Month 13: Best Places

Most of the time, I love where we live. We have a cute house in a pretty neighborhood that’s close to a coffee shop, grocery store and playground. I can walk to the bank and the gym. (Notice I said CAN walk... As in, it's possible if I ever pried my lazy butt out of my air conditioned car.)

But there are certain times when I think the lawns might be greener in another part of the country. Like, say, where our families (read: free babysitters) live. Or where the temperature and the humidity don’t hit 98-plus in the summer. Or where several hundred murders don’t occur each year. (Sorry, Baltimore, but it’s true.)

The thing is, just because a place looks great on paper, doesn’t mean it’s actually a great place to live. For instance, Columbia, Md. usually makes the list of “Best Places to Live” in magazines. It’s a planned community with lots of nice lawns and street names like Whispering Cloud Lane and Happy Tree Court. (Yes, it’s quite possible that drugs were involved. It was built in the ‘60s.) Anyway, I lived there for approximately 9 mos. many years ago and couldn’t wait to leave. Nothing but strip malls and chain restaurants and scrawny trees. I guess I define “quality of life” a little differently.

But how DO I define it? Sure, Baltimore has museums and opera and theatre, but how often do we really take advantage of those cultural offerings? And I know I should care about taxes and schools and local government, but I’m honestly more concerned with whether the neighbors are friendly, if people judge you by your clothes or brand of stroller, and the going rate for babysitters. I have yet to see a “Best Places to Live” article like that.

Know where I’d really like to live? In the Pottery Barn catalog. It’s such a cozy and bright and inviting place. The people who live there have stylish yet comfortable homes. They take cool black and white photos, they frame their kids’ artwork, they casually toss their rubber rainboots in the mudroom when they come back from picking daisies. They have mudrooms! And they have multicultural birthday parties with well-dressed kids of all races leaning eagerly over the homemade cake.

You just know that if you walked out the door, you wouldn’t see a highway or an Applebee’s. You’d see your neighbors out for a ride on their tandem bike, or having a clambake on the beach. And they’d invite you, ’cause that’s the kind of place it is. Everyone’s welcome in Pottery Barn World! I wonder what the schools are like.

TIP O’ THE WEEK: I just joined Stroller Strides, an exercise class for moms. I love being outside and getting exercise while doing something fun with Miles. Plus the other moms are really nice and get together outside of class for book clubs and cooking classes and other stuff. And contrary to my assumptions, it’s actually a pretty intense workout.

Month 13: When Mom’s Away...

This past weekend was the first time I’ve been away from Miles for three whole nights. Not only that, but I left him and C. to travel almost 3,000 miles away to an entirely different coast. It was big, people.

Much as knew I’d miss my babe (oh, yeah, and C. :), I was really looking forward to the trip. Some girlfriends and I headed out to Portland, Ore., for our friend E.G.’s wedding. Now, she’s the last of the eight of us to get married, and one of the few remaining childless ones, so this chick has endured her share of wedding and baby discussions, let me tell you. Delinquent florists, in-law drama, pregnancy woes, childbirth recaps, you name it, she’s had to sit through it. Five or six times. So the least we could do is fly out for her wedding.

C. wasn’t too worried about the prospect of three days of single parenting. In fact, he couldn’t wait. Not only does he get one-on-one father-son time, but he gets to dress Miles in all the sports gear he wants, watch unlimited ESPN, and leave his socks around without his wife nagging him about it. (Which I did when I returned. I mean, come on -- dirty socks on the PORCH? That’s just ghetto.)

So anyway, I fully expected to miss Miles (oh, yeah, and C.), but I didn’t think I’d break down in tears mere hours into my trip. But I did. Yep, bawled into a Delta napkin while turning away from the lady reading Jackie Collins next to me. I just didn’t want to get into it with a complete stranger, you know? I think it was the dad holding his young son’s hand in the next row that set me off. So sweet.

Anyway, I rallied and realized I had five straight hours to myself on the plane before I met up with my friends in Portland. I haven’t spent that many consecutive hours alone and seated for the past 13 months. Seriously. Not once. I didn’t know what to do with myself. After listening to all the songs on my iPod and reading one and a half magazines, I contemplated chatting up the Jackie Collins lady.

