The RAINdeer

There are so many things I wish I had the time and elegance to tell you about our adventure raising Rain. Today she is 7 months old. Some days I feel like she is on her way to being a brilliant, kind citizen of this world. Other days, I feel like she'll be writing her memoir from prison, and I will be the person she will acknowledge as the key influence in her life.

I don't know how it is for other mothers; I can only tell you my experience. My experience so far is this: every single day, because of Rain, I constantly reassess the person that I am. Am I too stern? Too lenient? Do I show her how to love? Is she playing enough? Learning enough? I guess if I had to strip it down, I'm really asking myself, "What do I look like to her?"

The pressure is on, folks. The plain truth is, if Rain is a horrible 5-year-old in a few years, there is no one to blame but myself. TV, grandparents, friends--there is no greater influence on her life than my husband and me, but let's be blunt: I am her central manual for How to be a Decent Human. I am with her the majority of the day. No one is in contact with her more than me. *shiver*

This was our first Christmas with Rain. We watched her gleefully tear apart wrapping paper from all the gifts she received from friends and family. She was thrilled with the paper, and the fact that there were gifts hidden inside was fun, too. She was happy just to have us there to play with her. I thought, "This is Christmas."

So, to everyone who has followed our journey with Rain since I was pregnant at this time last year until now: Happy Holidays! Peace and joy in the new year.

I Only Have Eyes for You ...

My husband had Lasik done almost 2 weeks ago. This has been a trying time for all of us. Ladies, you should all know up front that Lasik doesn't actually improve your husband's home eyesight.

Tim: "Where's the remote?"
Me: "Next to you. Did you even look for it? Didn't think so ..."

So, to get the best rate for his Lasik, Tim went out of state where my brother-in-law works. Rain & I were left at home for three days to figure out how to survive without a mediator. Turns out, we need a mediator.

We had fun, to be sure. Let me just say this now to all those broken, forlorn parents out there with crying infants at home: just wait. When your kiddo gets close to 6 months old--well, it's golden. Yeah, they can still scream to resurrect the dead, but they laugh, too. They're all smiles when you walk into the room, and wait until you see them sit up and finally, yes finally, entertain themselves! And they eat, too! No longer does every single meal depend on mommy being present or mommy storing breastmilk ahead-of-time. Little jars of gold--baby food--can be bought/served by anyone in the family, releasing you from serving food 24 hours a day on call like IHOP.

OK, I'm getting carried away and can't remember what I was talking about in the beginning. *Rereading* OK, so Tim left town for Lasik, right? Well, our family dynamic changed, too. Before, I would've thought, "A baby won't notice if one parent splits town for a few days. They don't even care because, well, they're babies."

The little things shined a light on Tim's absence. I would give Rain her nightly bath and bottle like Tim does every night, and during the feeding she'd give me this look like, "How come I'm not getting my goods from the tap, since you're here? What's with the bottle?"

"I don't know," I felt like saying, "This is just the way we do it." When I'd take away the bottle, she'd turn to me for nursing, but change her mind and go back to the bottle. In the evenings, when Tim normally comes home from work, we'd get all energetic again. Rain usually takes a nap to prep herself for playtime with daddy, but at 7:00, we'd be staring at each other like, "What's next?" I couldn't start my work until she was asleep, so we'd just play quietly until it was time for bed.

I ended up going out more than normal. I kept myself out of the apartment a lot, in fact. When I did stay home, I found that I became too much of a putz with Rain. Is she cried trying to fall asleep (which she does every night), I'd run in there to save her (read: train her to depend on my presence to relax). Tim is so hardcore; he can hear Rain wail and say, "She'll fall asleep eventually." And she always does.

Truth be told, Tim's the one who got her to hold her bottle when she was only a few months old. I was too busy sMOTHERing her to think about her independence. Even when we leave the apartment, I act as though Rain's still a newborn:

Me: "Why did you put her in her car seat already? I'm not finished dressing, and she hates sitting in her seat as it is. At least give her a toy ..."
Tim: (*stares at me until I feel shame, then resumes casually getting baby bag together*)

Tim's home now, thank goodness. Rain and I needed our buffer back.

Epilogue (days after Lasik):
Tim: "Wow, the tub looks so clean. Did you scrub it?"
Me: "Yeah, like two weeks ago."
Tim: "Oh ... it's because I can finally see the tub floor."

AND

Tim: "I have wrinkles under my eyes."
Me: "You do?"
Tim: "Maybe I've always had them ..."

Crystal Ball

So, I volunteered to take my almost-four-year-old niece to swimming lessons. I see my niece regularly, but this is something just the two of us are doing. Her mama, my sister, is very pregnant, so she stays home and watches Rain while we go a swimmin'.

Syrene, my niece, was a butterball of a baby. Now she's a petite shorty of a kid, so people often talk to her like she's two. The fact that she talks like an anime character doesn't help. And she's clever. Creepily clever. She always thinks before she answers, and that's a skill most people don't master until they're thirty, if ever.

As I was driving her to her lesson yesterday, I watched her in my rearview mirror. She smiles like her father, but her expressions and mannerisms are my sister's. She can carry a tune, so when I started improvising, "We're going to the Y-M-C-A ...," she picked it up right away. We passed a restaurant we'd eaten at over two weeks before, and I said, "Do you remember when we ate there?" Before I could say the name of the restaurant, she said, "Yeah. I got a balloon there, but it popped." She was right, and I reminded myself that her memory is not that of a one-year-old anymore.

I took her to her lesson, and waited in the parents' seating area. I could see her through the windows. I felt like her mom. Would she behave? Would she play with the other kids? Would she make friends? What if the kids didn't like her?

After a few minutes, she was taking turns with the other kids. She smiled and giggled but didn't talk much. Her eyes were feeding in and figuring out like they always are. She paddled as the instructor guided her through the water, and I remembered the chubby baby she was that Christmas Day.

Today I watched Syrene playing in the water while she waited for her class to begin. I got lost in my thoughts. "That's going to be Rain someday," I thought. "She'll learn new things, make friends, grow up." I was proud and sad at the same time. Syrene's a great kid, but she won't be a kid forever. Rain is a great baby, but she won't be a baby forever.

Then from the pool I heard singing. The squeaky voice made me laugh: "Were at the Y-M-C-A! We're at the Y-M-C-Aaaa ..."

Tah-dah!

When I look at Rain's newborn pictures, she looks like most newborns (read: sack of flour). She was kind of like a knickknack: wherever you put her was where she stayed. I remember the day she finally batted at one of her overhead toys instead of stared at it. I was cheering, "Get it! Get it! That's right, knock it down!" To see her interacting physically with the world was exciting.

The funny thing about the way Rain is growing now is that I thought things would happen gradually. If I want to learn a new sport, I expect that practice over time will give me the results I desire (or something acceptable, anyway). But with Rain, she just does stuff. There's no real build-up to things; one day she can't do something, and the next day she can.

