Childhood needs a speed limit

We're standing just this side of the border between Owen's first year and his second, and (cliché! cliché!) I cannot believe how quickly we've arrived. Time with the second child absolutely moves faster than with just the one, but it is not as if the time with that first child continues to pass relatively more slowly. Every day that passes, Zoë grows more and more into this independent girl. It is at the same time charming and horrifying.

This school year, we started setting an alarm clock for Zoë in the morning. Getting two kids up, dressed, and out the door by 6:30 was proving a challenge, and the time it was taking to gently rouse her (she sleeps like a 14-year-old boy) and get her moving … well, it just wasn't working. Plus, she was a total crab. And thus, we were leaving the house later and later. So, we taught her how to use the alarm clock, set it for 6:00 AM, and gave her instructions to get up, use the bathroom, and wait for me to finish getting her dressed. Shortly after we started this routine, which had a few hiccups but was mostly successful, Zoë's alarm clock – which had been my alarm clock in college, like, 49 years ago – broke. She actually had fun picking out a new one (it changes colors!) and learning how to use it. Just a little more reinforcement for her big girl routine.

There is a point here. The past few mornings, Zoë has been getting up on her own before her alarm goes off. This morning, I heard her get up, use the bathroom, and wash up. Moments later, I catch a glimpse of her in my bathroom mirror walking to my bedside table to pick up a book. "Good morning, Zoë!" She pads into the bathroom, slippers on (having donned them herself) and cheerfully greeted me. It just struck me, the way she is taking on these personal responsibilities now, and not even asking for a reward the way she used to. Like last night, when she took a bath and got ready for bed "on her own." Certainly, I ran the bath, but she played, washed, got out, dried off, brushed her teeth, and almost got into her pajamas (they are snug) without help. Just some supervision from me. She keeps giving us these glimpses, which are becoming more like short films, of the girl she is.

So, why am I horrified? She's cute. She knows it. And she is becoming an expert negotiator. Independent, strong-willed Zoë at 3? Charming, precocious, manageable. Zoë at 13? Should I find my own therapist now?

4 Months

A month of Owen . . .

3 Months

Dear Owen,

We have been eagerly awaiting this day, little man – the day you would be three months old. It is probably a little silly and overly optimistic on our part, but we’ve been promised that the first 12-14 weeks are often the toughest and that once we cross that “fourth trimester” threshold we would have a new, cheerier baby. Your sister came through for us. And it’s starting to look like you will, too.

Over the past few weeks, you have snapped out of being a grumpy old man. Rather, you are a chatty, squealing happy boy (most of the time). The noises that come out of your throat very often still threaten my precious crystal wine glasses. Truly ear-splitting and almost at a level only dogs can hear. I don’t know how you do it, and we’re trying not to encourage it (it’s hard not to laugh), but so much more bearable because the emotion behind it is joyful or silly. And your attempts at laughter make me giggle – a hearty “HA!” pushed out from your belly with a giant grin.



Boy, do you love to talk. You’re still not much interested in toys – you certainly have the capability to grasp rattles and teething rings, but don’t make an effort to. What you are interested in are people. Faces and voices. You can sit and chatter with me (or Gram) upwards of 10 minutes straight. That’s a long time for a little baby. You are already proficient at mimicking the rhythm of language. It’s adorable, coupled with the faces you pull. Sometimes, whatever you’re saying, you are very serious about. Probably, “I really think it’s getting time to eat. It would be in your best interest to feed me now, mother. I’m not kidding.” But, mostly, you seem to just be making fun of us and our efforts to make you smile.



Recently, I’ve started plopping you in front of the bathroom mirror as we get ready for your nightly bath. You absolutely light up when you see the “other baby” looking back at you. You “laugh” and smile and babble. Until you notice your feet, of course (those are much more interesting and much more useful, in your opinion). But it’s your sister who really seems to have caught your attention of late. You love Zoë. The other night, we were sitting in her room before bedtime. She was galloping around the room, dancing to “Run Around Kid”, and your head was on a swivel. You were tracking her like a lion tracks a gazelle, so interested in what she was doing. Then she stops and turns your way and you just beam. She was giving you kisses the other night, and I just busted up at your reaction. By the second kiss, you started pushing out your lips as she leaned in, then smiling between every kiss.



For all your wonderful moments (of which we’re completely grateful), you still confound us with your insistence on not sleeping during the day. Or, rather, not sleeping by yourself. You’ll still happily fall asleep, and take hour-long naps, in our arms. But, try to put you down and “WAH!” – the screaming starts. We’ve resorted to using all sorts of contrived methods to get you to nap. Like, taking you for car rides. Or putting you in your car seat on top of a running dryer. Someday you may question our wisdom in this, perhaps when you’re denied a driver’s license because you can’t not fall asleep in a moving car. Sorry about that. But, you’re a nicer baby when you’ve slept.

The rapidity with which you are growing (and changing) is astounding. I’m sitting here looking at a picture of you taken just a month ago. You’ve already outgrown the little creeper you’re wearing in the photo and your hair is now poking out all over as it gets longer. You are about the size of an average six-month-old (crazy). We’re definitely proud of our growing boy – you eat so well, you’re growing so well – but your size does pose some problems. You are getting pretty good with head control, you push up really well on your tummy, and have even started rolling over. But, you’re still three months old. Most six-month-olds can sit on their own, and may be starting to crawl. In other words, they’ve got a lot more physical control, independence and can support more of their own weight. So, holding you, fitting you in your sling, your bouncy-chair, even carrying you in your car seat is a regular challenge. And, honestly, I think you agree because you seem awfully frustrated at times to be so limited in what you can do (I swear, the other night, you tried to push yourself into a crawling position – whoah there, Chief).



