Isaac-related concerns update

Sleeping
Last night was bad bad bad. He was up at 1, and then at 4, and then for good at 6:45. I am draggin' today. And because Dad has threatened that I have to ride the bus if my butt isn't ready to go as soon as I drop Isaac off at day care, I dispensed with showering today. You would say "ewww", dear reader, but you have probably stood next to my day-old-grime-covered body in the grocery store and didn't even know it. I use powerful Man-deodorant. That is my secret. But seriously, I've found that, on days where I don't take a shower, I have major mental difficulties, lovingly referred to now as "mommy brain". I'm sure that Dad could argue that I have such difficulties even on days where I DO shower, but he can bite me. Isaac and I will inevitably have such sleep wars again tonight, but I am also going to try a pseudo-scientific experiment. You see, the last time Isaac slept for 8 hours was when we had the humidifier we borrowed from Mindy and Clayton turned on for him all night long. The last two nights with the not-so-much-sleep? No humidifier. That is why they pay me the big bucks. Maybe. It's worth a shot, anyway, since Seattle Public Utilities is footing our electric bill for awhile.

Milk Production
Now that one, I have licked (har har). Today I have figured out the secret for increasing one's milk production. You see, in order to produce a reasonable amount of milk, one's intake of water or other hydrating fluids must exceed one's intake of coffee. Um.......duh. What was I saying again about that mommy-brain?

In other news that is of course intimately tied to Isaac's well-being, Dad has scheduled his Ph.D. defense. For those of you not intimately acquainted with the eccentricities of grad school, this is where he condenses, basically, his life's work into a 30-45 minute talk. Makes you feel really worthwhile, it does. But at the end of this special talk, he will magically transform from Dad to Dr. Dad. And he will annoyingly insist to be called such. The date for this occasion to cause his head to swell even bigger than it already is? December 14. Mark your calendars.

The lesser of two weevils

We are so tired today. Isaac totally skipped his afternoon nap so we could go to a "geology" department function with Dad -- one of those welcome-newbie-grad-student things. There were cookies there. Really, does anything else matter? Anyway all three of us went, and there ended up being quite an impressive turnout, a bunch of geo-nerds all crammed in a little conference room. It got pretty loud, which got Scream-a-pillar all worked up and gave him inspiration to start with his melodious shrieking as in the pool the other day. We didn't get home till almost 4. I was feeling restless, and Mindy is without her big guy, so we took the boys to Whole Foods so I could get some more baby food. Of course, we could just go to the QFC (that's Kroger for you Midwest folks) down the road, but mainly this trip was for entertainment value, and QFC means we have to immerse ourselves in the completely insufferably U-Village traffic. And Whole Foods is Isaac's number-one most favorite store. But most importantly for those who have to take our boys there, it has a Jamba Juice.

So Isaac is now geared up to become a gourmand of all things organic and pureed, with such fabulously mouthwatering entrees as "Green Beans & Rice" or "Apples & Apricots" or "Winter Squash." Actually, I haven't been keeping you all in the loop with our culinary adventures. Since our rediscovery of solid foods, Isaac has slurped up 1)peaches 2)applesauce 3)squash and 4)pears, giving each two dinky little thumbs up. The only things we have left in the pantry for him are things I am a little afraid to give him. Like bananas, which I have universally heard will make him produce actual baby turds. No thanks. And then there are two jars of sweet potatoes, which I am mildly allergic to, and so wonder if Isaac may also be. No fun there. But I digress.

We came home from Whole Foods and then went on our walk, for which Isaac unexpectedly remained conscious. When we got home, therefore, he had been awake for almost six hours, not including a 5 or 10 minute catnap on the way to Whole Foods. I decided that it might be okay if we ditched the bath this evening (heck, I haven't had one since yesterday morning) and I just let him fall asleep at the boobie, contradictory to my design of the week. Hey, I'm tired. I don't want to have to do our futile little dance with the "no, Mom, I'm really not tired" and the "oh, but I know you are, look at this musical doggie" and the "I can kick and scream and pull your hair if you try to lay me down in my baby-cage". You get the idea -- usually I can be up for it, but tonight it was just old.

But I had help putting Isaac to sleep (as if the boobie wasn't enough), as I utilized the monotonous tones of our President and Senator Kerry limp-wristedly duking it out in their televised debate as the background for our nursing session. Now, I hate hate hate talking politics, as I really dislike any conversation topic that almost always leads to argument and confrontation, but I am trying to be a good little American and educate myself about who I should vote for in November. Not that it will matter in this Kerry-love-fest that calls itself a state. But let me tell you that I am so proud of our darling President for the progress he has made in dampening the car-salesman affectations in his speaking manner -- it only took him four years! I will probably still vote for G.W., but boy did both of those guys do a great job of never directly answering the questions. It reminded me of that old joke about choosing "the lesser of two weevils", because I think most people can agree with me that they are both pretty lame. If you disagree, however, I encourage you to go out and make your voice heard. Not to me, of course! but very quietly, to yourself, at the polls.

Questions for Isaac's 6-month visit next week

Isaac's 6-month pediatrician's visit is next Friday. I thought it might be handy for me to keep questions to ask her here, so that you all could add your comments to suggest other good ones to ask. Ones that are on my mind right now:

*What's the deal with his chin rash? Should we be worried, or does it just look like a dry patch of skin to you?
*What can we do to help him learn to use his arms for crawling?
*What kind of feeding schedule should we be on now? What about solid foods?
*He doesn't seem to want to eat cereal with breastmilk anymore. Should we push this? Do you have any tips to make it more palatable?
*My "book" says some approaching developmental milestones for him are being able to rake a small object like a raisin with his hands, and being able to feed himself a cracker. Aren't these choking hazards?
*Do we need fluoride or iron supplements?
*What kinds of activities can we engage him in now to stimulate him?