But I remained alone with my thoughts instead. I thought about how I’d get to sleep in a nice big bed that someone else had to make ALL BY MYSELF. Soak in the hot tub at the hotel ALL BY MYSELF. Go to the bathroom ALL BY MYSELF.

Of course, I wasn’t alone the whole weekend. I had a great time with the girls. I got to sit down, eat breakfast, and linger over coffee without my mug being pried out of my hands by inquisitive little fingers. I got to go shopping and try on clothes without wheeling a stroller into the handicapped dressing room and prying clothes hangers out of the aforementioned inquisitive little fingers. I got to have entire conversations without interrupting to shout, “No, that doesn’t go in your mouth” or “Doggies don’t like that” or “Remote controls don’t float!”

By the time I got home, I was dying to see my boys again. Miles was running around barefoot in gym shorts. ESPN was blaring. Socks were on the porch. And everybody was glad to see Mom.

TIP O’ THE WEEK: Leave a little surprise or two hidden around the house when you’re traveling. When you phone your husband and/or kids, give them clues to find the goodies.

Month 13: Mom Math

I know you’ll all be relieved to hear that I’ve found a new babysitter. A couple, actually. One I poached from my gym’s daycare and the other is a neighborhood girl who’s out of school for the summer. I've gotta say, I initially had my doubts about the high schooler, since it looks like Miles might outweigh her in a couple of weeks. But she handles him just fine.

So now that I have some backup for a few hours a week, naturally I want to make the most of my childfree time. I find myself engaging in these complicated calculations. For instance, I can’t decide if I should work out when my sitter’s here, or take Miles to the gym with me. The daycare at my gym charges $5 per child for two hours. Great deal, right? Except that they don’t change diapers and they won’t hesitate to page you loudly over the intercom if your child stinks up the place or won’t stop crying.

So, I could either a) pay $5 and potentially enjoy 120 minutes to myself (only 40 minutes of that time actually engaged in exercise; the rest spent sitting on the mat “stretching” and reading Us Weekly.) Or b) pay a sitter $10 an hour and let her deal with the diapers and tantrums. Or c) I could combine my workout with watching my son by taking him for a walk in the stroller -- free, but no magazines or air conditioning.

Another Mom math problem goes like this: is a $3.75 frappucino worth 15 minutes of cool refreshment, or is that money better spent on a) approximately 22 minutes of babysitting (at a rate of $10 an hour or roughly 17 cents per minute), b) 3 ¾ songs downloaded from iTunes, or c) a small tube of store-brand diaper rash cream.

The hardest to justify are the rare date nights my husband and I plan. We usually have the sitter come in time to feed Miles dinner at 6 pm; however, we’re often still getting ready and don’t actually leave the house immediately. Then, it’s too early to go to dinner and too late for an early movie. But the clock is ticking. We don’t want to go over that four-hour mark, or the night will really end up costing us some cash.

And, admit it. Doesn’t it bug you to pay someone to watch “Law & Order” while your child is sleeping peacefully? I almost feel a perverse sense of justice when the baby has a tough time going to bed when we’re out. At least the sitter had to WORK for her money!!

As we all know, though, a good sitter is worth her weight in frappucinos. If it weren’t for my sitter, I wouldn’t have the luxury of standing around the supermarket on a Tuesday afternoon debating whether the organic bananas are worth the extra cost, or if the pesticide-sprayed but cheaper ones are fine since you don’t eat the skin. Come to think of it, Miles doesn’t mind the supermarket. Next time I’ll bring him along and save my sitter-time for something more valuable. Hmmm… Is my $10 an hour better spent catching up on e-mail or bathing suit shopping?

TIP O’ THE WEEK: Word of mouth is by far the best way to find a sitter. One of ours is the daughter of a friend’s coworker; another is the neighbor of a friend’s husband’s grandmother. How’s THAT for a roundabout connection?!

Month 12: Birthday Boy

Guess what this Friday is? Miles’ FIRST BIRTHDAY!! Here are some questions people have been asking me:

Q: Can you believe your baby is one already?
A: No, I really can’t.