Winter is still holding on with a death grip, but we’ve had a few warmer days when I could get you outside. We took a walk in the stroller, Zoë pedaling along on her tricycle, and you thrust your arms up in the air feeling the breeze. Your better mood, your interest in everything makes me so anxious for spring and summer when we can get out and play. We are going to have a blast, I promise you.

Love Always,
Momma

Milestone Central

Well, I made it through a full week back to work. At one point, I had some massive fear that I may never function normally again. A totally irrational fear, of course, but I had some sleep deprivation to contend with, okay? The one night when I was up for the day at approximately 2:30 am . . . that was fun. Caffeine is totally my friend these days.

See, it's all been about getting Owen some sort of routine. I'm not going to say schedule, because it's certainly not like we're imposing this structure on his sleeping or eating. But, clearly, there are certain things that need to happen at certain times (like getting him to and from mom's house). And napping is something he needs, but doesn't seem to want, to do. Therein lies the challenge. My poor mother, listening to him scream and carry on when he's obviously tired. He just needs to learn 1) to sleep on his own and 2) to self-soothe.

Wednesday, when he finally took an hour and a half nap in his crib, we were jubilant. Then he slept through the night Thursday night. And not nursing-baby-sleep-through-the-night, where you're just overjoyed the kid went more than 3 hours between feedings. We're talking 8 pm until 5:45 am. I actually got to nurse him before I left for work and, apparently, he was back asleep by 7 am . . . and slept until 11. He was already in the habit of taking a long morning snooze this week, but he hadn't ever slept that long at night so this was a bit surprising. Then he slept through the night again last night. This time, after eating a about 45 minutes of play, I tried to put him down to nap in his crib. I mean, we're home after all. Scream central. BJ suggests, "Why don't you try putting him in his carseat? That's what he's used to, after all." I figured it would be a no-go, that he probably falls asleep in the carseat because he's riding in the car. Guess what - he quickly calmed down and fell asleep, and he's still asleep now.

So, Owen is finally starting to get some decent sleep (and not cry as much). Hallelujah! But that's not all that's developed in the last week. Oh no . . .

Zoe is actually using the potty. Regularly. Without adult prompting. It started last Friday - nearly her whole class actually used the bathroom after nap, a group notorious for stalling on the potty-training front. Her teacher was triumphant. Zoe was super-excited. Since then, she's used the toilet more than not and the motivators we've been shoving down her throat for the better part of a year? Yeah - she actually cares about them! Like her sticker chart, and wearing big-girl underwear, special treats and getting to watch movies . . . Looks like "Passive Potty-Training" works like a charm!

And now she's watching Goldfinger. Really. She wouldn't let me turn it off.

(yes, I'm the boss - but it's pretty harmless as far as "grown-up" movies go)

Hooray!

We've reached a major milestone. Zoe cut her last two baby teeth. This child has been teething for nearly 2 years and we will finally get some reprieve. Hooray! Even her teacher commented, "That's a relief, isn't it? She has such a terrible time with those teeth." Now we should at least have a few months of teething-free peace before it starts up again with Sleeping Pill.

30-Year-Old Pin-Up Star

I'm 30 today. Hooray! Honestly, I love my birthday - I love birthdays in general, but I'm mature enough to admit that my birthday is the best. I used to feel . . . bad? guilty? disappointed? . . . about making a bigger deal over my birthday than anybody else did. Don't get me wrong - my parents are awesome about recognizing the anniversary of our births (with a few exceptions - you know what I mean, mom!). But it's my birthday. I'm the most excited.

And 30 - a milestone. I understand a lot of people have a tough time with 30. BJ wasn't too fond of the event. But, I'm really not so worried about that number. I'm married to an awesomely handsome partner and my best friend, I have my dream home (even if we have a mega-mortgage and all the upkeep that comes with it), I have a beautiful daughter with another kiddo on the way, I'm further along in my career than I thought I'd be, and - shoot! - I think I'm cuter now than I ever have been. What's to worry about? "Thirty" does sound weird, though. I mean, come on - I've had 10 years to get used to hearing "twenty- ". Of course it sounds weird!

A few months back, my bellydance gals had the fabulous idea to go as a group to a Pin-Up Workshop at g boutique. It was "taught" by our favorite burlesque dancer, Michelle L'Amour and promised to be an awesome time. Now, when we planned this I wasn't pregnant and didn't have faith that I would be. But, I thought it would be a hysterical, fabulous way to celebrate my 30th birthday. A gift to me! So yesterday, I spent the morning getting my hair styled a la 1943 with a few girlfriends, lunch and noodling around downtown Naperville, then zipping off to the city with the rest of the crew for our photo session.

Ladies - you absolutely must do this in your lifetime! It was sooo much fun. First, who doesn't like to be treated like a beautiful model? We had a professional make-up artist, a professional photographer (all women), our choice of gorgeous unmentionables to wear, wine, munchies, and lots of giggling. Best birthday present ever. And it really was for me - I know BJ will enjoy the photos, but he's a man. Pretty easy to please along those lines. I felt sexy, I felt like "Look at me - I'm on the eve of my 30th birthday, I'm hot, and I'm four months pregnant!"

I can't wait to get the pictures.

"Daddy? Daddy?"

Having your nearly-two-year old transition to her big girl room and big girl bed when she has the beginnings of an ear infection is probably not the best idea. Zoe is such a good sleeper and (bless it) fabulous at soothing herself back to sleep. But, it doesn't seem like she sleeps all that well or self-soothes all that well when she's feeling yucky and doesn't know where she is. It was a long night.

After we put her down, she was okay until BJ came to bed. From that point on, she was up every 20 minutes or so pleading ever so pitifully for us. I don't think I mentioned my window blinds gaffe, but it plays a role here. See, I trimmed the cords for the blinds in Zoe's room to minimize the choking hazard and keep them out of her pulling reach. Only, I didn't notice that one set of blinds wasn't fully lowered before I trimmed the cords. So, they won't close all the way (easily rectifiable once I get some cord). Anyway, back to that night. BJ thought Zoe would be fine with the window part-way open. I wasn't so sure and placed my back-up plan nearby. Just in case.

