Well, Thursday marked my return to the adult world as I taught my first class in nearly a year. In the days leading up to reentry, my husband warned me that it would be hard, almost unbearable, to leave Suttie for several hours and then come home to find him asleep, knowing that I had missed so much of his day. But, for the six thousand, two hundred, and eighty-third time, my husband was wrong.
The plan was for me to drop Suttie off at my mother-in-law’s house around 3:30 pm so that I could get to school early enough to make copies and, more importantly, so that I could take a few moments to psych myself up for a room full of skeptical twenty-somethings. As so often happens, we were running late – Suttie picked an inopportune moment to test the durability of his diaper, so by the time I got him and all of his gear loaded up, I only had a few seconds to toss him wildly into his grandmother’s waiting arms before I had to get back on the road.
But once I entered my office, I discovered something wonderful. I was in a room that was entirely quiet. There was no pile of laundry on the floor, no dirty bottles in the sink, no hard plastic teething toys laying around for me to trip on or jump over. No cries for food or clean diapers or attention. Just me, my thoughts, and a dilapidated poster of van Gogh’s Starry Night. And while I love my son and all the signs of his existence, I’m not ashamed to say that I breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude. In that space, I was more Kate than Mommy, more teacher than parent, and it was a fantastic feeling.
And yes, I did miss him, but I was glad for the opportunity to miss him. It was easy to leave, to teach, to be away, knowing that when I got home I would appreciate him more – and perhaps he would appreciate me more – because of the absence, not in spite of it. So, it seems that I’m in the process of merging my worlds. I work on lectures at home while watching Baby Einstein, trying hard not to incorporate a lesson with puppets, and I show up to teach in clothes with baby slobber on the shoulder carrying a bag that contains a stuffed raccoon and at least one pacifier. And I show my class pictures of my son because he’s the most important part of my world, but they’re also taking up prime real estate, and I want them to know it.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
This Kid Needs a Helmet
It finally happened. My Evel Knievel child made a bid for freedom by leaping off the couch. Okay, so it was more of a slide and flop than a leap, but in any case, he ended up on the floor and we both ended up in tears. Ever since he started rolling over, my husband and I knew it was only a matter of time until he plummeted some feet from a surface of our choosing. But I don’t think either of us expected it to happen so immediately.
Now, I claim 100% responsibility for this accident, except for the 10% that was Suttie’s fault for thinking that he could fly and the 5% that can be blamed on Pottery Barn for making their furniture so damn solid. Otherwise, it’s all on me. Suttie had just finished draining a 7 oz. bottle in 4 minutes flat – a new record that I have yet to inform Guinness about. He was lying on his Boppy pillow on the couch in a position that has been the norm since his birth. As he sat there, lazily examining his burp cloth, I took the opportunity to go to the kitchen and wash out his empty bottle. Big mistake (I knew that cleaning would get me into trouble eventually and have since given it up entirely). The next thing I hear is a soft thud followed by a piercing wail.
You can imagine the scene. Suttie crying loudly and in such a tone that can only mean one thing – he’s hurt or scared (okay, two things) and extremely unhappy. I’ve only heard that cry once before when he was in the middle of what was undoubtedly a horrific nightmare about empty or unreachable bottles. I scooped him up and held him close, while also trying to examine him for broken bones or signs of bruising. Through my own tears, I saw a red spot on the back of his head on the right side and decided to call the definitive source – my mother. Now, being the intelligent, educated woman that she is, she calmly reminded me that the pediatrician would actually be the best person to talk to about a possible injury. See, I knew it was a good idea to call her…there’s always a light on up here (**tapping my head now).
At last came the part that I subconsciously had been dreading since I heard that tell-tale thud – calling the pediatrician and admitting that I let me 5 month old fall off of an elevated surface. After the advice nurse answered and asked what was wrong, I quickly mumbled the words, running them together as if ripping off a bandaid, “mysonfelloffthecouch.” No luck. She asked me to repeat the offense, necessitating a clearly delivered, well-pronounced, “My son fell off the couch, and I think he hit his head on the coffee table.” I cringed, waiting for the lecture on attentive parenting that I so obviously deserved. But thankfully, it did not come (which begs the question, how many of us lame-ass parents let our kids fall off of stuff that the nurse doesn’t even waste her breath to read me the riot act?). Instead, she went over some signs to watch for in the event that I’d caused any real damage and told me to wake him up a couple of times in the night just to check on his alertness. Fortunately, he is just fine and is young enough that he won’t remember this, which means that I will still have a shot at convincing him that I really was a flawless mother.
But in the present moment, my parenting score is down for the week. On the one hand, I scheduled my son’s first birthday party 7 months in advance – a mommy feat that borders on insanity (which is where I live…comfortably on the border. It’s like the Gaza strip but with smiley face to-do lists and an array of costume catalogs). However, I’m pretty sure that allowing your baby to fall squarely on his head would put you in the hole, so we’ll just have to call it a wash and try to do better next week.