Q: Didn’t it go by so fast?
A: Yes and no. In the beginning, during the sleepless haze of the “fourth trimester,” no, it didn’t go by fast at all. In fact, the first two months felt like two years. Maybe around the 5 or 6 month mark, time started speeding up.

Q: Are you doing anything special for his birthday?
A: Not really, if by “special” you mean sending out hand-written invitations, renting a moon bounce and making up goodie bags for two dozen kids. We’re having some of our friends over for happy hour, and then a small family party. I figure it’s the last year we can get away with it before Miles starts to notice he’s getting the short end of the birthday stick.

Other people, mostly other moms with younger babies, have also been asking me stuff like, when did he start getting teeth, sleep through the night, recognize his own name, etc. The answer in most cases, I’m afraid, is that I don’t remember. I know, I know. I hate that, too. It’s only been a year, for Pete’s sake. Plus, I have a leg up—I’ve been blogging about this stuff. Even so, I don’t remember EVERYTHING. Sorry.

If it helps, I DO remember that he started walking at 10 months. Specifically, the one time in his whole life that I left him overnight and therefore wasn’t there to witness it. Thanks, Miles. C., however, was here. (“I swear I didn’t encourage him!” he said.) And a couple of weeks ago, Miles started a cute new trick. If you ask him, “Who’s number one?” He holds up his chubby little index finger and waves it in the air. So cute.

Other “firsts” I actually wrote down:
1/15/07: first time he stood up in his crib
1/21/07: first time seeing snow
3/27/07: first taste of meat (before this he was a vegetarian, like me)
5/31/07: first haircut (he's not a big fan of the clippers)

So, I’m wondering, can I legitimately call myself a “new mom” anymore? Or is there some cutoff date when I become an “intermediate mom” or “advanced beginner” or something? I still feel like a newbie most days. And anyway, I’m not changing the name of this blog.

I’d like to give a shout-out to my friend, S., who is a new mom for the third time, to a third son! God bless her and baby Dylan. That girl’s a trooper, huh??

TIP O’ THE WEEK: I’m only on page 38, but so far I’m loving this book: I Was a Really Good Mom Before I Had Kids: Reinventing Modern Motherhood. Just for the title alone.

Month 12: The Neighbors

A couple lives next door to us. They’re maybe in their early 40s, married, no kids. Our kitchen window looks out onto their back porch, so I often see them as I’m going about my day.

In the morning, I’ll be rushing around making coffee and slicing bananas like a short-order cook for my one impatient customer banging on his high chair tray. Meanwhile, the neighbors will be sipping coffee and reading the paper on their porch. All calm and peaceful, with a cat or two lounging nearby.

As I’m cleaning up the crushed Cheerios and the dog’s spilled water bowl, the neighbors go off to work. Sometimes one of them remains on the porch reading, or goes out into the garden to prune or water something. I guess that’s what people do in gardens if they’re not pulling a small person out of the dirt or keeping him from eating the flowers.

Occasionally, one of them comes home for lunch. While I’m nuking chicken nuggets and cutting up broccoli, they’ll make themselves a nice sandwich on a real plate. I don’t actually sit down to eat, because I’m busy preparing Miles’ next course, refilling his sippy cup, replacing the spoon he’s flung on the floor, and loading the dishwasher. The neighbors read some more. I barely scan the newspaper headlines and the gossip page.

In the early evening, when Miles is ripping up handfuls of the front lawn and I’m eagerly watching the street for C.’s car, the neighbors come home from work. They wave, I smile. I have no hands free to wave, as I am prying a stick out of my son’s mouth. The retrieve their mail from the mailbox, and I remember I forgot to mail those bills due last week.

They continue their leisurely pattern of sitting, sipping, reading, and relaxing throughout dinnertime, bathtime, and bedtime at our house. As C. and I are falling asleep in front of the TV, the neighbors are welcoming their dinner guests. They sit on the porch and discuss culture and politics and current events while I make a mental list of groceries we’re out of and wonder whether the car has enough gas to get to the store.

You might think I envy our childless neighbors, but I don’t. Oh, sure, it would be nice to sip a beverage without worrying that Miles will grab it and pour it onto the furniture. I do miss reading stuff other than the ingredients on baby food containers. But I hate cats. And gardening. And the 9 to 5 grind. And silent, solo lunches. (Though once in a while might be nice.)