About 12:30 and I'd had enough. The light from the streetlamp in front of our house was shining on the wall right above Zoe's bed. That would bug me, and I'm not a sicky 23-month-old. So there I am, duct-taping a towel to the bottom of her blinds, in the near-dark, trying not to wake her. But, after that, she slept for 2 hours. Hooray!

After that, though, it was crank ever half hour or so. By 3:00 I was already toast, I knew BJ had to get up to work in a few hours, so I just curled up on the floor next to her. Oh, the ache in my hip! I am starting to feel a little age creep on to me.

Once we "woke up for the day", Zoe was chipper for all of an hour. And then it was total meltdown. She wouldn't eat. She didn't want to drink. Or play. Or even watch TV. She actually asked me to "Go take a nap in big girl room." It was 8:00 am. She normally naps at noon. Oh boy.

We go back upstairs, she curls up on her luxury crib mattress, I curl up on the floor, and we both fall asleep. For an hour. When I experience a massive dream twitch and stir us both (my hand was on her back). Thank goodness, she rolled over and went back to sleep. I crept out and slunk into my own bed for another hour.

This is what we got when she next woke up:


It's been a week and all is well. At first, she wouldn't even leave the mattress when she woke up. She'd stand on it, like she did when she was in her crib, and call to us. Now, she opens the door, leans over the gate, and coos, "Daddy? Momma? Daddy?" Really sweet. She absolutely loves her new room and gives nary a backward glance at the nursery.

Baby's growin' up!

Zoe's 2!

We celebrated Zoe's birthday this weekend with a small, family party. I just can't believe I have a 2-year-old. A child, now. One who talks up a storm, who's learning to ride a tricycle, counts in Spanish, loves to play in the dark and hide in closets, eats anything besides lettuce, and is a total giggle-box.

We took a bunch of pictures - check out the Flickr set. Here's a sampling of some of my favorites:

I'm a Big Kid Now

Tonight is Zoe's first night in her "big girl room" - a momentus occasion. For the past several months I've been picking out (with Zoe's help) bed and bath decor, and transforming our guest room and bath into Zoe's new room. Don't worry - I'll post photos.

See, I'd figured that around her second birthday I'd be well on my way to gestating our second child and we definitely wanted to move Zoe out of the nursery before she had a concept of a new baby entering the house. Make the switch about her, an exciting event for her. While the urgency is not exactly there for this move, we just figured what better way to mark her 2nd birthday than by giving her a big girl room!

Nevermind the fact that her birthday falls during spring break, so I am home and can suffer through a few sleepless nights while she adjusts.

We put her down at 7:05. I've already gone in once, BJ's gone in once. Lucky for us, we discovered her ear draining - again - during bath time. We shouldn't be suprised - it's a holiday, after all. Anyway, I wanted to check her temp. BJ wanted to calm her down. This could be a disaster if she's feeling sick. I'll let you know in the morning.

The Week of Milestones

Well, BJ marked his third decade with grace and peace, albeit a bit of grumbling about being "old" and "losing all his hair" and such. We ended up celebrating for 3 days straight. And this guy didn't want a party. It all started with fajita's at Don's, with bonus snow storm (reminiscent of the snow storm just a day after his birth??). I gave BJ a day to "play golf" (computer games), sans Zoe, before we had a babysitter come over so we could get dinner and a movie.

How long it had been since we had dinner and a movie, I couldn't tell you. But the babysitter was a milestone in and of itself - truly the first time we had a non-relative, someone we were paying, watch Zoe. I tell you what - working in a high school has its advantages. Namely that you can have your pick of adolescent babysitters and do a little "background check" to boot.

(We saw Cloverfield - I admit I got pretty motion sick. Ugh. Otherwise, it was great. Except the row of preadolescent nincompoops in front of us. I finally acted the teacher and told them to watch the movie or go out in the hall. Later BJ said, "I'm glad you said something. I was getting ready to kick their seats." A mature response for a 30-year-old.)

We rounded out the celebrations with a family dinner at Domo 77 - yummy Japanese steakhouse. Zoe loved the cooking at the table bit, as if you couldn't tell.


But the biggest deal this week was Zoe's first surgery. We had, essentially, the first slot of the morning on Tuesday, so we got Zoe up just before we had to leave. I really believe the worst part of the whole experience was explaining to the Eating Machine why she couldn't have breakfast that morning.

We had been talking about going to the hospital and the surgery for several days before, so by the time we left she knew we were going to the hospital where the doctors would make her ears feel better. I'll have to get the photo off my phone, because she looked just adorable - and quite grown up - in her hospital PJs. She's always been very curious about doctors, nurses, and the medical process, so she was pretty relaxed and calm each time a nurse or someone entered the room. When it was time for her to go, she walked out of the room and down the hall all by herself, next to the nurse. Cool as a cucumber and sweet as pie.

Fifteen minutes later, they wheeled her back in. When she woke up from the anesthesia we had to let the staff know. Usually kids cry and cary on when they wake up, they said, and didn't expect her to wake up groggy but calm. I swear, this kid is one tough cookie. Within 10 minutes, she was asking for a snack (also unusual, I guess). The whole thing was done in 2 hours, and she was back to herself (and at school) the next day. We're so proud of our little girl.

Now, getting her to comply with the ear drops for the next 2 weeks is another story . . .

See & Spell

Okay, I know it's just rote memory, like learning to say, "Thank you, Momma."

But, Zoe can spell her name, now. Let me gloat on this a little bit. The scenario goes like this:

"Zoe - do you want to write your name?"

"Z!" (Momma writes a Z)

"What comes next?"

"O!" (Momma writes an O)

"What comes after the O?"