It's almost creepy when it happens. I'll look away for a minute, and when I look back, she's doing something I've never seen before. One day I was reading a book about the kind of things a baby should be able to do at Rain's age. "This says that soon she'll be able to pass an object from one hand to another. That seems a bit complicated ..." (*lowers book to see Rain passing teether from hand to hand*). Two weeks ago, I remember thinking, "I wonder when Rain's going to be able to sit up, even if it's just for a few seconds. She's still so shaky." My sister plopped Rain on the floor, and voila! Since that day, she's been able to sit up for minutes at a time. Today I was sitting next to Rain who was in her car seat. I heard a rattling sound and knew it was from the toy hanging from the car seat's handle. Rain had figured out how to pull it and make it rattle. It's hard to pull, and so I've always pulled it for her. She made it rattle again. I was like, "But you've only batted at it one or twice before. How did you--? Hmm."

Tomorrow: Rain gets her driving permit. OK, maybe not yet, but it wouldn't surprise me.

Happy Anniversary to Me

Today Tim & I have been married for 5 years. As I like to tell people, "Five down, two to go." Hehehe. We've been married for five and have known each other for ten. Two nights ago, reflecting upon our upcoming anniversary, I told Tim that the one event that had the most physical and emotional impact was Rain's birth. He agreed. Sometimes, I still can't believe Rain is here. She is unlike anything we imagined and has changed the dynamics of this family forever.

And yet ...

Yesterday, I saw a talk show about new mothers and depression. Each of them described, during their darkest moments, the violent things they envisioned happening to their children. Some women in the audience seemed appalled. As I listened to the mothers confess their thoughts--crying from the shame--I remembered those first three months with Rain. When she cried, howled, and screamed, didn't Tim & I feel anger and despair? Of course. We were mad we couldn't pacify her and disappointed in ourselves for feeling that way.

I wanted to shout through the TV screen, "The feeling will pass! Don't feel guilty. Things do get better!" I held Rain up, kissed her, hugged her--I wish those women knew that we were OK now. The one thing I had that those women did not was support.

Because I'm blessed with Tim and a nutty (but loving) family, Rain & I are going to be all right. Yes, there will come a day when Rain will slam a door in my face because she's angry, and I'll take the hinges off her door to teach her a lesson, but we're going to make it. Without Tim's support, though, who can say what I was capable of? I can honestly say that it would've been better for me not to have children, than try to be a mother without Tim.

Tim, Happy 5th Anniversary!

Warning! Subliminal message to follow: Tim, you're the sweetest DIAMOND, generous, and most NECKLACE thoughtful husband to me. Thank you DIAMOND for being a wonderful father to Rain. Here's to many more NECKLACE years!

Food Fight

Now that I resemble the turkey I roasted for Thanksgiving (darn you, pumpkin pie! Why do you have to call my name, apple pie a la mode? What do I have to do with thee, cheesecake?), I figure I'll relate what's been going on in my realm of chicken entrees and jarred sweet potatoes.

Food is a sensitive topic in this family. This began when I was pregnant. I was militant during my first 2 trimesters about what I ate ("Must have 2 more servings of whole-grains, 1 more vegetable ..."). The last few weeks, my lower back throbbed in pain, and I was in no shape to cook or care. I ate whatever Tim brought home from a local restaurant. Tim's not into sugar substitutes or anything that sounds like fats have been liberated (fat-free, sugar-free, etc.), so most nights we ate poorly. After Rain was born, I had to go back to watching what I ate.

By then, food had lost its appeal. Most of my meals were cold (from stepping away to change, calm, or feed Rain) or hurried. My attention shifted from what I was eating to what Rain was eating. What she getting enough milk? Should we supplement with formula?

Now we've entered the next stage in the evolution of food's place in our home: how should we shape Rain's eating habits? When Rain was 3.5 months old, she began watching me eat with interest. At first, the action itself was mildly entertaining enough to watch. After 2 weeks, she seemed to realize that somehow I was getting satisfaction in a way she hadn't. We decided to give her rice cereal. Three days later, she'd squirm with anticipation when she saw us mixing cereal with her baby spoon. Every time she would end up with cereal or oatmeal in her hair, on her seat, dripping from her legs, splattered on her shirt, in her nose, dried on her ears, across her face--but, she was happy. Two weeks ago, we introduced her first food: sweet potatoes.

True love, that match was. Tomorrow we venture (again) into the world of pureed carrots. We tried today, and she was like, "Um, sweet potatoes?" Besides this, Rain now stares me down when I eat. She sticks her tongue out, asking, "Just a bit won't hurt me, so come on, ma ..." It's getting to where I'm eating on the sly ("Look at this stuffed pony! Isn't he cute?" *gobble, gobble, gobble*) rather than see the pleading eyes. I'm questioning more and more of what I put on my own plate, too. Don't I want Rain to see me eat lots of veggies and fruits? So, I force myself to eat tomatoes (bleh), more greens (no real problems with this, just a pain to prepare), and, though I never thought I'd see the day, soy chicken patties.

Oh for the days when eating was as simple as, "Can I have the #2 ... with extra cheese?"

This Episode: "Keys" OR ...

"The Straw That Almost Broke This Camel's Back"

About 2 weeks ago, I had a pity party (you didn't get your invitation? Lucky you ...). I was telling Tim that I felt like I've spread myself thin these past few months. There are several reasons for this: (1) I've tried to take on many projects at one time like I did before Rain was born; (2) People think I'm just chillin' at my crib (a.k.a. "stay-at-home mom"), so they feel like I should be available 24-7 (ex: calling me at the last minute to perform favors or meet up, volunteering my services, etc.); and (3) I can't stop myself from "helping" people (read: enabling). That last one is the trickiest. I want to help, but frankly, a lot of the time I end up babysitting grown men and women. Sometimes, a person's definition of receiving help is "please just do it for me." The problem with doing things for people that they are capable of doing themselves is that they lose their desire to do things on their own. You know what I'm talking about; we've all enabled someone before. Point is, the stress of trying to be everything to everyone got to me a few weeks ago. The final incident that put the last shovel-full of dirt on my grave was this: I lost my keys.

I misplace things about once a week, but I usually recover them within a day or two. Anyone who has lost a set of keys knows the drill: the first day, you console yourself with, "They'll turn up soon." You take a quick look around the house and check your car. After a day or two, you, the eternal optimist says, "Perhaps I left them at my sister's place. I should call and ask about them." By day 3 and 4, you're calling everybody. The coffee shop, grocery store, library--everybody gets a phone call. By day 5, you'll even call your mother ("Honey, you lost your keys again? I've told you a thousand times to ..."). After checking your house (again), and car (again), and calling your sister with an accusatory tone ("Are you SURE they're not there?"), you resign yourself to the task of rebuilding your key set. Forget about the gaudy, and thankfully irreplaceable, key chain you bought in New Mexico, what about the keys to your safe, file cabinets, house, mom's place, mailbox, etc.? And all the grocery store key tags? What about those??

For some reason, losing my keys became a symbol of the loss of pattern, control, and all things systematic I loved about my former life. I felt like I'd never be able to do more than tread water when it came to scheduling, being on time, doing all the things I need to get done.

