wealhtheow

2009! Woot!

Only 3 more years till the zombie apocalypse! Or 4 years, really. But still.

The holidays treated us well over at the wealhtheow household. The boy got an adorable rocking horse from his grandparents. The box had been lurking in our hallway for about 3 weeks, prompting much anticipation concerning the contents. Some guesses were a John Deere tractor and a tiny Harley-Davidson, but the reality turned out to be far more awesome.

Now things are settling back into a routine around here. R is back at work, and I'm planning on getting back to my workouts once I deal with this asthma thing.

Yes, the asthma thing is back. I think I've isolated the problem; admitting that I need to use a maintenance inhaler all the time, not just when I'm having symptoms, makes me feel like a hypochondriac. My asthma isn't that bad, I think. It's not like I have an actual problem, or like it's interfering with my daily life. Except the longer I leave it untreated, the more it's starting to interfere. When I was at work and mostly sedentary, it didn't interfere. But since I've been trying to go running and work out at Mommy Boot Camp 2-4 times a week, it's starting to become an issue. When I can't go for a run because of my asthma, I think it's time to admit that it is indeed starting to interfere with my daily life and take responsibility for treating it like an adult.

Speaking of acting like an adult, now I must go parent my waking child.

What a difference a year makes

I can't even remember last year at this time. I think I've blocked it out. The little guy was crying all the time, because we didn't realize he had reflux and was in pain. We were lucky to get 4 hours of sleep in a row, and I couldn't handle doing any sort of Christmas preparations--I honestly don't even know how I got gifts out to people. I was in total shock at motherhood, and just unprepared to have a baby who cried and wouldn't be comforted. Showering was an unknown luxury, and I'd spend either days or minutes in my pajamas, only changing when he'd soaked me with spitup.

What a difference a year makes! All my Christmas shopping is done, and most of it is wrapped. Packages are off, and Christmas cookies are baking in the oven right now. The candles are in the menorah, ready to be lit, and thanks to my mom, we even have a tiny Christmas tree, complete with lights (I wasn't going to do a tree this year because I didn't feel like playing referee all day long). We can usually get at least two or three nights of completely uninterrupted sleep, and when Sam does get up I'm up with him for 10 minutes before we're both back in bed. He's eating like he has some sort of tapeworm who enjoys spicy food (chili and enchiladas are some of his favorites), and he's finally starting to really put on some weight. Showering is still something way too far down on the priority list, but my laundry no longer stinks of baby vomit.

But even more than that, Sam and I have gotten to know each other, gotten to love each other beyond just the primal mother-child bond. As Sandra Boynton writes in Snuggle Puppy, "I love what you are, I love what you do!" He cuddles up in my lap to drink some milk and watch a cartoon when he's still waking up from his nap. He toddles over to give me gigantic hugs. He sorts his toys and puts his blocks in the biscotti jar and screws the lid on, then brings it over to me to unscrew. He still cries, but I can always make it better for him with a kiss and a cuddle, and if the situation is really dire, some nursing. When his daddy gets him in the morning and brings him to me in bed for some wake-up nursing, he reaches his little arms out to me and says "Mama!" I loved him last year because he was my child, and I was his mother. I love him this year because he's Sam, and I can't imagine my life without this wonderful little guy. I love how he hears his father's motorcycle and night and walks over to the door chanting "Dada! Dada! Dada!" I love his squeals of delight when he sees the cat come downstairs, or when he's taken in to our room to give her a goodnight hug. He's turning into his own little person, and as I go through the holiday tasks this year, I can't wait for the years to come, when he'll help decorate the tree, and help make the cookies. I can't wait to share all the wonders and joy of this season with him. But right now I'm so grateful to be where we are, right here at the beginning. 

Thanksgiving and other stuff

We had a wonderful Thanksgiving with the F'lakers and our friends Judith, Eric and Ellie. I forgot my camera, but you can check out some photos on the links above. Friends like these are truly the family we make, and I cannot think of anyplace else I would rather have spent Thanksgiving. Good food and better friends is a combination that can't be beat.

I've slacked off on the exercise front, but today went back to Mommy Boot Camp, and.  boy, do I feel better. It wasn't nearly as hard as I thought it was going to be, and I'm sure I'll sleep much better tonight. 

Speaking of sleep, after a week of a progressively waking-up-earlier baby, we cut him from two naps a day down to one. Lo and behold, he is now sleeping 11 or so hours a night, sometimes without an early-morning boob break. And the most unexpected benefit? He goes down for his naps with nary a protest. I miss having two naps a day, but it was getting a little tough to fit in exercise and errands between naptimes and mealtimes. Now I can get out to exercise in the mornings and meet up with the girls in the afternoon. 

