Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Dum ditty, Dum ditty, dum dum dum.
I've been reading a lot about parenting toddlers and "discipline" lately (this is where I'm supposed to footnote that discipline is really teaching and a way of parenting, to separate myself from the hand-swatting associations some of us have with the word), and sometimes actually just renting the videos when they come in that form and I'm too lazy to read another parenting book. Not that I really need the help, of course, because we all know that attached children who are given limits aim to please their parents and behave well (insert derisive laughter here), but I like some food for thought to complement my own brilliant maternal judgment. I usually find some good tips among the drivel and just ignore what I don't agree with.
By now I'm used to the fact that most of these baby and toddler gurus can't just present their helpful tips on sleeping or disciplining or general parenting and child psychology bound in a book; No, they have to present it as some sort of Method (tm), complete with steps and sometimes charts, and they always espouse their Solution as the answer to the bulk of mankind's problems. Every once in awhile they'll throw in a sensible disclaimer sentence, conceding that some babies just don't sleep well, or test more, or don't like massages, or what not. And then they get right back to their Program, peppered with judgment, and almost always you can find one sentence that really does, quite literally, claim the entire world would be a better place if only everyone practiced their Method. Becasue don't you know? Accumulated overtiredness creates insomniac adults with behavioral disorders; If everyone massaged their infants, the holocaust would likely never have happened; If everyone disciplined perfectly I wouldn't have to lock my doors because there would be no crime.
Obviously I think good parenting, good discipline and sufficient sleep and ideas behind "attachment parenting" are important and influential on a child, or I wouldn't take up so much TV and fiction-reading time reading this stuff. But still, come on. And you know what Bill? I did all that natural childbearing, extended breastfeeding, carrying, and not crying it out stuff, and my toddler still throws tantrums. Sometimes lots! And maybe I'm reducing them and improving them without even realizing it, but I still can't always intuitively "read his cues" and he doesn't always aim to please me, no. A stern look of disapproval is not all it takes to stop a behavior, and sometimes it even causes him to cackle in my face as he repeats the offensive behavior. Even after all that tender co-sleeping. So can everyone just stop turning parenting into a fricking gimmick, already?
Although, Paul has this fabulous way of quieting a crying Carl, and it worked with Casimir, too. He holds the baby's face close to his face, one hand supporting the baby's back, and he gently rubs the baby's upper lip with his finger and they touch noses. Before long, the crying stops, the little arms flop to their sides, and the baby's face melts into a look of drunken serentiy. I told him to come up with a clever title, develop some sort of numbering method to describe it, and since I'm so good at bullshitting with the written word, I'll come up with a good 50 pages about it and fill it with familial anecdotes that illustrate our perfection. We'll be stars.
By now I'm used to the fact that most of these baby and toddler gurus can't just present their helpful tips on sleeping or disciplining or general parenting and child psychology bound in a book; No, they have to present it as some sort of Method (tm), complete with steps and sometimes charts, and they always espouse their Solution as the answer to the bulk of mankind's problems. Every once in awhile they'll throw in a sensible disclaimer sentence, conceding that some babies just don't sleep well, or test more, or don't like massages, or what not. And then they get right back to their Program, peppered with judgment, and almost always you can find one sentence that really does, quite literally, claim the entire world would be a better place if only everyone practiced their Method. Becasue don't you know? Accumulated overtiredness creates insomniac adults with behavioral disorders; If everyone massaged their infants, the holocaust would likely never have happened; If everyone disciplined perfectly I wouldn't have to lock my doors because there would be no crime.
Obviously I think good parenting, good discipline and sufficient sleep and ideas behind "attachment parenting" are important and influential on a child, or I wouldn't take up so much TV and fiction-reading time reading this stuff. But still, come on. And you know what Bill? I did all that natural childbearing, extended breastfeeding, carrying, and not crying it out stuff, and my toddler still throws tantrums. Sometimes lots! And maybe I'm reducing them and improving them without even realizing it, but I still can't always intuitively "read his cues" and he doesn't always aim to please me, no. A stern look of disapproval is not all it takes to stop a behavior, and sometimes it even causes him to cackle in my face as he repeats the offensive behavior. Even after all that tender co-sleeping. So can everyone just stop turning parenting into a fricking gimmick, already?
