Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
blessing day
On Sunday at church Caleb was given a name and a beautiful blessing by his father. In it he was blessed with such things as a sharp mind and a thirst for knowledge, a love and understanding of the gospel, and to be sensitive to the spirit. He was admonished to prepare for the holy covenants he will be making throughout his life, as well as to prepare for the mission he will one day serve, and to always be a good example to his family and friends. One part of his blessing that particularly stood out to me was the counsel to always remember the good people he was named after: to be honest, as Caleb of the Old Testament was honest, and to follow the good example of the grandfather who was the inspiration for his middle name.
Not only was Caleb blessed yesterday, but we were all blessed to have so many family members and friends come to witness and participate in the blessing. My Uncle Joel and Aunt Colleen came over from New Jersey, along with their daughter, my cousin Heather, her husband, Brian, and their two children, Rees and Lucy. Our good friends, Cliff and Margo, along with their son Isaac, came down from Manhattan to be with us. And, of course, my mom, who is still here visiting, was able to attend.
It was wonderful to have so many loved ones there to support us, and to show our appreciation (as well as to have a good excuse to spend time visiting with everyone), we hosted a celebration lunch at our apartment yesterday afternoon. I've not yet had many opportunities to play the hostess and, with my mom's help, I had a lot of fun putting together a menu. It took a few days to completely prepare, and it turned out to be quite the spread. It even had a bit of a New York City flavor to it. We served chicken salad on crescent rolls, fruit kebabs with a fruit dip, pita bread and roasted red pepper hummus, bagels with our favorite local vegetable cream cheese, applesauce mini-muffins, and pumpkin cookies. Pretty tasty, if I may say so.
Yesterday was very wet and rainy, but we still managed to snap a few group pictures outside on our stoop. I think they turned out very nice.
Thank you again to everyone who came and supported us on Caleb's special day!
Saturday, September 26, 2009
new york transit museum
What can you do at the New York Transit Museum? Well, you can...
sell subway tokens,
push turnstiles,
explore vintage subway cars,
and drive city buses.
Fun, huh?
Today we visited the Transit Museum, which is housed in a decommissioned, but still working, subway station in Brooklyn Heights. (And, lucky for us, today happened to be Museum Day, so we got in for free.) The museum highlights the history of public transportation in New York City and boasts an impressive collection of subway cars (which featured some awesome period advertisements), buses, trolleys, turnstiles, and fare tokens, all of which date back to the early days of mass transit at the turn of the 20th century. We all thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, but Garrett was especially in his element. Not only did the exhibits feature trains, buses, and other things that go, which my little boy already has a special place in his heart for, but they were completely hands on. To look at him run from display to display, you couldn't help but get the feeling that, no matter how old the items were, Garrett felt right at home.
He's such a city boy.
sell subway tokens,
push turnstiles,
explore vintage subway cars,
and drive city buses.
Fun, huh?
Today we visited the Transit Museum, which is housed in a decommissioned, but still working, subway station in Brooklyn Heights. (And, lucky for us, today happened to be Museum Day, so we got in for free.) The museum highlights the history of public transportation in New York City and boasts an impressive collection of subway cars (which featured some awesome period advertisements), buses, trolleys, turnstiles, and fare tokens, all of which date back to the early days of mass transit at the turn of the 20th century. We all thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, but Garrett was especially in his element. Not only did the exhibits feature trains, buses, and other things that go, which my little boy already has a special place in his heart for, but they were completely hands on. To look at him run from display to display, you couldn't help but get the feeling that, no matter how old the items were, Garrett felt right at home.
He's such a city boy.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
dear caleb
Dear Caleb,
Today you are one month old, and, as if in celebration of this milestone, you've decided to reach another of (I think) equal caliber: you're just now coming to terms with your binky, and that is, in my opinion, a very beautiful thing. However, despite the lack of control you have over your own mobility, your tiny thumbs have frequently managed to find their way to your mouth, and when they do, you like to furiously suck on them until your arms spontaneously flail in the other direction. It is darling, and it makes me happy to think that someday, perhaps even soon, you will be soothing yourself.
Right now, though, you are a very fussy baby, and the only sure way we can calm you down is by swaddling you tight, holding you close, and rocking or patting you. It is exhausting, this incessant desire to be constantly held. But, as wearisome as it is for me to keep you in my arms, wrapped securely like a tiny peanut, I still treasure the moments when you sweetly cuddle against my body, and I know that I will miss these days when they have passed.
Your Grandma Nancy is here now visiting and with her you've accomplished an impressive series of firsts. On Sunday, exactly four weeks after you were born, you attended church in the Bensonhurst Ward for the first time. You slept soundly through most of the services, but that didn't stop me from briefly (and proudly) introducing you to my Primary children. Earlier this week you went for your first ride on the subway, joining Garrett, Grandma, and I on an errand to Target and Old Navy (where we found you and your brother the most adorable matching Halloween costumes). Yesterday, as a one-month-old seasoned pro, you rode the subway again, this time for your first visit to Manhattan. You handled the pace of our outing remarkably well -- which makes it all the more likely that I'll want to adventure into the city with you again. You are also on the brink of giving us your first social smiles, and maybe this first will happen before Grandma goes back home. I am excited to see you start smiling; the gassy glimpses you've already given us are too precious for words.