"E!" (Momma writes E)

Is this kid a hot shot or what? I think I'll have her auditioning for Wheel of Fortune by the time she's 3.

At last . . . "Powerhouse"

Sometimes its the easy tasks that take the longest time to accomplish.

Powerhouse from Kate L on Vimeo

In other news, got an awesome jump on my Christmas shopping today. Thank goodness for half-days at work. Robyn and I kit Kohl's after lunch today - there are always deals to be had there, but I don't usually have the patience. Having a friend with me really helped me stick with it. To top it off, we got a set of new silverware. Woo hoo! It doesn't get much more exciting in suburbia, does it?

Smiles for a cold, blustery Monday

The cuteness – you can’t stand it, can you?


Zoë showed off her Illini pride yesterday. We even taught her to say “Illinois”. Of course, it comes out “Ill-lill-in-noy” . . . which, I’m sure, adds to the cuteness by a factor of 12.
Her talking is staggering these days. She can, and does, repeat whatever we say in her sweet, little voice. While this does have its obvious problems (fuckers better be for damn sure about that), it has had some unexpected repercussions as well. For example, a few weeks back Zoë and I were shopping at Target. Not at all an unusual occurrence, especially if you know anything about me and Target. But, on this particular occasion, I needed a new bra. As we headed to the lingerie section, I told Zoë what we were doing. Again, not unusual. “New. Bra,” she says.
“Yes, Zoë, Momma’s getting a new bra.”
“New! Bra!”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“New! Bra! New! Bra!” she announces over and over through the store.
Ah, but it gets better! Because now, any time we go to Target and we go by the lingerie section (which, of course, is every time because that is the best way to get to the diapers, damn Target lay-out designers) she starts in on her chant: “New bra! New bra!”
And now for something completely different:
We’re doing awesome with our revised grocery shopping strategy, and I think BJ is reaping the rewards most of all. I’m so spoiling him – hot, home-cooked meal almost every night ready when he gets home? It’s a good thing he’s so hot, or some other gent might steal me away. Tonight was cheesy baked ziti (from familyfun.com). Delicious! Here’s a photo:

By the way, Zoë took this shot. Seriously. I held the camera, she looked through the viewfinder and pushed the button. The picture I took didn’t turn out as good. You gotta see this kid peering through a camera. She looks like a pro at 19-months-old.

A Halloween Happening

Tomorrow is the big day! It’s pretty exciting around here because this is Zoë’s real first Halloween. She understands dressing up, she loves seeing other kids in costume, she likes the funny decorations, she calls out every cat, bat, pumpkin, and witch that we see . . . it is a lot more fun. And Halloween is probably my favorite holiday (it would be Christmas, but there aren’t all the fun costumes).

On Sunday, we got our kids together (Ella, Lizzie, Foster and Zoë) and hit Naperville’s Halloween Happening. I had no idea what a big deal this was until we got there, but the kids had a blast. They had games, bounce-houses, everyone had their costumes on, and lots of candy. To top it off, it was a beautiful fall day. Oh yeah – and I got interviewed by Comcast (who helped host the event)!

Yes, of course I dressed up – same as last year. You’ll notice our whole crew (and yes, I was the only adult who played along, although Aideen swears she would have had she not left her costume in her classroom) went with the Wizard of Oz theme. It was hard to tell that Ella and Zoë were witches instead of munchkins, but either worked. I’ve never seen such a cute cast of characters.

Plus, I got a taste of what it would be like to work as a character at Disney. If – and I mean if – I ever do that again, I’ll have to do a little more research on my character. I had countless little girls coming up to me, “Glinda! You’re so beautiful!” and such. I’m not used to having to respond to that!

And the angels began to sing . . .

Friday night I made a gamble.  I had a work-related party to attend.  Children were invited (good call on everyone’s part, since we’re nearly all young families).  But the shindig didn’t start until 5:30 pm.  Normally, Zoë crashes early on Friday night.  She’s just done after a week of hard-core toddler stimulation at school and typically zones out in front of the TV when we get home around 4:00, then zonks out in bed no later than 6:30.  So, going to a party that started at 5:30 was taking a risk.

I swear to you, she could not have been better behaved or more charming.  She ate the food that was available, she gave cute smiles to all the adults, she played happily in their (god-bless-it-very-well-stocked) playroom with another toddler girl.  Granted, she wanted either BJ or I up there with her which, practically, was fine.  They had a baby gate, but 5 rambunctious boys ensured that thing never stayed shut.  But, there were no tears, no tantrums, nary a yawn.  At 8:00 we finally, as responsible parents, said “Let’s get this baby to bed!”  Being ever so smart, I packed her pajamas so she was changed before we got in the car.  Dropped her in bed by 8:30 and she was out like a light.

It was blissful and pleasantly unexpected!

Of course, when you compare it with her behavior about a month ago at a baby shower I attended . . . you would have thought she was a critically ADHD, Oppositional Defiant Disorder kid.  I guess I was due a pleasant social outing.  But why do they have to be so darn unpredictable?  How could I ever expect that a Friday night party would go better than a Saturday afternoon kid fest?

Centers for Disease Control

That’s what we’re calling our house at the moment. I reported on how Zoë came down with her first fever since starting daycare. It was only the beginning.

She has been snuffly since day one. To the center’s credit, she was teething at the time she started, so that particular runny nose had nothing to do with them. Nevertheless, the snot was relentless and she started to have a slight cough. Nothing serious, and always productive. Friends with more experience with daycare shared that it was all to be expected – all those germs in one place, her immune system was receiving a major hit on a daily basis. In fact, it was a wonder she wasn’t sicker! And she certainly didn’t act at all under the weather. I’m starting to realize that it takes a Mack truck to slow her down.