Highlights

• Sam got his first haircut today. When the haircutress asked me if I wanted her to save his hair for me, I surprised myself by choking up a little. Not noticeably, thank god, but still. These milestones are coming so fast and furious.
• While on the way to return some clothes in the mall, I noticed that Santa was a) present and b) had no line. So instead of a straight return, I exchanged the clothes for a holiday-themed shirt and vest and had Sam's first Santa picture taken. Although he didn't smile, he also didn't scream or cry, and so we are left with a picture of Santa giving a jolly smile and Sam looking incredibly perplexed. I call that a win. 
• Freaking snow flurries a week before Thanksgiving. I know I say it every year, but this year I really really really think we're in for a bad winter.  
• For those of you reading this blog who are expecting, important safety tip--do NOT allow your kid to eat an ungodly amount of b-day cake on his first birthday. It will result in diarrhea and a hideous diaper rash that will take a week to heal.  
• Before Sam went down for his nap today, he gave Thistle a hug, He's been doing this lately, and it is adorable. He wraps his arms gently around her body and lays his head down on her with the most beatific smile. Today, Thistle responded by first sniffing and then licking his head. It was cuter than that puppy cam.  
• All those grandiose ideas I had about Sam's diet are gone. He's had cheeseburger three days in a row. He freaking loves it, and since he needs more fat and iron in his diet, I'm content to let him have cheeseburgers three or four times a week. I am going to try to get to the farm in the next couple weeks to get him some good grass-fed beef.  

Erev Election Day

My dearest Sam,

I'm sitting here writing you this letter on the eve of the 2008 presidential election. I hear you babbling yourself down to sleep over the monitor; you are so peaceful and innocent and perfect right now. It is just five days before your first birthday, and I've spent the past month marveling at the changes this past year has wrought, not only in you, but also in me. We've learned so much about each other, and about ourselves, in the past twelve months, and our time together has been the most precious gift I've ever received. 

But that isn't what I want to talk to you about tonight. I want to talk to you about this election. Yesterday I took you with me to canvass for Barack Obama. We knocked on doors, and although almost no one was home, we talked to a couple people, including a former Republican who has become thoroughly disenchanted with his party's abysmal stance on health care and is voting for Obama. I've heard so many stories like that in the past few weeks; the eighty-something black woman who burst into tears after casting her early vote for Obama because she never thought she'd live to see the day when she would vote for a black candidate, or the seventy-six-year-old New York woman who is voting for the first time ever in a presidential election because she is afraid of what another Republican administration would mean to the people of this country. 

Sitting here tonight, I can tell you that this is the most important election of my life so far. I've heard your grandmother and your great-grandfather say the same thing. There are so many reasons why I feel it is crucial that Obama be elected president: he will support a woman's right to choose what happens to her body; he has promised to overhaul our broken health care system; he will help dig this country out of the trillions of dollars of debt by repealing tax cuts; he will restore dignity and credibility to our foreign policy; he is a highly intelligent man who is not an enemy of science; he is a man of faith who is not a zealot or the willing pawn of zealots; and as the child of a single mother who at times depended on food stamps, he can better understand the struggles of the working poor. I am not voting for Obama because he is black, but I will not lie to you; if he wins, knowing that I've helped elect the first black president of this country will be icing on the cake. Knowing that black children in this country, and especially black boys, will be able to look at our president and know that they too can aspire to the highest office in the nation makes me feel that we as a country are taking an important step in the civil rights battle. 

Most people think that Barack Obama is going to win this election, and I agree with them. But I am very aware that it is not a sure thing. I'm very nervous that we will lose this election, and live with another four to eight years of failed policy and dangerous jingoism. I don't want you growing up in a country that hates and fears homosexuals, immigrants and Muslims. I don't want you growing up in a country where many of your friends don't have health care, or where you don't have health care. I don't want you growing up in a country that seems dedicated to eliminating the middle class. I'm scared about the outcome of this election because I want to give you a better country than the one I grew up with, not a worse one.

Tomorrow I'll bring you to the polls with me, and I'll let you watch me vote, and I'll do my best to make sure everyone I know goes out and votes as well. But tonight I'm just praying that our country will make the choice that will lead to a brighter future for you.

Love always and always,

your Mummy

Small Town Values

I'm getting really sick of this notion of small-town values. I spend a good chunk of my formative years in a small town, and I loved it. I would love to get back to to a small town, and I would love to raise my kids in a small town. I like constantly running into friends, knowing all the checkers at the local supermarket, and the strong sense of community that lots of small towns have.

BUT.

Small town values and morals? People in small towns are just as nasty and hypocritical as people in cities. Growing up in a small town, I saw drug abuse, child abuse, teenage sex, and neglect. I saw people taking advantage of their neighbors. I saw theft and petty, small-minded gossip. I saw violent crimes and murder, including a 14-year-old girl.

Living in the DC metro area, I've seen good people coming together as a community. I've seen and experienced unbelievable kindness from perfect strangers and from new friends. I've met some of the most generous people in my life, and some of the most genuinely religious people. I've met people committed to living a good life, not just talking about it. I've met people I could call at 3 am if I needed to.

People are pretty much the same all over. Living in a small town doesn't protect you anymore, and living in a city is no longer the Sister Carrie den of iniquity and sin that the Republican leaders would have you believe. 