You continue to be a very good eater, which is a real treat for both of us. I love it when you hold tightly onto my fingers as you gaze up at me while sucking firmly on your bottles. You are a sweet, sweet boy, and I am lucky to have you in my life.
Love,
Mama
Today you are one month old, and, as if in celebration of this milestone, you've decided to reach another of (I think) equal caliber: you're just now coming to terms with your binky, and that is, in my opinion, a very beautiful thing. However, despite the lack of control you have over your own mobility, your tiny thumbs have frequently managed to find their way to your mouth, and when they do, you like to furiously suck on them until your arms spontaneously flail in the other direction. It is darling, and it makes me happy to think that someday, perhaps even soon, you will be soothing yourself.
Right now, though, you are a very fussy baby, and the only sure way we can calm you down is by swaddling you tight, holding you close, and rocking or patting you. It is exhausting, this incessant desire to be constantly held. But, as wearisome as it is for me to keep you in my arms, wrapped securely like a tiny peanut, I still treasure the moments when you sweetly cuddle against my body, and I know that I will miss these days when they have passed.
Your Grandma Nancy is here now visiting and with her you've accomplished an impressive series of firsts. On Sunday, exactly four weeks after you were born, you attended church in the Bensonhurst Ward for the first time. You slept soundly through most of the services, but that didn't stop me from briefly (and proudly) introducing you to my Primary children. Earlier this week you went for your first ride on the subway, joining Garrett, Grandma, and I on an errand to Target and Old Navy (where we found you and your brother the most adorable matching Halloween costumes). Yesterday, as a one-month-old seasoned pro, you rode the subway again, this time for your first visit to Manhattan. You handled the pace of our outing remarkably well -- which makes it all the more likely that I'll want to adventure into the city with you again. You are also on the brink of giving us your first social smiles, and maybe this first will happen before Grandma goes back home. I am excited to see you start smiling; the gassy glimpses you've already given us are too precious for words.
You continue to be a very good eater, which is a real treat for both of us. I love it when you hold tightly onto my fingers as you gaze up at me while sucking firmly on your bottles. You are a sweet, sweet boy, and I am lucky to have you in my life.
Love,
Mama
Friday, September 18, 2009
you can't always reason with a toddler
It's been a rough week, one in which I've learned that I gave birth to a fussy baby and that apparently it is asking too much to ever want to put him down. I am exhausted. To say that we are happy that my mom arrives tomorrow for a two-week visit is putting it mildly. Overjoyed or ecstatic would be closer to the truth. But while we wait for her plane to land, I'd like to talk a little about Garrett and his stubborn, quirky, and tender toddler ways.
The Stubbornness
"Cars? Cars?" Garrett asks rhetorically as he points to the Cars DVD behind the glass of the TV stand. "Yeah," he then answers.
"You want to watch Cars?" I ask.
"Yeah," he says, nodding vigorously.
Like most 2-year-olds, Garrett knows what he wants, and, luckily for me, he's getting better and better at communicating these desires. "On," he commands, pointing to various light switches, fans, and electronics throughout the apartment. "Wa," he states while standing by the fridge, indicating that he wants a drink, usually of milk. That way, he points in the direction of the park as we descend the steps of our building's stoop. Unluckily for him, however, is the unhappy truth that Mom won't always give him what he wants. I draw the line at two movies a day (fewer if I can swing it, but these days, when I'm in survival mode, I am more than grateful we even have children's movies available at home); lately it's been too chilly to run the fans; if I gave him milk every time he asks for it, I'd be buying him a gallon a day; and sometimes we have to go to the grocery store, which is in the opposite direction of the park. But that doesn't stop him from asking (or, as his tone usually indicates, commanding) that we do things his way. Nor does it prevent the mini-meltdowns that follow when I have to tell him no.
The Quirkiness
Garrett has a pair of yellow rubber rain boots, which also happen to be the only pair of shoes he can put on himself. He loves these boots. When I ask him to go get his shoes before we head outside, these are ones he gets. But he doesn't even have to be asked. Often he'll just get the urge to put them on and so he will. And before I can convince him to wear something a little more practical for our purposes, he's got them on his feet ready to go. He's worn his yellow rain boots on errands to the grocery store, to the bank, and for walks throught he neighborhood -- in perfectly sunny weather. It's quite the fashion statement, let me tell you.
The Tenderness
Garrett still loves his baby brother (and is frequently doling out precious kisses to him), and quite often has his own ideas about how Caleb should be cared for. "Whee," he tells me as I hold Caleb in my lap, pointing to baby swing. "Whee. Whee."
