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.

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
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?

(For a slightly more detailed history, see here.)

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.

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:

• 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.
  

Poor Garrett is even subject to these crazy strangers who, once they are able to tear themselves away from Caleb and I, turn their attention to him, asking him over and over in high-pitched voices how he likes being a big brother. He never knows how to respond, and so usually shies away to a safe spot behind my knees. Not that I blame him. When I'm stuck in situations like this, I often find myself wishing for some place I could run away to and hide. Instead I find myself inching away as I politely nod. Only trouble with this is that most of these Brooklynites just keep talking as they shuffle away with me.

(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.

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:

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.

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.

too tired for words

So here is our first week with Caleb in pictures.

a baby story, season two

I know that for some of you, the basic baby stats just don't cut it. You want the details, in all their gory -- I mean, glory. And so, because I like you, here they are.

When the painful contractions that kicked up during the tail end of church wouldn't go away, I started timing them on the car ride home that my friend, Melanie, bless her heart, offered to give Garrett and I. Sure enough, they were coming every five minutes. Afraid that this might be another false alarm, I decided to lie down on the couch as soon as we got home. But instead of going away, the contractions intensified, and I started to get worried that Blake wouldn't be wrapped up with his clerk duties at the church before I needed to get to the hospital. I didn't need to worry long, thankfully, because he walked in the door just in time to pop that thought bubble. I called my friend, Emily, who long ago agreed to give us a ride to the hospital when it was time, to give her a heads up, then called my doctor. He told me to get to labor and delivery stat. And so we did.

We got checked in at the hospital at about 3:30. When the initial pelvic exam revealed that I was now dilated to 7 cm, and the monitors showed that contractions were coming every three to four minutes, I got bumped ahead of at least one person to move from triage to a delivery room. As soon as I got on the bed there, my water broke and suddenly I was in transition. It was horrible. I told everyone within hearing of my [urgent] desire for an epidural, but apparently it was too late. The baby had descended so low and things were happening so fast that there was no time. I cried. And screamed. And pushed. And then, a half an hour later (and only an hour and a half after we arrived at the hospital), Caleb was here. It was over. But boy, did it hurt. I don't care how trendy it is to give birth without drugs -- I never want to do that again.

I'm also not sure if I ever want to have another baby in Brooklyn again. Everything turned out fine, but it was a complicated process making sure that it did -- one that we certainly couldn't have accomplished without all of the truly self-less help from so many friends (thank you, thank you, thank you, everyone!!). It was, however, in many ways a very unique experience.

For one, it was incredibly cultural. Examples: my doctor is Egyptian; the labor/delivery nurse was from Guyana; another nurse who poked her head in during the delivery was Norwegian (and assumed, because of my last name and my blonde hair, that I was, too, and consequently started speaking to me in her native language until she realized that I didn't understand a word she was saying); I had a shared recovery room and my roommate was Nigerian (and, unfortunately, the best time to call family in Nigeria is at 4:30 in the morning); the lactation consultant was Irish (or maybe English...it was sometimes hard to tell); one of the shift nurses was Russian, while the rest were from different parts of the Caribbean; and our pediatrician is about as Brooklyn as they come, which, once you've met a true Brooklynite, you'll agree that there's a foreign aspect to that particular heritage.

To complete the Brooklyn birth experience, upon discharge, we took a cab home from the hospital, stopping on the way to pick Garrett up from the babysitter's. It honestly doesn't get much more New York than that.

Since we've been home, we've been busy in a slow and relaxed sort of way. It's been a relief to have Blake home from work while I continue my recovery process. He deserves a major award for all the running around he's had to do this week. Garrett, despite the fact that his energy these last few days has been through the roof, is transitioning well to his new position of older brother. He is very tender with Caleb and, for the most part, gentle, too. I think we can take as a good sign the fact that shortly after we returned home from the hospital, Garrett scurried off to his room to find his favorite silky blue blanket, which he rushed out to the living room to offer to his baby brother.

