Tis the Season December 27, 2007

In this season of giving, when so many are inspired to be better people than they are the rest of the year and give back, I think that the question on every new parent’s mind is:

Was Jesus this much trouble?

Where is the part in the Bible where Mary gets up for 2am feedings, or changes a diaper, only to hear the sounds of another giant poop? I guess there is that one line in “Away in A Manger,” where Jesus wakes up but doesn’t cry. But I just can’t believe that Mary had it any easier than the rest of us. Maybe there’s some lost book of the Bible somewhere that talks about the cranky baby Jesus and the 3am fights between Mary and Joseph. I would get excited about that way before the Dead Sea Scrolls.

I miss my commute! December 13, 2007

Amazing, but true. I miss my commute in the morning. It was a nice commute, on the Brown Line, where people read Investor’s Business Daily and people who smell usually smell of cologne that’s too strong, rather than urine. And I usually got one of those single seats so I didn’t have to share with anyone. The biggest thing I miss about it, I think, is that it was a set amount of time that was MINE. I could read what I wanted, think about what I wanted, make a to-do list, or just look out the window. Joe often takes Darwin at night so that I can have “mommy time,”where I just go in the bedroom and read or do whatever. But it’s not the same. There is always, whether Darwin is sleeping, or Joe is watching him, the imminent threat of being needed. It will happen, and usually just when I get to the good part in my book, or just when I’ve taken all the Tupperware out of the drawer to organize it. And, it’s not that I want to escape from society. On the contrary — I want to feel like I’m still a part of society, after staying in the house for days on end. I just want that society to be people who don’t want anything from me. And really, that’s what the el is. I could stand up, take off my pants and recite the Gettysburg Address, and people would just politely avert their eyes and hope I got off at the next stop. The el is exactly the opposite of people wanting you to do something for them or have responsibility to them — they very pointedly ignore you, which sounds really nice.

And, it was that nice time of the day when work was all potential. I hadn’t arrived at the office to realize that unrealistic demands were going to be made of me, or that I had screwed something up. I could map out the day in my head and think about the things I would accomplish (which would all ultimately go to hell when potential turned into actual). And even though work wasn’t perfect, it did have relatively defined goals, that were articulated to me, and if I wasn’t fulfilling them, I was told how and why. Being the mother of a 6-week-old is not like that at all. It is more like frantically running around trying to figure out what you did to piss off this little person, and oftentimes realizing that you didn’t do anything. He’s just mad.

And, while my job didn’t respect me nearly as much as they should (who does, quite frankly), I was valued for more than just something one-dimensional (like being someone’s chuck wagon 10 times a day). I was valued for a complex constellation of criteria (not least of which is my mad alliteration skillz), and I would multitask and actually get things done. There were certainly days when suddenly it was 5:00 and I realized I hadn’t accomplished anything, but staying at home with Darwin, that’s every day. It gets wearing after a while to realize you’ve been awake for 15 hours and haven’t really done a damn thing.

My commute was a tie to all of those things. I could be a part of society without actually having an responsibility to that society, and I could imagine all the things I would accomplish, and I could think about all the different ways I would be useful that day. And I could read a book without anyone crying, or breastmilk leaking onto the pages, or feeling guilty that I wasn’t reading it out loud for some together time. I guess the grass really is always greener. Ask me again on about March 5 how much I’m looking forward to my commute, and if I’d rather be at home.

Flitting and fluttering December 11, 2007

We have been such social butterflies lately! It’s fun to take Darwin out and show him off. Our past week has looked like this:

Thursday – holiday open house at friend’s business
birthday party for a friend afterwards
Friday – Orthopedist appointment — no harness for 6 hours a day!
Darwin’s first bath
Darwin makes appearance at “Tequila night” — we leave by 9, Joe gets home at 2am
Saturday – We dine at the University Club where our friends host a holiday brunch
I have a grown up Indian food dinner with friends and leave Darwin with Joe
Sunday – We visit the Darwin exhibit at the Field Museum (thanks Christina!) (see photo)

Today, Darwin went to the doctor for shots and a lead test (no lead, hooray!), and I go to the doctor later today for my 6-week checkup. Tomorrow night I’ll leave Darwin with Joe and go to the church council meeting, then Wednesday I take Darwin to the Freedom Museum to show him off, and then Wednesday or Thursday night we go to Joe’s parents’ for dinner, and Friday I go to a girls night party and leave Joe I’d hate to be a disobedient wife…..), and then Saturday, Darwin and I fly east for 8 days to visit my family for Christmas. It’s so nice to get out and feel like we can still have a life, and we won’t do the baby disappearing act. But it’s also tiring. Being social always makes me tired, and on 4-5 hours of sleep, it’s even worse. I can’t imagine the kind of conversationalist I am right now, with a combination of no sleep, and talking to a baby all day every day. I think it must be a combination of slap happy non-sequiturs, yawns, distracted listening for cries, and an occasional “where’s your nose? THERE’S your nose” played with 35-year-olds. But, winter is here, and I know I’ll just stay cooped up a lot of days, so I want to make sure I feel like I’ve done something, at least. And when I visit my family, there’s really not much to do except watch The Price is Right, so I better be social now. I hope they have that little yodeling mountain climber game on The Price is Right while I’m there.