So, after talking with Tim, we decided I need to pull back. I have to stop micromanaging everyone's life around me. I can give guidance, but it's time to stop doing things for fully-capable people.

I let that sink in for a few days.

Yesterday, I found my keys. They were under my car seat, a place Tim & I had checked 3 or 4 times. It was a sign.

I thanked God I wasn't losing my mind, and that things were manageable. The next chance I got, I called Tim. "Guess what?" I said, still thrilled. "I found my keys! A while ago I found my keys in the car. I wanted to call you right then and tell you, but I can't find my cellphone ..."

BFF

So, you think I went on vacation did ya? Thought I was out having oodles of fun and neglecting my updates, eh? Nay, I say, nay! I've just been weathering some changes, that's all. I've had no recognizable schedule for the past 2 weeks (and if you have to ask why, you're probably not at fault, so no worries) for reasons I'll explain another time. Now, onto the latest about Rainbow ...

Well, as you can see from the photo, Rain has chosen her best friend forever. Remember the days when Rain only had eyes for me? I don't, either. She's Tim's lady now. I can tell the way they giggle together as he gives her a bath. They laugh and chat, and I walk in to bring Rain's towel, and she looks at me like, "Did anyone call you, Milkmaid? Be gone!" Every morning/afternoon, Rain cries for me to feed her every time she has a whim for a snack. If Tim watches her, and I call to check up on them, he'll say, "We haven't used a bottle yet. She's happy and playing." *Stab in heart*

I have a theme song I sing when they are together: "Me and my dad ... AND NOBODY ELSE!" It's catchy, trust me. The other day, Rain cried for 45 minutes. She got into this hysterical rhythm that I haven't heard since she was 2 months old. The second, and I mean, the second Tim walked in, silence. She smiled and was like, "Carry me away, Father, from this treacherous caretaker." Tim picked her up, and they walked away, peacefully into the sunset ... or well-lit kitchen, can't quite recall.

My Girl

Ever since the incident (which I shall now refer to as the "FALL of 2007") when I won my BMOY award, Rain & I have changed. Now, I am distrustful of everything. I don't trust Rain's blankie (suffocation risk), rattle (choking hazard), crib (strangulation waiting to happen), or fuzzy stuffed animals (germs, at the very least). When Rain fell from our bed, she had been screaming about her sore gums (teeth still haven't shown up, by the way). It was her flopping about that caused the tumble, but it didn't matter. I blame myself completely and have since doubled my efforts to pad her life with pillows.

By the way, Tim's reaction:
Me: I'm a terrible mother! She fell right on the floor, and now she probably has internal bleeding!

Tim: Honey, I'm sure she's fine. Babies are made tough, so don't feel bad. I've dropped Rain several times and never told you.

Me: Really??

Tim: No.

As for Rain, well, the next day she hardly cried about her teeth. "Maybe she thinks the punishment for crying about her teeth is getting dropped on the floor??" I told Tim. The day after that, she stopped crying about her teeth altogether. Since then, she's softly chewed on her finger when they bother her. I haven't had to run for the Baby Orajel in days. Better still, she's been getting up at almost 8 A.M. every morning. 8:00, people!

When she gets more sleep, wow. She's so much happier. She has giggled more in the last few days than she ever has. She's all about cuddles and playtime. When I walk in the room, she smiles and does her best to get me to snuggle her. Some days--let's be real now--Mommyhood can be a cold crust of bread. Today, it was a glazed chocolate, cream-filled Shipley's doughnut. Ooooo, doughnut ...

Keeping My Wits About Me

The hardest thing for me, and probably a lot of parents, is how do I--bombarded by my baby's cries, advertising, and social expectations--remain reasonable towards my child? What I mean is, how do I keep from spoiling and overreacting when it comes to Rain?

You've seen it: a boy in a store hollerin' at his parents for a new toy, a toddler faking tears to get her mommy to carry her, a child celebrating his first birthday with trappings snazzier than a wedding. Parents can't expect help from any corner, either. Advertisers in parenting magazines and TV are relentless about "give your child ____, and she'll be the happiest kid on the block." Isn't that what I want? Having the happiest kid makes me the best parent, doesn't it?

Before Rain was born, I worked in a preschool program. We constantly celebrated birthdays. Some parents were reasonable and brought homemade cupcakes for the class, sang "Happy Birthday," and snapped a few photos. Others ... well, the children became the audience for parents determined to outdo each other. I've seen the same thing done for kids as young as one, and I ask ya, who's the party really for? The sleeping baby with a party hat surrounded by strangers? Be realistic, people! That kid would be just as happy with a balloon and tub of frosting at home.

So, today is Halloween. A month ago I bought Rain a cute Pooh Bear onesie with an autumn theme. She has worn it once a week, so I feel I got my money's worth. A friend got Rain a Halloween T-shirt, hat, and mitts which Rain will wear tonight. Did I buy Rain a costume? No. Through the "but it's her first Halloween" complaints, I haven't budged, though I can't say I wasn't tempted. Rain doesn't know or care what today is, so why should I buy a pricey costume she'll wear for an hour before it's her bedtime?

The experts say you can's spoil a child as young as Rain. I think real people (that's right, I'm not sure experts are real people) know that babies are much more clever than people give them credit for. They quickly learn that crying (tears optional) will bring about the results they want. At first, Rain's crying was necessary to alert me when she was lacking essentials, but after a few months, she has learned crying has so much more potential, so much more (muah ha ha). Since babies come from the hospital completely helpless, plenty of parents don't see (or want to see) them grow and change. This is why some parents get up at 3 A.M. every night to comfort their three-year-olds--they still treat their kids as if they just left the hospital.

Must go! Rain is crying. Maybe she's hungry or mad? Must find out, must find out ...

The BMOY Awards

Have you heard of the BMOY awards? It's not as flashy as a Grammy or coveted like an Oscar, but it's noteworthy all the same. The award committee is very selective, but as luck would have it, I'm this year's BMOY winner.

To win the award, you have to be exceptionally picky about what you listen to. I won by doing just that. No matter how many articles, books, and Internet guidelines I read, I chose not to listen to how quickly a baby can go from slight movements to full body swings in a day.

Rain fell off the bed.

Congratulations to the newest Bad Mommy of the Year. (*bitter wail*)

Passing the Baton

Today I visited a friend who is due to deliver her baby in the next two weeks. She is homebound now, as she has had a very difficult pregnancy. I came especially because I remembered what it was like those last few weeks of my own pregnancy. At the time, I had plenty of time on my hands (boy, those were the days), because physically, there was very little I could do. Sleeping for longer than 3 hours at a time was impossible, and finding the energy to do more than that was difficult. Everyone in my life went about their days as usual, and the circus going on inside my belly was my private event.

As I talked with my friend, I remembered all the fears and questions that came at the end. Sure, a mother-to-be wants the burden of pregnancy over with, but she also cringes at the thought of labor. She wants to be free from the constant kicking in the ribs and breathlessness, but knows the baby is safest in the womb. She yearns for her former life but is excited about the new one. So many things to panic over ...

