Standard Routine

I am a creature of habit. For better or worse. I like my routine. I find routines comforting. I like having a structure in place - it needn't be an intricate or detailed structure. Room to ebb and flow - to grow, or not - is important in any structure. But here's the thing. Sometimes - for a person who usually embraces change, and gets restless in life - I get a little bent out of shape when my personal routine is disturbed.

It's been disturbed.

I am a bit perturbed by the disruption.

I had just really nailed my new morning get to work routine with the new job. Get up, let the dogs out, pee, feed the dogs, make coffee, bring the hubs a cup, fetch the baby, feed the baby, take a shower, get dressed, figure out what the heck to do with my hair that day, feed the baby breakfast, eat my own breakfast, welcome the Nanny, give her the update, kiss the baby bye bye, out the door, and off to work. Arrive at desk by 8.30 am.

It worked. It was great. I had it down.

Suddenly, things have changed. We add daycare to the mix. We add the fact that Abbey now has opinions to the mix. We add the fact that Abbey is no longer willing to entertain herself in a bouncy seat in the bathroom while I shower into the mix. Plus getting another being fed, dressed, sunscreened, lunch and bottles packed, clean diaper, and out the door with me into the mix.

I don't like this mix much. It tastes a little bit bitter.

I hear that a person's child is often a reflection of the parent. If my routine-ness is any indication, then I have to say it's true. Abbey, too, seems to have her own schedule. A schedule that doesn't really gel with mine very well. And we're both having a difficult time adapting to one another these days. While she used to wake, eat, play, eat some more, play, then nap for two hours, she now has to schlep off to "school", usually falling asleep when we're 10-15 minutes away from arriving, and then waking with a wail and an eye rub, not to nap again for several hours. Because Abbey doesn't like napping at daycare so much. At home, she naps like a pro - usually 3 hours total a day stretched between three naps. At daycare today, she napped a total of 30 minutes. Same with bottles...at home, she's taking about 12-18 oz in bottles during the day. Today at daycare, she took 5. They tried. I believe them when they tell me they tried. But her routine has been disrupted, and none of this is "normal".

Sigh...

Knowing her routine, and knowing how flustered I become when my routine is disrupted, I have a terrible foreboding about where this is heading.

So, how do we adapt to this new reality? How do I get out the door to work - on time - with a well-fed, dressed, clean and relatively happy 9-month-old? How do I impress on her daycare providers that she really does need to nap more even though I understand she doesn't seem very sleepy? That she really does need to eat more during the day? That I'm not really an anal retentive, micromanaging Mom from hell? And how do I ease Abbey to a new way of doing things when she seems to be cut from the same cloth as me, and truly, I'm not so crazy about it all, either.

It's always this way isn't it? Just when you think you have it figured out...

Super Palate

My husband claims to have a super palate. Also known as a "super taster". A person who experiences heightened sensations from food and beverages, being extra sensitive to bitter tastes, textures, carbonation and spice. Super tasters tend to avoid foods like spinach, broccoli, Brussels sprouts. (Note the trend there with green vegetables.) I mock my husband about this if not daily, then at least weekly. He uses his super palate as justification for what I consider picky eating. At which point, he loves to bust out the story about when he was a kid and his parents forced him to eat Brussels sprouts, and he refused, refused, refused, until finally...giving in...he proceeded to vomit. Everywhere. And it was the last time anyone has ever forced him to eat anything.

I, on the other hand, am more egalitarian in my approach to food. I'll try anything. Some of my favorite foods also happen to be some of the same foods that my husband finds absolutely appalling. Like mushrooms. And seafood. Recently, while picking Blue crabs (which I very much enjoy), the hubs turned green and had to leave the table.

I find this interesting because it's one of the areas where Scott and I are so very different from one another. I mean, there are plenty of foods (Buffalo wings, steak, mashed potatoes, Thanksgiving dinner) that we both LOVE. But there are so many other tasty morsels that I adore that he flat out refuses.

Here's the thing about the super palate. Allegedly, it's genetic. I definitely have the same taste in food as my Dad. We make excellent dining companions. My Mom seems to be the pickier eater in our family. I remember a time when she refused to eat eggs. Who doesn't eat eggs?!

When Abbey first started eating solid foods and fell head over heels for strained peas (of all things), I thought, "Ah-ha! She has MY taste in food." Unfortunately, that love affair was brief. As soon as she discovered sweeter tastes - like apples, pears, mangoes, it was bye bye peas. On the other hand, she can't stand meat. Any kind of meat makes her gag. That, however, may not be so telling because, really, pureed meat makes me gag, too.