Better

I feel so much better. It's amazing what getting things off your chest can do. After writing the previous post, I cleaned off my kitchen table, lit a beautifully scented candle, and made some plans for next week. Later I met my husband for dinner (at Quizno's, yes, but still technically dinner out) and bought some gorgeous flour sack dish towels for my mom and mother-in-law. My mom said I needed to try them, so I'm snaking one set of hers and will use it tonight. I'll head over and get her a replacement set on Monday, and maybe will pick up one or two more sets as emergency gifts. Who doesn't love pretty dish towels? Baby's nose is finally drying up, so I think our isolation is over.

Lonely

Here's the thing: unless you've done this gig, you can never possibly understand how desperately lonely it gets. Usually I get together with people from my MOMS club a few times a week, but with me being sick last week and Sam being sick this week, we've essentially been in isolation. 

I call my mom two or three times a day. I've called old friends, who don't call back. I call my husband 4 or 5 times a day, and hear him get more and more frustrated every single time, because he's trying to work.

I spend my day with the person I love most in the world, but he can't talk to me or relate to me. It is adorable when he tries to feed me a Cheerio or a soggy yogurt melt, but it feels like that's the sum total of my human interaction lately, and it's not enough. 

I do love this gig, but the hard parts are so utterly unlike what I thought they'd be. I know the baby will be feeling better next week, and I'll be able to get back to the usual routine. But right now I'm so lonely I feel like crying.

Lessons

1. Few things suck more than being sick and taking care of the baby.  
2. One of the things that does suck more is zoning out the couch being sick, and hearing your husband upstairs say "Hello Sam!" in an overly enthusiastic tone of voice, whereupon you realize it is very quiet downstairs, and where is that baby anyhow, and holyshitweforgettoshutthegate and the baby has just climbed upstairs by himself and ohmygodwhatifhefell???!!one!! 
3. If such an incident were to occur, said baby would be enormously proud of himself for making it all the way up to Dada by himself. 
4. The cat would be absolutely no help in this situation, and in fact you might suspect that she is silently rooting for the baby to fall.
5. Not that she wants him hurt, but she might like it if he were immobile for a while. Like for about 20 years. 
6. When you are sick, you will be mightily tempted to let your baby figure out on his own that if he keeps mauling the cat he may get bitten, but you are afraid someone will see the scratches and call CPS. 
7. When you are sick, you will have vivid dreams about fighting with your mother over the phone because the baby isn't eating enough vegetables, and then when you hang up your friends will all agree with your mother and you'll throw a ginormous tantrum in your dream.
8. In an attempt to deal with the underlying issues of your dream, you will make sweet potato fries for the boy's dinner, and then burn your thumb on the oven rack. 
9. The reservation is under pity, party of one. 

Nothing, tra la la!

Additions to Sam's food repertoire: buttered toast (big hit); bagel and cream cheese (not such a big hit); blueberry poptarts (yummmy! and messy!)

Summer is coming to a close, so we're going to spend as many lazy sunny days outside on the lawn as we can. The good news is that temperatures are starting to drop, so I anticipate more walks during the week, and lots of bike rides during the weekend. My big-ass jogging stroller* can convert to a bike trailer, which we plan on hitching up to R's bike. Perhaps it will slow him down enough that I won't give myself a heart attack trying to keep up with them. Although I've been doing Mommy Boot Camp for almost a month now, and no longer feel like vomiting at the end of each class, so maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised when I hop back on the bike. 

As Sam gets more and more active, the importance of being in shape to keep up with him and help him stay active is really hitting me in the face. Although I am not against the idea of TV to keep him entertained while I make dinner or to be the electronic babysitter when I'm really sick, I never want him to be content to just sit watching the screen. I want him to take lots of walks, play outside,ride his bike everywhere--and I know the best (and maybe the only) way to ensure this happens is to model these behaviors myself. Right now he thinks it's hysterical to watch me gyrating and jumping away at MBC, but I want him to remember that his mother took care of herself throughout her childhood and didn't just martyr herself on the altar of motherhood. 

I feel as though I should be writing something witty and informative here, but nothing is springing to mind, except, oh my gosh! I have issues with food! And also with my body! And with my son's food! Who knew? 

Oh, in other interesting news, Sam fell off our bed the other day. He was contentedly pulling clean laundry out of the basket and I had turned my back for less than a minute while trying to find a clean bra when I heard this giant WHUMP! I thought ohshitohshitohshit but maintained my sangfroide and turned around calmly. My little innocent baby lay there on the floor, his eyes as big as saucers. I grabbed him to give him a kiss, checking for cuts or bruises. He gave me a giant smile, and I put him back on the bed--whereupon he instantly made for the edge again. Not a single tear, not a single cry. So going over the bed at (almost) 10 months? Clearly not that big of a deal. His reaction was much more WTF? than OMG!!

*Oh my god, we did not pay anything NEAR what that stroller is retailing for now. That is really obscene, folks.