"What about my single friends? Will they still want to hang around me?"
"Should I take the epidural if the pain gets bad?"
"How will I find time to take a shower during those first weeks after the baby comes?"
"Was breastfeeding hard to learn? Was it worth it?"

The list of questions is, well, quite a list. But who really has all the answers? (Um, me. In short order: (1) Some will, (2) Yes, (3) Late at night or before partner goes to work, (4) Yes. Yes.) Point is, mothers everywhere should do what they can to comfort the newbies. Let's not re-invent the wheel with every baby, folks. Tell 'em there's no point in buying loads of newborn clothing because their children will outgrow it in 2 weeks, and that hair bows/sneakers are both pointless and expensive. But don't give them too much information, as telling the truth about child-rearing will only (a) scare them numb, and (b) make you wonder why you got involved in such a shenanigan in the first place.

Suck it Up

I don't like to cry. In fact, the only person who ever sees me cry is my husband. I've had my heart torn and handed back to me, and still, I don't like to cry in front of others. I don't want people to feel sorry for me. Today, I've been thinking: parents, many times, stop their tears, because they don't want their children to see pain. It's this strange reasoning that if they never see pain, they will never know pain.

Over the last few weeks, several things have happened that cumulatively, made me want to break down. My mom, after 21 years of service to a company who didn't deserve her, was laid off. That began a series of unrelated problems. In the last 2 weeks, I've been let down, I've attended a wake, I've spent time with a friend who finally has to face difficult consequences, I've allowed some things I shouldn't have, and other things that I haven't made peace with. And the stress ... well, I did what I could.

Today, finally, was the last thing that had to be attended to, I think. I hugged my little brother goodbye, and sent him on his way to start a new life in New Mexico. There is a job opportunity there that, hopefully, will provide his family the financial security every good father wants for his kids. I was feeding Rain when my brother was finally ready to leave. I gave him a hug, told him I loved him, and walked him out. When he was gone, I returned to Rain. I held up another spoonful of rice cereal, swallowed the feelings I had, and smiled for her.

Ring of Fire

Some people say that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. If that's true, I bet there's a pit stop at a hospital first.

I had good intentions. All I wanted to do was make Tim a special dinner for finally accomplishing one of his long-term ('bout 6 years long) financial goals. I was so proud of him for disciplining himself and keepin' the faith that things would work out. I decided I would make him a dinner featuring anything he wanted. Tim, of course, thought up the most unhealthy combination his heart could probably endure: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, homemade macaroni and cheese, and apple pie.

A deal's a deal, so Monday morning I went grocery shopping. A few people had said they might be able watch Rain for me while I cooked, but neither panned out. I didn't think it was a problem since I've cooked plenty of meals since she was born. True, this menu required more hours of work than normal, but I was happy to cook whatever Tim wanted.

The factor I didn't calculate into the mix was that Rain had a day-long teething bout. While we were in the checkout line at the grocery store, she fell apart. The cashier did everything she could to get us out of the store ASAP (I tried not to blush as another cashier came over to help unload my cart for me in an effort to hurry things along). Rain wailed until I was able to put Orajel on her gums. Even then, she whimpered until she fell asleep. When she awoke, she cried again. This went on the entire time I tried to boil potatoes, stir sauce, roll out the pie crust, etc. I wanted to put her in her soft carrier, so she could hang from my chest while I worked. I had the tiniest worry, however, that if anything should happen ... well, I decided to lay her on a blankie near the entrance to the kitchen. Rain wanted no part of this arrangement. After three hours, I had a headache, was merely halfway done, and was doing headstands to settle Rain down.

But. I could not--I would not--allow my exasperation to ruin Tim's special dinner. I was so proud, after all, and I really wanted to show it. Ten minutes before Tim came home from work, I was nearly done. The macaroni was warming in the oven, potatoes sat in a happy pile in a pot, and a fresh-baked apple pie cooled nearby. It was a Martha moment as I dipped my chicken in buttermilk, happy to finally be in the home stretch.

I should say that (1) because of Tim's cholesterol, I fry food about once a year, seriously, and (2) I'd forgotten some of the precautions necessary when frying food. I grabbed a chicken thigh with my tongs and flipped it over to cook the other side. Pop! Grease flew from the pan towards me. Without a splatter guard, lid, or even a towel to protect me, it splattered on my face and onto the floor.

I was stunned. It took three or four seconds to realize what happened. I grabbed a towel and covered my face. The next ten seconds I spent thinking the burning would pass. Um, no. I ran to the phone and called Tim, saying, "I burned my face with grease! I can't think. What am I supposed to do??" Tim, thankfully, was only two minutes away. When he came in, it was a scene from Steel Magnolias: baby crying on the floor, and mommy nowhere in sight. I was washing my face in the bathroom and crying. In the mirror I could see red splotches, and they hurt worse than they looked.

We applied and reapplied loads of medicated aloe vera. I kept a cool, moist towel on my face the rest of the night. The pain made my eyes water, but mainly, I was sad that I totally ruined Tim's special occasion. I was mad that I messed it up, and mad, in a way, that I didn't manage Rain and what I was trying to do in a workable way. I just wanted it to be like it was before, when Life seemed more ... manageable. Rain's crying wasn't at fault; she couldn't help it, after all. It was that I didn't know how to overcome all the distractions to be safe. Tim told me again and again that the dinner didn't matter as long as I was OK, but I was still disappointed.

As of today, I have a burn mark over my eyelid, and a few splatter marks that are still healing. The one great, wonderful blessing I think about at times is this: how terrible would that day have been if, when the hot grease splattered everywhere, Rain was hanging in front of me?

2nd Fiddle

My brother & his wife were at a conference in California for 4 days. They asked me to watch their 2-year-old son while they were gone. Why anybody would trust me with their child when I'm clearly struggling to raise my own, I can't be sure.

Isaiah, my brother's son, is a sweet kid. He's a little on the sensitive side (read: a man not afraid to cry), but he's sincerely charming. He smiles at anyone who will look his way, and he's all about free kisses. He shakes hands like a gentleman, and loves to hold his 5-month-old sister.

And then there's Rain ...

Rain was less than cordial with Isaiah during his stay. Oh, she was fascinated with our short visitor for the first hour, but once she got that feeling he wasn't going anywhere ... well, she rolled up the welcome mat. Then he made the mistake of trying to love on her while she was nursing. Rain grunted, gave him the "Can't you see I'm busy here?" eyebrow, and shrugged him off.

But Isaiah is a determined suitor. He attempted again and again to snuggle Rain, and she rebuffed him with howls. He stared at Rain, puzzled by her agitation. I never realized that for the past few months, while Rain nursed, I hardly spoke. I'm usually reading, typing, or sleeping when she's nursing (hmmm ... that doesn't make me sound like a very involved mom, does it?). Poor Isaiah is standing beside Rain, cooing and chatting for her attention, and she's grunting for him to put a lid on it.