If only Zoë was the only one suffering. Shortly after Zoë came down with her fever, BJ got sick. Really sick – fever, chills – and he was home from work for 2 days. He tried to blame the vessel of disease (our child), but then admitted something was going around his workplace. Then I got a cold.

And then the vomiting started. Zoë woke up one Friday morning two weeks ago, seemingly fine. Sure, I’d heard her up coughing during the night, but thought nothing of it. I took her to school. She was not there two hours when her teachers are calling me to report she’s puking. “Did she have orange juice for breakfast? Because it’s all orange.” No, she hadn’t. It was that lovely post-nasal-drip-mucousy stuff. Hooray! She was sick. And this time I mean sick. I mean, just look at her symptoms: she was cuddly; she did not want to eat; she did not want to run; she was quiet.

By Saturday morning, she was acting much more like her normal self . . . although, she still wasn’t all that interested in food. But by Sunday morning – 5:00 in the morning, to be precise – her mother felt like a parasitic alien had taken up residence in her digestive tract. Did I mention I was in Milwaukee at the time? Without my own car? Looked like Zoë’s little bug had traveled to and with me. By the time I got back home Sunday afternoon, I was spiking a major fever. Note: I could not recall the last time I’d had a fever.

Despite BJ’s prodding, I took Monday off. His reasoning was that once I got up and moving, I’d be fine. Oooh, just you wait, mister! I did feel a bit better by the end of the day (still not interested in food – a pattern?). And, hey – thank goodness we pay for daycare so I could sleep!

It wasn’t over, though. BJ rushed in the door from work and ducked immediately into the bathroom. Z and I got well enough just in time to take care of Daddy, again! Now it was his turn to play host to the parasitic alien and all the baggage that came with it. (Come to find out that it was some sort of bug raging through Zoë’s school like wildfire.)

A few days later, we were all in good health. Zoë’s runny nose was even subsiding. I figured the full day of purging she did emptied everything out. Until I noticed Monday morning that she had a little goop in the corner of her right eye. Hmm, that’s a little odd, I think. By the time I picked her up from school, both of her eyes are completely slimed and sticky, not to mention red and puffy. Pink eye. My daughter now has pink eye. Conjuncti-freaking-vitis. This time I went to the doctor.

Not to make a ridiculously long post even longer, but . . . why do you often end up feeling like a slight doofus when you take your kid to the doctor? Had I brought her in two weeks ago with a clear, albeit persistent, runny nose and no fever, I would have been wasting his time. But bring her in with an apparent infection, after a month of a clear, runny nose, and I may have been neglecting a sinus problem? Whatever. At least I was vindicated on the conjunctivitis.

So, Momma and Dada are well, Z is downing the antibiotics (another first! Do I put this in the baby book?), and her eyes are much better. All this and it’s not even flu season.

Anyone know a good cleaning service?

School Days

So, I’m back to work going on 12 days, and I’ve yet to mention what Zoë has been up to all this time.

Partway through last school year, I started to notice how tired my mom was looking each day when I arrived to pick up Zoë. She was always chipper, but definitely appeared as if she was about to drop into a long nap. Chasing after a toddler all day long, roughly 25 years after she last had to do it, was taking its toll. We made a group decision that Zoë needed to spend her days elsewhere once the summer ended. I’d been toying with the idea long before that simply because of the driving. The driving was making me insane. I was a crazy person to think that I’d be able to maintain that ridiculousness. Have I not told you? Yeah – I would leave work; drive 30 minutes to get Z, then another 45-60 back home. In rush-hour traffic, in the same direction as the rush. It was joy served up on a silver platter with bacon on the side. Let me tell you.

Right around her first birthday, I registered Zoë for a daycare placement very close to work and, more importantly, between my house and work. It came highly recommended by my good pal, Anne, and my brief visits gave me a good vibe. Spot secured.

As my first day back grew closer, I decided pretty quickly that we were going to present this to Zoë in terms of “school”. Momma works at a school, big kids go to school, no Zoë will be going to school. Plus, she can say the word. I don’t expect to hear “daycare” come out of her mouth anytime soon. We went for a visit the week before she started and all went well! She loved pulling out all the toys, she was interested in the other kids, and got right into the groove of circle time. I was so proud of her!

Yes, the actual transition – Momma has to leave now to go to work – was tough. Thank goodness I started back on a Wednesday. By Friday afternoon, she was toast. And not a nice, crispy, golden toast; blackened, hard toast that might be salvageable if you scrape it gently with a knife. She was stressed. Out. Completely. Her teachers actually reported that she was doing well, by most standards. She would cry for a while when I left, then get occupied and have fun for a couple of hours, then some more tears around her nap . . . But she was actually getting something out of her day. Again, so proud of my girl.

Come Monday morning, I wasn’t sure if it would be harder or easier. She’d been home for the weekend – maybe she thought last week was just a fluke? When I packed her in the car, her expression seemed to be one of resignation: “OK, we’re going to school.” She was a little tired, a little cranky, but she had also spent the weekend cutting molars. I said as much to her teachers and was off.

And on Zoë’s fourth day of school, she ran a temp of 102.3.

OK – when I got the phone call I felt like the world’s most brilliant mother. “I just sent my kid to school sick!” Beyond that, I was completely freaked out. Believe it or not, Zoë had never run a fever before. I mean N.E.V.E.R.. This was high, wasn’t it? Should I call the doctor? What do I do?

By the time I got to the school to get her (15 minutes from the time I got the call), her temp had dropped to 100. Her teachers, with their infinite wisdom (I kid you not – these women know their stuff), calmed my fears. Since it had come down so quickly, it was probably just a slight fever from the teething and only spiked because she had just woken up from her nap (Zoë is her father and becomes a blast furnace when she sleeps). They told me to watch it over the evening; keep her home if it’s still above normal, bring her back if it stays down. Phew.

Zoë was fine. She was still pretty conked out all evening, and a little warm, but no real fever. Come the morning, she was right as rain and actually excited about going to school.