I know very well what he wants, but for everyone's benefit, I try to clarify. "You want me to put Caleb in the swing?"
"Yeah. Yes," he says as he laughs.
Caleb has calmed down, and my arms need a rest, so I give in to Garrett's request.
Now, I love our baby swing. It plugs into the wall, thus saving me considerably from having to replenish it with batteries, and not only does it swing in the traditional position, but, with a simple adjustment, it becomes a glider as well. However, it also plays the most obnoxious lullaby music ever recorded. When I'm in charge, the music does not ever get turned on. Unfortunately, with a toddler around, I'm not always in charge. And Garrett is convinced that Caleb needs those tinny, electronic lullabies.
As if on cue, Garrett is there waiting by the swing for me to get Caleb snapped in, and as soon as I do, he is right there, standing by, ready and ever-willing to turn on the music.
"Garrett, let's not turn on the music," I plead. "Caleb doesn't need it. He's sleeping."
"No!" he firmly tells me, his hand blocking the switch as if to thwart any attempts by me to turn it off.
And that's that.
It's true that with a toddler around, you have to pick your battles. I'll let him win - this time. Next time, though, he might not be so lucky.
The Stubbornness
"Cars? Cars?" Garrett asks rhetorically as he points to the Cars DVD behind the glass of the TV stand. "Yeah," he then answers.
"You want to watch Cars?" I ask.
"Yeah," he says, nodding vigorously.
Like most 2-year-olds, Garrett knows what he wants, and, luckily for me, he's getting better and better at communicating these desires. "On," he commands, pointing to various light switches, fans, and electronics throughout the apartment. "Wa," he states while standing by the fridge, indicating that he wants a drink, usually of milk. That way, he points in the direction of the park as we descend the steps of our building's stoop. Unluckily for him, however, is the unhappy truth that Mom won't always give him what he wants. I draw the line at two movies a day (fewer if I can swing it, but these days, when I'm in survival mode, I am more than grateful we even have children's movies available at home); lately it's been too chilly to run the fans; if I gave him milk every time he asks for it, I'd be buying him a gallon a day; and sometimes we have to go to the grocery store, which is in the opposite direction of the park. But that doesn't stop him from asking (or, as his tone usually indicates, commanding) that we do things his way. Nor does it prevent the mini-meltdowns that follow when I have to tell him no.
The Quirkiness
Garrett has a pair of yellow rubber rain boots, which also happen to be the only pair of shoes he can put on himself. He loves these boots. When I ask him to go get his shoes before we head outside, these are ones he gets. But he doesn't even have to be asked. Often he'll just get the urge to put them on and so he will. And before I can convince him to wear something a little more practical for our purposes, he's got them on his feet ready to go. He's worn his yellow rain boots on errands to the grocery store, to the bank, and for walks throught he neighborhood -- in perfectly sunny weather. It's quite the fashion statement, let me tell you.
The Tenderness
Garrett still loves his baby brother (and is frequently doling out precious kisses to him), and quite often has his own ideas about how Caleb should be cared for. "Whee," he tells me as I hold Caleb in my lap, pointing to baby swing. "Whee. Whee."
I know very well what he wants, but for everyone's benefit, I try to clarify. "You want me to put Caleb in the swing?"
"Yeah. Yes," he says as he laughs.
Caleb has calmed down, and my arms need a rest, so I give in to Garrett's request.
Now, I love our baby swing. It plugs into the wall, thus saving me considerably from having to replenish it with batteries, and not only does it swing in the traditional position, but, with a simple adjustment, it becomes a glider as well. However, it also plays the most obnoxious lullaby music ever recorded. When I'm in charge, the music does not ever get turned on. Unfortunately, with a toddler around, I'm not always in charge. And Garrett is convinced that Caleb needs those tinny, electronic lullabies.
As if on cue, Garrett is there waiting by the swing for me to get Caleb snapped in, and as soon as I do, he is right there, standing by, ready and ever-willing to turn on the music.
"Garrett, let's not turn on the music," I plead. "Caleb doesn't need it. He's sleeping."
"No!" he firmly tells me, his hand blocking the switch as if to thwart any attempts by me to turn it off.
And that's that.
It's true that with a toddler around, you have to pick your battles. I'll let him win - this time. Next time, though, he might not be so lucky.
Monday, September 14, 2009
status quo
Let's pretend for a few minutes that I was the sort of person who was logged into Facebook all day constantly updating my status. If I actually had this kind of time to sit at our computer, this is how my weekend might have been portrayed on my wall.
Lindsay...
... sings along to Mamma Mia.
... is awake for Caleb's 3 am feeding.
... makes applesauce.
... loves putting cute new clothes on my little boys.
... is addicted to U.S. Open tennis.
... scrubs poop out of Garrett's clothes.
... has ABBA songs stuck in my head.
... plans a menu and shops for food.