As we approach Abbey's nine month milestone, I have decided to do my best to forgo the jarred baby food (although jarred baby food, and the baby food pouches, have come a loooonng way, I understand), and make my own. So far, I've concocted a favorite stand-by, pureed sweet potato. But have also made a nice nectarine puree, a sweet-pea, pear and mint combo (that sounds downright spa-like, if I do say so myself) and have the ingredients to try several other gourmet concoctions like a tomato-carrot stew; butternut squash and banana; blueberry sauce for baby yogurt; and other various sundry. I'm hoping the fresh tastes and textures will make an impression. This is my first experimentation in the whole nature vs. nurture arena, and we'll just have to see if the super palate wins.

Time

"Lost time is never found again."
- Benjamin Franklin

It seems to me that a mother's greatest joy is also simultaneously met with heartache as they watch their baby grow. It happens so fast. I am now convinced that time is not a fixed measurement because there is no way that my baby is over eight months old. But alas, it's true.

I feel like I'm struggling with some of the latest transitions more than previously. The milestones we're seeing lately seem so...momentous. And there's a lot of change in the air. And sometimes I just long to freeze a moment - like in a Kung Foo movie - and just take a step back and look at it from every possible angle and enjoy it to the utmost capacity that my heart will allow. Because, damn it, it all goes by so fast. It's all so wonderfully bitter sweet.

Here's what's going on.

After a lot of thinking, some number crunching, and a lot of hand-wringing (and heartache) we've decided to enroll Abbey in daycare. As I've mentioned before, we love our nanny, so this has nothing to do with her, or her performance. We wish that we could keep her on. But with my new job gearing up into overtime, it's become quite clear that multi-tasking and trying to be a super Mom and stellar employee and meet all the demands on both sides, well, just not realistic. I need full-time support in the form of childcare, and financially, the nanny arrangement just doesn't make sense for us anymore. Luckily, we found a great daycare just a few blocks away from my workplace, and snagged Abbey a slot beginning next week. NEXT WEEK! I have a lot of experience firing people. It's never something that anyone enjoys doing. But this was by far one of the hardest conversations I've ever had to have. Letting our nanny go - ugh. So hard. She's like a part of our family. And though we'll continue to use her as a babysitter, I know that things won't be the same. Time marches on. And so must we.

The next transition is boob related. Please feel free to skip this part if that weirds you out. No offense taken.

Still here?

K.

Abbey's starting to ween. [Insert sobs here.] Good golly I was NOT prepared for how emotional this would be. Okay, so part of it is her weening and eating more solid foods, and part of it is me not being able to find time to pump at work, not really WANTING to pump at work anymore (let's be honest, who does?!?) and thus, my plentiful supply is shrinking. I wax and wane between being happy over a little bit of new-found independence and reclaiming my body a bit, and overwhelming sadness and guilt. Because I've come this far - I wish I could make it all the way to a year. And I so cherish that bond that we've created. And there's something freaking amazing about being able to create - with your own body - the most important nutrients that your child needs. What I've come to believe is that breastfeeding is truly a selfless act of love. I am so glad that I was able to nurse Abbey exclusively for six months, and that I continue to nurse her as my supply allows. At this point, I'm hoping I can continue a 50/50 combo of nursing and formula to her first birthday. I also have to admit, it's kind of nice to not schlep Mr. Thirsty, the breastpump, to work every day. It's nice to not have to quietly excuse myself or block off time in my calendar to take a pump break. It's nice to have a little bit of that time back. But I'll tell you, I think about what that last time will be like - the last time I nurse my first-born child. Oh, dear. That's just a tough one. I can't even get my head around it yet. Oy. But time keeps trudging forward at a steady clip. And so must I. And my boobs.

Finally, I have to say that all of the changes - physically and developmentally - in Abbey are incredible. Today, for the first time, she started waving to us. She's starting to catch on to some baby sign language. She understands. She observes. She absorbs. She's a person. Like a real individual, with her very own personality. She is goofy as hell. I think she has both my sense of humor and Scott's to the third power. The kid is funny. And adorable. And I swear, every morning when I pick her up from her crib, it feels like she's grown. I feel it in my arms. In my soul. Recently, I looked back at some of those early photos of Abbey and it's just so incredible how much change happens in such a short amount of time. So many people told me to "enjoy every second of it." It sounds like such a cliche when someone says that, right? I wish I had paid more attention. They were so right. Time flies.