A little over a week later, and Zoë is downright antsy to leave for school in the mornings. She gives me a kiss, says “Bye Momma”, and then trots off to play with her friends and teachers. When I pick her up, it’s all I can do to pull her away from whatever it is they’re doing. Then she says “Bye” to each person in turn – no joke – looks up at me, says, “Home,” and walks out with me. I am so glad that she enjoys her time there so much and is so comfortable. And I am so proud!

Eyes Wide Shut

Last night at dinner – a rare meal where all three of us were able to sit down together – BJ and I looked over at Zoë to find her squinting. Squinting with her whole face scrunched up like she was smiling into the sun. Thinking she simply found something funny, he asked, “What are you laughing at?” She relaxed, then did it again. It took us a little while, but we started to realize that she was closing her eyes. On purpose and of her own volition. And she thought it was hysterical.

She learned how to shut her eyes “on command”. Not just when she sneezed, or was tired, or had to blink. The joy she seemed to get from this accomplishment was entertainment for the rest of the meal. “Zoë, close your eyes!” Close. Squint (“are they watching?”). Giggle.

One more example of something you never realize you learned to do. And one more simple joy from experiencing life through a child.

What were you doing?

In the past week or so, Zoë’s expressive vocabulary has been rapidly expanding. To her already “impressive” mama, dada, bup (up), and the usual animal sounds (woof, meow, pig snorts, quack, cluck, and even a lion roar) she’s now added “bird”, “down”, “off”, “hot”, and “uh-oh”. I’m pretty sure she thinks she’s saying other words, we just don’t understand them, yet. Occasionally something bizarre and unexpected will pop out, like “cracker” (kahkeh). But yesterday I had to do a double take. And keep myself from laughing.

I did what all good parents do, I left my child unattended downstairs while I ran upstairs to retrieve her dress. She’d been babbling and eating her snack, but in the 30 seconds I was gone she grew very quiet. When I returned, she came running towards me from the sunroom – not where I had left her. Granted, there wasn’t anything dangerous or destructive she could have gotten into, but nevertheless looked caught in the act. I said, “What were you doing?” in my best parent tone.

“Nuh-teen.” And then she grinned.

Bye Bye Bottle

The end is drawing near – we’re going to bid those bottles adieu!

Sorry kiddo, but doctor says to have you weaned by 15 months.

We’ve already dropped the midday bottle. Zoë had no trouble adjusting to milk in her sippy with lunch and snacks. And I don’t think the morning bottle will be a problem. She’s not that interested. Plus, if we let her sleep a little longer, she’ll get dressed, get to Gram’s and have breakfast right away. She won’t even miss it. It’s that nighttime bottle that’s got me a little anxious. Ah well. I’m giving us a month to give up the morning one, then we can start on the evening one. Baby steps, as they say.

13 Months

Dear Zoë,

Spring has finally arrived – to stay – and we have spent every possible minute basking in the outdoors. Your winter coat has been carefully tucked away, never to be worn again (by you, anyway) and bare feet are the order of the day.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Hearing that noise, padding around the house, simply makes me smile. Especially when you’re giggling. Which you do a lot lately. Now that you’re steadier on your feet, you’re really picking up speed and you rather enjoy being chased. “I’m gonna getchoo!” I’ll cry, and you tear away from me squealing. Slap! Slap! Slap!



You also continue to demonstrate how much you are your mother’s daughter. Are you tired of hearing that, yet? I couldn’t be more delighted, though, that you want to be outside as much as I do. You can almost reach the door knobs (or pulls, in the case of the back door) and the sight of you standing tiptoe reaching with all your might is enough to tell us it’s time to go outside. The other day I was getting you ready for another playdate with Eleanor (OK, it was actually a Momma playdate) – you had on your hat, your shoes, and your sunscreen. You were standing by the back door when I told you it was time to go. You didn’t understand that I was trying to lead you outside, just through the garage, and you started to cry. You were fighting me to get to the back door: “Outside, Momma! PLEASE!” It was both funny and, frankly, frustrating (we were late!).



This past week Gram and Granddad had to go visit GGMO and Granddaddy Bob, so you got a couple of real treats: you got to stay home all day and you got to spend it with your Dada and Uncle Dave. You gave your Uncle Dave a couple of excellent life lessons. In fact, your timing was impeccable. No sooner had Dada left for work, but you woke from your nap with a full load. And I’m not talking laundry. Uncle Dave hadn’t even gotten a diaper lesson, yet. That’s my girl!

I know your Dada loved having all that time to spend with you – time he very rarely gets because he works so hard. I’ll admit I was jealous hearing that you learned to enjoy being read to. As we were both putting you to bed one night, you grabbed a book and literally climbed into Dada’s lap. You wanted him to read to you and, when he started, you sat and listened. You didn’t squirm away, you didn’t try turning the pages. I was surprised to see you looking so attentive – and so grown up! Imagine my surprise to hear you’d been doing it all week.



I guess you can slow down after all.



Love,

Momma

12 Months

Dear Zoë,

One year. Twelve months. Poof! I swear, watching you grow up is the secret to time travel.

You have truly changed our lives. As I sit down to write this, I find myself struggling to come up with the words to express all we’ve shared in this past year. It’s almost funny, considering I’ve been reviewing your accomplishments every month, that only now I don’t know what to say.

You are loved. From the moment your dad and I decided it was time we got to making you. Long before that digital test blinked and read “Pregnant”, we loved you and wanted you more than anything. Loving you has sometimes been the hardest, occasionally painful, often the most joyful, always the most wonderful thing we have ever done. Dada and I want you to always know that.



