Good Thing He's Cute

“Uh-oh, Mama! UH-OH! Dwop-dit! Yook, Mama, YOOK!!”

Clearly, Riley is trying to tell me something. The urgency in his tiny voice tells me I better come quick and “yook” to see what’s wrong.

Oh. He dropped a blueberry on the floor. Cancel the ambulance.

I think he’s just showing off his new language skills every opportunity he gets. In the past month or so as he approaches age 2, he has unleashed a torrent of new vocabulary.* “Uh-oh”—his first word—is still in heavy rotation, which makes sense in our house, as is “Miles did it” and “No yike it.” The latter phrase is employed whenever he’s been persuaded to try a new food, and is usually accompanied by a disgusted pursing of his cherubic lips. Then, he spits out the item he doesn’t “yike” into my hand. Charming.

Still, he’s at an unbearably cute age. He sings “mewwily, mewwily” when he’s rowing his laundry basket boat down the stream hallway, and his “bitsy pie-duh” is often crawling up the water spout. (Funny, since he hates spiders.) He says “I. Wuv. Yew!” complete with hand gestures, and he’s big into hugging and kissing. Also, hitting and hair-pulling, but that’s a little less cute.

My mother always said about kids in general and hers in particular, “It’s a good thing they’re cute.” So true, so true. Just when you’re ready to take them on a one-way trip to Grandma’s for, oh, I don’t know, DRAWING ON THE COUCH WITH NONWASHABLE BLACK MARKER, they blink at you with those big brown eyes and you melt. Or at least become momentarily less homicidal.

Riley’s latest trick is boycotting his nap. Before Christmas, he was taking 3-hour naps. Not only did he not put up a fight, but he would go running for the stairs when I said, “Time to go up for your nap.” I thought like me, my baby loves his sleep.

Well. Then he figured out how to climb out of his crib. (Right on schedule, according to this blog entry about my firstborn at the same age. What would I do without my archives?!)

Unlike his big brother, however, Riley did not climb out once or twice and then resume his regular naps once the novelty wore off. Oh, no. For 2 days straight now he’s thrown a FIT about staying not only in his crib but his room during naptime. I let him cry and kick the door for an hour yesterday. (OK, probably 20 min. But it FELT like an hour.)

Here’s some “surveillance footage” of the escape artist in action.

So now we’re researching toddler beds and crib tents and plotting our next move. Just when we thought things had gotten back to normal after the holidays...

*I am aware that the topic of milestones, particularly those reached early, can induce anxiety and envy among fellow parents, so let me assure you that neither of my kids slept through the night till they were almost 1, and potty training my eldest was an extended form of torture. Feel better?

LINK O' THE WEEK: Last chance to sign up for the next session of my fun, practical, 6-week online writing class, "Personal Essays that Get Published." It pays off -- just ask my former students who've been published in the New York Times, Southern Living, Chicken Soup for the Soul, regional parenting mags, websites, and more.

A Baby Walks into a Bar...

Riley told his first joke yesterday. It went like this:

Riley: “Knock-knock!”

Us: “Who’s there?”

Riley: “Neena.” (His word for banana.)

Us: “Neena who?”

Riley: “Peena!”

Isn’t that hysterical? What? You don’t get it? Well, it’s sophisticated humor. It’ll come to you later.

It thrills me no end that my son is funny even at the tender age of 20 mos. (And before that, he was cracking us up without words. He was like a tiny, talented, not-scary mime.)

Do you know it’s a sad fact that millions of people are born each year without a sense of humor? I know, I’ve met some of them. It’s particularly unfortunate if you happen to be on a date with one of these people or are being interviewed by one.

Humor is hugely important to me. I don’t know if you can tell, but I like to laugh. Mostly at myself and my children. (I can’t help it; we provide an endless stream of material.) I don’t know where this came from, exactly, since it’s not like my family sat around the dinner table trading quips when I was growing up.