Our first night together as a temporary family was tragic for those living within a quarter-mile of our apartment. Isaiah cried because he hates to go to sleep. Rain cried because she hates kids who cry when she's ready to go to sleep. Isaiah cried louder, because he hates for anyone to feel bad enough to cry. Rain cried loudest, because she wouldn't be outdone. She might've had to wait one minute longer to get her diaper changed while her cousin got his changed, but by golly, when it came to screamin', she played second fiddle to no one.

To Mr. Upstairs Guy

Dear Mr. Upstairs Guy,

Yes, that was my daughter crying for thirty minutes at 2 AM last night. I apologize for any sounds that may have drifted upwards. Let me just say that (1) my husband & I could do nothing about it, (2) be honest, my daughter hasn't done that in a month, and (3) she wasn't trying to be annoying.

I get it: you want to teach us a lesson. So, you've decided to play knock-our-eardrums-out-loud music for the last 3 hours, eh? Is this really fair? It's 10 minutes 'til midnight, you realize I'm sure. What exactly do you hope to teach us from this punishment?

Because let me tell you, we're doing the best we can. All you have to do is hear it. We, unfortunately, are in charge of ending it. Picture two monkeys juggling in a gerbil wheel, and you'll have an idea of what it takes to calm our child down.

By the way, here's the sad part for both you and me: Rain sleeps through background noise.

See you at 2:00,

Grandma Dowdel

Funny, I Don't Remember Dating Harrison Ford ...

Have you ever seen somebody in a movie and thought, "Now where have I seen him before?" For stubborn types like myself, that distracting thought will remain until the mystery is solved. I can't get lost in the movie until I figure out what other role the actor has played, even if it was a minor one.

I've had the same experience with Rain. She smiles a certain way, sort of this wry smile, as if she's only somewhat humored with the situation at hand. I had seen the exact same smile before, but where? Weeks passed. One day, my sister came for a visit, looked at Rain, and said, "You know, Rain smiles just like ______."

She nailed it! Although I wish I had a better picture as proof, I now present to you ....



RAINDIANA JONES!

Be Good for Mommy

Saturday night, a family friend watched Rain while Tim & I went to my good friend's wedding. It was the first time Rain was in the complete care of a non-family member. I really wasn't worried about the care she would receive since I've known the family for about 15 years. In fact, the kind lady who volunteered to watch Rain is the wife of an upstanding preacher--what more could ya ask for in a babysitter?

Honestly, I was more worried about how Rain would treat her. The way I figure, I've got a limited number of babysitters to work with; I don't want to run them all off before Rain turns 1. See, especially because Rain's teething, I don't know when her next meltdown will happen. The first 2 months of her life, hysterical crying fits happened so often that I just accepted them as our new way of life. Even though for the most part she's outgrown the fits, I'm still kind of leery of all public outings. I never go to restaurants without a game plan anymore. Is it too close to her nap time? Can I feed her immediately before to keep her pacified during the meal? Is there a decent place to change her diaper? All those things have to be dealt with before I'll venture into my local Olive Garden.

Rain's teething episodes have put me back in the panic zone (though I'm not sure I ever left). Every time we go out and she doesn't make a scene, I'm thankful from the deepest part of my heart. As you can tell, I was palm-sweaty handing my baby over on Saturday.

Though I was sure the report when we returned would be ugly (she had been wailing when we dropped her off--not a good start), the sitter gave Rain about an A-. She played well and enjoyed the new company, though at one point, there was a crying fit over teeth. The preacher said, "We couldn't find the Orajel in the diaper bag, and it's hard to think when she's really screaming ..." Who you tellin'?

So for now at least, I think my babysitter roster is still intact.

Tipping the Scales

I am finally, finally, finally able to start running again. My toe has officially healed, so it's time to increase the exercise schedule. It's too late to save tomorrow's faux pas, however.

Tomorrow I will be a bridesmaid (bridesmaid! Married and with a kid, and someone wants me as a bridesmaid!) at a good friend of mine's wedding. All of you ladies who have had the experience of fitting into formal dresses know that most of the time it's a strain anyway. But fitting a mom-of-four-months' body into a formal dress? Yikes.

I heard someone say about a woman who had just had a baby 2 months before, "I'm not trying to be mean [Note: People say this right before being cruel], but she still looks bloated. Shouldn't she have lost the weight by now?"

"Sure," I thought. "If only she hadn't fired the nanny, housekeeper, chauffeur, wet nurse, and chef, she would've had plenty of time to hit the gym." Monkey! We don't all have Hollywood budgets to afford the help we need to make it to the gym. New moms are sleep-deprived and adjusting to a new life; give 'em a break.

Anywhose, tomorrow I'll do my duty and squeeze into a fancy frock for a friend, but ya better believe mine will have forgiving sleeves!

Pound for Pound

One of the hardest things about breastfeeding Rain is that the last generation of parents, on the whole, didn't breastfeed. Consequently, as grandparents, they tend to have a mistrust towards breasts as a food source. Forget that breasts have, since humans have been in existence, kept us in existence, they think, if it doesn't come in a can, it can't be good. I get a lot of, "How do you know Rain's getting enough to eat?," "She's crying again, so she's probably still hungry," and "Why can't you give her just a little formula, you know, to make sure she's had enough."

The other factor at play here is that I come from a family of shorties (5' 2" to 5'6" is standard). All our babies our stout specimens ready for a Butterball ad. My husband is 6 feet tall. Rain, thankfully, takes after Tim. Since birth, she's stretched out more than she's filled out. She is in the 75th percentile for height (meaning, I think, that she's bigger than 75 percent of kids her age) but only the 50th percent for weight. Yes, I realize that makes her average, but that's not acceptable in my family. For the first 2.5 months of Rain's life, I constantly had to hear sermons from my ma & grandma about giving her more, more, more. Once, Tim busted my mom slipping Rain a taste of ice cream. Even though Rain's pediatrician constantly told me she was right on target, I let doubt overtake me. What if she isn't getting enough? What if something is wrong with me? Maybe I should give her formula, too, to cover my bases. All those thoughts caused for some miserable feedings with Rain. Moms are supposed to be relaxed to be able to feed, and I was sitting there terrified that my breasts were defective.

A week ago, Rain had her check-up. She weighed 13.5 lbs. Her cousin, who is a month older, is a hair's breadth away from 20. I was just at a party where another child, 3 weeks older than Rain, was in the 97th percentile for weight. Rain, in comparison, looked like she just came out of the womb.

This last appointment was pivotal for me. "She only weighs 13.5 lbs??" I said in despair to the nurse. "Is that normal?" The nurse assured me it was, and I had to have a moment of reckoning. The fact is, Rain will likely be tall, which means she won't put on the weight I want her to. Acceptance. Acceptance. I sighed and realized that was the way things were going to be. I had to stop comparing her to other kids.

Every morning, I tell Rain, "Look at your chubby little thighs! I bet they're juicy. I think I'll have them for breakfast. Maybe lunch and dinner, too ..." She smiles, and I kiss her fat--well, decently plump--legs. That will have to be good enough for now (so no more lectures, Ma!).