And Caleb. Sweet Baby Caleb. He really is too precious for words, but I'm going to try anyway. He has Blake's nose, which will take some time to grow into, and his Grandma Joyce's mouth and chin. Like his father and big brother, he has a little cleft in that chin that I just can't get enough of. From the nose up, he reminds me a lot of my brother, Tyler, so that must be the contribution from my genetics. He has lots of light brown hair, and his long fingers are surely destined for the basketball court. He's a tiny bit meatier than Garrett was, but it's hard to tell simply by looking at his skinny arms and legs. So far, his personality is a calm one. Like most newborns, he spends the majority of each day sleeping, and he prefers to rest his cheeks on his hands while he does so. He only cries when he's hungry or needs a new diaper. That doesn't stop him, however, from making some pretty hilarious faces. He honestly looks deeply concerned or troubled most of the time (which might be why he looks so much to me like Tyler). Where Garrett spent the first six months of his life keeping it all in, Caleb poops like a champion. And his tiny voice is adorably squeaky. I seriously could eat this sweet boy up, so I think we'll hang onto him.

you knew this was coming

Introducing

Caleb David

born
Sunday, August 23, 2009
5:02 p.m.

measuring
7 lbs 3 oz
20 inches

d-i-y framing

I think I may have mentioned a little while back that Blake and I were embarking on a small handful of do-it-yourself framing projects. And if memory continues to serve me correctly, a few of you wanted to know more about it once we were finished. Well, we're finished (at least with this phase), so here's the scoop on what we did.

Over the last year or so we've been working to get decor up on our walls that we both liked. Neither of us has much of a knack for interior design, but we were getting tired of some of the hand-me-down prints we had hanging (too high up on the wall, I'm afraid to admit), as well as all the drab white space in between. When word got to my parents that getting some items framed was part of our plan, they, whose professions, hobbies, and own household decorating experience has taught them that it was just as easy and much cheaper, encouraged us to go the DIY route. And so with some guiding instruction from them, we did.

For two of the prints we used Uni-Frames, or clip frames. I bought them at Provo Art and Frame when I was home visiting in the spring, but apparently they are also available online. They come in two sizes: 20 (for smaller items) and 40 (for bigger items). To assemble these, you need the Uni-Frame as well as a piece of glass (with the edges sanded down since they will be exposed) and a piece of foam board, both cut to the dimensions of whatever it is you're trying to frame. The assembly instructions are very simple; you can put one together in a matter of minutes.

We wanted something a little nicer for the other two pieces we framed, and so for those we turned to American Frame. This company sells (for remarkably fair prices) the components of an incredibly wide variety of frames which you can purchase in your desired dimensions and, for a lower cost, assemble yourself. (You can also pay a little more to have them assemble it, but after seeing how easy the DIY route is, I don't think it's worth the extra money.) For one piece we purchased their Standard metal frame, for the other a Radius metal frame, both in matte black. It is simple to order; you are walked through everything, step by step, and the only dimension numbers you'll need to know are those of the piece you're framing. They do offer to cut a mat for you as well, but because one item we framed was a poster that we didn't want matted, and the other was a more complex piece (it has 5 windows and we had that part of the project completed at a local framing store), we didn't take that option. You can order plexiglass from them, or, if you want real glass, or find that plexiglass is cheaper locally, you can take that route instead. (For one project we bought their plexiglass; for the other we purchased glass from the local framers. We were pleased with how both turned out.) You will also need to have foam backing; in most cases it's easiest to just order from them because they cut it for you. All the tools needed to assemble your frame are included, except for hanging wire, which you can purchase from them for something like 50 cents for 5 feet. Building the frame and putting your piece inside it is, amazingly enough, a piece of cake. Each one we did took us about half an hour (and that's only because we're perfectionists when it comes to making sure the corners line up right).

This all might sound more complicated than it really is (and it's quite possible I've accidentally left a key point or two out). If you have questions, feel free to ask. Or better yet, ask my mom. If it wasn't for her expertise and detailed guidance, we would have spent a lot more money to have someone else frame these things.

Anyway, without further ado, here's a little tour of the four pieces we framed ourselves and which are now hanging happily in our little home:

This, and the one that follows, is a vintage print once used in Sunday School lessons in the 1950s and 1960s. My mom has been collecting them, and she passed a few of her duplicates onto me. Both are framed in Uni-Frames. This one hangs in the kitchen.


The second vintage print. This one hangs in Garrett's room. He loves to point at and say "Wheee!" as if he was going down the pictured slide himself.


This one was our first American Frame project. The poster was our souvenir from our visit to Disneyland this summer. (Can you tell I'm a sucker for vintage prints?) It also hangs in Garrett's room.


This one was our big project, and it's hanging in our living room. The pictures were taken from a picture book called One Monday Morning by Uri Shulevitz. (Yes, we cut apart a book. We still have one intact copy; we bought a second copy, a cheap paperback, expressly for the purpose of hanging some of the pictures on our wall.) We love these illustrations because they perfectly depict our life in Brooklyn: a little boy riding the subway, grocery shopping, at the laundromat, browsing in a toy store window, and playing on the street.