Though my grandmother was a master of dry humor. She would pronounce a dull Scrabble game or my grandfather’s golf scores “gripping” and have us all snorting with laughter with a single look. She once said to my grandfather when they were dating, “Excuse me, but I believe you’ve mistaken my knee for the gearshift.” LOL!

If anything, my sons’ humor comes from their dad’s side of the family. My husband famously once snuck up on his sister wearing a gorilla mask while she was writing in her diary. Hilarity ensued. He still cracks up just talking about it.

It’s a well-known fact that one of the most endearing sounds in the world is a baby’s laughter. There’s a reason baby-themed entries frequently win “America’s Funniest Home Videos.” (Followed closely by pets, old people, and rednecks getting kicked in the crotch.)

We do have a lot of laughter in our house. And thank god for that. Because when they’re not cracking me up, my kids can -- and do -- drive me “neenas.”

VIDEO O’ THE WEEK: Who knew a raccoon puppet in a trash can could be so funny?

Back-to-School Blues? Not Me!

Am I the only mom alive who’s not sad about her child going off to school? All around me are people who are tearing up at the sight of school buses and lamenting, “They grow up so fast!” Not me. I can’t WAIT until Miles’ first day of school this week. And neither can he.

Maybe it’s because it’s just preschool. This year he’ll be going 5 days a week, but only mornings. How much can I miss him when he’s barely gone long enough for me to do the grocery shopping?

I rarely get wistful when looking at his baby pictures or packing away his outgrown clothes. Maybe it’s because I have another one who’s still in diapers. Or maybe it’s because I really don’t miss the projectile puking, mashed sweet potato phase.

I can honestly say that it doesn’t make me sad to see my sons grow up. I love watching them learn to color and put on their own shoes. I love seeing their personalities develop, and I am fascinated when they exhibit their own individual preferences.

Why did my firstborn adore avocados and my second child won’t touch them? Why is Miles inseparable from his stuffed dog and Riley could care less about blankies or lovies? Why is my oldest unconcerned with his anatomy while I fear my youngest is a budding Pee-Wee Herman?

Most of all, I enjoy my kids’ developing senses of humor and imaginations. Riley has barely been alive a year and a half and he’s already the life of the party, singing and dancing and making faces whenever the mood strikes. And Miles will say the craziest things out of the blue, like “I wish I could walk on the ceiling” or “I don’t want to get old and join the circus.”

One thing that does bother me about the boys going off to school is that I’ll miss so much stuff. Already, it’s like pulling teeth to get Miles to tell me about his day. (Though interestingly, he often opens up to his dad and other people with little prompting. Hmm…) I won’t get to see how excited they are when they know the words to a particular song or figure out how the elevator works on the toy parking garage.

I live for parent-teacher conferences when I get little glimpses into my son’s life beyond me. Otherwise, I may never know that he likes to push a certain little girl on the swings or that his favorite dress-up gear is the dog costume.

It’s just the beginning, I guess. Next year he’ll start kindergarten. Maybe then I’ll get misty at the sight of the backpack display at Gap Kids. But I doubt it. I enjoy watching him grow up too much.

VIDEO O' THE WEEK: They'll kill me for this one day, but I couldn't resist.


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The class offers great camaraderie, accountability and best of all, how-to tips on getting published, even if you never have before. Also, it’s a prerequisite for my Level 2 class launching in Nov.

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Say 'Cheese'

After months and months of screetching and pointing, my 18 m.o. has finally started talking. He didn’t even say “mama” until 15 mos. Here’s a video of us trying to coax it out of him on camera:


At his check-up, the pediatrician noted that most babies say “mama” at 9 mos. She asked me if I was concerned, and I said no. After all, he’s a second child, so he’s got a built-in spokesperson in his big brother.

“Riley doesn’t want pretzels,” Miles will tell me. “He wants popcorn.” Maybe he’s right. Though I’m more suspicious when Miles claims that Riley wants to go to the big playground. Really? The one where all the equipment is too dangerous for babies so he’s confined to the stroller while you play? Hmm...

