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Friday, May 21, 2004

I now bow before the almighty nap schedule. When Ronan was younger, I kind of poo-pooed it, saying, "he's flexible." Sure, when he was sleeping 18+ hours a day, he was flexible! Now, at the first rub of the eyes or half-yawn, I'm racing him to his room or the carseat, not wanting to miss the nap window.

It is nice that he'll nap in the car. I leave a book in there, drive around for 10-15 minutes, then park and read. Sometimes I fear a little old lady will report me as a stalker, since I park on a residential street for an hour and just sit there. But I'd rather get the solid hour and a half in the car then risk him waking after 45 minutes at home.

I've never spent so much time discussing, researching and obsessing about sleep. Who knew it was so hard? Currently Ronan sleeps on his bedroom floor (on a foam pad). I have to nurse him to sleep, then sneak away. He even continues to "air nurse" once I'm gone. The kid's a sucking machine! There are days when I'm feeling like an overexposed photo, when I wish I could just pop him in his crib and be done with it. But it's so nice when he's all sleepily scrimped up next to me with his butterscotch breath and fine, tickly baby hair. I try to savor these days, because I know they're numbered.

Wednesday, May 19, 2004

Having kids changes friendships. If, like me, many of your friendships were work-based, and, like me, you don't go back to work, you need replacements. While it's nice to think that you'll stay in touch, it's tough to do. You're all wrapped up in the color and frequency of a very small person's poop, and your former coworkers are buzzing about the new manager and whether he's gay or not.

Finding new momma friends feels a little like dating. First, there's compatibility. Is her baby the same age? Is she? And how similar do your parenting styles have to be? I'm a sling-wearing, breastfeeding, cosleeping kind of momma. If she's a formula-feeding, cry-it-out sort, will we get along?

Then there's the approach. It's easiest if you have someplace (like Gymboree class or a playgroup) where you see each other a few times. Then someone has to suggest getting together outside that forum. There's the fear of rejection, as well as the sinking feeling as you realize, halfway through the play date, that the conversation isn't going to move beyond the latest Baby Einstein DVD and whether to preregister for preschool.

But maybe it's a match. The two of you have gone on several "dates," and everyone's glowing. The babies even like each other! The final hurdle is the couples get-together. This is really the holy grail: to find a couple you and your husband both like who have a child the same age as yours. Then you and your husband can begin to rebuild your tattered shell of a social life. Under slightly different terms, but there are backyard barbecues and trips to Disney and whiffle ball games awaiting...

Tuesday, May 18, 2004

I think the hardest thing about being a mom is the relentlessness. There's no calling in sick, especially when you don't have grandparents in town. It's 1 AM, and the baby won't settle, even for breastfeeding. Who's on call? Momma.

It's Monday morning, 5 AM, and the baby's up and happily babbling. Who removes him so Daddy can get more sleep? Momma.

The baby's whiny, clingy, teething. Who still has three hours to kill before Daddy gets home? Momma.

Luckily, the flip side of that is all the joyous moments. The long gazes of adoration. The shrieking glee (usually when the cat enters the room, but still...). The pride and joy when you see your little one figure something out, whether it's how to say "ba ba ba" or how to bang one object with another. The "oh" of amazement when he sees something new (today it was a backhoe in action).

I'm glad the good moments are still winning!

Friday, May 14, 2004

I assumed that today I'd write about Ronan's first haircut, and how his seven-minute stint in the barber chair was $19 (helium balloon and polaroid picture included). But then we had the incident.

It began with a diaper change. Ronan isn't willing to lay still long enough to even get his diaper off, so JP was holding him, standing, naked, on his changing table. And he peed into the diaper drawer. Which was merely funny, because it's full of cloth diapers.

So we moved to the floor and I did a poor job of putting a new diaper on as he kept violently twisting his torso in his attempts to flip over and escape.

Then came the big poop of 2004. Out the side of the diaper, down my pants, onto the floor. And a sock. And a pillow. Shock. Horror. The baby, happily oblivious (and probably feeling way better), continues his manic dance in my arms.

I head rapidly for the bathtub. Try not to get a handful of poop. Drop the baby. Luckily, he wasn't that far from the floor. Have to breastfeed Ronan (JP: "Is there any poop on your boob?") to calm him down and assure him that Momma did not intend to drop him on his head.

Ronan's asleep now, and JP and I are going to have a drink. Whether it's what you're going to write or when you're going to bathe, kids have their own agenda. I'm just glad that we get to start over again tomorrow...

Thursday, May 13, 2004

The nomenclature of motherhood is complex. For instance, I never thought I'd be a Momma. I assumed I'd be Mommy. But as my pregnancy crept forward (and my midsection crept outward), "Mommy" just felt like that itchy sweater that never fit quite right.

I spent a lot of time online before Ronan was born (thanks to my not-so-demanding desk job), and I noticed that many moms in the cloth diapering community (yes, there *is* a cloth diapering community!) called themselves "Mommas." Somehow this seemed to sync with my vision of motherhood. A little crunchy, not so surburban.

And then there's the grandparents. One set is already established as Nonna and Papa. But I feel kind of bad for JP, because that rules out "Papa" for him. (Of course, now that Ronan is babbling "dadada," JP's probably fine with Dada!) My mother waited a long time for her grandchildren, and she devoted a lot of thought to her title. She is Grammy; my dad, having never expressed a preference, has been assigned the classic Grandpa.

Of course, ultimately Ronan will decide. Whatever name he gives me, even if it's Mommy, will be perfect.