Although, Paul has this fabulous way of quieting a crying Carl, and it worked with Casimir, too. He holds the baby's face close to his face, one hand supporting the baby's back, and he gently rubs the baby's upper lip with his finger and they touch noses. Before long, the crying stops, the little arms flop to their sides, and the baby's face melts into a look of drunken serentiy. I told him to come up with a clever title, develop some sort of numbering method to describe it, and since I'm so good at bullshitting with the written word, I'll come up with a good 50 pages about it and fill it with familial anecdotes that illustrate our perfection. We'll be stars.
Monday, August 22, 2005
I was thinking I probably shouldn't have told the pediatrician that we (lovingly, of course) sometimes call Carl "little fatface" if Casimir isn't around (woudn't want Casimir calling someone over one month old "fat face" on the playground). Maybe that sounds inappropriate, I thought. Maybe I should call him "dumpling" instead. Or "precious." But then I went in for my six-week check up with the midwife and she called my precious baby a "little tub 'o lard." So I guess we're not the only ones who confuse immature name calling with terms of endearment.
OH, AND BRILLIANT NOTE TO SELF:
Probably, if possible, avoid leaving the home for awhile to attend professional functions and keep your mouth shut if you do because for at least 20 years postpartum you can't form coherent sentences. And don't, little Ms. Blather-On, under any circumstances, no matter how much you're sweating and envisioning a screaming, starving infant at home who misses you, don't explain that you're a little out of sorts due to a new baby and lack of sleep and rambunctious two year old, unless you just want to just sink deeper into that Idiot Hole you're digging yourself into.
OH, AND BRILLIANT NOTE TO SELF:
Probably, if possible, avoid leaving the home for awhile to attend professional functions and keep your mouth shut if you do because for at least 20 years postpartum you can't form coherent sentences. And don't, little Ms. Blather-On, under any circumstances, no matter how much you're sweating and envisioning a screaming, starving infant at home who misses you, don't explain that you're a little out of sorts due to a new baby and lack of sleep and rambunctious two year old, unless you just want to just sink deeper into that Idiot Hole you're digging yourself into.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss.
Casimir has apparently already been coaching Carl on the rules of the road. He's obviously told him not to put up with any of that bassinet and buggy shit, because it's common knowledge around here that you'll get air-lifted out and into the big bed or bjorn if you squeak loud enough. He's even got the squirt-and-switch thing down, like his brother. You start to nurse, and then when the milk starts shooting out like the Trevi Fountain, you just stop and maybe stare at a light pattern on the wall, while your freshly-bathed-bad-ass self gets showered in milk along with the couch and the Mommy (moo) who's frantically reaching for any absorbent cloth or nursing pad. Milk baths are really good for the skin! And the subliminal messages! He can't talk, but he keeps saying things to me, directly from his brain to my brain, things that I'm powerless against: Kiss my head! Do it! Again! Now pet my cheek! Tap my nose! Do it! Kiss! Kisskisskiss Meee!
And then I totally forgot what other ruminations I was going to purge my head of, and I don't know why. I was going to mention something about getting up several times last night, I think.
And then I totally forgot what other ruminations I was going to purge my head of, and I don't know why. I was going to mention something about getting up several times last night, I think.
Friday, August 05, 2005
pudgy tooter
My darling newborn hasn't gotten the memo that second children are supposed to be as easy as humanly possible, to counterbalance the fact that the mom now has two. It's just supposed to be that way, according to cosmic law. It is for everyone else I know with two. Or at least that's what they claim. Actually, Carl is quite a good sleeper, but he's still fussing a lot with all of his endless, tortuous toots, which I sincerely hope will subside as we glide into his second month of life. In his gassy stages you just can't put him down, which sometimes is a great excuse to just hold him and do nothing else, and sometimes is incredibly frustrating as you're ticking off all the things in your brain that you have to do, like pee and eat. You can do a lot with the baby in the sling, but showering and taking things out of the oven and washing dishes present problems.
Paul and I keep comparing the two as babies, along the lines of "You-know-who would never have slept in the buggy like this!" and "Casimir never cried like this and couldn't fart nearly as loud." We should probably stop this soon, before we're giving them complexes because one isn't as good at math/frisbee/tuba as his brother. But sometimes it's hard not to compare the early experiences. And sometimes I think, what the hell was I thinking, thinking it was hard with just ONE baby? Yeah, it was all new, getting up all night long and the endless changing/nursing/comforting. But I do recall spending inordinate amounts of time with Casimir's little baby self sleeping on my chest or breastfeeding while I watched The View and read baby books. That's not so tricky. Breastfeeding while you attempt to buckle a child into his booster seat is tricky.