Riley’s first word was “uh-oh,” followed by “ball” and “more” (as in, “more food NOW!”). In the past couple weeks, though, it’s like he’s had a breakthrough. New words spill out of him daily, such as:

“Shoes.” He likes to go around the house collecting footwear, which makes finding a matching pair of shoes and getting out the door in the morning a challenge.

“Show.” What his brother begs to watch on TV several times a day. Riley, on the other hand, is more entertained by turning the TV and DVR on and off repetitively.

“Up.” Meaning “get me out of this swing/highchair/stroller NOW!”

“No.” I expect we’ll be hearing a lot more of this word in the coming months.

“Cheese.” What he says whenever someone sticks a camera in his face.

“Milk.” Actually, “mek,” but he makes himself understood by hanging from the refrigerator door handles until I get the point.

“Bite.” Meaning, “give me a bite of your food, woman, even though I just finished eating my meal and my brother’s!”

“Ice cream.” Actually “i-keem.” I have the grandparents to thank for that one.

“Cookie.” Are you sensing a theme? Yep, my boy likes to eat. Here’s a video of me trying to get him to say his newest word:


TIP O’ THE WEEK: It’s already started – the Epic Carseat Battles of Toddlerhood. I’ve learned a thing or 2 since my first carseat kerfuffle. The trick is to distract the child with a song. It doesn’t matter what song. I like to make up my own, such as “You’re a little stinkpot, short and stout. See how you wrestle, see how you shout.” To the tune of “I’m a Little Teapot,” of course.

What I Wish I Knew

Someone asked me the other day if there was anything I wish I knew before I had kids. After telling him I could write a book on that topic – and if you compiled all my blog posts, I already have – I narrowed it down to a few things.

The cleaning. Dear God, the cleaning!! I had no idea how much time and energy I would spend cleaning up after my children. And we’re not just talking changing diapers and picking up toys. Oh, no. The day might bring a spilled bottle of maple syrup or a blender explosion in the kitchen, a sippy-cup malfunction in the family room, a dog-shredded diaper in the baby’s room, and a bathtub tsunami. Not to mention the laundry. Spit-up stained sleepers, grass-stained overalls, and peed-on sheets are just the beginning.

It seems like not that long ago I lived in a 1-bedroom apartment and used the same plate and fork at each meal. I vacuumed and cleaned the bathroom maybe once every week or 2. (Did I even own a vacuum?) I did one load of laundry a week. And if I put something away, it stayed there. If you can imagine.

Nowadays, if I didn’t do the daily maintenance I usually do, you’d think we’d been robbed. Or, as one of my Twitter friends put it, “My husband recently said our house is to the point where we should burn it, collect the insurance money, and start over!”

And thank goodness someone finally put into words what I’ve always thought about cleaning ladies. If you’re lucky enough to have cleaning help once a week or even twice a month, that’s not a free pass, people. It’s not like you have Alice from “The Brady Bunch” living with you, points out Claudine Wolk, author of “It Gets Easier… And Other Lies We Tell New Mothers.” It’s simply what I like to call DAMAGE CONTROL. The daily messes and stresses? They’re still on you.

The 24/7, 365 responsibility. OK, maybe intellectually you knew this was the deal. But did you really think through exactly what this meant? That you’d be restricted to drive-thrus, unless you want to schlep the baby carrier in and out of the car just to grab your Starbucks and your drycleaning?

That unless you’re lucky enough to live near family you will have to pay someone to watch your child EVERY SINGLE TIME you want to go out with your spouse, go to a yoga class, repaint the dining room, and possibly even clean your house without someone screaming or getting underfoot?

