Monday, February 15, 2010


When he stirs in his sleep, Abe reaches for me with both hands, as if to say, “I need you so much closer.” Whether I am a foot away or lying nose to nose, he reaches. In the middle of the night, he buries his face in my arm, curls into my chest. I nudge him away to make sure he can breathe, but he scoots his way back. And why shouldn’t he? For most of his life, we were so much closer. He didn’t have to turn to reach me. How unfair of me to change the rules and demand less than full body contact. At night is when he misses it most. So we sleep, his head on my chest, my knees curled under him, his leg on my leg. And because I miss it too, I press my face against his. Hold his hand in mine. As we breathe each other's breaths.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

baby daze

Oh, what a perfect baby I have! He really is wonderful and only gets more so by the day. His one downfall is that he loves his mama. Downfall, you ask? How can this be? Well let me recount all his perfections and how is love for me mars each one.

He will sleep – soundly and gloriously, through most of the night, through 2-hour naps. As long as I am right there, sleeping with him (or alternately, have him wrapped to my chest). If I get up so much as to go to the bathroom, he is up too.

He will play happily and contentedly in his jumperoo or playmat* as long as I am in the same room, preferably seated right there in front of him oooing and aaahing at his every move.

He rarely fusses during diaper changing, as long as I am the one changing him.

He will kindly allow me to fix dinner or do dishes, as long as he’s up on the counter watching, right next to me.

He will then allow me to eat said dinner in peace, as long as I have him in one arm.

He even occasionally lets me check email, if he can bang on the keys too.

Basically, he is most contented when I am RIGHT IN HIS FACE. Anything less is unacceptable.

*All these made-up words, my God!

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

it's a bird, it's a plane

Why, yes, baby and I DID recently take a trip. On an airplane. Alone. And, oh, it was quite the adventure! It began early in the morning when I realized that OMG BABY, why do I need to pack so much stuff? This was a 6 day trip and normally I would have taken a carry-on and a backpack, but with a baby suddenly I was checking a car seat, stroller, jungle gym, playpen, crib, and ten suitcases.* My BFF, having no idea what she was getting herself into, drove us to the airport and helped to roll all our stuff inside. Thank you, Sleepy Wrap, for allowing me to be hands-free! And then Abe fell asleep as we walked to our gate, which was, of course, at the other end of the universe. He slept through security and getting a snack, and gate checking the stroller, and woke up just in time to board the plane. Yikes!

And because a baby makes things take forever, I was one of the last people to board. And because Southwest doesn’t assign seats, there were only middle seats left. Crap. I was so nervous about being THAT WOMAN with the crying baby that everybody on the plane would hate. But luckily, I sat between a reasonably friendly but uninterested woman and a very friendly, on her way to visit her grandbaby woman who chatted Abe up the whole flight. Luckily too, my baby is awesome and did not cry much. Mid-flight, though, he decided it was lunchtime and I nursed him! Awkwardly! In between two strangers! His custom as of late is to also empty his bowels during mealtime, and I was literally praying that this would not happen. But then I felt the rumblings. And my sweet, darling, precious son proceeded to have the longest, loudest poop known to man. My prayer quickly changed to just PLEASE let it all stay in his diaper. But no dice. I pick him up only to find a yellow crescent on my jeans. And because there was turbulence, I couldn’t get up to change him. For the rest of the flight. So there we are, sitting between two strangers, covered in poop, for the next hour. Hooray!

Then we had to change planes, which was fine. I had our schedule all planned out: after the immediate changing, feed me, play, feed him, put him to sleep. Just in time for the next flight! Which was then delayed! Luckily, he slept through most of it anyway, until the descent when he woke up crying probably due to ear pressure. I glanced anxiously around, hoping no one was giving me an evil stare. Instead, they gave me advice! Rub his ears! Give him a pacifier! Yay for nice strangers!

The trip back was somewhat better because 1) I knew what to expect and 2) there was a stop, but we didn’t have to change planes. But the poop escapade repeated itself (seriously, baby?), except we got to use the changing table in the tiny, gross bathroom. Which really wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be. The table was very sturdy. Then later, when the crying began, a flight attendant took him and walked him around the plane! Walking and being held are his two favorite things, so this worked out quite well. She even sang to him! It was pretty great, I have to say. Not only does it take a village to raise a child, it also takes a flight crew.

*Warning! This post contains a slight amount of exaggeration.