What about the other end, Isaac? Of the SPOON, I mean.

Mothra Baby vs. Mr. Shark

Last night we went to swimming lessons, accompanied by our buddies Mindy and Clayton and guest photographer, Clayton's Dad Zach. We somehow managed to stuff both babies in their carseats, the requisite baby paraphernalia, and three grownups into our car, which was no small task. Clayton is usually the more talkative of the pair, but last night, Isaac was on a screamy mission. This is not to say that he was unhappy -- far from it. He just doesn't yet understand what an "inside voice" exactly is. When he has something to say, gol' dern it, he is going to be HEARD. Last night it was all the way to the pool. And then in the pool. I always think his shrieks are really cute, but sometimes I worry that maybe I am misinterpreting them because I am a rookie.

What really set Isaac off was a new game we played in swim class -- "What Time Is It, Mr. Shark?" In this game, everybody and their babies get up against one wall of the pool, and the teachers stand in the middle of the pool with Mr. Shark, a shark squeaky-toy. We all politely ask the shark together to tell us what time it is, and he (gently prompted by the teachers, of course) lets out X number of squeaks to tell us that it is X o'clock. And if it is, say, 3 o'clock, we all have to take three big steps toward him in the pool. But if it is that magic time, 6 o'clock, we all have to dash like mad back to the wall where we started from. Well, I think there must have been something about Mr. Shark's attitude, or his big pointy teeth, that turned my baby into Mothra, making him constantly emit these shrill evil-creature screams, even when we were supposed to be quietly listening to Mr. Shark to figure out what time it is. He continued his hilarious screaming all the way through the lesson and out into the pool's foyer, where I dressed him in dry street clothes for the trip home. Two ladies who looked like veteran moms sat next to us in the foyer, listening to Isaac carry on. I was so incredibly pleased to hear one of them exclaim, "Now, those are some happy-baby noises!"

Operation Golden Slumbers, parts 3 and 4

Last night we had swimming lessons. They end at 7, which is already our getting-geared-up-for-bed time, so I was totally spacing it when we got home and gave Isaac his bath before his bedtime boobie. Dad tried to jostle him awake a bit before we put him in his crib for the night so Isaac would know what was going on, but he still woke up at 12:45 and then again at 4 to eat. I suppose that's not too bad -- the first stint was nearly 5 hours down for him. Quite respectable. And both times, I successfully nursed him in the glider next to his crib and then put each of us back in our respective beds. This is a big feat for me because a) he is so cuddly that I sort of miss sleeping with him (though Dad is warm over much more surface area, an important quality on these chillier nights); b) I managed to not fall asleep while nursing, which is very very difficult -- I think there are actually sleepy hormones that course through your body as you nurse your baby; and c) I didn't break my ankle or my baby on my way to and from the crib, a real feat considering that I was basically sleepwalking.

Tonight I resumed the new routine with boobie then bath. After donning his jammies, I turned off the lights in Isaac's room and we rocked in the glider for a bit. He fought me and wiggled like a little baby-worm. We stood up and swayed back and forth. He wriggled some more and squealed with glee. I put him down in his crib and wished him a good night and assumed my position outside his door. He proceeded to scream like he was being chased by an axe murderer. I went in and patted him, reassured him that everything was okay, but obviously my baby-ese was not so fluent because he kept bawling. I picked him up and he stopped, so I put him down and went back outside. Repeat this process three times, for a total of 20 minutes, before I finally figured -- maybe he actually needs a boobie? Maybe he didn't get enough milk before? So I gave him one, and he was insanely happy and drank deeply before falling asleep.

So this brings me to a new worry -- that his mom-cow is drying up. This may be a little TMI, but dear readers, after all my poop stories, surely you also yearn for breastmilk stories. Anywho, not so long ago I used to be able to pump almost 14 oz, in two pumping sessions, for Buddy while I was at work. Last week in my mad rush to accomplish something at work, I pumped only once a day. At first this was fine, and I was able to glean at least 10 oz in this single session. Today I could only get 8 oz from two sessions. He easily eats 8 oz each day at daycare, leaving really nothing for us to make our evening cereal meal here at home. I don't quite know what to do, except try to ramp up the pumping schedule as soon as possible -- I really don't want to have to start supplementing with formula. Have you ever actually stood in a store and looked at the enormous numbers of different kinds of formula? How do you ever pick one? To make it worse, I have heard awful stories about formula recalls where they, oh, forget to put a nutrient in that's, like, essential for your baby's growth. No THANK you. So please send all your milk-producing vibes my way, like now.

The boys, "swimming" on their tummies

"The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round"

Mindy, Clayton, Isaac, and Claire get their swim on

A tyke carpool to the pool

Great-uncle Darryl (that's him on the right there, in case you didn't guess) had a birthday on Monday -- happy belated birthday!

Happy anniversary, Great-Grandma & -Grandpa Ross!

Operation Golden Slumber, part deux: Mommy breaks the vicious cycle

Last night was the first night where Isaac and I deviated from our sacred nighttime routine, completely sacrosanct to us for over 3 months now. Our beloved routine is very simple, and it starts at 5:30, when we get ready to go on our evening stroll. At around 6:30, we are finished with our evening stroll, and then it is time to gently scour the dirt off the baby in his ducky tub. Bathtime is not very long for us, but it is a time of song, where I serenade my beautiful nekked guy with two tunes. The first song is invariant; it is "I've Got To Be Clean" by an 'alternative' band called Guster. I discovered this song on a CD given me by a friend of mine, who's baby is now a whole year old, and I loved this song so much that I ran to iTunes and downloaded a whole Guster album. Here is the first verse to "I've Got to Be Clean":

We wash our hands whenever we eat
And in the bath we wash our ears, our elbows and feet
We gotta be clean
We gotta be clean
It's healthy and keen
We gotta be clean

I thought these guys must be the greatest band in the world, but I was so, so very wrong, and I blew like $10 on their dumb album at iTunes. But they are still cool with me because they wrote this awesome song that I sing to my baby everyday. It's sung in a low, boy register, so in the beginning I have to sing baritone, and EVERY TIME I do this, Isaac becomes completely captivated. At first I thought this was because of the low voice, but now I think he realizes the opening lines of this song mean bathtime for him, so his eyes grow to dinnerplate-size and he flashes me a big toothless grin and starts kicking his feet around in the water.