That you don’t get sick days, holidays, vacation time, or personal days? That you may never again sleep in on weekends? (At least till your kids are teenagers.) I’m telling you, people, it takes some getting used to. Even now, I’m still disappointed when 5 p.m. on Friday comes … and I realize it means ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Happy hour is a distant memory…

The unparalleled joy. I’ve always loved kids. And yet I still hadn’t the faintest clue what it was going to be like to meet a tiny, brand-new person that was half me and half my husband. How I would feel when he reached for MY finger and would only be soothed by ME. How my heart would soar when he slept peacefully, ate well, burped, gained weight, had poopy diapers, even! (Aside: A friend of mine – a GOOD friend – changed Riley’s dirty diaper once. Since her babies are regularly constipated, she was actually jealous of my son’s poop. Jealous! Of POOP!!)

Moms love to trade horror stories and vent about the hard work and frustrations that go along with raising kids. I know I do! So before you have them you might wonder, “Why put yourself through that?” and “Is it worth it?” The answer is yes. YES!! A thousand, billion, trillion times YES. Why?

A billion, trillion different reasons. Because babies have senses of humor. More than many adults I know. And because they unconditionally love you, with the sloppy kisses and sticky hugs to prove it. And because they’re so very entertaining. And because of moments like this:



If that's not enough to convince you, I don't know what is. But I don't really wish I knew all this before. Because you really have to experience it for yourself.

Being a Mom is...

Can you believe I almost didn’t write a Mother’s Day post? I know! For one thing, I was too busy being a mom. For instance, on Friday I woke up with a jolt at 6:53 a.m. and realized I’d forgotten to bake 2 dozen blueberry muffins for my son’s preschool class. :(

Also, I was stuck. Half of me wanted to make jokes about spit-up and sleep deprivation, and the other half was leaning towards sappy, sentimental musings. Bleh. But after several days of reflection and a writing prompt on another blog, this is what I came up with:

Being a mom is... an adjustment. Even though the number of people in your family increases overnight, wrapping your head around that fact takes longer. My favorite way to illustrate this point is with an anecdote my parents like to tell. In grad school, they were visiting the first of their friends to have a baby. Someone suggested going out for pizza. They were halfway out the door before one of them said, “Wait -- what about the baby?”

Being a mom is... hard. Loving that tiny new person is the easy part. But growing them, birthing them, feeding and caring for them, and worrying about them for the rest of your life? It’s hard on your body, your bank account, your marriage, and your friendships. It’s especially hard on your furniture. I don’t always like to admit this -– to myself, to other moms, and especially to moms-to-be. But I’d be lying if I said motherhood wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Being a mom is... not for everyone. When my first son was tiny, a single acquaintance stopped by. She looked at him bouncing and giggling in his jumper and said, “Aww, I want one.” It was like someone toying with the idea of getting a puppy. Then she asked me if I’d read any good novels lately – obviously missing the huge dark circles under my bloodshot eyes. “You don’t get it AT ALL!” I wanted to scream.

Being a mom is... rewarding. You know the satisfaction you feel when you’ve done a job well? Multiply that by a trillion and that comes close to how I feel when my kids smile or laugh, run to me and give me a hug, tell me they love me, or learn to say a new word or put on their shoes. (BTW, Miles gave me a Mother’s Day card he’d made. “Aw, is that a picture of you and me?” I asked. Him: “No, that’s a candy machine.” Oh.)


Being a mom is... different for everybody. I’ve met moms who loved being pregnant and ones who loathed every minute. (I’m somewhere in between.) I know moms who’d never held a baby before their own, and moms who don’t like kids – except their own. I know moms who’d kill to stay home with their kids and others who were counting down the minutes of their maternity leave until they could go back to work. I don’t know ANY moms who would trade the gig for anything in the world.

Happy Mother’s Day to all!

VIDEO O’ THE WEEK: I love author and funny mama Jen Singer’s take on motherhood. Watch her cute video, “Trust Your Gut, Mom. Really.”

The Lazy Mom's Baby Book

Usually I try to pick a theme for each post, something that hopefully other people can relate to. Other times, this is my written record of my kids’ milestones since I’m too lazy to fill out their baby books. Fair warning: this post is the second type.

I’ll start with Miles, my 3.5-year-old. Actually, more like 3.8 y.o. He just recently started to dress himself. I’m not sure where this streak of independence came from, but it might be an episode of Special Agent Oso called “License to Dress.”

