She Sleeps?

So there's been incredibly loud hammering, scraping, and rattling going on in the upstairs apartment for the past three hours now, and it's all coming through my ceiling nice and clear. It started about an hour before R's naptime, and I found myself praying the noise-makers would be prompt about pausing for lunch. But, no, not these oh-so-diligent workers. I actually started Googling white-noise makers and was about to purchase the Marpac SleepMate 980A Electro-Mechanical Sound Conditioner on Amazon, when I decided to peek in on R first, certain she'd be rolling around in her crib with her hands clamped over her little ears. But no, actually, she was sleeping the sleep of the dead. Whah?

I don't get it. This is the baby that bolts upright if I even dare breathe wrong while in the room next door, while she's asleep. This is the baby who didn't doze for more than 30 minutes, at 10-minute intervals, during a recent 16-hour international flight, because every little thing woke her up.

Now she sleeps through construction work? And continues to sleep, I might add, longer than she has in...months. I don't know what this means. Oh my god, maybe I better go check to see if she's breathing.

Does ANYONE Like Daylight Savings?

Obviously the person who came up with the idea was one of those early birds who doesn't have any small children in the house and probably goes to bed at 8am each night. Daylight savings has doomed me to having to wake up an hour earlier every day since R's body doesn't know any different. Just what all parents with babies need: one extra hour less sleep each morning. Screw you, Daylight Savings person.

Maybe Not Helpful Tip

In a pinch, breast milk works great--like an all-natural hair gel--to keep baby's hair out of her eyes. Really!

Your First Birthday

Dear R,

Your first birthday is coming up this month. I hate to admit this, but I thought about planning a party for you just because everyone else was doing it for their baby. Yep, I almost caved in to mommy-group pressure. But I didn't need to think about it too long. I'd barely begun agonizing over matching balloon and cupcake frosting colors, when I realized I couldn't do that to you. You would hate a birthday party, especially your own. Heck, while the other babies at Gymboree are either throwing themselves into each new activity or just hanging out with mom on the mats, you're the one repeatedly making her way to my shoes at the entrance, like, "Let's get the heck out of here, already."

Everyone says you're the picture of your dad, but at heart, you're more like me. You don't like too many people all at once. You're not so good with new places. And you're more often an observer, rarely a participant. So I can pretty much anticipate your reaction to a room full of noisy people with lots of attention thrown your way.

They say the first birthday celebration is usually for the parents, but I'd rather the day be for you. So we'll probably keep it low-key, just our little family: you, me, and dad. Maybe we can go to the zoo and actually see all those animals you've been avidly examining in your board books. You can still have a birthday cake, though. Let me take another stab at my whole-wheat, sugarless banana-almond cake recipe. Which may not sound very good to the you reading this now, but trust me on this: Baby R digs mom's cake.

It keeps bowling me over, the tide of feeling that accompanies my thoughts of this upcoming milestone. I actually get teary, and I'm about the least sentimental person I know (your dad gets not-so-secretly miffed every time I forget our wedding anniversary). At first I chalked it up to me being hormonal, or something, but after talking with other people, I've learned that baby's first birthday is incredibly emotional and bittersweet for most parents. I don't feel sad that you're growing up, though--that isn't it. I don't quite know yet what I'm feeling.

I thought it would be nice to take a few pictures, though--an informal family portrait. We have possibly zero photos of the three of us together. So someone else would have to take the pictures. But I don't want one of those studio ones, with the weird cloudy background, matching snowflake sweaters, and poses that make you think of high school yearbooks.

I came across the Blue Lily blog by a husband and wife photographer team and was amazed by some of their pictures:



I like how natural and at ease everyone is. No one looks posed and there aren't any stiff studio smiles.

I wish we could have a gorgeous family picture like that, in memory of your first year...but most likely, we'll be in a public place, and we'll ask some passerby, "Excuse me, would you mind taking our picture?" And your dad will be smiling, you'll probably look serious because there are strangers everywhere, and I'll have that perpetually irritated look I always seem to have in photos. But we'll all be there, and one of us will be holding you close, and that's really all that matters, right?