Our second song is one chosen by me; usually one that is caught between my ears at the time. Lately our second song has been "LOVE" by Nat King Cole (I thought it was appropriate as it involves spelling, you know, " 'L' is for the way you look at me, 'O' is for the only one I see...."), but Isaac has also enjoyed Mom's barrel-chested voice belting out "Ring of Fire", or "The Right Stuff" from the old-school New Kids on the Block. After our bath comes our full-body massage, replete with the latest in moisturizing technology. Then Isaac gets dressed in his jammies, and we go into Mom and Dad's room to say goodnight to Dad, who is usually working at the computer. By then it is 7 or 7:30, and it is time to go downstairs for the bedtime boobie. Isaac cannot withstand the bedtime-boobie tranquilizer, and he invariably falls asleep while nursing. When he was first born, my in-laws accused me of slipping narcotics in my breastmilk.

And this, THIS we suspect is the problem. The lulling power of the bedtime boobie is so strong that even hunger cannot prevail -- Isaac nips, but he does not eat enough at the bedtime boobie to last him throughout the night. So of course he wakes up a few hours later in his crib, 1) upset to find that he is no longer asleep in mom's arms, and 2) starving because he didn't actually utilize the nutritive power of the boobie when he had the chance earlier.

Last night, I strove to slightly invert our routine to overcome the vicious boobie cycle. First walk, then BOOB, THEN bath. He, of course, tried to fall asleep while nursing, but Dad whooped and hollered and convinced Isaac that it was playtime instead. This caught his attention, enabling him to remain conscious enough for a bath. After the bath, Isaac and Dad were playing around in Isaac's room and having a grand old time, so grand that I was convinced that now we had a boy on our hands who would be up till midnight. I picked Isaac up and rocked him back and forth and sang a little sleepy-song. Isaac pushed against my shoulder, squirmed, squeaked, and generally showed more of an interest in playing than with calming down. So I sat down in the glider and rocked back and forth with him on my shoulder, still singing our sleepy song. He persisted in his mommy-wrestling. Heaving a frustrated sigh, I laid him down, wide awake, in his crib, told him I loved him, wished him a good night, and left the room. I decided to sit just outside his door for the inevitable crying onslaught that would surely be coming. This is what I got: "AAH-ooooo. Mah-goooooo." Silence. Less than 30 seconds after I left the room, my little munchkin put himself to sleep. And slept for eight whole hours. Because I rule.

Weird mom dreams

Our weird sleeping habits as of late have given me two vivid, crazy dreams.

The night before: Isaac is walking and talking, but he looks the same. We are sitting together in our miniscule kitchen before the fridge and I am fixing him a bedtime snack of brownies and milk. He is trying to put forth an argument about why he should be allowed to stay up later, with the seriousness and eloquence of a junior debate team captain, but with the insane reasoning of a little guy. His arguments are along the lines of "Mom, I have to stay up, because my GI Joes need me right now." And I chuckle at him and tell him that, while that may be true, it can wait until morning because it's bedtime for little guys. And then I wake up

Last night: I am a secret agent, but since I had Isaac, I have been trying to retire for fear that the bad guys will find me out and kill me and my family. The lady who recruited me, however, tells me it is too late, and that I knew the risks when I signed up. Now she fears for my life because my cover has been exposed, but she doesn't know who is coming to get me. So I go to a crowded club with Dad, and we dance together in a dark corner, but I constantly see a tall shadow moving against the far wall, and my spy senses tell me that the spooky shadow belongs to an assassin who is coming to get us. I am way more freaked out than a spy should be, but I convince Dad to leave without letting on that I am panicked about anything (because he doesn't know I'm a spy). And then I wake up.

Operation Golden Slumbers, part 1

Over the weekend, I casually picked up my bible, "What to Expect the First Year", and started to reread the chapter with topics relevant to Isaac's age. I ran across "Still not sleeping through the night" and gave it a look-see. Here I will quote:

"...If the night-waking habit continues into the fifth or sixth month, however, you can begin to suspect that your baby is waking not because he needs to eat during the night, but because he's become accustomed to eating then"
And
"If he's waking and demanding food every two hours (maybe neccessary for a newborn, but not for a thriving two- or three-month-old)..."
AND
"There are some breastfed babies who continue waking and feeding at night well into toddlerhood, not because they need the food, but because night after night they're presented with an offer they can't refuse: the comfort of nursing."

Basically, the book is telling me that my darling bouncing breastfed baby, who routinely wakes up every two to three hours during the night lately, is playing me for a fool.