Women I know always told me that a second was easier in a way- just another addition- and not as big of an adjustment as going from no children to having a child 24/7. I don't know. I almost find it more difficult emotionally now too, now that I've been home for two years. My experience working full-time and having more freedom seem so distant now, and I'm more familiar with how challenging being a good parent can be, that I feel more blues prone now. Only my ocasional bout of baby blues is weird. It's like feeling homesick at camp. When I was little I went to an all girls camp in Minnesota for a month every summer. I loved it there, and I felt really happy and at home there after awhile. But being 9 or 12 or 13 and away for 4 weeks, I'd also feel really homesick sometimes and find myself wandering the long way back to the cabin from archery so I could hide in the ropes course and cry. It was very Judy Blume momentish. It was like feeling simultaneously content and kind of lonely, and some hours now are kind of like that, only without the ropes course therapy and archery. But I'm taking my vitamins and exercising, so it's all good, Tom.
I took my very first rectal temperature on Casimir this week, after two years of fear and of pretending that the ear thermometer works just fine, even if it never records anything above 90. Me and the vaseline did a fine, gentle job, and Casimir was so good about it, despite having a 102 fever. And then the rectal thermometer broke, and reported nothing but ERR. So now I will never have to use it again, thank god. The poor kid is already getting short-shifted enough this summer, missing his annual Minnesota vacation, and having his zoo/lake/park outings reduced drastically. Then I had to go and slide a thermometer into his bottom.
And I can't figure out how to video all the adorable post-nursing face-squishing and stretching without getting my boob in the picture. It seems a bit calculated to keep the camcorder on hand, but I'm missing all the good expressions.
Paul and I keep comparing the two as babies, along the lines of "You-know-who would never have slept in the buggy like this!" and "Casimir never cried like this and couldn't fart nearly as loud." We should probably stop this soon, before we're giving them complexes because one isn't as good at math/frisbee/tuba as his brother. But sometimes it's hard not to compare the early experiences. And sometimes I think, what the hell was I thinking, thinking it was hard with just ONE baby? Yeah, it was all new, getting up all night long and the endless changing/nursing/comforting. But I do recall spending inordinate amounts of time with Casimir's little baby self sleeping on my chest or breastfeeding while I watched The View and read baby books. That's not so tricky. Breastfeeding while you attempt to buckle a child into his booster seat is tricky.
Women I know always told me that a second was easier in a way- just another addition- and not as big of an adjustment as going from no children to having a child 24/7. I don't know. I almost find it more difficult emotionally now too, now that I've been home for two years. My experience working full-time and having more freedom seem so distant now, and I'm more familiar with how challenging being a good parent can be, that I feel more blues prone now. Only my ocasional bout of baby blues is weird. It's like feeling homesick at camp. When I was little I went to an all girls camp in Minnesota for a month every summer. I loved it there, and I felt really happy and at home there after awhile. But being 9 or 12 or 13 and away for 4 weeks, I'd also feel really homesick sometimes and find myself wandering the long way back to the cabin from archery so I could hide in the ropes course and cry. It was very Judy Blume momentish. It was like feeling simultaneously content and kind of lonely, and some hours now are kind of like that, only without the ropes course therapy and archery. But I'm taking my vitamins and exercising, so it's all good, Tom.
I took my very first rectal temperature on Casimir this week, after two years of fear and of pretending that the ear thermometer works just fine, even if it never records anything above 90. Me and the vaseline did a fine, gentle job, and Casimir was so good about it, despite having a 102 fever. And then the rectal thermometer broke, and reported nothing but ERR. So now I will never have to use it again, thank god. The poor kid is already getting short-shifted enough this summer, missing his annual Minnesota vacation, and having his zoo/lake/park outings reduced drastically. Then I had to go and slide a thermometer into his bottom.
And I can't figure out how to video all the adorable post-nursing face-squishing and stretching without getting my boob in the picture. It seems a bit calculated to keep the camcorder on hand, but I'm missing all the good expressions.
