too good to be true?

for those of you who only check this blog for the photos, I'm sorry, because our digital camera is officially dead, so it might be awhile before we can replace it. But, I have some cautiously optimistic news to report: Owen has slept through the night (meaning, without waking up until at least 5:30 am) 4 of the last 7 nights. I, of course, have been waking up 4-8 times a night in a panic thinking he's dead, but I expect that fades.

He turns 11 months tomorrow. wowzers.

You can't babysit your own children

A chef at cooking school, upon hearing I was getting married, pulled me aside and imparted these words "you can't babysit your own children. Never tell your wife you'll babysit the kids." She was right, but Owen has become less of a dependent than a partner in crime. Today Jenny's working and we've been raising hell. We ate cookies all morning and jumped on the bed. This afternoon we're going to braise lamb shanks and listen to offensive music. Our camera has official expired, the power light flashes low battery even with brand new energizers. So I had to capture a few of his first steps on my phone. The quality is terrible and I can't get his whole body in the frame, but I'll talk you through it.

He starts out playing with his table and sees me. He tries to crawl over so I help him stand up. I'm doing this one handed while he tries to grab the phone, but the footage starts at around second 15 and it's mostly his bobbing head.




Owen proceeded to grab the phone and take his own video. The chiaroscuro is darkened and the plot takes a while to develop, it's reminiscent of Jim Jarmusch.



And here's one of slightly better quality that doesn't involve walking but rewards those who stuck with this post until the end.




-andy/dad

Stop the presses, babies turn into children.

I was at the grocery store yesterday, and Owen was making faces at a woman who was standing nearby, debating between Newman's Own and Muir Glen tomato sauce. She said to me, "how old is he, about one?" and I empahatically denied that my baby could be anywhere close to one. "oh, no. no no." I said. "He's 10 months. Well, 10 1/2. He'll be 11 months February 15th". And the woman looked at me like I was a little slow, and said, "So....that's about one."

oh. mah. gawd. That IS about one.

I realize that this isn't (or shouldn't be) a news flash, but I just can't beleive how fast this year has gone. It's not for lack of people telling me it would go quickly - sometimes I feel like people are robots with three to five programmed responses when they hear the word baby: "how old?" "does he sleep?" "it goes by so fast!". You hear it about a dozen times a week but I've always felt like it's just one of those things, like "how are you" that people say. They don't care how you are. It's a stock phrase. But yesterday I realized how very, very fast it does go.

When your baby is one, you start referring to him as your kid, or your son, and less as your baby all the time. One year olds have a personality, and a sense of humor. They're sneaky. Owen walks and does things he's not supposed to do to get my attention if he thinks I'm ignoring him. He doesn't drink from a bottle anymore. He has six teeth. When your baby is one, people ask you when you're having another one and they're not teasing you. When your baby is one, you no longer just had a baby. you just....have a baby. When your baby is one, you transition from being a couple that is adapting to having a baby in the house to a family of three. When this big can of formula we're on right now is gone, I probably won't buy more. Because one year olds drink milk. Like regular people.

And so I probably AM a little slow, because I had this major revelation yesterday in the tomato sauce aisle. Crazy town.

Downstairs

The family that remodels together will probably eventually put each other's eyes out, but we managed to get through the past few days with everyone's vision 100% intact. And the transformative job that Andy and his family did on the basement this weekend is nothing short of amazing. His entire family came down and everyone pitched in to finish our basement (or at least, most of it. There is still a part that is unfinished, where the laundry and the boiler and related crap is). Behold, the before and after photos. I tried to include some shots that would really emphasise the difference:


Before:




During:




After:




The pictures, sadly, don't make the difference as apparent or dramatic, but I tried to take photos that would show off thier work. Many, many, many thanks to Andy's family, especially Dave, who helped us create another 500 square feet of living space. when you consider our home had 1000 square feet to begin with, that's a pretty significant increase. Owen has a playroom, we (finally) have somewhere to put a television, and just generally ease the pressure on our living room, which is the first thing people see when they walk in the front door and always looks like a disaster area.