Wanting Useless Things (Though Not for Myself)

I don't know if many other moms and dads have suffered from a similar insanity, but considering I've never been a shopaholic, it's stunning just how badly *I* want these Baby Bloch ballerina slippers--which cost about $40, by the way--for my baby. Who can't even walk yet. And won't tolerate anything on her feet. It's just stupid, I know it. But look:




Right? All the little details--the little elastic bow at the front and all that. Exactly like real ballet slippers...but mini! I can see how these in toddler sizes wouldn't have the same suck-you-inability. Even before I had R--and wasn't crazy about babies--I always thought baby shoes were cute. But these literally make my insides squelch. I can hear an actual squelching sound.

The strange thing is that Baby Bloch doesn't seem very popular in the US. What little stock I could find--yeah, I searched, just out of curiosity, of course--was not very nice. They seem much more popular in the UK and Australia. No idea why. Just like golden syrup and hot custard sauce, I guess there are some great things that may never catch on over here.

Or maybe it's the first picture that greets you on the Baby Bloch website. I mean, I can see how the impression they were going for was adorable. But does anyone else see an unfortunate resemblance between the two bald and bashful souls below (okay, baby has a bit more hair than the action movie guy)?

Do New Stuff

Dear R,

There have been several exciting developments in your life lately.

The first is that you now have a top front tooth to accompany your two bottom teeth--all the better to bite you with, my pretty. That's right, clueless mom had to be nipped in the nipple about eight times before the light bulb came on. You're still accidentally biting me here and there, and frankly, it's painful and terrifying, now that there are sharp edges closing in on mom's tender flesh from two sides. Thankfully, you're not doing it on purpose...yet.

The other milestone is that you *definitely* spoke today. I mean, you've been saying things that sound like words for a long time, but admittedly, it all kind of sounds the same and sometimes it's hard to tell whether you really know what you're saying--like how you say "mama" when you're hungry or tired. But today, you extended a credit card in my direction, so I took it, then gave it back to you, saying, "Dozo." You then held the card out to me again and, with your little bird mouth pursed, cried, "Duzu!" We passed the card between us many times, and every time you gave the card back to me, you would say "dozo," or "duzu," rather. Maybe it's because I'm your mom, but I thought this was so cute. I wanted to share the moment with your grandparents in Japan--they would have been thrilled--so I tried to film you doing this, but you promptly tossed the card aside and lunged for the camera. I guess this is something that will be recorded only in my memory. And on this blog.

One other thing is you've started giving me goodnight kisses. Oh, sure, sometimes you just want to gnaw on mom's face with your brand-new, razor-sharp teeth. But last night and tonight, after our last nursing session before bed, you stood in my lap, put your hands on my shoulders, and repeatedly pressed your mouth to my face, very gently. You then kind of nuzzled my cheek and rested quietly against me, which was a surprise. You've never been the cuddly type. In fact, you haven't fallen asleep in my arms since you were a newborn, always preferring to be set down in your crib when you're getting ready to sleep. It was particularly sweet, considering in contrast the many harrowing bedtimes we've gone through before this.

I love you, little bird.

The Truth About Mom

Dear R,

Your dad's away on a business trip right now, I just ate an egg sandwich for dinner, there are books and blocks strewn all over the floor...and I'm in heaven. I don't know how I'll be as you get a bit older and I have to start setting a good example, but for now, your mom is a genuine slob.

It distresses your father to come home to a messy house, so, after you're in your crib for the night, I usually try to undo the wreckage throughout the apartment dealt by your wee hands. You seem to have an affinity for chaos (which your dad has somehow decided is all my fault): Your first task of the morning is always to head straight for the coffee table and drag out all the magazines (which your dad has been begging me to throw out--but who am I to remove the bedraggled pile of parenting magazines that bring you such obvious delight?). When set on the floor before a jumbled heap of laundry on your right and a stack of folded clothes on your left, you'll invariably head left. And if anything is sitting on a low shelf, you cannot rest until every last object is whacked to the ground.

But here I am, sitting in our exploded living room, blissfully choosing *not* to clear up. Ahhh. Of course, before dad comes home, there will be some seriously frantic housecleaning done by me. But not today.