We still snooze together for some of the night, and especially now that he could teach classes on rolling over, this is a bad bad bad thing, because he tosses and turns and when he bumps into me he wakes up. And because it is 1 or 2 or 3 or 4 in the morning, I am barely conscious enough to do anything else but whip out the boob to nurse Isaac back to sleep. And while this usually works, it has become increasingly less successful as time wears on. Last night I decided that it's time to stop the insanity; that both baby and mommy will sleep better if Isaac starts sleeping in his crib all night long. I also decided last night at 2:30 that he really didn't need the boobie, and he proceeded to loudly disagree with me. We argued in that fashion, me trying to convince him to go to sleep, him trying to wake up the neighbors, until we woke up Dad, who managed to get Isaac to go to sleep for about a half-hour. At that point I figured, well, we at least staved off the feeding for a time, so I nursed him in the middle of the night without falling asleep -- a first for me -- and put him in his crib, and he slept there by himself for three whole hours. He made a single peep about 5 minutes after I put him down, fast asleep, and then no more until it was time for us all to get up anyway. Dad has decided that my new plan totally sucks, because now he also must wake up in the wee hours from loud baby noises, but Mom has spoken, and her word is law.

A brand new little man

These past few days with Isaac have been the most wonderful days of my life. Either he has settled down a bit with the fussing, or I have become more at peace with it, but either way we have reached a new level of fun with each other. His personality is starting to gather form -- I think some of the latest pictures capture it a little better. I've realized from walking with Mindy and Clayton that Isaac is probably a more serious guy than Clayton. Clayton likes to laugh a lot, whereas Isaac does giggle, but his giggles are reserved for special occasions. But, as I have been able to capture over and over again, Isaac is very giving with his smiles, flashing them at me every second he gets. He is also a big studier of people. He likes to stare at other little kids whenever he gets a chance, and lately he has started staring at Dad and I, checking us out. This evening, after I gave him his bath, I was carrying him on my shoulder as usual, but he kept pushing his body out with his arms so he could look at my face. So I stopped what I was doing, and we just stared at each other for a moment, and I could see his face just taking mine in, almost like he was memorizing it. He looked so resolute, with his bottom lip sucked in and his chipmunk cheeks, like "yep, you are definitely my mommy. And I kinda like you."

Isaac and Clayton have a chat on our front porch

Bundled-up Isaac going for a swing

Watching the foozball

We are having another great day today. It was a little gross-looking out earlier, so I talked Dad into walking around the mall so I could get some exercise and Starbucks simultaneously. But now it is beautiful outside and chilly and smells like fall -- the most perfect football-watching weather. And our two teams, the Seahawks and the Indianapolis Colts, are whomping on their opponents, making an excellent opportunity for Dad to educate Isaac on the finer points of football. Isaac has been content this afternoon to just sit with Dad on the couch and watch TV, while I made a pumpkin pie.

We're baaa-ack; yesterday we partied

Hi, world -- sorry for the lack of posts this weekend. We've been a busy crew, mainly because Dad and I hosted a party at our apartment yesterday. Dad's research advisor is leaving on a long sabbatical next week, and we wanted to send him off in style, so we had lots of people from the mapping group where Dad works, which Dad's advisor manages, show up and chill with us. It was a little hectic getting ready for all those people, but it was good for us because we scoured our place from top to bottom, and it was good for Dad, because he got to perform his favorite activity -- cooking for a crowd. And it was deee-licious. Dad shared an anecdote about the grilled-chicken skewers he made; he had made the same dish for our friends Jake and Niki once, and Jake told Dad that, if Dad was gay, Jake would marry him over this particular gastronomic delight. It is just that good.

Sorry we didn't take any pictures of our party. Isaac even hung out with us for awhile -- not too long, as the party was just really getting started at 7:15, which was his bedtime (and he let us know about it). But Dad and I had a lot of adult company, and I bonded with a Geo-S.O. there who is also a bio-PhD student and also has a workaholic boss. I even had a nip of Glenlivet, which was extremely wonderful. But the most wonderful thing of it all was that, despite the fact that our apartment is not large and having 10+ people in it makes for some noise that can travel upstairs, Isaac slept through the latter part of the party with no issues at all.

Figuring out my new sippy cup with Mom

Watching football with Dad -- here, Dad explains exactly why Matt Hasselbeck is a better QB than Peyton (in his humble opinion, of course)

Get prepped to zoom around the mall in the BIG stroller

Lil Buddy motors all over his crib

Happy Birthday, Grandpa Larry!

And I thought Isaac was getting up there

Isaac's great-grandpa Peetz is 80 years old today. I gave him a call and wished him happy birthday, and he shared a story with me about how he had visited Seattle once, when he was discharged from the army -- he fought in the Pacific in WWII. In order to get home to Missouri from all the way out here, they put him and other troops on a train to Chicago, but it was an extra-long ride because the troop-train had to "defer" on the tracks to other rail-traffic. It took them 5 days to get from Seattle to Chicago, but he said he really enjoyed it because he got to see so much of the country. I just IM-ed my mom and told her about this:

Grandma Jane: You've been living out there for four years, and he's never told me this story.
Claire: Can you believe it? He must have billions of other great stories up there that he's never told anyone.

Dad and I also took a train from Chicago to Seattle once, because we are insane. Actually, we decided to make it a Spring Break trip for my senior year in college, to travel out here together and see if we should decide to go to school out here, some place so very far from everything we knew about. We stayed in what we thought would be a classy hotel almost on campus that advertised itself as "European-style". We did not know in advance that this means "without TV". So "without TV", we spent all of our vacation nights lying around and having the same conversation:

Dad/Mom (depending on the day): Should we really do this?
Mom/Dad: I don't know...it's pretty scary.
Dad/Mom: It's so far away. We won't know ANYbody.
Mom/Dad: Yeah, just the thought of it really freaks me out.
Dad/Mom: I think that means that we should do it, then.
Mom/Dad: Yeah, I think so, too.

And here we are. Many more birthdays to you, Grandpa, so we can try to eke out a fraction of the stories you've stocked away over the years.

Happy 80th birthday, Great-Grandpa Peetz!

Fry, brain, FRY!

You all may have heard about my boss, and how he engages in an evil form of motivation -- guilt. For the sake of this blog, let's call him "Grim". Anywho, this is the story of one woman's triumph, one day at a time, over the guilt.