The Great Divide

This past weekend, I went to a baccalaureate party for a good friend I've known since high school. The plan was for 9 of us to meet for dinner downtown at 7:00 p.m. and see the night view from the city's landmark tower. The maid of honor, who planned the event, wanted all of us to go out afterwards.

The problem was, well, for a mama, going out to dinner is "going out." I tried to explain to my friend that there was no way I was going to go to a club or bar after dinner. "I'm a mom," I told her, "Unless they're selling Girl Scout cookies, I have no reason to be there." Stay out late partying while someone else watches my infant daughter at home? It was all a bit too Britney Spears-ish for me. Plus, Tim was going to be with the groomsman that same night. Add to the fact that Rain isn't always an easy baby to deal with and would have to go to a babysitter, it was obvious we shouldn't leave her for more than 4 hours.

By the night of the event, I had decided that no amount of cajoling or even nagging would get me to stay out late. I asked my mom to watch Rain, and I said I would be back by 10:00. At 5:30, I dropped Rain off, confident that I had more than enough time to arrive at dinner on schedule. So, I call the maid of honor (my other good friend) to see if I can possibly follow her downtown to ensure I wouldn't get lost (again, in an effort to be prompt).

Now, I should say up front that my friend, who has a list of great qualities (a steadfast loyalty, being one),unfortunately, is not big on punctuality. So I wasn't too surprised to hear, "Yeah, I'm about to go pick up Friend 1 then Friend 2. We're going to stop for drinks at Friend 3's house, and then will pick up Friend 4, so I need to get dressed."

Wha?? Again, it's now about 5:40. Even with a time machine, doing all that and getting downtown (a good 30 minutes away, at minimum) by 7:00 would be impossible. One of the girls meeting us downtown was a mom, too, and I pictured her waiting at the restaurant alone, while her babysitter's clock ticked away. I called the bride-to-be to see if I could help pick people up in the hope of speeding things along.

Plans get rearranged, and by the time things are said and done, we are at the restaurant at 8:30. At this point, I'm doing the calculating-time-backwards thing: "OK, if I have to pick up Rain at 10:00, I need 30 minutes or so to get home if there's no traffic, plus the time it takes to get back to the parking garage ... "

I didn't realize that the second part of the evening involved moving the cars to a second location (I was under the impression the viewing tower was in walking distance of the restaurant). We drove in a part of town I'm not familiar with (nobody else in the car was exactly sure, either), so inevitably, we got lost. By the time we got back on track, saw the tower, returned to the original parking garage, etc., I was way late picking up Rain. Like 1:00 a.m. late.

My mom was nice about it, but I could tell we inconvenienced her (she was asleep when we knocked on the door). By the time I got Rain home and pumped milk, it was 3:00 a.m. I had to be up the next morning at 8:00.

Was I glad I got to see my good friends? Yes. Was it nice to spend time with other adults sans baby? Yes. Was it obvious that my priorities and lifestyle run a different course from all the single gals in the group? You bet. There were two other moms in the group, and they were trying to get home as fast as I was. I think we all had a good time and enjoyed being out, but we also know that every hour we're gone, others are taking on that responsibility. We have to respect their time, too.

What's funny is the whole night I never thought, "I have to go pick up my kid (*grumble*) and go home!" (*bitter wail*) It was as simple as, "Rain is waiting for us, so let's go." Remembering how often Tim & I use to come home whenever we felt like it, just as the single girls that night planned on doing, made it clear: my life pre-Rain and the life I have now have a great divide between.

The Case of the FLS

I mean it, as tired as I am, I'm gonna force myself to try to do some of the things I normally do (specifically, write in this blog) just to regain a smidgen of the pattern my life once had. You know, I used to be predictable. I was organized, predictable, and one to-do list short of boring. I used to wave the flag of sameness, chanting the old adage, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." Different = Bad, that's all there was to it.

But, now there's Rain. Rain is all about making each day different and (*cringe*) new. So, as expected, I'm having trouble adjusting.

...

OK, so I'm having a huff n' puff because I'm sleep-deprived. I know this feeling will pass. I just get bitter about my old printed schedules with lists that I used to check off as I completed tasks (seriously)--where, oh where, have they gone? Check the diaper pail, right?

BUT, I'm gonna make my little blog entry today, even if my eyes twitch and go pink. Now, who's ready for fun, darn it?

(silence)

I know, I'm frightening you all away. Sorry, I had a pity party and had everyone come. *Deep breath* Re-focus. Remember, Self: I am not the enemy. My baby is not the enemy. My husband is not the enemy. The enemy is ...

Nature.

The Case of the Four-Legged Stranger

Our apartment has been mosquito-free for one week. I had a couple of ants try to start a hotel in my bathroom, but I quickly showed them the dangers of a porcelain swimming pool. Flush! Anyway, so the other day I was folding laundry on the couch. I accidentally dropped some items behind the couch, but I decided I'd pick them up later when I was finished folding. Of course, I fell asleep shortly after and had to be led to bed by Tim (lately, this has become routine).

The next day, I brought the laundry I had left folded on the couch into our bedroom. I laid them on the bed to sort where they should all go. I put away the stacks while I chatted with Rain about the virtues of a well-folded T-shirt. Rain was lying on our bed, and as has been the case for a week, shoving her toys--and everything else--into her mouth. Just then, I remembered the items I had dropped behind the couch. So, I went to the living room, scooped up the last of the laundry I had left behind, and tossed the missing items onto the pile.

I dumped it on our bed. The second I dropped the pile, Rain grabbed the items from the floor to shove into her mouth. Out shot a lizard.

For the love of all that's good!" I grabbed Rain, shrieked, and jumped (not in that order). I ran to the living room, sat Rain in her baby chair, and grabbed the largest vase I had. I raced back to the bed. I slammed the upside down vase onto the stack of socks I had seen the lizard run under. Ha!

With great care, I slid each sock from under the vase, hoping to have a better look at my prey. Three socks later, I still had no visual. I removed all the socks until I only had one left. How big would the lizard be? How was I going to get it out of the house once I had it locked in the vase alone? I pulled out the last sock.

Nothing. He must've high-tailed it (no pun intended) to a different hiding spot when I had left the room (didn't I tell you different = bad??). He was probably already under the bed by now. I picked up the pile of clothes to be sure he wasn't in there.

He sprang out, of course. He scurried to the edge of the bed and fell off. I--with unusual precision--jumped to the side and trapped him under the vase. Woo-hoo! "We don't allow mosquitoes in this apartment, and we don't take lizards, either (even if you do resemble the GEICO guy)!"

I proudly told Rain of Mommy's conquest. I even told her, for good sportsmanship, I'd release the little guy back into the wild (well, my front porch, anyway).

I was true to my word. I took my little MVP (Most Vased Possession) outside and gently warned him that another infraction, namely breaking and entering, would cost him his life. A good deal, all in all.

That night, I told Tim about my newest run-in with Nature. Tim likes to photograph anything that we find in our apartment, so I'm sure he was sorrowful I hadn't kept him for a few extra hours (though more than a few bugs have died while Tim took his time snapping photos).

A few minutes later, guess who I spotted crawling on the wall by the front door?