If there are any Alias or Chuck fans out there who haven’t seen this show, you’ve got to check it out. Along with possibly the catchiest theme song on TV, it features a stuffed-animal spy whose missions involve helping kids learn to do things by themselves, like rake leaves or make a salad. Also, every show’s name is a take-off on a James Bond movie, like “For Your Pies Only” and “Tie Another Day.” Who says TV is all bad?

As you can imagine, Miles makes some interesting fashion choices. And yet I know he is by far not the only self-dressed, sartorially challenged preschooler, so I am always baffled when other parents point out that he’s wearing his pants backwards or his shoes on the wrong feet. Or inquire as to why he’s wearing, say, a parka with flip-flops. Do they think I had anything to do with that?! It's called PICKING YOUR BATTLES, people. I could care less as long as he’s not naked.

A far more annoying new habit of my son’s is refusing to eat at mealtimes and then claiming he’s ravenous at bedtime. I know, I know, I shouldn’t give in to this behavior. But the kid is nothing if not stubborn. Wonder where he gets that?

Moving on to Riley, also known as the loudest 14-month-old on the planet. True story: we were in Home Depot one time and he was grabbing things off the shelves I did not want him to have, like hand saws. When I took them away, he screeched his disapproval in his typical high-pitched, blood-curdling Riley way. Three people stopped in their tracks, thinking some kind of alarm had gone off. Imagine their surprise when they saw the tiny, sweet-faced source of the noise.

The child also eats like a trucker. For breakfast this morning, he had eggs, bacon, toast, a whole banana, and a few bites of oatmeal. No one can believe how much he packs away -- until they try to lift him. Should I worry that my baby has a binge-eating disorder? Or does he need all those calories to fuel his overly developed lungs?

He has been walking for 4 mos., and has now moved on to sprinting, tripping, and falling flat on his face. He’s not a big talker – he finds screaming to be a far more effective means of communication – but he does make sounds that are intended to be words. “Brrrrr,” for instance, means “more,” “moo” and possibly “shoe.” “Nana” means “banana” and also, food in general. “Dada” is another all-purpose word, and he has never, NOT ONCE even tried to say “Mama.” Thanks, buddy.

In general, the boys are getting along better and better. This leads to some very cute moments, like this one where Miles “reads” his little brother a bedtime story:

Snowy with a Chance of Insanity

Seasonal Snowfall Total in Baltimore: 79.9 inches

Previous Seasonal Snowfall Record for Baltimore: 62.5 inches in 1995-96

Days of School Cancelled This Week: 5

Number of Times Our Street Was Plowed: 0

Number of Times Hubs Shoveled the Walk: 7

Articles of Clothing Required for Son to Play Outside: 15

Games of Candy Land Played: 9

Games of Memory Played: 7

Number of Puzzles Completed: 6

Hours of TV Watched: 41

Number of Times My Kids Fought Over a Toy: 517

Number of Times My Family Got on My Nerves: 1,034

Number of Times I Considered Fleeing the House and Never Coming Back: Too many to count

At first, the record-breaking snowstorm that hit the Mid-Atlantic was an exciting event. No one around here had ever SEEN this much snow. The first snowfall happened on a Saturday, so everyone was home and nothing got cancelled. We sat around in our PJs, watched movies, went out to play in the snow, and got together with our neighbors for an impromptu potluck. Fun!

Then it snowed again. And a couple days later, AGAIN. Piles of it mounted up on street corners and once 4-lane roads narrowed to a single slushy lane. School was cancelled, churches and libraries were closed, and pretty much everything in the state shut down. The weather report played continuously on the TV and the snow continued to fall.

The kids began to get antsy, the grown-ups began to get irritated, and everyone began to wonder just when the hell things would ever get back to normal. And still, the blizzard dragged on. And on. And ON.