... wishes Caleb would stop crying and just sleep already.
... is trying to remain calm after getting a glimpse of impending medical bills.
... is watching Toy Story 2 with Garrett for the second time today (and the 347th time this week).
... can't talk now -- is rocking the baby.
... STILL has ABBA songs stuck in my head.
... AT&T or Verizon? Or just stay with T-Mobile?
... go Clijsters! Also, Serena -- what gives?
... is hopelessly sleep deprived.
... is amazed that Caleb didn't scream through his bath.
... see that girl, watch that scene, digging the dancing queen.
... last Sunday home from church with Caleb.
... todderproofing seriously requires more creativity than babyproofing.
... eats chocolate pudding brownies.
... is on the phone with Provo.
... GO CLIJSTERS!
... should be heading to bed, but is instead staring at my beautiful baby as he sleeps.
... Monday? Already?
Lindsay...
... sings along to Mamma Mia.
... is awake for Caleb's 3 am feeding.
... makes applesauce.
... loves putting cute new clothes on my little boys.
... is addicted to U.S. Open tennis.
... scrubs poop out of Garrett's clothes.
... has ABBA songs stuck in my head.
... plans a menu and shops for food.
... wishes Caleb would stop crying and just sleep already.
... is trying to remain calm after getting a glimpse of impending medical bills.
... is watching Toy Story 2 with Garrett for the second time today (and the 347th time this week).
... can't talk now -- is rocking the baby.
... STILL has ABBA songs stuck in my head.
... AT&T or Verizon? Or just stay with T-Mobile?
... go Clijsters! Also, Serena -- what gives?
... is hopelessly sleep deprived.
... is amazed that Caleb didn't scream through his bath.
... see that girl, watch that scene, digging the dancing queen.
... last Sunday home from church with Caleb.
... todderproofing seriously requires more creativity than babyproofing.
... eats chocolate pudding brownies.
... is on the phone with Provo.
... GO CLIJSTERS!
... should be heading to bed, but is instead staring at my beautiful baby as he sleeps.
... Monday? Already?
Saturday, September 12, 2009
this little piggy
One striking way that Caleb is different from his older brother is how much he eats. Garrett was a lazy eater, an unfortunate habit that was complicated further by acid reflux. We saw to it that he ate, but it was never a pleasant experience for any of us.
Contrast that with Caleb who appears to be constantly hungry. When we pull out a bottle for him, he devours it and whimpers for more. This is such a change for me, and I'm having a hard time keeping up with his demands. But after my experiences trying to feed Garrett, I'm certainly not complaining.
It was still, however, a bit of a shock -- both to me and to the doctor -- when, after I put Caleb on the scale at his 2-week well check-up yesterday, I learned that, at 19 days old, he weighs 8 lbs 11 oz. That's an increase of 1 lb 8 oz from his birth weight, and 1 lb 9 oz from his last doctor's appointment exactly two weeks ago. My baby appears to have no trouble packing it away!
Back at home, and still a little shocked by the numbers, I did a little research and calculating to compare my two boys and was relieved to discover that Caleb's weight gain is, at least in our family, pretty normal (and, despite my doctor's comments of surprise, probably pretty normal for most newborns). When Garrett was weighed at 24 days of age, he was a hefty 8 lbs 7 oz, an increase of 1 lb 12 oz from his birth weight, which is just about on par with where Caleb is currently at.
So my little piggy isn't so much a piggy after all. He's just a healthy baby boy doing a great job in the eating and growing department.
Contrast that with Caleb who appears to be constantly hungry. When we pull out a bottle for him, he devours it and whimpers for more. This is such a change for me, and I'm having a hard time keeping up with his demands. But after my experiences trying to feed Garrett, I'm certainly not complaining.
It was still, however, a bit of a shock -- both to me and to the doctor -- when, after I put Caleb on the scale at his 2-week well check-up yesterday, I learned that, at 19 days old, he weighs 8 lbs 11 oz. That's an increase of 1 lb 8 oz from his birth weight, and 1 lb 9 oz from his last doctor's appointment exactly two weeks ago. My baby appears to have no trouble packing it away!
Back at home, and still a little shocked by the numbers, I did a little research and calculating to compare my two boys and was relieved to discover that Caleb's weight gain is, at least in our family, pretty normal (and, despite my doctor's comments of surprise, probably pretty normal for most newborns). When Garrett was weighed at 24 days of age, he was a hefty 8 lbs 7 oz, an increase of 1 lb 12 oz from his birth weight, which is just about on par with where Caleb is currently at.
So my little piggy isn't so much a piggy after all. He's just a healthy baby boy doing a great job in the eating and growing department.
Friday, September 11, 2009
our flag was still there
It's a somber day in this country, and especially so in this city; the cold, wet rain falling outside is certainly not helping to lift the mood. I turned on the news this morning in time to watch the very beginning of the remembrance ceremony at Ground Zero. First the scarred American flag from the World Trade Center was marched out to the beat of a bagpipe-and-drum line. While it was reverently displayed at center stage, the Brooklyn Youth Chorus sang a beautiful rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner.