"I can't believe it!" I said. "I warned him already!" I told Tim to hurry and get him before he got away. If I had the time, I'd go into the fiasco that happened afterwards, but let me just sum it up this way: at one point, I let out a deep sigh as Tim, holding an empty vase, said, "Well, maybe he'll eat the mosquitoes."

As we speak, I'm sure the lizard is sitting on the couch with Tim, watching CSI. Maybe I can train him to find the remote ...

M.I.A.

Ever feel like you've been M.I.A. from your own life? My sleep cycle has been totally hijacked by Rain's nightly teething wake-ups (no, I'm not blaming her--it's not her fault she's growing teeth, right?), and I'm behind on everything. Everything. Last night I fell asleep (didn't know this was possible) pumping milk. Today, however, I'm taking back what bits of me are left. More on that in a minute.

Surviving

We are nearing the end of week 2 of Rain's teething bout. Notice Rain isn't done teething, this is just the 2nd week of her night wailing about it. She's been waking up at 2, 3, and 5 in the morning crying over her sore gums, and last night, well, last night was hard.

Rain started crying at 12:30. She cried until 1:30. She got up at again at 2:30. I carried her, sat with her in the rocking chair, and finally had to put her in her swing so she would fall asleep. She slept until 4:30 and started crying again. She went to sleep and was up at 5:30 looking for a meal. Same thing at 7:30.

Worse? Rain reached a milestone last night. She can flip on to her tummy. Problem: she hates being on her tummy. So once she figured out how to do something last night, she kept doing it, then crying once it was done. I could hear her muffled screams all night. With dry eyes, I'd stumble out of bed mumbling, "No SIDS ... no SIDS ..."

It was the kind of night that makes me think one kid is all two people should be legally able to have.

It'll Pass

On and off for a month, Rain has been teething. This week, she's cried about it every day. When she cries over her teeth, it's different from her other cries. She shoves her fingers in her mouth, muffling her screams. Tears fall and she grabs her foot to squeeze for comfort.

You might think because Rain cries all the time that I would be able to dismiss her teething cries like I do her other cries (ex: "I know you're mad and crying right now, Missy, but believe me, you don't want me to leave this stuff in your diaper.") But there's something about her pain cry ... She moans like, "It hurts, it hurts ..." She has pain, but she doesn't know why. Tim's mother told him the other day that all of his teeth came in about the same time, and from Rain's swollen gums, I think that may be the case with her.

So there she is, drooling and whimpering, and I'm spreading Baby Orajel over her gums, ignoring the "consult your doctor if infant is less than 4 months old" label. Don't shudder; when you're a parent, you'll learn to ignore most things & do what you think is best.

When the Orajel fades, if she's still crying, I do what I suppose all moms do when their kids gets teased at school, when they break bones on the playground despite the mile-high pile of woodchips, and when their hearts get broken: I hold her, rock side-to-side, and tell her, "It'll pass."

Pictured: Rain after a teething bout, comforted by Mr. Froggy, her pacifier, and her favorite blanket.

Could It Be?

I've been on the outs lately because of the whole working out thing. After I hurt my toe, I was, admittedly, a bit discouraged. I tried to run on it last week, but the minute my foot started swelling up in my shoe (as happens when I run), my toes squashed together. It wasn't long before I was hobbling, so I had to stop. I've started cycling to get my cardio in, but, well ... well ... fine, here it is! Only the lil' old ladies at the gym are on the cycles! It's not like riding a real bike or something cool like dirt biking. The stationary cycle is kind of lame, and labeling my hum-drum cycling "Alpine Pass" and "Random Hills" isn't helping. Don't get me wrong, with the right settings, the stationary bike is tough. BUT. The bikes are right in front of the indoor track (in the middle, in fact). When runners go by, I feel like whimpering, "Wait for me! If I could only catch up. Darn these hamster wheels!"

Anyway, like I said, I've been on the outs. Instead of cardio, I've been focusing on weights. It's the first time I've ever had a real weightlifting program to follow, so that's cool. Anyway, every so often I tell Tim stuff like, "Someday I'm going to have an ab; wait and see!" or "Look! If you stare real hard right here--no, not there, here--and if I turn at this angle, you can almost see a muscle growing when I flex!" When I feel bold I say, "Do you think I should buy a safe? You know, for when I get my GUNS!" But, alas, my words have been mere words.

Until today. I was about to tease myself about my arms again after this morning's workout, when I spotted it. Without flexing, I have an indent in my arm! A muscle, a real muscle, is starting to grow in the middle of my arm. Sure she's scrawny and in the wrong lighting you can't see her, but she's mine! Come to me, My Precious!

The Trash

I'm not the kind of gal to peruse someone else's medicine cabinet or trash bin. I'm not hating on those of you who do (come on, 'fess up), I'm just saying I don't. When I'm using someone else's bathroom, I'm thinking things like, "Hope the toilet seat's clean" and "I wonder if the hand soap smells like apples ..." It never occurs to me to scan the medicine cabinet to assure myself I haven't befriended a psychopath.

Well, yesterday I decided to kill two birds with one stone. I planned to take Rain for a walk (she was teething and grumpy) and get rid of the foul kitchen trash bag Tim had forgotten to take out that morning (no Good Husband Award for you, Honey!). I put Rain in her carrier and heaved the bag to the door. The stench trailed through the apartment, and I was reminded on my way out to take the bathroom trash as well. So, with one large trash bag and one small trash bag in one hand, my keys in the other, and Rain hanging from my chest, we set off.

A minute later, we arrived at the apartment garbage collector. I flung my stuff inside. That's weird, I thought. The small trash bag felt so light when I tossed it. I checked the ground, but I hadn't spilled anything. Well, whatever, so I headed on to the apartment office to get our mail.

Rain and I enjoyed are walk, and she didn't cry once. I headed home with a happy baby and the mail in my hand. When I reached the pathway leading to our apartment, I saw it. A heap of trash sat in the middle of the sidewalk. Was I mad I had made a mess? Nope. I was embarrassed. I stared at the trash for a moment and thought, "What have I become?!?"

There was absolutely nothing strange, fashionable, or even questionable in my trash. There was floss, breast pads, Q-tips, and a wet diaper, for crying out loud! Where were my People magazines I used to casually read? Where were the containers of used lipstick that had to be discarded to make room for my new shade? Where were the empty bottles of high-end hair conditioners? Shouldn't there be a skin-care catalog in here somewhere?

There was something distressing about what was missing from my trash and what had been added. I promptly knelt down and grabbed as much of it as I could. As I was doing my best to gather it with one hand (had my keys in the other), a college-aged kid came bounding down the stairs in front of me. Her hair was dyed three different colors, she had a ring in her nose, army pants--the whole bit. She passed me without a word but an expression like "Ew, trash." I just gave a sheepish smile and scooped up the last breast pad.

Oh well. I told Rain, "Mommy's just realizing again she's a mommy. No big deal; just being silly. Now let's go throw away this trash ... in the trash ... again."

