothing on TV.

There’s just Mia stretching and yawning in my left arm as I sit on the couch. Walter is sound asleep on his blue chair, faint music on in the background, and that wind outside just won’t let up. Her back arches and tiny arms stretch out as far as they’ll go, bumping my nose at the height of their reach. Her leg sticks out defying gravity even though she’s sound asleep. Little fingernails, tiny feet that just call out to be tickled.

Soon enough it’ll be time to flip the laundry, heat up some dinner, change another diaper and walk the dog, but it’s cold outside right now, and she’s so warm nestled in my arm. So I’m just going to take another moment before getting up, maybe mark this on the blog. So many things Corrie and I want, both for ourselves and for her. So many things we’re working towards, a lifestyle we’ve both imagined far off in the future. So many things that need to get done. Just not yet. She’s still asleep, and I get to be the dad, holding his daughter, watching out for the family.

Work it girl

I'm sure every parent out there thinks they can cash in on their child through lucrative modeling contracts. But tell me she isn't a natural sleeping on my chest like so?

That awkward age

When we first started photographing our daughter, she had just been through a traumatic experience. More specifically, her head was quite "cone-ish". As such we went with a variety of hats, so as not to distract from the innate cuteness. Tough to comment on her deep blue eyes when you have to overlook the alien shaped head.

Since that time, she has proceeded to grow quite a bit of hair. She is learning, as all of us that have gone from completely shaven head to slightly fuzzy do, that there is an embarrassing awkward middle phase. Right now she's achieved what can perhaps be described as a Baby-mullet.

Of course that hasn't stopped Peter Boyle from a successful career, so why should it slow down Mia?

Not her fault

Poor Walter. Just when things start going well, they take a turn for the worse.

All was right with his world. He was back home and his cousin Daisy was sticking around for a week to play. He was able to sleep in his favorite chair, was getting plied with treats from his parents that missed him horribly for two weeks, and was just starting to get used to Mia crying at 2:00 each morning. We had even arranged for him to sleep in our bed again.

Yesterday however, on the way home from a glorious walk in the park he stepped on some broken glass right outside our house. To his credit, he didn't cry or whine, but just went upstairs, drank some water, then curled up on his chair for a nap. It wasn't for another 10 minutes that Corrie noticed the trail of blood leading up our stairs, to the kitchen and back out to the living room. (Imagine a darker version of a family circus cartoon)



We tried to clean up his foot but he was bleeding pretty profusely. A hasty drive to the vet, to learn he cut the pad of his foot pretty deep, and needed significant stitches. They tried to sedate him, but Walter being Walter, he would have none of it. So they had to put him completely under and intebate him. While putting a breathing tube down my dogs’ throat (a sentence I hoped never to have to write), they found an abscessed tooth that had to be yanked as well. So not only is he limping, but he can't eat crunchy food for a few days either.

He's back home now, heavily medicated. He's also forced to wear that painfully dorky cone on his head to keep him from chewing the stitches out, and is prohibited from long walks, rigorous playing, or jumping off our bed.

I only hope he doesn't associate this latest humiliation with our daughter.

Being a big brother

Well it seems our worst fears failed to materialize. Walter and Mia have reached an immediate understanding.

Perhaps he's just too pooped after two weeks of running in the woods of Connecticut to really give a damn, but so far he's slept through the worst crying she has to offer, has liked her feet and head in a tender caring way, and has more or less settled back into his routine uninterrupted.

This may be a temporary thing. He very well might grow to understand that she isn't going anywhere. He might get less attention as Corrie and I ease back into real life, cooking our own dinners, going to work, etc. But my biggest fear was the mutually assured sleepless nights as they attempt to our cry/howl each other in the middle of the night.

We might actually get through this first month in one piece.

Proud Parents

OK, anybody out there that can burp, hiccup, and fart at the same time, raise your hands.


It's really something to behold. Who says youth is wasted on the young?

No Roger, No Re-run, No Sleep

(It's a What's Happening reference people. Yup, we're that kind of old)

The whole point of swaddling is to keep her arms locked down. In some way, the restricted movement is comforting and womb-like, and helps babies sleep, or at the very least calm down.

And as far as technique, I'd say Corrie and I are doing pretty well. With a plain square receiving blanket, we can make a pretty tight baby burrito. But the one secret weapon that is supposed to by the fort knox of blankets is the Miracle Blanket.

Lately however, she's been managing to frustrate even this, as slowly, throughout the night, her arms find their way out. Perhaps she dislocates her sholuder like Mel Gibson in Leathal Weapon, but one way or another, she will not be contained.

This morning I woke up after a particularily loud baby grunt. I go to check on her, only to find she is out cold, but making her defiant Black Power Salute. I'm thinking this is simply her first cause, but whatever helps her sleep works for us.

Thor

How could I not write about Thor?

Corrie had fallen in with a local Mommies gang recently and heard through the grapevine about a house sitting opportunity right around the time she was due. As luck would have it, another local mom was leaving for two and a half weeks and needed somebody to watch the house and walk their dog while they were away. We jumped at the chance as a way to put up family when they came to town without forcing them to share our couch. It's always nicer to stay in a real place, especially with your own kitchen and TV. This way visitors could wake up on their own schedule (as opposed to Mia's) read the paper and have a cup of coffee before coming over).