Two adults trying to work from home plus one computer and two active kids equals big-time stress. In desperation, C. tried to dig out and head into the office today. It took him 20 min. to get off our street, and 10 min. after that, he was back. The roads were a mess; not worth the risk.

Seriously? If this snow situation doesn’t improve -- and SOON -- I cannot be held responsible for my actions. Not least because the number of bottles of wine in the house is currently <1.

VIDEO O’ THE WEEK: How my boys are passing the time indoors

Merry Christmas!

Happy Holidays, everyone! From my family to yours, with love.

Riley's celebrating his first Christmas with his own video:
"The Little Drummer Boy."

Brother Bother

Bringing home a new baby 8 mos. ago was a huge adjustment, I'm not gonna lie. Especially for our first-born, who for almost 3 years had enjoyed a nice run as an only child and The Center of the Universe. In our house, anyway.

Miles' feelings for his little brother have run the gamut from curiosity to amusement to love to annoyance. I hesitate to say "hate," because it's never gotten quite THAT bad. This video perhaps best illustrates my sons' relationship:


Since Miles has to put up with a screetching sidekick most of the time, it's no surprise that on the few occasions he gets an outing -- or a parent -- to himself, he's over the moon. Read more about our recent mother-son bonding at TheBump.com:

The Waiting Place

Most people hate to wait. For instance, the woman in front of me in line at the grocery store the other day. She asked the clerk for a spoon for her yogurt. When he didn’t respond in a timely enough fashion -- maybe 2.5 seconds passed -- she marched over to the manager and complained. That woman is attracting some seriously bad karma. But I’ve been known to be impatient, too.

Like if I have to wait on hold for more than a minute, I start to get really, really annoyed. Then there’s this unconscionably long stoplight at the end of a certain street near us. And if I have to wait more than half an hour for my food in a restaurant, forget it.

So I know how hard it can be to wait and I just want to say to my son, Riley, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to wait in your stroller today while I washed off your big brother’s scraped knee and let him choose the specific Batman band-aid he wanted, which God knows took WAY longer than it should've. I’m sorry you cried and cried while I had to help your brother go to the bathroom, too, which was made all the more difficult by the fact that he was slightly sweaty and his pants were sticking to him, and by his refusal to take off his shoes even though that would have made things infinitely easier.

And speaking of the bathroom and waiting, I’m sorry, Miles, that you had to wait that one time I was putting your baby brother to bed and he was taking an extra-long time nursing and you were calling and calling me from the downstairs bathroom and I was thinking, “Be QUIET, Miles!! I’m trying to get the baby to sleep!” And then I came down to find you’d had a really, really bad accident because you couldn’t get your shorts off in time. I was REALLY sorry about that.

But you know what? Waiting is part of life. Just look at Dr. Seuss’ “Oh, the Places You’ll Go!” He devotes several pages to The Waiting Place ... “for people just waiting. Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or a No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.”

Yes, I guess having a sibling is good practice for life. Waiting for the baby to wake up from his nap before you can go outside to play may prepare you for someday waiting for your spouse to find his glasses (again!) before you can go to the movies. Waiting for a friend’s birthday party may prepare you for having to wait till you’re 21 to get into a bar. Waiting for your big brother to come home from school could be good preparation for a future freelance writer who’ll wait for acceptance letters.

But if I have to leave my boys with one message, it’s this: don’t be the kind of person whose day is ruined by having to wait for a spoon. Just don’t. Instead, use that time to relax, regroup, and read the tabloid magazines in the checkout line.

VIDEO O’ THE WEEK: Speaking of being in a hurry, my crazy 6 m.o. is crawling already! He’s still working on his form, but the kid can cover some ground. Notice how his destination is not the singing drum, but the wadded-up wipe.

Baby: 165, Mom: 0

The baby is winning. The score is Baby: 165, Mom: 0. The 165 represents the approximate number of nights since Riley was born. The 0 is how many of those I’ve gotten a full night’s sleep. Just to reiterate, that’s ZERO, people.