My brain is totally wiped out today, because it has been completely and thoroughly jazzercizing. Know why? Because I spent EIGHT whole hours at the office today, all completely dedicated to working on my paper. This is more time, in one sitting, than I have spent at work or even ON work since Isaac was born. Usually, one would say "Ick! Work sucks!" or something like that. But you may recall a recent post where I got chewed out by Grim about not having enough done towards writing a paper about my recent results. Well well well tomorrow I have a meeting with him, and I will show him what I have discovered (and would not have been able to discover without 8 straight hours glued to my laptop) and I will also thump down on his desk a thick and sexily-written manuscript in an eye-catching yellow folder. His socks will be knocked off, and he will say, "Claire, you are just the coolest ever. What would science do without you?" And I will say "Science would curl up and die."

Let me also share with you the secret behind my fabulous sucesses today. It is none other than my darling husband, Dad. Knowing the pressure that I am under from Grim to get something done, Dad volunteered to take Baby-Bot under his wing all bloomin' afternoon. Of his own free will he does this. And that is why my husband is the coolest ever. And my boys, they had a great time together. Granted, most of it was spent with Isaac sacked out in his crib, but then Dad took him to work at the journal with him. One need only to look below to see one more reason why Dad is the greatest -- he also took a great picture for the blog. Sigh. So I am feeling majorly lucky today to have TWO great guys around. Girls, eat your hearts out.

Here it is, your moment of zen

Isaac the Junior Editor, helping Managing Editor (and honorary Grandma) Susan publish another issue of Quaternary Research

Dino-shoes close-up -- these were a gift from Great-Aunt Laura when Isaac was still a bun in the oven. Now they barely fit his basketball-player feet.

Getting all bundled up for our walk, in two layers of fleece + our fun dino shoes

Mt. Rainier, as seen from Mt. Adams at sunset

Frosty Mt. Adams -- right above the tree-line there is Dad's field area, covered in snow. The glacier gods were smiling on him, though, as the snow where he needed to work melted in the sun as he hiked

Perhaps we need a new place to walk?

Isaac and I have been taking the same route every day on our fabulous little walk -- first we walk up the main street to the 7-11, then we walk down into the park and back to the apartment complex along a less-crowded street. Now, I may have been creeping into the paranoia that inevitably comes when Dad has left the building for X number of hours (Ladies, you know what I'm talking about -- when his guitar case, out of the corner of your eye, looks like an axe murderer casually leaning against the wall in your house), but today I noticed a disturbing pattern under some pine trees. Evidently there is a nest for medium-sized birds (pigeons?) in this grove of pine trees. Each of the past three days, Isaac and I have noticed a new bird carcass laying on the ground. Weirder still is that these carcasses are ONLY bird wings, and the poor birds' bodies are completely gone except for their skeletons. It is FREAKY-DEEKY. Is there some kind of predatory creature that would do this, or do I live in an Alfred Hitchcock movie?

Isaac's sitting skillz

You may have noticed (below) that my darling baby has become a near-professional at sitting unassisted. I just noticed this today. We hadn't been practicing sitting so much as crawling, so today I figured we should try to give it a shot. I would help Isaac assume the traditional yoga-baby-bent-in-half pose that we used to call "sitting", and then he would promptly use his massive tummy and back muscles to lift his torso so that he could sit STRAIGHT UP. This kid is going straight to the Olympics, I tell ya.

Practicing sitting up -- this one lasted a few seconds. Then Mom realizes perhaps it would be good to build some sort of baby-cushioning device.

Sitting up AND reaching for stuff...now we're onto adVANCED baby tricks (note the pillow fort in case such tricks should go awry)

Sitting up is for weenies. Push-ups, now THAT's a manly pursuit.

Baby-Bot enjoys his pillow-fort

Poo on you, lottery; Mom learns how to clean stuff

Somebody else won the Washington state lottery on Saturday, all 8.5 million schmackers of it. I have thus decided to eschew the lottery in favor of Big Gulp Dr. Peppers and Milky Way Midnights, because 1) the lottery does not provide my daily recommended allowance of vitamin chocolate and 2) the lottery has taught me that I am much more of a fan of instant gratification.

I have discovered that there is a direct positive correlation between my mood and the level of housework that I have accomplished in the day. All who know me, especially those unfortunate enough to room with me in college, may be incredibly shocked by this revelation, as I have been a complete and unapologetic slob my entire life. But now that my baby is on the verge of crawling, I am a changed woman. My house must be immaculate, because if I don't vacuum that floor, Isaac will do his part to lick it clean. And this is a bad thing. But my cleaning transformation -- it literally happened overnight. I went from one day being completely content resting my feet on the foot of bills sitting on the coffee table to being dedicated to the eradication of dust bunnies under my fridge. But how does someone like me, who has gone through life not even SEEing dirt, get an idea of even where to start? I will tell you, because she changed my life -- the FLY lady. This lady's philosophy is first to teach you that there are so many hours in a day, and that you WILL clean your whole house, but you will do it in miniscule steps that take 5-10 minutes at a time, spread over several months. Then she deluges your inbox with e-mail bossing you around with one chore at a time. This is what I need -- to be told what to do. And my housework tally for today? 3.5 loads of laundry (to be folded after this post), dishwasher unloaded and reloaded, kitchen and dining room swiffered, kitchen and diaper trash taken out, all accomplished gradually over the course of the afternoon. Not too shabby, if I say so myself.

I do have one more cleaning-related issue, though -- if anyone has any tips they are much appreciated. Now that we are greasing up Baby-Bot's dry chin with various ointments, and he likes to eat fabricky things, all of my beloved "uniform" t-shirts have big oily stains on the shoulders that persist throughout several washings. How does one get that crap out?