Wednesday, May 12, 2004

There's apparently a whole etiquette to swinging that is completely foreign to me. Today was playgroup at the park, and there are only two swings. Swings are right up there with slides as the top attraction. Moms like them because they can stand still and carry on a conversation while their child is entertained, and kids, well, they just like them!

One mom actually asked another if her daughter would get out of the swing so the first one's two boys could swing together. Oh, the dilemma! If your kid has only been in the swing for three minutes, do you still meekly comply and slink away? Do you assume that the asking momma must be pretty desperate and help her out? And how awkward to say no, as you stand next to her, pushing your kid.

Another momma keep repeating, "higher, faster, louder" as she pushed her toddler. It seemed a little strange, but she was also very pregnant, so maybe it was a mantra that made her feel saner.

Swings one day, college admissions the next. Everyone jockeying for the same spots. Better to learn the nuances now, I guess...

Tuesday, May 11, 2004

So we survived another night. And I've begun napping with Ronan in the afternoons so that I'm a sane momma.

I think the hard thing is that I've worked so hard to be this attachment Momma. And now, what? I deny him the bond I've loved so hard for, because it's not convenient for me to be there at night? Try explaining *that* to an eight-month old who's barely spent two hours apart from his momma in his whole life! And he's such a beautiful, gentle, fun-loving spirit. So I'm thinking of it as trying to gently stretch the boundaries. If only Ronan thought Daddy's soothing was as good as Momma's boobs!

But this, too, shall pass. He's almost crawling -- the first of many trips away from me...

I have confidence that Ronan and I will work this out.

Monday, May 10, 2004

The baby's pissed. We're trying to get him to sleep in at least a three-hour stretch at night. So dad's on duty for the first waking. He just woke after two hours, and JP's been walking him for six minutes. No sign of relief yet. Poor baby. He's so angry that I'm not there with the boob. His whole world is rocked. It's so hard to know if it's the right thing.

We're going to hit the ten-minute mark, which is when we agreed I'd step in. Kramer (the cat) is also yelling, just to add to the fun! Welcome to the Kelly-Park household...

Sunday, May 09, 2004

My first Mother's Day! And it's been great. Oatmeal apple pancakes this morning. And JP made the most beautiful photo book using my Mac.

My parents sent $75. I told my mom that I'd give it to Ronan if he'd sleep through the night. Ah, the slippery slope of infant sleep (not sure that means anything, but I like the alliteration).

And I got a pedicure, complete with sparkly flowers on my toes. Yay for me!

Okay, I've lost the thread here. Maybe my muse will return tomorrow...


Wednesday, May 05, 2004

So why is it that when Ronan starts breastfeeding on one side, the other boob also lets down? (For those who aren't leaking milk all night, "let down" is when the tap turns on, and milk starts flowing.) Is the second boob feeling left out? Does she just want to be ready to go in case she's called into service?

All in all, though, breastfeeding is pretty amazing. Ronan is almost eight months old. He eats a few bites of fruits and veggies each day, but his main nutrition and sustenance is still provided by me. Counting pregnancy, that's a year and five months of me providing life. Let's just say that I'm expecting a big mother's day gift.

I love how Ronan goes all googly-eyed when he first latches on. It's pure baby bliss. No wonder he doesn't like taking a bottle -- how can a silicone nipple compare?

One of Ronan's Baby Einstein DVDs has a song with the lyrics: "The cows give us milk, the cows give us milk...." It kinda weirds me out. Actually, cow's milk in general weirds me out now. I avoid it, although I do give in for the occasional bowl of frosted mini-wheats. I'm still a cheese and yogurt lover -- I know, I know, hypocrite.

At least I'm a breastfeeding hypocrite...

Tuesday, May 04, 2004

Ronan and I aren't in sync this week. He's trying to crawl, so he keeps lunging and then bonking his head. Ouch. So I can't leave him alone on the (hardwood) floor. So there's not a whole lot getting done in the Kelly-Park household.

And we're still struggling with sleep issues. He was sick last week, which threw his sleeping schedule off.

So no awards for motherhood this week. Sometimes it's really hard. Who knew that you could be so annoyed by your own baby?? Repeat after me: It's only a phase. And sometimes I think he must be really annoyed by me, too. Ronan: I don't *want* to have my diaper changed right now. C'mon momma, let's play!

I'm thinking things might get better for awhile once he can crawl. Or maybe not...

Sunday, May 02, 2004

I have always been good at multi-tasking -- maybe because I'm a Gemini. But now I'm the queen of micro-tasking. Ronan's happily banging a metal measuring cup on the kitchen floor? There's five minutes to empty the dishwasher. When he's sitting in his high chair, occupied with navigating a piece of apple to his mouth, I can fold the laundry. It's momma management.

I take my job seriously. First priority is always the baby. His care, feeding, general happiness and development. Then me -- shower, lunch, bathroom breaks, a few minutes of computer time, Ellen. Then the house, but really only to bare minimum standards. The kitchen is always my number one hot spot, probably because I spend a lot of time there.

The reality is that I'm a pretty lousy housekeeper. Luckily, all performance reviews so far indicate that I'm a pretty good momma.

Saturday, May 01, 2004

Hey, is this thing on? OK, truth be told, this first post is coming at you from the luckydaddy. Momma is in bed with our hot-headed Ronan. How hot? About 102 degrees, poor guy. But he's fighting the good fight and should be back to normal in no time.

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