Now, the “sleeping through the night” concept is about as clear as mud. The baby books consider 5 consecutive hours to be sleeping through the night. My neighbor’s baby sleeps from 8 p.m. to 8 a.m. I’d even take 12:30 to 5:30 a.m. at this point. But however you define it, MY BABY ISN’T DOING IT.

It shouldn’t be that big of a shock, since my first baby didn’t sleep through the night until I had completely stopped breastfeeding him around 10 mos. But while Miles woke up, it was generally only once, around 2 a.m. or so, and he’d nurse and go right back to sleep. Whereas Riley is ready to rock at 11 p.m., 2, 4, and 5:30 a.m. Sometimes he throws in a 1 a.m. show just for the heck of it. He’ll be wide awake, yelling and hollering, like, “Will someone get in here and entertain me already?” And don’t even THINK about letting him cry it out because everyone in our zip code would pay dearly for that mistake.

Miles was no piece of cake as a baby, but I knew even back then he was a good sleeper. He decided on his own bedtime around 3 mos. Then we just fed him, rolled him into the crib, and left the room. We could watch entire movies in one evening after we put him down. We had it made.

So this whole “sleep training” concept was foreign to me. I read all the books (OK, skimmed them), but all the tricks and tips for getting your baby to sleep like moving the chair closer and closer to the door each night struck me as pure insanity.

Of course now, I’d try all those things in a heartbeat -- except for the fact that we have a 3-year-old asleep in the next room. Can someone tell me why none of the sleep books mention siblings? Does Dr. Weissbluth honestly expect me to let my baby scream for A FULL HOUR at 3 a.m. when his brother’s trying to catch some Z’s next door? And did I mention JUST HOW LOUD my baby’s scream is? It makes Mariah Carey sound like she’s whispering when she hits those high notes.

We’ve tried instituting a solid bedtime routine, with a bath and lavender-scented lotion and soft music. We’ve tried letting him fuss for short periods to see if he falls back to sleep. We’ve tried sending Dad into the room to settle him back down with the pacifier. This just pisses him off. (Riley, not Dad. Well, maybe him, too.) We’ve started him on solids already and even given him formula at night. We’ve put him on reflux meds. None of this makes any difference whatsoever.

I suspect it’s because there’s nothing really wrong with this baby. He’s just a huge mama’s boy. He can’t stand to be separated from me for more than 3 hrs. at a time. Sometimes, even an hour is too much. Like at the gym the other day, when they pulled me out of a yoga class to tell me they couldn’t calm him down. (Really? An entire staff of childcare professionals can’t calm a crying baby? Even for an hour? Might want to rethink your line of work then.)

Anyway, I walked into the kids’ area and picked up my red-faced, screaming baby. He shut off the waterworks like a faucet. With tears still glistening on his cheeks, he looked at me with an enormous gummy grin that said, “Mama! You’ve come back to me at last! Let us never be separated again, my love.”

OK, but does that have to include the hours between 11 p.m. and 6 a.m.?

VIDEO O’ THE WEEK: Riley can’t get enough of his rice cereal.

Not a Newborn Anymore

I’m not one of those “they grow up so fast” people. Usually when someone says that to me, I glare at them with my dark-circled, bloodshot eyes and snarl, “It sure doesn’t SEEM fast when you’re awake for 21 out of every 24 hrs dealing with another person’s bodily fluids!!” This usually wipes the sappy grin off their face and sends them scurrying away to spread sunshine somewhere else.

But just yesterday, I realized my baby is already 3 mos. old. When did THAT happen? Gone are the skinny chicken legs, replaced by some scrumptious thigh rolls. Gone are the teeny-tiny newborn undershirts that were still too big at first, replaced by actual outfits with pockets. (Pockets?! For an extra binky, I guess.) Gone are the sponge baths, 2-hour feeding schedules, and weekly doctor’s appointments. My baby’s growing up so fast!