Isaac's very favorite activity, since he was a little little -- watching the mobile

Happy boy, jumpin' in his Jumparoo

Push-up master

Velcro-Baby sticks to everything he passes by -- here, he rips some leaves off of Super-Ficus

Plowing through the internet ether together (pay no attention to Mom's awful outfit)

Mmm, measuring spoons...I can't swallow these!

Easy entertainment

When I brought him home from school today, Isaac was NOT interested in our usual bit of playing on the floor with his toys. Stacking cups were just totally boring, I guess. What to do, I wondered -- but only temporarily. I remembered reading something about how babies, more often than not, are just interested in everyday goings-on. So we both sat down at the blog-puter and read Erin Graff's baby blog, and I read him the comments left by the beloved readers of our blog. Isaac was also channeling some creative genius, and wrote a magnificent piece himself (see below). Then I showed him some magical and blunt and non-threatening items from the kitchen as I did the dishes. So, so easy.

Thanks to all of you who are commenting on our blog -- we read everything people have to say, and I would diagnose us as being addicted to comments at this point. You encourage us to continue rambling on about ourselves in the way that we so do love to do.

Isaac's two cents

zx xxkhmm3cfffffffffffff=ffvvy b 5 ,
hhhhhhhhhhm0mm l.v =-- 48712Q887HTG43 DDDD1S`

Worst mom ever

Today I am feeling very sorry for myself because I am quite possibly the worst mom ever. This is for three reasons:

1) We have resumed the rice-cereal extravaganza once more, as of this past Saturday. I fed Isaac heaping gobs of it and he was thrilled, like "This stuff rules. Where was this all along? Where are you going with that spoon, lady?" HowEVER, I made sure to scrub his precious little face squeaky-clean with a watered-up washcloth afterwards, because I have discovered (from him flinging it onto me) that that stuff is like glue. Today I took the cereal back to his school so they could resume feeding him as well, and now he has a gigantic rash again, because I didn't tell them to make sure to wash his many chins. Sigh. Okay, well, that's more of a comment on how they suck as opposed to how I suck, but I should know better. And I have more.
2) Isaac has resumed lacerating his forehead with his fingernails. I am afraid that government agents in black suits will come and take him from me for not stopping him from doing this, but I don't know what to do -- I just cut his nails AND filed them two bloomin' days ago. Any tips are appreciated.
3) The worst sin of all: you may remember from my post yesterday that I let him play by himself when I was exhausted very very early in the morning. How did he stay so entertained? Because I put a magazine in front of him. He thinks magazines are the hotness -- not only do they have the bright, contrasting colors of much pricier baby toys, but they also have rip-ability and an extreme crinkle factor. Now, flash forward to today. He was so fussy for me all afternoon, farting like a chili-eating-contest winner, because he hadn't pooped in three days. When I finally sniffed a stink that wouldn't go away, we charged upstairs to examine the latest poop, which as fans of this blog know is my new favorite activity. As I scanned the enormous digusting pile created by my beautiful baby, I noticed, to my great horror, a piece of magazine paper mixed in. And that is really why I am the worst mom ever. Who knows what is on that stuff, and even worse, how much more of it must be lodged in my baby? Argh.

To top it all off, I am having a horrible time in other areas. Dad is leaving tomorrow and Wednesday for Mt. Adams, which means we will have to miss swim lessons tomorrow AND a (relatively unimportant) parent meeting at day-care. But the worst is that my boss has come down on me for not producing at work. Now, all of you may not know, but I am working part-time, and will be for the foreseeable future because we can't afford full-time day-care for Isaac. And there's that whole I-don't-want-to-leave-my-baby-with-strangers-all-day thing. Anyway, this means that I really don't have much time available to me to work. But because I am still getting used to this situation where my brain must be at work while obviously my thoughts are elsewhere, I have a really hard time WORKING while at work. The urge is almost inescapable to use work-time as a time to get in what little social activity I can get, and to do the web-surfing and day-to-day household business things that I know I won't have time for when I get home and have to keep my focus on Isaac. I know all this, and I know that I could probably do better, but I don't. And so my boss tells me that he can't understand why I'm not getting any work done, and that we really need to publish the research results I obtained just before Isaac was born, and I gave a talk on these results in June, what is the matter? What can I do -- I can't make excuses because it's all true, that I suck, and that being a working mom is hard hard hard hard, and I really have yet to get the hang of it.

Then today I got an email from this newsletter I subscribe to, which tells me about things I should expect from my baby each week, and also reports on topics that are relevant to moms with babies as old as mine. Here's what came from the relevant-to-moms section:

"If you are working outside the home, there's now research to show that there's a very good chance that your stress level has indeed increased since your baby's birth. A recent study at Duke University Medical Center, published in the July 23, 1997 issue of Psychosomatic Medicine, revealed that stress hormone levels in moms working outside the home rise each morning and remain elevated until bedtime. "

Sometimes one just needs a good finger to point towards the CLAIRE YOU ARE PERFECTLY NORMAL IN YOUR INSANITY sign. Usually that finger comes from Grandpa Walt, but sources external to the family are good, too.

Crawling...any...day...now

I've said it before (and will probably say it again), but that boy is going to crawl soon. Very soon. I give it two weeks. Here, I say it in print for all the web to see -- my baby boy will be crawling by October.

I say this because today he did the first part: he got on his hands and knees and started rocking a little, back and forth. And then, to my incredulous glee, he lifted his whole body up and made a himself into a little kind of tent-shape, anchored by his hands and tippy-toes. This all lasted on the order of 15 seconds, but it made me cry, it was so beautiful. He is totally getting this balance thing down, and once he does there will be no mercy. He will say to the crawling: "I crush you. You are girly-man. I am sumo baby. I crush you between my many chins."