As we roll into the final months of Abbey's first year of life, I am just so proud of our little family - of our little girl. My life has been enriched in a way that I never thought possible. While there are definitely moments when I wish I could freeze time and just live in this place for a while longer, I also can't quite contain the excitement I feel for the new changes and discoveries and growth. In Abbey. In me. In my marriage. In my family. As for time? Yes, it marches on. It flies by. It's like sands through the hourglass. But time is my friend and not a foe, I do realize. On this concept, I'm reminded of a favorite quote from my 10th grade American Lit class, "This time, like all times, is a very good one, if we but know what to do with." (Ralph Waldo Emerson).

Use your time well. Enjoy every second of it.

Ready Reader

Abigail loves books. This makes me proud. I, too, love books. But my little secret is that I wasn't such a fan of reading when I was a little girl. Well, I was and then I wasn't. I remember some books fondly - I used to beg my Dad to read to me from Uncle Wiggily's Adventures by Howard Garis. Who doesn't like stories of mischievous woodland creatures and a wise rabbit? But somewhere between pre-school and first grade I decided reading wasn't a fun past-time. I remember pretty clearly the incident that caused it, too.

I remember coming home from Kindergarten - I was in the morning class - and was super excited to share what I had learned that day. "I can read!" I exclaimed! That morning, my class had learned to read some very simple sentences, specifically, "Go, fish, go." But we learned it - I learned it - in fact, I remember being called on to "read" the sentence all by myself in front of everyone. And I got it right. Huzzah! I was so proud of myself. Of course I had to share the news when I got home.

That day, my older brother had some friends over from school in the afternoon. I can't remember really who they were, but while my brother was inside the house getting them all a snack, I (always his shadow) was hanging out with them on the front porch. Wanting - longing - to be a big kid, too, I remember telling one of them that I could read.

He laughed.

"No you can't."

"Yes I can."

"No you can't."

"Uh huh."

"Prove it."

He took out a book from his backpack - a textbook. A thick textbook that belonged to a thirteen-year-old boy. He cracked it open, pointed to some words that I did not recognize, and said, "read, then."

I sat there and stared at the book and said nothing. I looked at him, with what I'm sure was a devastated face of a five-year-old girl, and said, "I can read, 'go, fish, go.'"

He laughed, closed the book shut with a thud, and walked away saying, "Told ya."

And that was that. I blinked back tears, went inside, and felt silly and ashamed.

It's remarkable - truly remarkable - how that one incident impacted me. I went from an excited student, anxious to learn more, to just anxious about the subject in a bad way. From that point through about the age 13, I shied away from ever wanting to read aloud in class. I always hoped with my fingers crossed that I wouldn't be called on to read in front of my peers. When I did have to read in front of others, I could feel heat rise from my belly up to my neck as I stumbled on a word here or there. The thing is, I was a great reader - I could read just fine - I just didn't want anyone to know about it and I sure as hell didn't want to DO it in front of anyone because heaven forbid what if I made a fool out of myself!?

It wasn't until junior high when I had to make the fateful choice in my elective course between woodshop and choir that I finally broke out of that shell. I'd always been musical (I started piano lessons at four years old). But it was getting up and performing - getting to pretend I was someone else - that made it all okay. When I discovered acting and the theatre, well, that was pretty much the end of any public shyness in my life.

But I still remember that day on the porch when an obnoxious little boy made me doubt myself. Twenty-seven years later, and I still remember the bench we sat on, the cool air, and the book I couldn't read - it's orange, yellow and blue cover. The way he snapped it closed. The way he said, "told ya" over his shoulder as he walked away from me.

This memory came back to me recently after reading an article that a friend had shared about "How to Talk to Little Girls." Instead of always complimenting the way a little girl looks - what if we complimented their smarts? Their wits? What if we started our conversations with them with the simple question, "what are you reading?"

Of course this all has me thinking about my own daughter. The kid has no idea, really, what the words she looking at on a page mean or represent, but my God does her face light up when you open a book! Her favorites seem to be the Sandra Boynton cardboard books. She's a fan of Olivia the piglet. I love reading Goodnight Moon before every nap. We read together at a minimum four times a day. It is one of my great hopes to instill in her a love for reading that I started out with, but lost, and then found again. I'm revisiting my childhood, it seems, every time I read a book with her. And I pray that when she comes home from school, proud and excited, and proclaims that she can read, let it be me or her father who she tells so we can celebrate over cookies and stoke that fire.