I definitely didn’t think that with Baby #1. Of course, Baby #1 – who is now a Big Kid – is the main reason why it seems like Baby #2 is growing up so fast. While I’ve been busy baking cupcakes for preschool, planning playdates, and rinsing out Lightning McQueen underwear, my tiny bundle of joy has become not so tiny. He’s smiling, cooing, and (almost) rolling over already!

I have to say, though, I prefer this stage. Angelina Jolie came under all sorts of fire when she referred to her then-newborn daughter Shiloh as a “blob.” But how else do you describe a little, bald, pink thing that just sleeps and cries all the time? I like it when their personalities start to come out.

Both my boys love the “pow-pow-bam” game, invented by my husband. It’s pretty much what it sounds like. You hold the baby’s fists and make him throw tiny punches, saying, “Pow! Pow! Bam!” Bonus points if you pretend to take a punch and fling your head back. This almost GUARANTEES a laugh.

Along with his clothes, Riley seems to be outgrowing some of his fussiness. I am qualifying that statement because we still have our bad days. But he has more alert, happy periods now. And he’s become very active and vocal, as you can see here:


As you can also see, he hasn’t outgrown the projectile vomiting one bit!

LINK O’ THE WEEK: File this under “What took me so long?” With no tax or shipping, I figured out that ordering dipes, wipes, nursing pads, Mylicon, etc. from Diapers.com is actually cheaper and faster than driving to Costco. They even carry the generic Kirkland wipes. Plus we get this awesome box to play with!

Technobaby

In my family, we’ve always been what you might call early adopters of technology. When I was born in 1974, well before the home video boom, my father was nearly kicked out of the hospital while attempting to film my birth on his Super 8 movie camera. Apparently, the doctors didn’t take too kindly to his unplugging medical equipment to hook up spotlights.

By the time my own child was born a couple years ago, my dad had graduated to a Sony digital camcorder. And he’s currently coveting our pocket-size Flip.

But it’s my almost 3-y.o. son, Miles, who gives new meaning to the term “early adopter.”

One of his first words was “mote,” as in “remote control.” We have at least five -- three for the TV, one for the stereo, and one for the air conditioner, which he managed to lose, causing us to have to perch precariously on a stool every time we want to turn the AC on or off.

As a baby, his favorite toy was my cell phone. (My apologies to anyone on my speed dial.) He knows the difference between a CD and a DVD, and an iPod and a BlackBerry. Last year his Christmas presents included a Fisher Price digital camera and a bilingual electronic bongo drum.

When I was growing up, we mailed audio cassettes to my grandparents on the other side of the country. Now, my family uses Skype to keep in touch. This takes some getting used to. Just ask my mother, who once answered a Skype call in her underwear. “Um, Mom, you know we can SEE you, right?” I blurted.

To my son, this is a normal form of communication. One time we were playing an educational game on the PBS web site (OK, we were watching the Gummi Bear video on TotLOL.com) when a strange, musical chime began emanating from my lap top. I was still scratching my head when Miles piped up, “Grandpa!” He recognized the Skype ring tone before I did.

Of course, one problem with the glut of technology today is that it breeds the expectation of instant gratification. For a long time, we could not take pictures of Miles, because he’d rush around to the other side of the camera to see himself instantly on the LCD screen.

And thanks to the DVR, “Blues Clues” can be viewed at any time of day or week. However, it also means that my kid thinks you can watch, pause, or rewind any show at any time. “It’s not on right now” means nothing to him.

So you might think that being such a tech-savvy family I’d be all over Facebook and MySpace and LinkedIn and such, right? Wrong. I love technology, but I hate the time suck it can be. I did just sign up for Twitter, though. I figure 140 characters is manageable. We’ll see. I got about 14 new tweets in the time it took me to write this post. Oy.

VIDEO O’ THE WEEK: For the First! Time! Ever! Introducing video on DOANM. Check out Miles’ first time bowling. The tiny bowling shoes were hysterical.

MILESISMS O’ THE WEEK:
“action finger”: the little plastic Spiderman toy Miles just got
“itolya”: something that’s already been established, as in “itolya I don’t like beans!”