Showing off my push-up skillz for Mom

Mom's fancy new home for her blog-puter (yes, that is Dana's blog)

Fussy Mom ready to kill the people at Target, who have neglected to stock storage bags compatible with her breastpump. Grrrrrrrrr.

Fussy grown-ups

Isaac decided this weekend that sleep was highly overrated. Meaning that Saturday he awoke at a crowd-pleasing 5:45 am, and today he decided there was to be no sleep past 4:30 am. Normally, this would be tolerable, since I am as big of a fan of afternoon naps as he, and we usually take a big one together on the weekdays. I am thus usually prepared for Isaac and I to just get up and go downstairs so we don't wake up Dad (because Isaac wants for everyone in the neighborhood to know that they should get up, too). But for whatever reason, I decided Saturday that I could live without a nap. Not one of my better ideas. This morning I was so feenin' for the sleep that I put Isaac down on the living room floor, somewhere away from anything he could bump into or hurt himself on, spread his toys all around him, and laid down on the couch and slept looking at him with my eyes open in 5-minute spurts. Needless to say, Dad and I have been grumbling at each other through our sleep-fog all weekend.

But we are cool now because we engaged today in a shopping extravanganza. Normally this would anger me, as I hate shopping and we are poor. But somehow, miracle of miracles, we have spent so little of our paychecks this time that we have over $600 in our checking account -- I think it has something to do with us refraining from going to Starbucks every day. Somehow shopping is much more fun when you actually have money to spend. Dad and I got a new desk for my blog-puter at Ikea that is very handsome, functional, and space-saving, so we reclaimed the dining-room table. We also got Isaac a green track-suit at Old Navy -- while normally I am anti-track suit, this one was cheap and contained the all-important fleece hoodie so necessary for our new Seattle weather. Pictures of the hoodie will be not far behind, I promise.

Mmmmm...Krispy Kreme. Everybody gets free donuts for going in -- the lady even tried to give Isaac a free donut. I ate his.

Baby-bot and Dad look for spackling at Lowe's

See? The trees are already turning yellow. Stupid Seattle.

Pass the popcorn

Because I am a friggin' genius, I am now posting movies of Isaac on the blog. That's right, movies. My new digital camera takes them, and they are very grainy and only 45 seconds long, but I think you will enjoy them immensely. You will find links to these movies on the right side of the window. Scroll down a bit -- yes, there you go -- and they are right there under, you guessed it, "Movies". I have two right now: "Blocks" is of Isaac playing on the floor, and "Babbling" is to show off our little man's new verbal skillz. Each of these is ~7.5 MB, rather large for ye of the dial-up connection, but you know you have nothing better to do.

We can't figure out why, but Windows Media Player won't play these files. If you want to see them, you have to use QuickTime Player, which is a *free* download from Apple (http://www.apple.com/quicktime/download/). Don't be scared by the $29.99 on the website -- that's for QuickTime Pro. To watch the movies, then, right-click on the link to the movies and choose "Save Target As..." to save it to your own computer. Once it downloads, right click on the file and choose "Open With", then choose QuickTime Player. We will be working on how to play these files with WMP, but in the meantime, enjoy with our compliments.

Fall has hit Seattle

It is now officially fall in Seattle, as it has rained every single day this week. And Mom's sandal-wearing time is almost past, unless she wants to start growing things between her toes. This sucks because Isaac and I go for a walk, every day without fail, at 5:30 or 6. We require this walk because:

1) Isaac loves being outside, and this is the only outside time he gets because it is past the hours which require sunscreen.
2) Being cooped up in a tiny apartment that refuses to clean itself with a baby who refuses to clean himself can drive one crazy.
3) It is the only exercise I get.
4) It is also a highly social time for me, as we either walk with Mindy and Clayton or I chit-chat on my cell phone to whoever happens to be unlucky enough to be home at the time.

Today our walk required two full layers of clothing, shoes, and mittens for Isaac, as well as a sturdy umbrella and full-coverage shoes for me. It took us longer to get ready for our walk than it did for us to actually complete our walk -- it was raining so hard, Dad offered to pick us up at our destination, the 7-11 right up the street (to feed my Dr. Pepper addiction). While we greatly appreciated this, I don't like buying my lotto tickets in front of Dad because he thinks the lotto is stupid and a waste of money. And while I in principle agree, I don't see the harm in blowing one measly dollar every so often. It's for the schools, I say. And for me to win 8.5 million dollars.

Isaac-eye view of our fancy blocks

Baby Shriner Isaac

My boys...always horsing around

Our dapper young adventurer, in the new duds from Aunt Robin

Creeping along our developmental milestones

Many folks have recently asked me: "What's Isaac 'doing' now?" I have been saying "nothing new," mainly because I have my "he's not crawling yet" blinders on. But "nothing" is not exactly true. Developments in the past week or two include:

1) He can now actually jump in his Jumparoo, which he very much enjoys. Actually, this is now inhibiting his ability to stand up when supported, because now standing up = i-must-be-in-the-jumparoo-so-i-will-jump mode. This is especially funny (to me) when Isaac tries to stand up on Dad, because standing up usually occurs in Dad's lap, so Isaac jumps happily around on the family jewels.

2) Isaac has become a master babbler. He has expanded his vocal repertoire from "ah-guh" to "bah," "blah," and "mah", and uses these syllables constantly and at insanely loud volumes. Especially at 2 in the morning.

3) While he is not yet crawling, he can now push his upper body all the way up with his arms, like how we used to do girly-push-ups in gym. He can also tuck his knees under his butt. But the two things together? Noooooo.