I have a theory that the neighbors peek into our windows sometimes. They see Miles shrieking with glee as the dog licks banana off his fingers. They see our post-nap snuggle. They hear us crank up Gwen Stefani for a baby dance party in the living room. They witness our family hug in the kitchen -- the dog included -- when C. comes home from work. And they are a tiny bit wistful for the life they might have had.

TIP O’ THE WEEK: Instead of spoon-feeding your baby, let him feed himself whenever possible. It makes more of a mess, but keeps him busy longer. Foods like Cheerios and cubes of avocado, banana, or cheese are easy to eat and hard to choke on.

Month 12: Small World

Back in the day, I had an up-to-date passport. I even used it. Before I became a mom, I’d been to Canada, Costa Rica, France, Germany, Greece, Italy, Mexico, the Netherlands, Spain, and some other countries I can’t think of right now. Partly that was because my parents, both teachers, had summers off and love to travel. And it was partly because I majored in French in college and studied abroad.

I remember one semester I attended this school in the south of France. I lived in a glorified garage, but outside my window was scenery straight out of “Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous” – sparkling azure water, enormous yachts, huge mansions with sprawling gardens. I met people from countries I had never even heard of. (Seriously, Liechtenstein?)

One day this British classmate of mine arranged for a group of us to be chauffeured to Monaco, where we would play roulette at the Monte Carlo Casino and dine on oysters and caviar into the wee hours. Except they wouldn’t let me into the casino because I was under 21 and wearing jeans. But I digress.

The point is, there was a time not so long ago when the world was my playground. Now, my world is an actual playground. Only with swings and sandboxes and stuff. In the span of nine months, my universe shrank to the size of my 2,000-square foot house. In the very beginning, it was even smaller. I did the bed, shower, couch circuit for a while after the baby was born, before expanding my territory to include the baby’s room, kitchen, and back yard.

Even now that I have regained full mobility, my world feels unbearably small at times. There are entire days when Miles and I don’t leave the house. Really, is it worth it to stuff him into his car seat during the small window between nap and lunch for a trip to Target? I usually don’t even need anything, and just end up spending money on that $1 crap by the checkout counters. (Whose idea WAS that? A genius yet devious plan to extract even more dollars from gullible impulse-buyers like me.)

A not-quite-one year old is too young to fully appreciate the zoo, the aquarium, or the children’s museum, even if I wasn’t too cheap to fork over the admission fee. I haven’t found a playgroup, and since most of my friends work or have older kids, we have to make do with only the occasional play date. Or trips to the neighborhood playground.

Thank goodness for the jogging stroller. When the weather’s nice, long walks are our salvation. This past weekend, C. and I installed a baby seat on my bike and got Miles a helmet (which he hates more than peas, by the way). We’re even planning a trip to Cape Cod this summer. So there are signs that my world may be expanding again. Still, I don’t think I’ll be needing that passport anytime soon.

TIP O’ THE WEEK: I found a fun book that lets you travel vicariously around the world in short, frazzled mom-sized chapters: Life Could Be Sweeter: 101 Great Ideas from Around the World for Living a More Rewarding Life, by William Sinunu.

Month 12: Home Sweet Hovel

Someone threw up in my shoe. I suspect it was the baby, rather than the dog. Who knows how long it had been there. There was a time when I would have noticed something like that, oh, I don’t know, immediately? Not that someone puking in my shoes is a frequent occurrence. Except for maybe a couple times in college. Now that I have a baby, though, shoe puke is the least of my worries.

Miles can wreak much more havoc than some spit up, let me tell you. Just the other day, he dumped two full glasses—one water, one iced tea—onto the couch. Who was stupid enough to leave beverages within reach of an almost-one-year-old, you might ask? That’d be me. Twice. The kid’s quick, OK? In his defense, he did tear up some napkins next to “help” mop up the mess.

I’ve almost become immune to the sorry state of my house these days. And that’s pretty sad. I was never a neat freak. I could stand clutter, but dirty dishes and sticky counters? Gross. Filth is where I drew the line. Well, my definition of filth is more flexible now. Certainly, any stray bodily fluids should be attended to as soon as they’re detected. But dirty dishes in the sink? What’s the big deal? Miles now attempts to climb into the dishwasher every time I open it, so I try to limit his opportunities.