Thor, the dog that comes with the house, is fairly low maintenance. He just goes out back for a few seconds each day, for the most part because he has no hair. He's a great dog, very well behaved and a bundle of fun, but I wouldn't be lying to say he's "interesting looking". If 'Character' were people, this dogs face would be China. His skin is dry and wrinkly, with dark freckles covering his body where wisps of stringy white hair don't sprout. He has to wear a fleece vest during the winter to stay warm, giving him a dog's version of a farmers tan.

I mention Thor now, only because, through a series of unfortunate events, he was to be left alone for a night last night. We felt bad for the poor bugger, so decided to bring him over to our place to keep him company. We were missing Walter anyway, and figured he'd appreciate the attention.

Didn't work out quite as we planned. First off, he hated the idea of going in his crate, and really wasn't on board with taking a short car ride to our place. By the time I brought him, his food and water bowls, special blanket and treats up our stairs, this 5 lb terror was absolutely apoplectic. I come upstairs to find Mia fussing and crying, let Thor out and he immediately proceeds to pee on every flat surface in the house. I chase him around for about 10 minutes with paper towels and spray before giving in and sticking him back in his crate, hoping he'd go to sleep. Well, he really didn't take to that plan and started screaming like we were pulling his nails out.

Figuring this was not a workable situation, I packed up his gear and took him back to his house, Thor continuing to protest the whole way back. He's much happier now, left at home on his own, and we were able to sleep somewhat better without him. At least we tried though.

So without further ado, say hello to Thor.

Sorry ladies, he's spoken for.

but do we save it?

(Artists rendition)

As far as milestones go, it isn't that huge, but last night her belly button fell off. Corrie and I hadn't seen before what the tiny black stump looked like until Mia came along, and we're not going to share any gruesome pictures here. Suffice to say, it was good to see it go. At least now she can take a full bath.

unrelated

Mia has been sleeping like it's her job today, which, while perhaps not boding well for tonight, has been great for allowing us to nap, make some bagels (so much better than store bought), and read, read, read.

Still up to date with the new years resolution so far (a whole three months into the year, yea me!) on reading a new author each month. So far I can highly recommend the three that I've discovered for the few of you out there that aren't way ahead of me on this already.

Jonathan Lethem:


"Men and Cartoons" was a great collection of short stories, mostly set in Brooklyn. If Corrie and I needed another reason to leave all this behind for the dream of a brownstone in Park Slope (visualize the house in the Cosby show) Lethem just adds fuel to the fire. Also picked up "Fortress of Solitude, which didn't grab me as quickly. Got half way through it before January ended and I picked up...

John Banville:


Fantastically dark, lyrical stuff. Part crime/murder mystery, part descent into madness ala Crime and Punishment. Start off with "The Book of Evidence" to get an intro to his repeating main charector, then move on through "Ghosts" and "Athena". I want to someday get to his 2005 Booker winner "the Sea", but a new month started, which leads us to..

Thomas Keneally:

Author of Shindler's Ark (otherwise known by the movie from said book, Schindler's list), he tends towards WW II tales pitting ridgedly moral people against impossible situations to see how they crack. Just started 'The Office of Innocence" and am loving it so far.

Shame I might actually have to go back to work someday.

Manly man

There is nothing more masculine than being a good father.

That being said, Corrie has taken to the slings with a fevered vengeance, which presented me with an interesting dilemma. They're a great way to carry our child around, from today through about 18 months from now, leaving your hands free and for the most part avoiding that back pain that we've already come to know. Given that they're mostly worn and promoted by women however, they tend towards the, how shall I put it... feminine side.

Now far be it for me to not carry my daughter around in this just because it contrasts with my entire wardrobe, but a cheetos stained football jersey it aint.

So what we need here is another way to frame the issue. It's the unimaginative man that simply thumbs his nose at gender stereotypes and cares nothing for the snickers behind his back at the supermarket in the middle of the day. Nope, this calls for a more elegant approach than a straightforward denial.

Given my family’s Scottish heritage (or Irish, French, British, whatever. That's the joy of being a mutt, get to choose your associations at will) I'm going with the William Wallace model.


Just need some Lee-Press-on-Arm-Hair, perhaps a natty sweat soaked wig, and a kilt, and I'm there baby. Snickering middle-aged house-fraues will think twice before giggling in the 12 items of fewer (Not 12 items or "less", for god sakes people, it's simple grammar) line if they see the legendary Scottish warrior shopping for huggies.

There would have to be nights like this

You want a piece of this?

Hubris, that's all that it was.

We were so proud of our sleeping routine, expecting that good parenting merit badge in the mail any day now. Mia would sleep for 3-4 hours at a stretch during the day, then we'd work our way into an 11:00, 2:00, 5:00 feeding schedule each night. She was happy, we were happy; management and labor were all in agreement.

Well last night she staged a mini revolt. After staying up later than we should have to watch back-to-back episodes of Scrubs, we tried to put her down at 10:05.

10:07 she wakes up screaming. Feed her and put her down again. Three minutes later she's screaming again. Long story short, we changed her diapers three times in an hour and a half (and yes, they were all full), and fed her at least another three times. I tried to take her for a walk around the living room in the dark to calm her down, but that simply enraged her further. She hasn't managed to formulate words yet, but the clear body language indicated something along the lines of:

"I hate you!"
"You suck!"
"You call that a Binky, Nancy-boy?"

Not sure exactly what time it was, probably between 1:00-2:00 in the morning she fell asleep and was down for a good 5 hours.

We'll see how she does tonight, but I think she was just testing us.