Now, I claim 100% responsibility for this accident, except for the 10% that was Suttie’s fault for thinking that he could fly and the 5% that can be blamed on Pottery Barn for making their furniture so damn solid. Otherwise, it’s all on me. Suttie had just finished draining a 7 oz. bottle in 4 minutes flat – a new record that I have yet to inform Guinness about. He was lying on his Boppy pillow on the couch in a position that has been the norm since his birth. As he sat there, lazily examining his burp cloth, I took the opportunity to go to the kitchen and wash out his empty bottle. Big mistake (I knew that cleaning would get me into trouble eventually and have since given it up entirely). The next thing I hear is a soft thud followed by a piercing wail.
You can imagine the scene. Suttie crying loudly and in such a tone that can only mean one thing – he’s hurt or scared (okay, two things) and extremely unhappy. I’ve only heard that cry once before when he was in the middle of what was undoubtedly a horrific nightmare about empty or unreachable bottles. I scooped him up and held him close, while also trying to examine him for broken bones or signs of bruising. Through my own tears, I saw a red spot on the back of his head on the right side and decided to call the definitive source – my mother. Now, being the intelligent, educated woman that she is, she calmly reminded me that the pediatrician would actually be the best person to talk to about a possible injury. See, I knew it was a good idea to call her…there’s always a light on up here (**tapping my head now).
At last came the part that I subconsciously had been dreading since I heard that tell-tale thud – calling the pediatrician and admitting that I let me 5 month old fall off of an elevated surface. After the advice nurse answered and asked what was wrong, I quickly mumbled the words, running them together as if ripping off a bandaid, “mysonfelloffthecouch.” No luck. She asked me to repeat the offense, necessitating a clearly delivered, well-pronounced, “My son fell off the couch, and I think he hit his head on the coffee table.” I cringed, waiting for the lecture on attentive parenting that I so obviously deserved. But thankfully, it did not come (which begs the question, how many of us lame-ass parents let our kids fall off of stuff that the nurse doesn’t even waste her breath to read me the riot act?). Instead, she went over some signs to watch for in the event that I’d caused any real damage and told me to wake him up a couple of times in the night just to check on his alertness. Fortunately, he is just fine and is young enough that he won’t remember this, which means that I will still have a shot at convincing him that I really was a flawless mother.
But in the present moment, my parenting score is down for the week. On the one hand, I scheduled my son’s first birthday party 7 months in advance – a mommy feat that borders on insanity (which is where I live…comfortably on the border. It’s like the Gaza strip but with smiley face to-do lists and an array of costume catalogs). However, I’m pretty sure that allowing your baby to fall squarely on his head would put you in the hole, so we’ll just have to call it a wash and try to do better next week.
Friday, August 7, 2009
We're waiting on your call, Gerber...
Well, the honeymoon is officially over. Suttie has now figured out how to roll from his back to his belly, making it impossible to leave him alone unless he’s strapped into some kind of baby-containing device. Thankfully, we invested in a number of socially-acceptable baby cages before he was born. Because of this latest acrobatic feat, our new game involves laying him on his back, watching him flip over, then repeating the process again and again until he collapses from exhaustion. That way, everybody wins.
So, what else is new? Well, I was in Babies ‘R Us the other day spending a small fortune on diapers, when I noticed that they had Halloween costumes for sale (yes, in early August). Now, while I think that the tiny giraffe and the cuddly polar bear costumes (each of which could teach a lesson in irony) are quite cute, I would like to find a costume that really suits my son. Something like a giant, drooling turkey leg or a crawling rack of ribs. So if anyone sees any ham-cured costumes, please let me know asap.
Suttie also had his four-month pictures taken recently, and they’re, of course, adorable. I say “of course” because what mother is going to say that her baby’s pictures look like doo? Unlike his sleeping newborn pics, these show some of his zany, attention-seeking personality as he twists and turns in his crib to look at the camera. He may very well have a future in plus-size modeling or, at the very least, as a spokesbaby for Gerber’s new Husky line.
So, what else is new? Well, I was in Babies ‘R Us the other day spending a small fortune on diapers, when I noticed that they had Halloween costumes for sale (yes, in early August). Now, while I think that the tiny giraffe and the cuddly polar bear costumes (each of which could teach a lesson in irony) are quite cute, I would like to find a costume that really suits my son. Something like a giant, drooling turkey leg or a crawling rack of ribs. So if anyone sees any ham-cured costumes, please let me know asap.
Suttie also had his four-month pictures taken recently, and they’re, of course, adorable. I say “of course” because what mother is going to say that her baby’s pictures look like doo? Unlike his sleeping newborn pics, these show some of his zany, attention-seeking personality as he twists and turns in his crib to look at the camera. He may very well have a future in plus-size modeling or, at the very least, as a spokesbaby for Gerber’s new Husky line.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