This weekend, though, I had no choice but to get my house in order. We had a big family party, and our houseguests might not be accustomed to the crunch of Cheerios underfoot. Nor may they anticipate unraveled rolls of toilet paper and assorted kitchen utensils strewn about the floor. Plus they would surely expect me to feed them something besides cubed sweet potatoes and yogurt, right? Well, just try and mix up a double batch of key lime bars and a pasta salad with a tiny terror underfoot, people. It’s not easy.

Even so, the house got cleaned up (enough) and we had enough food to feed a football team. Miles was in his glory being fawned over by his five female cousins (the sixth is too young to fawn yet). He got his first taste of cake, and sported his first (and possibly last) seersucker suit. Now the crowd’s gone, C.’s away on business, and the house has resumed its usual state. No spit-up in my shoes, though. I checked first this time.

TIP O’ THE WEEK: Baby wipes are a decent stain remover in a pinch. However, they do nothing for potting soil in your carpet. Just something I know.

Month 12: It's So Worth It

Happy Mother’s Day a few days early! What a great holiday. It’s all about brunch, flowers, and adulation. It’s especially exciting for us first-time moms. Last Mother’s Day I was 8 ½ months pregnant -- technically not a mom yet, but about as close as you can get. This year it’s official. Bring on the croissants and coffee in bed!

This weekend we’re gearing up for a big family celebration because it’s also my husband’s birthday. And, since Miles turns 1 in less than a month, it’s sort of an early birthday party for him, too. We’re expecting 20 people in all. Yikes! I better get started on those fruit skewers …

But first, I was catching up with an old friend the other week. (Shout out to L.V.!) She’s in her early 30s, married, and starting to ponder the kid question. You know, should she have one, when, how many, etc.? She mentioned she’d been reading this blog and it sort of, well, scared the crap out of her.

Damn. That was SO not my intention. In fact, when I was pregnant I got so sick of people telling me how much life after baby sucked -- due to lack of sleep, sex, time, and basically any reason to live beyond keeping the baby alive -- that I made a conscious effort NOT to be that type of person once I became a mom.

Only, here’s the thing. A lot of those not-so-rosy aspects of new parenthood are kinda sorta a teensy bit true. Plus, I find more humor in the horrendous stuff (baby peeing in own face, mom stepping in dog doo) than in the sweet stuff (baby smiling for first time, grandparents adoring baby). But maybe that’s just my own twisted sense of humor.

What I’d like to emphasize to new or potential parents is that IT’S ALL WORTH IT. I’ve never met anyone who says they regret having kids. If I did, I’m sure I would inwardly recoil in horror even while trying to still be polite to their face. I’m not saying it’s not hard sometimes, I’m not saying there’s not stuff I miss about my pre-baby life, I’m just saying that Miles adds so much to my life that I can’t imagine it without him.

In honor of Mother’s Day, here are some things I love about being a mom:
- That round little baby belly
- That soft, fuzzy baby head
- Those first baby laughs: “heh-heh-heh”
- When the baby laughs so hard his eyes squinch up and his shoulders shake
- His dimples
- Watching him learn to dance
- Make that watching him learn to do anything -- pick up Cheerios, clap his hands, figure out what the phone is for
- Seeing him reach for me or his dad

TIP O' THE WEEK: Call your mom, mother-in-law, or anyone who's been like a mother to you and tell them how much you love and appreciate them.

Month 11: Hey Checkout Girl, Do You Babysit?

Looking for childcare sucks, people. Especially part-time childcare for the under-2 set. I’m a work-at-home mom, which means I work as much as I can, when I can. Now that my little one is walking, and has never been into napping much, that means almost never. Miles doesn’t tolerate long phone calls. He gets annoyed when I check my e-mail. He’s even been known to rip the mouse out of my hand and bite it with his five teeth.