Have you ever paid attention to the lyrics of our national anthem? I'm assuming that most of you know a bit of the history associated with it which inspired Francis Scott Key to pen this important poem, but in case you missed that lecture in your high school history class, here's a brief snippet from Wikipedia to bring you up to date:
"The lyrics [of the "Star-Spangled Banner"] come from "Defence of Fort McHenry," a poem written in 1814 by the 35-year-old amateur poet Francis Scott Key after witnessing the bombardment of Fort McHenry by Royal Navy ships in Chesapeake Bay during the Battle of Baltimore in the War of 1812."The morning after the bombardment, Key saw that the American flag, though torn and tattered from the long night of fighting, had been raised in triumph over the fort, signifying a victory for his young country, and inspiring him to scribble his thoughts on the back of a letter he had in his pocket:
Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light(For a slightly more detailed history, see here.)
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O're the land of the free and the home of the brave?
As I listened to the choir sing the anthem and watched the battered World Trade Center flag flutter in the chilly breeze, I was struck by not only the relevance of "The Star-Spangled Banner" as our national anthem, but by how fitting it was that it was sung at this morning's ceremony.
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O're the land of the free and the home of the brave?
Our flag was still there nearly 200 years ago, it was still there eight years ago, and it's still here today.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
breaking the norm
While I was a student at BYU I took a basic linguistics class. In one particular lecture, taught near the end of the semester, we learned that we naturally have certain expectations when we engage in conversations with others. One of these is called the norm of civil inattention, which basically states that people brought together in various public situations should, and generally will, ignore each other. There are several instances, however, when this norm is tossed to the wind with reckless abandon, one of which I would like to talk about today.
You know how when you're walking down the street and a person who you would otherwise pretend didn't exist approaches you with a the most adorable puppy you've ever seen? Or is dressed like Jolly Green Giant? Or is toting around a towheaded toddler and a two-week-old newborn? And suddenly you feel the desire to talk with them as if they are an old friend?
According to my linguistics professor, this person is accompanied by what is called an open category and is therefore fair game to long, awkward, and generally unwanted conversations from complete strangers.
I mentioned in my last post that I try to get out of the house with Garrett and Caleb at least once each day because if we didn't we'd probably die a slow, painful death resulting from irrational tears and the pulling out of our own hair. Our outings are short, and we never stray very far from home. It is therefore all the more amazing to me just how many random conversations with people I don't know I have been forced to be a part of. Here are two recent examples:
(Though my professor never specifically mentioned it, I'm assuming that the unrelenting desire random strangers on the street have to give unsolicited parenting advice also owes itself to a break with the norm of civil inattention. I have received plenty of people's two cents' worth concerning Garrett's upbringing in the past, but luckily have not yet had to deal with this with Caleb.)
We've all been there, I know, and it's always an awkward position to be in, one which I'm still not sure of the best way to pull myself away from. In the words of Napoleon, "What the heck would you do in a situation like that?" Because I'm at a loss.
You know how when you're walking down the street and a person who you would otherwise pretend didn't exist approaches you with a the most adorable puppy you've ever seen? Or is dressed like Jolly Green Giant? Or is toting around a towheaded toddler and a two-week-old newborn? And suddenly you feel the desire to talk with them as if they are an old friend?
According to my linguistics professor, this person is accompanied by what is called an open category and is therefore fair game to long, awkward, and generally unwanted conversations from complete strangers.
I mentioned in my last post that I try to get out of the house with Garrett and Caleb at least once each day because if we didn't we'd probably die a slow, painful death resulting from irrational tears and the pulling out of our own hair. Our outings are short, and we never stray very far from home. It is therefore all the more amazing to me just how many random conversations with people I don't know I have been forced to be a part of. Here are two recent examples:
- I was held captive for what felt like an eternity by a Russian woman who carried on (and on...and on...) in her heavily accented English about how boys were far better than girls because girls grow up to hate their mothers. Or something to that effect. Honestly, I'm not quite sure what exactly she was jabbering on about, partly because apparently most of the words she knows in English are not ever going to reproduced here.
- This morning, shortly after we walked past a woman loitering outside a local church, she called after me to tell me I had a tiny baby (as if I didn't realize this myself), and then proceded to ask me if it was my baby or if I was just the nanny.
(Though my professor never specifically mentioned it, I'm assuming that the unrelenting desire random strangers on the street have to give unsolicited parenting advice also owes itself to a break with the norm of civil inattention. I have received plenty of people's two cents' worth concerning Garrett's upbringing in the past, but luckily have not yet had to deal with this with Caleb.)
We've all been there, I know, and it's always an awkward position to be in, one which I'm still not sure of the best way to pull myself away from. In the words of Napoleon, "What the heck would you do in a situation like that?" Because I'm at a loss.