And, just cause it's fun, some pics of Owen being, well, spirited.

Ladies and Gentlmen, we have a walker.

10 month old male, ambulates with assistive device, requires supervision for safety:



The video quality is poor, but stick with it. The victory dance at the end is worth the price of admission.

My son desperately wants to be an only child.

We have moved onto our third child care solution since I went back to work (which is impressive, in that I've only been back to work 7 months). As you may recall, we started with a babysitter that came to our house (expensive, but worth it. I couldn't bear to put my 12 week old in a daycare), and that was a great experience. When the fall came and our nanny had to go back to school, Owen was 6 months, and I was feeling a little better about a group childcare situation. So we put him in a family daycare. That, honestly, didn't go as well. I was never quite happy there, despite the plusses of proximity to our house and a reasonable price. But as the fall wore on, and I was beginning to investigate different daycares, a coworker of mine had a baby. She lives down the street from us, so we decided that we would share the cost of a nanny between us. There was a slight scheduling issue in that I work 4 days a week and she works 5 - but she works shorter days. I work 7:30-5:30(+) She works 7:30 to 4. So what we did was to hire a nanny 4 days a week, for her (my coworker's) work hours. Then, she comes home and watches our two kids for two hours until Andy or I can pick Owen up, and on Fridays, I watch her daughter along with Owen. So, the system is good: she does a little babysitting, I do a little babysitting, and we get all the advantages of a nanny when we're at work without the private nanny pricetag.

So anyway, I provide all this backstory because this week was the first week of the new childcare arrangement and the first Friday that I had Clara, who at this writing is (I think) either 16 or 17 weeks old. What I learned from today was really just confirmation of what I already knew: I had (have) an incredibly difficult baby. Taking care of Clara was so EASY compared to how Owen was at that age. She only cried for identifiable reasons (hungry, tired) and stopped crying quickly when her needs were met. She also responded in the way her mother told me she would to the interventions I administered: (tired, give her pacifier. She will sleep. Hungry, bottle. Dirty, change. etc.) The rest of the time, she hung out in the baby gym or the bouncy seat, watching the world go by, giggling at toys, batting at dangly things, chatting with us in her little 4 month way, and watching Owen play. (She also, I hear, sleeps through the night. oh, the humanity!)

Me: stunned. This is not my experience of 4 month olds. Not at all. You may recall that Owen cried for the first six months of his life. And to prevent him from crying, he had to be held or entertained or fed (have we mentioned the eating every hour and a half for the first four months?) every single second of every day - not to mention, up all night chowing from the all-night-mom buffet. Now, he's equally high- well, everything. High-maintenence, high-energy, high-strung. Watching Owen is like running a marathon. You know there's a rewarding end coming, but you're not so sure you're enjoying the process. In fact, truth be told, you kind of want to die.

Which explains, I think, why Andy looks like he's standing in the path of an oncoming train every time someone mentions "the next one". Infancy has not been kind to us, and that makes me a little bit sad. I wanted to enjoy my maternity leave, but the truth is, I did not. I probably cried as much as he did. And while it has gotten easier, he is still a much more challenging 10 month old than most people have. He's a happy kid, but boy, is he a handful. You know you're in for it when at your 9 month old well baby checkup, the nurse recommends a book called "Parenting your spirited child". I'm not kidding.

Anyway, I started out feeling a little bit envious, but I'm not going to really let myself do that. I am trying to just appreciate my son for who he is - a high-everything child. Later in life, those aspects of his personality - easily bored, constantly seeking stimulation and challenge, boundless physical energy, curiosity, intensity - that are so frustrating now, - will hopefully serve him well. I hope that Andy and I can help him use his powers for good instead of evil. And I am thankful that he's healthy. Our problems could be a whole lot worse. But man, I am tired!

Seriously though, next kid, I'm laying off the coffee while I'm pregnant. Just in case.

Hiatus

So, my computer bit it. The blog might be spotty from now on, since I can only use the computer when Andy's not working, which is....hardly ever. But, in the mean time, to satisfy your baby picture jones....