Those early weeks together irrevocably changed who I am as a woman. I felt so unsure of what I was doing. I was so completely unprepared for what caring for you, loving you, would be like. You wanted to come into this world the same way you want to do everything else – on your own, thank you very much. I think you were really just disgruntled at the rude way in which you were jerked out of your cozy abode. Who could blame you? But the struggles we had finding our way together, as a family, have made each day since a blessing. Every quiet moment, every cuddle, every giggle is a gift. And, most importantly, we carved out our confidence as your Momma and Dada.

It seems that you are miles from the tiny infant we brought home almost a year ago. So much more closer to being a little girl than a newborn. All the little glimpses of your personality, the clues you’ve dropped along the way, have coalesced into this charming, headstrong, and smart little girl. Too smart, sometimes.

Like when you figured out how to climb up on the hearth. Good God – why did we have to install a raised hearth?



It’s almost funny to think back about all the worry we spent over you eating habits, your sleeping habits, your poop. Poop, for goodness sake! All the things that were such struggles have become the things that make you such an easy kid. You are a champion eater. It doesn’t matter what we put in front of you, you’ll chow it down – fruits (your favorite), meat (yum!), veggies (more broccoli, please!), everything! And, it shows, Madame Chunk. That’s one title you certainly retain. Your sleep habits are probably the best in the county and even the doctor was amazed. “12-13 hours a night? What did you do to get such an easy baby?” Any future siblings may have 11 toes and a horn, but at least you sleep, now.



You are strong. Wow, are you strong. Your physical strength is one thing that has not changed, even from when I was carrying you. You will pick up things that I never thought a 12-month-old could lift, and then handily carry them around the house. Your power squats are unrivaled, and have us sizing you for a catcher’s mitt. Seriously, kid – you will hold one of those squats for 5 minutes then –Pop!—up you go. But, you’re not just strong, you’re tough. Dada often called me his “harbor chick” when I was pregnant (it’s a Ghostbusters 2 reference. We’ll watch it when you’re older). But you are the harbor chick now. At your latest doctor’s appointment, you were such a trooper that even the nurse was marveling over it. You curiously watched her prepare your shots and did not even flinch – not even a blink! – for the first one. Only a mere whimper at the second, and you were right as rain. She said to you, “What do they make you do, kiddo? Walk across hot coals?” Crying? Bah! There’s no crying in immunizations! (A twisted League of Their Own reference. We watch a lot of movies in this house, young lady.)



Add to your strength and grit your independent streak and we’ve got ourselves a spunky little tike on our hands. I swear I’ve heard you say “I do!” over the past couple of weeks. You will feed yourself, go up the stairs by yourself, hold your own cups and bottles, and go where you want to go. Holding hands? That’s so baby. Forget carrying you because that only leads to The Squirm (unless you’re tired, at which point all bets are off). You are not very interested in having books read to you, but you love to “read” to yourself. You certainly have your favorite pages and pictures, and heaven forbid we turn the pages for you. It makes me smile to see you sit down with books and flip through them, babbling as if you know exactly what the pages say.

At the same time – and I almost shudder to say it – you are this total girly-girl. I suppose all is not lost, since a true Womanist! embraces her woman-ness while being smart and strong. But, the look of sheer joy on your face when you opened Auntie Karen’s birthday present and saw clothes . . . that pink ATV from great-grandma was cool, but the dress? The dress was hug-worthy. You love clothes, you love playing with my costumes and veils, your shoes. When I put on your sunglasses, or your hat, you place your hand by your face and smile as if to say, “Don’t I look fabulous?” And you delight in having a scarf or blanket thrown over your shoulders, sashaying around the room like America’s Next Top Model.



You are a flirt, to boot. We can’t take you anywhere but you are trying to catch the eye of the kindly lady in the grocery line or the little boy in the restaurant booth. You always flash your dimples and sometimes babble greetings. You never fail to charm the pants off everyone you meet. “Oh, what a sweetie!” they’ll say. Granted, if someone dares to steal a cuddle from you, its fuss and squirm and “Maaaa MAAA!” Because no one comes between a Zoë and her Momma.



No one. Ever.

Love,
Momma

Eleven Months

Dear Zoë,

This past weekend I watched you play at your last Gymboree class for a while. It was a bittersweet moment – you had just gotten used to the whole routine, really started to explore the play equipment, and began bopping along to the songs. But was most bittersweet was my realization of how much you’ve grown up. And how quickly. There were three other babies there, your same age, who were all still babies. None of them were walking, yet. One wasn’t yet crawling. They were small, and cuddly, and quiet . . . interested in what was going on, but tentative and (honestly) immobile. Meanwhile, you were tearing around the room chasing after the sixteen-month-olds and babbling with Miss Deb. Dada and I try our best to keep up with you, but it was in that moment that I realized we missed out on your babyhood. We blinked and it was gone!



There was one thing, though, that those other 11-month-olds had you on: teeth.

It has been over this past month that the little girl who is Zoë started to emerge. You are curious, loud (Really loud. And high-pitched.), silly, tough . . . boy, are you tough. You’ve still got that determined spirit we started to see as soon as you began pulling up, and you have got it in spades. You will take one heck of a header and you’ll start to wail. But, when I come to soothe you, you want none of it. You get this hard little look on your face and whatever you tripped or slipped on gets the evil eye. You will triumph over this obstacle, dammit, or you will die trying! It’s as if your wails are only to say, “How dare you get in my way! Do you know who I am?”



Despite the fact that winter is nearly over (we hope!), we have had more snow this month than we’ve gotten nearly all season. You got Momma home for another snow day (2 in a year – mark this, baby, ‘cuz it will never happen again) and we sat by the back door just watching the snow. You were so delighted. Then Dada came home and brought a snowball inside for you to play with – what a treat! You squeezed a little handful of snow in your fist and came toddling over to me with such pride in your face. Your little hand was like ice, but you couldn’t believe this cold, wet, white stuff. But, all you can say is “Bup!”



The world, Zoë, is Bup.