Monday, September 07, 2009
due for an update
Today is my due date, but yesterday marks two weeks since Caleb's birth. Maybe it's just me, but I'm starting to notice a few trends. First of all, my babies apparently like to come two weeks early. I've never actually reached 38 weeks gestation -- Garrett arrived 16 days early, and Caleb came just behind at 15 days before he was due. I think next time around, instead of marking my calendar for a potential full moon birth, I'll circle sometime near the end of my 37th week, especially if the 23rd or the 30th day of the month falls in that time frame. For reasons I cannot explain, everyone in our little family has a birthday that falls on the 23rd or the 30th of the month: Blake on December 30th, me on January 23rd, Garrett on June 30th, and now Caleb on August 23rd. Add to that the fact that we were married on April 23rd and it just starts to get a little spooky.
At any rate, though, Caleb is two weeks old. In the grand scheme of things, two weeks is not a very long amount of time, but even so, I'm already beginning to forget what my life was like before he was a part of it. Our lives are starting to find their new normal as I'm beginning to get the hang of this business of mothering two children. Our daily routine, if it can truly yet be called that, is a chaotic one, but it's nice anyway to know what to expect from our days together. Since Blake went back to work, I have managed to get out of the house with both boys at least once each day. Our outings are brief (a quick trip to the store or a visit to the park), but much needed. On our walks through the neighborhood, we've been able to introduce Caleb to a number of locals who have been anxiously anticipating his arrival: Peggy at the laundromat, and Frances and Maryann at the copy shop on the corner. One day, as we were coming back from the park, we bumped into our downstairs neighbor (of "mazal tov" fame) and, after he took a peek at Caleb, patted me on the back and told me to start thinking about a third because we make such cute babies. It's not time yet to think about a third, but it's comforting to know that we live above the right kind of people as far as raising a young family is concerned.
My recovery is going well. I feel a little better every day, though I'm still sore where they stitched me up after I tore during delivery. Last week I packed away my maternity clothes in favor of my pre-pregnancy wardrobe. (I'm telling you: all the walking I do here in Brooklyn is not wasted.) Despite being completely drained of energy most of the time, I also feel like I have a decent handle on things emotionally. While on the one hand I miss the relative calm of the days following Garrett's birth, on the other, I wouldn't trade for anything the experience gained then that I've been able to put to good use with a second child. I still, however, am greatly looking forward to my mom's visit in a couple of weeks.
Caleb is still as sweet as sugar, but then, how could he be otherwise? As we've been getting to know each other, I've been surprised (though perhaps I should not have been) to discover just how different he is from his older brother. Don't get me wrong; Garrett is an incredibly sweet boy, too, but the two are far from identical. Caleb's looks, personality, and habits are all his own, except for the fact that he, too, loves a good silky, blue blanket. He's a good eater, and gobbles his hands to tell us he's hungry. Consequently, he still poops like a pro, though thankfully, both for us and for the sad little diaper rash he developed, he's toned it down a bit. Generally speaking, he's been a good sleeper, too. He wakes up two or three times a night, but, after he's full and dry, he almost always falls quickly back to sleep in his cradle. At his first doctor's appointment, a few days after we got home from the hospital, he received a completely clean bill of health; I don't expect his two-week check up, at the end of this week, to be any different. His umbilical cord stub fell off, and his circumcision is all healed up, so we've given him a few baths in the tub, each of which he has screamed the entire way through. To calm him down, he loves to be swaddled tight and held close, a position which melts us both into a little puddle of pleasant happiness. Where Blake seemed to have the magic touch with Garrett, I seem to have it this time around with Caleb.
Garrett is adjusting remarkably well to his status as big brother. He loves Caleb dearly. His first item of business after he gets up from a nap or returns from an excursion is to find where Caleb is. Once found, he giggles and coos over him. Likewise, whenever he hears Caleb's squeaky cries, he rushes to his side to offer a comforting hand, his binky, or a soft blanket. The interactions those two engage in are tender and delightful. One of these days I hope to capture more of them on video. Garrett's new position in the family has come with added responsibilities, most of which he has taken very seriously. He puts Caleb's dirty diapers in the trash and his dirty clothes in the hamper. He helps feed Caleb by holding his bottles. When it's time to go outside, he retrieves my infant carrier and lays out the insert so that I can load Caleb inside. He's become such a helpful little boy, I'm not sure how I'd manage without him. Which isn't to say that he always makes my life easier; sometimes it is quite the opposite. But we are both learning to be more patient with each other, and as a result, the meltdowns (from both of us) are becoming fewer.