"Can we stop with the nude photos already? It's clearly my nap-time"

Iiiiiiiiit's...nekked time! And look at all that hair (on his head)

Edward Scissorhands baby

Isaac's fingernails are extremely long and luxurious. Even when I was pregnant with him my nails didn't grow that fast. This is highly unfortunate because it means that his require trimming every other day. Because his hands are often in his mouth, or they are rubbing his eyes when he is tired, he sustains some serious-looking flesh wounds if I don't cut them. But have you ever tried to cut a 5-month-old's fingernails? Let me tell you how it goes:

Claire (with Isaac seated on her lap): Isaac.
Isaac: (squirm, wiggle, yanks target hand away)
Claire: AY-saac.
Isaac: (stretches and tumbles off Claire's lap onto the couch)
Claire: Isaac, will you sit still?
Isaac: Bah! Ah-guh (yanking hand away)

And then there's me -- I am much more skilled now, but the first time I cut his nails, when he was a non-moving target, I cut a little of his finger, too. So on one hand there is Squirmy-Monster, who won't even sit still for the boobie anymore, and then there is Traumatized Mommy. Trimming nails isn't fun for anyone, so more often than not I am a bad mommy and I wait until I see that he has scratched himself before I figure I have to buckle up and do it. Someone suggested to me that I bite his nails off while he's nursing, and that actually worked well until he decided it was more fun to play tug-of-war with Mom and his hands. So we are back to square one, and this morning he scratched the holy crap out of his face. This elicited that very special question from his childcare provider when I dropped him off:

Nicole: (with a hint of 'should I call CPS on you?') Wow, his face looks pretty bad. How did it get so scratched up?
Claire: Because he's Edward Scissorhands baby. I really need to cut his nails, but I really suck at it.
Nicole: (now very understanding) Oh, man, when I was a nanny that was the worst part of my job.

So I sucked it up and cut them all this afternoon. With an unusual amount of cooperation, might I add (thank you, Isaac).

Mom loves on her boy before he goes to school

Bathing beauties

Isaac had his first swimming lesson last night. Dad came along to supervise (and to capture the evening on digital film, as shown below). It was a blast. He was the youngest guy there, but not by much -- we met a 6-month-old guy named Henry who was also enjoying himself (and sporting some teeth, might I add). The class is for "tots" up to 4 years old, so there were a lot of older kids there, one of whom asked my permission to give Isaac a kiss.

We learned two skills last night; kicking and blowing bubbles. We didn't really listen to the teacher too much, but Isaac still taught himself how to kick, sort of -- turns out the same leg stuff one performs in the Jumparoo makes for a pretty nice-looking dolphin kick, so we motored all around the pool, Isaac propelling us with his dolphin kick. Mom tried to show Isaac about blowing bubbles, but he was much more interested in grabbing at the toys that had wandered their way into the pool, and of course putting them in his mouth.

The coolest part of swim lessons is that we form a circle with the other parents and tots every so often and sing songs that have motions you can do in the water. My favorite one was "The Washing Machine" -- it involved demonstrating all the capabilities of your average washing machine using your baby. For example: the wash cycle = twisting baby back and forth like a agitator; the spin cycle = swirling baby around in a circle; hanging the laundry out to dry = lifting baby out of the water. Next time we do it I'll try to get all the lyrics down for y'all.

Mom and Isaac are totally cheesed-up about their swimming experience

"Must...touch...everything..."

Mom and Isaac stand in a big circle for singing time

"Kick, baby, kick!"

Mom and Isaac motoring around the pool

Allie in Dallas

A little while ago, I read a story on this bulletin board I follow, for moms who also have April 2004 babies. There is a 9-month old baby in Texas, Allie, whose story you can follow on her website, should you choose to (www.scotthousehold.com). She has been fighting a particularly devastating form of leukemia for over half her little life now, and she is losing. This is the kind of leukemia that recently a "magic bullet" drug came out against -- that drug did not work for her, nor did chemotherapy or a bone marrow transplant, anything else that her family and doctors tried. They decided last week to stop her treatments, because they were not stopping the progression of her leukemia, and they were only causing Allie pain. Her mom posts her progress almost daily from the hospital where they have been living since Allie was diagnosed, and they don't think it will be long now before Allie's body can't hold on anymore.

People post about her condition almost daily on my bulletin board, and I check her website, and I cry. Whenever I am online, Isaac is asleep; after hearing about this little girl I have to go and sit and sniffle beside him, his little belly softly rising and falling, and wonder why we are so lucky to have been blessed with such a perfect, healthy little guy. It is unimaginable to me how life would continue if something were ever to happen to him. Please keep this family in your thoughts and prayers.

Day care + "antibiotics" = family flu

I drop Isaac off at his school (aka day care) every morning as soon as it opens (7:30), which gives me a warm-fuzzy because he is there with the head teacher and no one else for a good long while -- most of the other kids don't get there until 8:30 or so. This morning, his buddy Tucker (who is 1) was already there when we got there, and then a second after we walked in the door, Isaac's buddy Ryan (who is 10 months?) came in with his dad. As I was writing up Isaac's little info sheet for the day (saying when he got up, when he ate last, when we changed his diaper last, etc), I overheard Ryan's dad talking about Ryan's "visit to the pediatrician" and then "we just got tired of dealing with it, so we went for the antibiotics." Because I am scatterbrained, I forgot to ask the teacher if Ryan was sick. Obviously, I don't have to do that anymore, because both Dad and I have the flu. Unfortunately nothing serious that would allow us to stay home from work, but we do get all the annoying symptoms that come along with it -- headaches, sore throat, sneezing. Yee-yuck. And the worst part is that I can't take anything but Tylenol because I'm nursing. Anyway, we feel the most sorry for Isaac's teachers -- those poor people must have unending colds.

Or we could just be allergic to Bean.

Dad teaches Isaac how to type; Isaac teaches Dad how to remove keys from the keyboard