Dear Abbey, Seven Months

Dear Abbey,

You are seven months old. You are seven months old? How did that happen? A year ago I was just starting to look very pregnant with you. And now you are seven months old. Wow.

You are developing quite the personality, young lady. You are one goofball. A spirited girl, for sure. I like to think you get that from me. Although your Daddy has a pretty keen sense of humor, too. For a while there you were really looking like your Dad, although now I'm seeing more of myself in you. You crinkle your nose when you giggle. That's pretty signature Mommy, punkin. You also giggle with total abandonment - you love to laugh. We have that in common. I always know that when I get going, you can hear me laughing across a crowded room and down the hall. Sometimes I try to picture you twenty years from now doing the same thing. We make a good pair, you and me.

You are an expert sitter. You can literally sit for hours now all by yourself. You love to sit next to your toybox and slowly take each and every toy out individually until you are surrounded. That usually gets us to your next nap.

Speaking of, I am so glad that you have finally decided to give in to the joys of sleeping, my love. You seem so much happier now. Goodness knows Mom and Dad are happier, too. You are sleeping through the night in the real sense - 12 hours usually. You've also adopted this lovely habit of entertaining yourself quietly in your crib when you wake in the morning rather than screaming like a banshee. We like that. Way to mature, kiddo. And good on ya for finally mastering the art of napping. It is a skill that you will enjoy into adulthood, although few adults really get to practice it anymore.

I feel like we've arrived at this really magical, happy place together, sweetheart. It's pretty amazing to look back over the past six months and year and see how much we've changed and grown together as a family. It's such a great adventure - better than anything I have ever experienced before.

Love you, Punkin.

Mom.

The 12th Hour

I heard that it could happen, but refused to let myself believe it - to have hope - not wanting to be disappointed. It seemed such a fantasy. Unattainable. Unimaginable. Delicious.

But then, one day it just started happening.

And then it happened again.

And again.

And now, it seems a reality, though now I don't want to acknowledge it for fear I might jinx the whole thing and ruin everything.

Abbey is now sleeping 12 hours a night. TWELVE. Like, in a row. Consecutive. Without breaks. Without 4am feedings. Or 2am feedings. She goes to sleep at 6pm and wakes up at 6am.

Holy shit.

You know what this means, right? I'm getting to sleep, too! And once in a while, when neither the Yankees, or Hockey, or whatever shoot 'em up testosteroni video game is not being played, I get to snuggle up on the couch with my husband and watch a movie. Sometimes with cocktails!

I remember what this feels like - vaguely. It was a distant memory. I didn't know if I'd ever see these days again.

Can I just say that six months is a wonderful, magical age?

How Evil Is TV, Really?

The level of wickedness that resides within the soft glow of our flat screen television is something that I've struggled with ever since Abbey came home from the hospital and I started devouring information on baby/childhood brain development.

Everything I have read suggests it is bad, bad, bad to let your infant watch television. Most experts agree that the TV should be OFF - no exposure - for infants, and most seem to agree that TV adds no value for children under the age of 2.

Intellectually, I totally agree with them.

Here's the thing.

I grew up in a household where the television was on pretty much ALL THE TIME. Thus, in our house, the television is on almost ALL THE TIME. No, we aren't always watching it. Often - like now - it's on in the background turned to a news channel with the volume set lower. On the weekend, it's usually set to the Food Network, or a DIY channel. So, it's not like it's continuous gratuitous sex/violence being exhibited on the flashy screen. It's Eggs Benedict. And gardening. And the Today Show. And we NEVER plop Abbey in front of the television thinking that we WANT her to watch it. Heavens no! But she is, from time to time, drawn to the magical screen. Especially when there's something musical happening - a jingle, or a video, or Dancing With the Stars. But it's usually just for a second or two and she returns to playing with her toys, cooing happily.

So, how badly are we damaging our child here?

The television is by no means a "babysitter" in our house. Rather, a companion for the adults who are news junkies and like to check in with the adult world. So, I'm curious if any of you out there have read anything on passive TV viewing in children? Because I think I can attest that I definitely have some ADD and OCD tendencies, and maybe that's a product of growing up in a digital age. And if that's the case for me - in my Atari loving, MTV just came out, I loved Fraggle Rock childhood - what does the impact of so much technology mean for our daughter?