Blake is doing a good job keeping up with his many demands. My days at home are long and exhausting, and his days, divided between the apartment and his office, are no less tiring. Add to that late nights of interrupted sleep, and I don't know how he does it. He did get an enjoyable break last week when his team at work got to spend a day at the U.S. Open in Flushing Meadows, Queens. Tennis has recently become Blake's favorite sport, and since his afternoon spent in the grand stand watching the likes of Venus Williams and Rafael Nadal, his love for the game has become almost feverish. I'm happy he's found an outlet to break up the chaotic monotony of life with a toddler and a newborn, but I can't help but laugh when he occasionally sighs and audibly professes how much he loves tennis.
So there's the due date update, a long way of telling you that we're doing well. And in case the pictures spread throughout weren't enough to break up the novel, here's a short video of the tenderness and danger of young brotherhood:
And here's a longer one meant mostly for far-away family who have yet to meet their newest little relative:
At any rate, though, Caleb is two weeks old. In the grand scheme of things, two weeks is not a very long amount of time, but even so, I'm already beginning to forget what my life was like before he was a part of it. Our lives are starting to find their new normal as I'm beginning to get the hang of this business of mothering two children. Our daily routine, if it can truly yet be called that, is a chaotic one, but it's nice anyway to know what to expect from our days together. Since Blake went back to work, I have managed to get out of the house with both boys at least once each day. Our outings are brief (a quick trip to the store or a visit to the park), but much needed. On our walks through the neighborhood, we've been able to introduce Caleb to a number of locals who have been anxiously anticipating his arrival: Peggy at the laundromat, and Frances and Maryann at the copy shop on the corner. One day, as we were coming back from the park, we bumped into our downstairs neighbor (of "mazal tov" fame) and, after he took a peek at Caleb, patted me on the back and told me to start thinking about a third because we make such cute babies. It's not time yet to think about a third, but it's comforting to know that we live above the right kind of people as far as raising a young family is concerned.
My recovery is going well. I feel a little better every day, though I'm still sore where they stitched me up after I tore during delivery. Last week I packed away my maternity clothes in favor of my pre-pregnancy wardrobe. (I'm telling you: all the walking I do here in Brooklyn is not wasted.) Despite being completely drained of energy most of the time, I also feel like I have a decent handle on things emotionally. While on the one hand I miss the relative calm of the days following Garrett's birth, on the other, I wouldn't trade for anything the experience gained then that I've been able to put to good use with a second child. I still, however, am greatly looking forward to my mom's visit in a couple of weeks.
Caleb is still as sweet as sugar, but then, how could he be otherwise? As we've been getting to know each other, I've been surprised (though perhaps I should not have been) to discover just how different he is from his older brother. Don't get me wrong; Garrett is an incredibly sweet boy, too, but the two are far from identical. Caleb's looks, personality, and habits are all his own, except for the fact that he, too, loves a good silky, blue blanket. He's a good eater, and gobbles his hands to tell us he's hungry. Consequently, he still poops like a pro, though thankfully, both for us and for the sad little diaper rash he developed, he's toned it down a bit. Generally speaking, he's been a good sleeper, too. He wakes up two or three times a night, but, after he's full and dry, he almost always falls quickly back to sleep in his cradle. At his first doctor's appointment, a few days after we got home from the hospital, he received a completely clean bill of health; I don't expect his two-week check up, at the end of this week, to be any different. His umbilical cord stub fell off, and his circumcision is all healed up, so we've given him a few baths in the tub, each of which he has screamed the entire way through. To calm him down, he loves to be swaddled tight and held close, a position which melts us both into a little puddle of pleasant happiness. Where Blake seemed to have the magic touch with Garrett, I seem to have it this time around with Caleb.
Garrett is adjusting remarkably well to his status as big brother. He loves Caleb dearly. His first item of business after he gets up from a nap or returns from an excursion is to find where Caleb is. Once found, he giggles and coos over him. Likewise, whenever he hears Caleb's squeaky cries, he rushes to his side to offer a comforting hand, his binky, or a soft blanket. The interactions those two engage in are tender and delightful. One of these days I hope to capture more of them on video. Garrett's new position in the family has come with added responsibilities, most of which he has taken very seriously. He puts Caleb's dirty diapers in the trash and his dirty clothes in the hamper. He helps feed Caleb by holding his bottles. When it's time to go outside, he retrieves my infant carrier and lays out the insert so that I can load Caleb inside. He's become such a helpful little boy, I'm not sure how I'd manage without him. Which isn't to say that he always makes my life easier; sometimes it is quite the opposite. But we are both learning to be more patient with each other, and as a result, the meltdowns (from both of us) are becoming fewer.
Blake is doing a good job keeping up with his many demands. My days at home are long and exhausting, and his days, divided between the apartment and his office, are no less tiring. Add to that late nights of interrupted sleep, and I don't know how he does it. He did get an enjoyable break last week when his team at work got to spend a day at the U.S. Open in Flushing Meadows, Queens. Tennis has recently become Blake's favorite sport, and since his afternoon spent in the grand stand watching the likes of Venus Williams and Rafael Nadal, his love for the game has become almost feverish. I'm happy he's found an outlet to break up the chaotic monotony of life with a toddler and a newborn, but I can't help but laugh when he occasionally sighs and audibly professes how much he loves tennis.