We’re not too sure what “bup” means and, in fact, we’re starting to accept that it means everything. You understand us – more than we want to believe – and have no trouble finding whatever object we ask you to locate. Our nightly routine involves finding and hugging each stuffed animal. “Where is Mr. Panda? Give Mr. Panda a hug!” Even more complex directions, like “Give that sharp, small object you found on the floor and are trying to put into your mouth to Momma!” are no problem. So, we thought, naively, let’s ask her to find “bup.” Maybe then we could identify what it is. But, sometimes “bup” is your wipe, sometimes my coat, sometimes there’s no response other than a “What the hell are you people talking about?” look. I know, I know – in the wise words of the Fresh Prince, “Parents just don’t understand.”



Bup,
Momma

10 Months

Dear Zoë,

Not only is today your Papa Don’s birthday (Happy Birthday, Papa Don!) but it is your 10-month birthday. We’ve reached the double digits – just two more months to go until the big one. I don’t know what it is about saying “ten months”, but it just suddenly sounds so much older. Like you have automatically outgrown being an infant just because you’re now “ten months old”.



Of course, the fact that you’re now walking has a lot to do with it. You’re not an infant because you’re a “toddler” – you’re toddling all over the dang place. A few months back, Dada and I were struggling to turn around your car seats and readjust the straps. Neither of us could figure out why they wouldn’t get any longer. I was about the label them crap when Dada says, “Do you think she’s an infant or a toddler?” That was a strange realization. Now, it just fits.

Anne, when she shared with me her excitement at Eleanor walking, was amazed at how quickly it happened. She was right on. One month ago, you would take a few tentative steps Frankenstein’s monster-style: your legs rigid, feet flat and thumping with each step. A week went by and it was a few more steps, this time more quickly because you had to get there before you lost your balance. Your grins at your accomplishment were so self-satisfied. Now, you refuse to locomote any other way.



I think the best – and maybe the worst – thing to come out of all this walking is your independence. You know you can get where you want, when you want. This is so unbelievably great because I can leave your immediate presence without you crying! If you want to get me, you come and get me. If you want to see what I’m doing (usually going to the bathroom – hey, as long as it encourages your future potty training), you come over and watch.

And, not only can I move about the house more freely, but you regularly leave my side to go exploring. The kitchen cupboards hold a wealth of treasures for your little fingers. Your favorite items are my silicone cutting boards and, of course, the Rubbermaid food storage. They’re so easy to carry around, after all.



I have learned one valuable lesson as a parent, that has really paid off in the past month. You have to tell your child “No.” And mean it. Just wait – when you’re getting ready for your first child, you will read all sorts of conflicting opinions on disciplining babies. You’ll naturally feel guilty the first time you “make” your baby cry. Heck, when we first started dolling it out you would pucker up every time! But “No!” is a wonderful tool.

Dada and I know for certain that “No!” was the first word you understood, and boy are we glad now. Why spend all sorts of money on baby-proofing gadgets (there’s no such thing as “baby-proof”, by the way) when “No!” is free and works so well? Sure, we bought and installed baby gates. We covered all the outlets (though, a few No’s later you don’t bother). But we have a whole box of cabinet latches yet to be installed. We haven’t padded the fireplace, the coffee table, anything. A week of being told “No!” and physically moved when you touched the TV, and you stay away.

It’s awesome.

Love,
Momma

9 Months

Dear Zoë,

When I think back to my life 18 months ago, I never could have predicted or expected any of this. I was anxiously awaiting your arrival, but I really didn’t know (couldn’t know) anything about you. Anything except that you thoroughly enjoyed kicking and stretching against my sides. I thought I was tired then – Ha!

Over the past month, you’ve continued to grow into this willful, independent, funny little person. I feel absolutely grateful that I have been home with you the past week, albeit completely wiped out and ready from a real vacation. You learn something new every single day. It’s amazing. I had no idea that this is what it would be like to be a parent watching your child grow up.



My biggest joy, though, is when you sleep. Over the past month, Dada and I have had to come to terms with the fact that you are rapidly becoming a toddler. If anyone ever asks me how to train for a marathon, I’m going to tell them, “Take care of Zoë for a couple of days.” You have more energy than any of us know what to do with (that I knew from carrying you). And you’ve got to use it up now, “Before it runs out, Momma!” You’ll crawl if there’s no other choice, but you’d really love for us to hold your fingers and run you around the house. Most recently I’ve discovered that if I say, “Go Zoë! Go, go, GO!” you scurry your feet as fast as they can carry you.

Oh, my aching back!

The sleep, though, is great all around. You usually fuss a little bit when we leave you, but you quickly settle yourself down (sometimes after playing a bit with your mobile or crib mirror). When you wake up, you are almost always smiley and happy to see us. Just yesterday when I came in to get you from a nap, you were playing with your mobile (you’ve learned all about the buttons to turn it on!) and so eager to show me what you could do. “Look Momma! I can turn it off! And on! And off, again!”



I think the biggest change we’ve seen in you, aside from quickly learning how to motor around independently, has been how engaging you are. You’re discovering the world for the first time, and now you want to share it with us. Or anyone who’ll listen! “Hey, look at that!” Or, “What is this?” When we carry you around, your finger is constantly pointing at something – anything. You point at pictures in books, hand me toys or objects you’ve picked up, and smile and babble at strangers in restaurants.



You are still absolutely fascinated by other children. At Christmas, you thought your second cousins were the neatest thing since single-serve cottage cheese. You were crawling all over them to give them kisses, and trying to help them with their presents. I’ve started taking you to Gymobree, and the first day you followed around this little girl (about 3 months older than you) who was the fastest crawler I had ever seen. You watched all the other babies play and climb and toddle around. In fact, anytime we are anywhere you see another kid your eyes are glued on them.

I think that’s how you learned to climb the stairs.



We are in so much trouble.

Love,
Momma

She's on her way . . .