Is this the way Playboy bunnies feel? December 5, 2007

Darwin only loves me for my boobs. I try singing. I try shaking rattles. I try making funny faces. The only time he pays attention to me is when my shirt is off. I can sympathize a lot more with those women on “The Girls Next Door” (such a guilty pleasure). No wonder they’re all stupid — why go to the effort of trying to be multi-dimensional when no one will pay attention anyway? It’s very discouraging to make what I think is the best funny face I’ve ever made, even accompanied by a hilarious noise, and have Darwin still more interested in the ceiling. It must be the same for the Playmates when they make an especially incisive comment on US foreign policy, or quote Derrida. So, they just wear a low cut shirt.

Darwin is getting very good at looking at faces, though, and it’s amazing how gratifying that is. It reminds me of that Eddie Murphy bit where he talks about a woman who made him wait 6 months to have sex, and when they did, it was the best sex he ever had. But then he thought about it, and likened it to a starving man getting thrown a Saltine. It’s the best gourmet meal he’s ever tasted.”Oooh — this is delicious! Is this Ritz? No? Just a Saltine? Mmm…..they sure do make them tasty nowadays.” It’s kind of the same thing with Darwin. There has been absolutely no interaction up until now, so suddenly, when he can make eye contact — or actually, more often, forehead contact, because he doesn’t focus on the eyes too often — it’s this incredible thing. As always, creating low expectations is the key to keeping people happy. Babies know it.

And it’s also ironic how many things that 10 years ago would seem really hot are now very not hot. Taking off my shirt at 3am. Rubbing fancy cream on my nipples. Walking into the living room topless. It used to be, when I took off my shirt, it was a sexy thing. Now, boobs are so utilitarian, it’s like taking out a wrench. And not showering and wearing the same sweats and milk-stained shirt three days in a row doesn’t help, that’s for sure. The Playboy Bunnies probably don’t do that. That’s maybe more of a Hustler thing.

Counting my blessings December 4, 2007

Our friends also have a blog on this site, about their son. But theirs is about his third bypass surgery that just happened. When I start to feel sorry for myself, or think about how hard it is to put a diaper on around Darwin’s hip harness, I just have to go to their site and thank my lucky stars. There are so many things that can go wrong, and it’s amazing to me how often they go right. We are so lucky to have a son that just has some mild hip thingy that’s easy to fix. Countless cells dividing countless times, and somehow they all do the right thing. And, even when they don’t, we live in a country, in a time, when 2-year-olds can get bypass surgery by people who are trained well, with sterile instruments and insurance. I had friend who used to say that studying medieval literature and the Middle Ages always made him appreciate things like showers and dentistry.

And I can’t imagine being a pediatric heart surgeon, or a pediatric oncologist, or even a pediatric orthopedic surgeon, but boy am I glad they exist. I can’t imagine the responsibility or the pressure, but I also can’t imagine how good it must feel to know that you cured an 8-year-old’s cancer. I feel like I should send a fruit basket to all of Children’s Hospital. They can’t get the thanks they truly deserve. We were at Joe’s brother’s for Thanksgiving — Joe’s brother is a radiologist, and so he is the one charged with diagnosing birth defects in utero, or how far a cancer has progressed. His wife said “When Paul has a bad day, it’s a really bad day. Usually someone died. It’s not like my bad days.” Again, I can’t imagine it, but I’m sure glad there are people who want to do it. Whenever we go to the orthopedist, the waiting room is the same waiting room for neurosurgery, and I always say short thank you that we’re waiting on the orthopedic side. A pediatric neurosurgeon. Right up there on the list of jobs I would never want and could never do.

If you’re so inclined, give a private prayer, shout out to your favorite deity or the universe in general, or just send good thoughts to Reed, who is recovering from his third bypass surgery right now.

What not to say December 3, 2007

Here are 2 things you should NOT say to your significant other during parental leave:

1.  When said significant other stays home every day with your offspring, while you go to work and/or happy hours, do not say:  “I’m getting a little stir crazy after being cooped up all day today.”

2.  When you are sleeping in the other room, so as not to be disturbed during the night, do not say to her when she complains of tiredness in the morning:  “Well, two hours of sleep at a time isn’t too bad, really.”

If you do say these things, make sure you don’t keep a gun in the house.