So there's the due date update, a long way of telling you that we're doing well. And in case the pictures spread throughout weren't enough to break up the novel, here's a short video of the tenderness and danger of young brotherhood:
And here's a longer one meant mostly for far-away family who have yet to meet their newest little relative:
Friday, September 04, 2009
lessons in going up (and down)
In anticipation of Caleb's arrival, I spent a good portion of this summer giving Garrett a few lessons in growing up. I worked with him to make sure he could (and would) climb up and down the stairs in our apartment building and in the subway. We practiced walking long distances on outings without the stroller. I taught him how to do small jobs around the house, such as putting his own dirty diapers in the trash, cleaning up his toys and other small messes, and turning off electronics before we go outside. We had conversations about and, whenever possible, practice in sharing, being gentle, and not throwing things when we get upset (we're still working on that last one). As a result, Garrett has been adjusting remarkably well to the curve ball of a little brother we threw at him.
This morning, on a brief visit to the park, we had another lesson, this time a lesson going up. Garrett has been getting more and more adventurous recently on local playground equipment which, on the one hand, I think is great -- every kid needs to learn playground independence at some point. Watching him get braver, however, is sometimes more than just a little unnerving. His favorite way to send me into a panic is to proficiently climb up a ladder only to reach the top not knowing what to do next. He was at it again today, only this time I was able to keep his attention long enough to teach him how to go down. We practiced a few times and before too long he had the concept and ability nearly mastered. My little boy really is growing up, and I couldn't be more pleased. Not only will this be beneficial at the park, but perhaps now we can think about taking down our makeshift bunk bed ladder barrier.
This morning, on a brief visit to the park, we had another lesson, this time a lesson going up. Garrett has been getting more and more adventurous recently on local playground equipment which, on the one hand, I think is great -- every kid needs to learn playground independence at some point. Watching him get braver, however, is sometimes more than just a little unnerving. His favorite way to send me into a panic is to proficiently climb up a ladder only to reach the top not knowing what to do next. He was at it again today, only this time I was able to keep his attention long enough to teach him how to go down. We practiced a few times and before too long he had the concept and ability nearly mastered. My little boy really is growing up, and I couldn't be more pleased. Not only will this be beneficial at the park, but perhaps now we can think about taking down our makeshift bunk bed ladder barrier.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
flying solo
After taking a week off from work in the wake of Caleb's birth, Blake had to head back to the office yesterday, leaving me at home to fly solo with our two small children. I put myself in survival mode and somehow we made it through the day. I even took both boys outside for a short walk to the drugstore and got all the laundry folded and put away (Blake had taken it to the laundromat before he left for the day). Don't let me fool you, though, into thinking that our Tuesday was all smiles and success. There were a few times when Garrett and Caleb apparently mutually decided that it'd add a little more pizazz to the day if they screamed and threw fits at the same time, which might have been fun for them, but it really wasn't so much for me. But by the evening, when Blake returned home, the apartment was still in one piece, and, aside from being completely exhausted, so were the three of us who spent our day there.
And so we survived Tuesday. However, Wednesday has so far been another story altogether.
Shortly after Blake left this morning, Garrett was stung twice -- twice -- by a wasp in our living room. How that creature got inside in the first place, I'm not entirely sure, but dealing with the aftermath of the stings was not pretty. Garrett was in hysterical tears, obviously in a lot of pain, and Caleb, who, a few days after we came home from the hospital, turned in the sort of baby who needs to be constantly held, was left screaming in his swing. After doses of ice, hugs, and Benedryl, Garrett seemed to be doing better (apparently he's not allergic, thank goodness), which allowed me to take care of the baby I had to leave hollering on the sidelines. We survived the stings, but it set our day off on the wrong foot, leaving us with no alternative but to make a brief visit to the park, followed by lunch, and some much-needed naps to get us back in the right. I'm sure I'm not the only one who's hoping the rest of day is a little less eventful.
And so we survived Tuesday. However, Wednesday has so far been another story altogether.
Shortly after Blake left this morning, Garrett was stung twice -- twice -- by a wasp in our living room. How that creature got inside in the first place, I'm not entirely sure, but dealing with the aftermath of the stings was not pretty. Garrett was in hysterical tears, obviously in a lot of pain, and Caleb, who, a few days after we came home from the hospital, turned in the sort of baby who needs to be constantly held, was left screaming in his swing. After doses of ice, hugs, and Benedryl, Garrett seemed to be doing better (apparently he's not allergic, thank goodness), which allowed me to take care of the baby I had to leave hollering on the sidelines. We survived the stings, but it set our day off on the wrong foot, leaving us with no alternative but to make a brief visit to the park, followed by lunch, and some much-needed naps to get us back in the right. I'm sure I'm not the only one who's hoping the rest of day is a little less eventful.
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