Sure, I could work in the evenings and on weekends. Except that I have this thing called a husband, and he occasionally likes to spend time with me. Exchanging phone messages over the baby’s head as he flings peas from the high chair doesn’t exactly count as quality time, you know what I’m saying? And let’s be honest, I can barely follow the plot of “Two and a Half Men” after a long day with Miles, let alone form a coherent work-related thought.

For the past seven months, I’ve had a babysitter come to the house a couple afternoons a week to watch Miles while I work upstairs. That’s been great, although the older he gets the smarter he gets. He’s no longer fooled when mama waves bye-bye and heads upstairs. He now follows me and busts open the door. (A downside to living in an old house: none of the doors latch or lock properly.)Plus, our sitter’s leaving to take care of her granddaughter full time.

So I’ve been on the prowl for a new sitter. I’ve asked at church, at my gym’s day care, called local colleges, advertised online, responded to ads on Craigslist, asked friends of friends and sisters of neighbors. The result? Nada.

People either want more money or more hours. Except for the ones who want fewer hours. Finally I called a childcare locator service in my area. They dug around in their database and gave me some numbers for in-home day care centers. I called them all. They either didn’t have any openings for infants or weren’t accepting part-timers. A couple said they might have openings in January. JANUARY!!

Now, I don’t know what a decent sitter costs where you live, but around here, it ain’t cheap, apparently. I overheard this woman at the gym complaining that she’d had no takers on her ad for a $14-an-hour sitter. $14 AN HOUR?! Damn. These people are pricing me out of the market.

I don’t need an early-childhood education major. I don’t care if the sitter engages Miles in age-appropriate activities or teaches him sign language. I just need someone to chase him up the stairs, stop him from eating dog food, and keep him alive until I’ve done a couple hours of work. Is that so much to ask?

TIP O’ THE WEEK: 1) Move to where your parents or in-laws live, if they’re the babysitting-for-free sort. 2) Become independently wealthy.

Month 11: You Wanna Share What?!

The other day on the Today show, there was a segment on “breast sharing.” My first thought was: do they think that since we have two, we should share one with others? Fortunately Meredith Vieira clarified: the term refers to breastfeeding someone else’s baby. Okaaaaayyy …

I thought wet nurses went out of style with petticoats, but apparently I was wrong. There are actually women today who donate or rent their breastfeeding services to new moms. These new moms, for whatever reason, can’t breastfeed their own babies but still want them to get the benefits of breast milk. (This may be immature, but I can’t help brainstorming possible names for this unique business transaction: Rent-a-Rack? Merry Milkmaids?)

Wow. I had my hands full nursing my own newborn, let alone lending out my, uh, services to others. Between feeding, pumping, hydrating, and repeating, nursing was a round-the-clock operation. I can’t even imagine trying to squeeze some stranger’s baby into that schedule, or wanting to. Of course, then Meredith mentioned that a wet nurse’s services can go for $1,000 a week. Where do I sign up??

Just kidding. I still think it’s sort of a strange arrangement. One of the advocates on the show said she’d done it for a neighbor when that neighbor’s baby needed comforting. Um, wouldn’t you maybe try a pacifier first?

Still, doesn’t that make you nursing moms out there proud to know how valuable your services are in the marketplace? I guess it may be the black market, since there are health risks and legal concerns. Anyway, I’m not advocating it as a job option, just mentioning an interesting news segment.

I found a more appealing way to make some extra cash this week. (Quite a bit less than $1k, I might add, but it didn’t involve taking my shirt off.) I participated in a market research panel for baby food. A bunch of moms and I sat around eating crackers and cheese for an hour while giving our opinions on packaging and snacks and nutrition and stuff. Then we taste-tested some low-sugar, “healthy” food items. They were pretty gross, I’ll be honest. I know they’re bad for us, but hydrogenated oils and high-fructose corn syrup taste good, people.

But Miles doesn’t know that. So for now, he’s stuck with plain old sweet potatoes and applesauce. His nursing days are over, but I think he should consider himself lucky that he got the good stuff straight from me. And so should our neighbors! ;)

TIP O' THE WEEK: Get Tivo. It's SO worth it. Life with a baby does not allow for regularly scheduled 30 and 60 minute breaks to watch your favorite TV shows. Plus, you can record stuff that's on later than you can stay up (like "Lost") and watch it the next day during naptime.