Part 3: The Rainbow

I read a truism the other day about parenting: there's no learning curve. Just when you've mastered one skill and are eager to do a happy dance, your baby's moved on to another stage. And the next kid will probably be so different from the first, many of the techniques you've mastered now won't amount to, as they say, a "hill of beans."

So, there I was on our road trip, practically juggling bananas to keep Rain from having a meltdown. I'm singing to her from the driver's seat, promising her a 100 times, "We're almost there." The first night I was in town, I had a friend stay over my hotel room. Another night, I shared a large room with my brother's family in a different hotel (we stayed in a room by ourselves the last 2 nights). Each time I did whatever it took for Rain to stay quiet. I pulled out all my tricks--singing, making funny faces/weird noises, short walks, constant feedings (a bad habit to start, by the way)--to keep her happy.

Eventually, none of them worked. The truth was, Rain probably wanted to go back to routine at night: bath time with daddy, cuddles with daddy or mommy, down a bottle, and into the crib. She's all about consistency, but Life can be unpredictable, and that's where the trouble is. I guess what I'm saying is, there were points on the trip, at the height of frustration, where I felt like telling Rain, "Why can't you be like other babies? Try taking long naps, being somewhat amused in your crib, and ignoring a dirty diaper every once in a while!" She's just so not ... flexible. Uncomfortably like me, I suppose.

And then, as is often the case in my short tenure as a parent, when all seemed dark and hopeless, there a rainbow appeared. We decided to visit an aquarium on a whim. As we passed tank after tank of sea life that were--as Grandma put it--painted with God's brush, Rain was captivated. She stared with her trademark furrowed brow, and if she'd had a notebook, might've taken notes as well. She was happy. Her buzzing brain finally had something new to hum about. I made sure to stay longest at the tanks she seemed most interested in, and together we toured the whole place. We were doing something together. It wasn't me doing something to entertain her or busying her with one hand while I got errands done with the other; we were doing something together. I talked to her about the eels, seahorses, and turtles see was seeing for the first time (and the sting ray--debarbed, of course--I touched for the first time), and she just looked on with eyes wide.

My baby may not be easy, but she's mine.

Rain respected my epiphany and kindly withheld dirty diapers until the end of the tour.

Part 2: The Rowdy

I've been pretty blunt 'bout my baby's personality. She looks like my husband (serious face and all), but she acts like me (*sigh*). Most parents tell me I should be thankful that Rain isn't mobile yet; once she starts crawling, they say, I'll wish she was still a cute lump lying in her crib. Maybe. I've often wished Rain could crawl, so she can finally entertain herself. She's never been the kind of baby that can be left in the crib for fifteen minutes while I finished up dishes. She always, always wants to be doing something, or more accurately, she wants to be a part of whatever I'm doing.

I completely understand her frustration, because I can't stand to sit still either. I like to do 2 or 3 things at a time, or 1 thing for 15 minutes. The idea of sitting around waiting for someone to pick me up to go anywhere I want to--bleh. This is why I sympathize with her, and I try to give her plenty to see when she's awake. We have fun playing together, and even when she's fighting sleep and screeching in protest, I don't mind so much. She trusts me, and we've just gotten used to each other. We accept each other's cranky moments for what they are: fleeting. That's why I don't cringe like I used to when she cries, because I know it's only temporary. It hardly bothers me at all ... until.

Until, that is, I'm around someone who has never (or not recently) spent a great deal of time around an infant. Parents out there, go ahead and nod: haven't you ever felt embarrassed by the sudden reminder that your child's screaming, for instance, is actually jarring? Sure, you've gotten used to it and hardly notice, but others? When I'm with my husband, it's no big deal if Rain cries for fifteen minutes while she tries to figure out how to fall asleep. Tim will walk to Rain's crib, give her a pacifier, rub her tummy, walk out, and continue working at his computer--all while Rain hollers. In a few minutes, she's asleep. But if someone was visiting us at the time? Now it's an issue. The focus becomes, "How can we get her to quiet down the fastest without bothering anybody?" That's when stress kicks in. I wish I could just say, "Hey, the kid's crying, and that's all there is to it. We promise she will stop ... eventually."

So on our road trip, I decided to visit my cousin who works at a large art museum. Can't you just see how this went awry? Anyway, Rain was very much cranky from having to sit in her car seat while I drove to the airport to pick up Tim (he had flown directly from California). Worse, we got lost downtown at the height of traffic. We arrived at the museum late (it would close in half an hour) with Rain hungry & cranky. I try to schedule outings after her feedings, but alas, getting lost tossed aside my chance to feed her.

Ten minutes into the museum tour guided by my cousin, Rain began to cry. I immediately took her to the bathroom to change her, and we continued on our tour. Five minutes later, Rain is crying. She's hungry. I try to offer her a pacifier, which she promptly rejected. My cousin is single, and I hoped Rain's fussiness wouldn't prohibit him from ever having children.

Rain cried louder. The museum was empty. EMPTY. They were preparing for a special event, so the museum was empty. Rain's cries reverberated off of every stark white wall, painting, and African mask. The sound is ten times louder to the parent of the screaming child, let me tell you.

What else could I do but stop and feed her? I felt awful. Being late and arriving with an angry baby? Yeah, I've had better dates. But, that's the thing. There's not much a new parent can do. My job is to meet my baby's demands for food and clean diapers the second she wants them. If I don't, uglier things will follow. I actually had an elderly woman say to me while Rain was crying for a clean diaper pronto, "Well, she's probably spoiled." Yeah, I thought, if only I had taught Rain to behave better when she was younger. Please!

So, to the childless: please have mercy on those with crying infants; they are probably just as exasperated as you. Now, if the child is 3 years old and throwing cereal boxes around at the grocery store? Feel free to click your tongue and roll your eyes.

Insult to Injury, and Vice Versa

I'll recount more of our road trip shortly, but this has to be said: me & the mosquitoes are about to have a throw-down in my home. The gloves are off, no mercy will be shown, and I'm tossing out our green, nature-friendly pesticides--where are the toxins?

Last night, I came home half an hour after Tim & Rain. I didn't have my keys (had left them in the diaper bag). I waited a few minutes for Tim to open the door (he was trying to soothe Rain), which was long enough for the bloodsuckers to pinpoint me. I hadn't seen one in a week or two, so I'm ashamed to say, I let my guard down. As I walked through the doorway, one strolled in next to me with a DVD he had rented (they're practically moving in!).

I tried to swat him down, but nay, 'twas a lost cause. For five minutes, I searched for him in the living room but eventually had to stop to feed Rain. So, I sat in bed with my fly swatter (again) and flashlight (again), and I nursed Rain. As the minutes passed, I tried to stay awake. I put my head on a pillow and covered us with a blanket to our waists. Rain continued to nurse, completely unaware of the military patrol I was conducting. The silence overcame me, and I must've closed my eyes for a minute.

I awoke two minutes later with an itch.

The mosquito had bitten me ... on my breast.

Did you feel the earth trembling? Did you see the sea churning? I was MAD. I checked the room again, shut the door, and assured Rain that the bug was as good as dead.

I didn't hear or see it all night. After I got back from the gym this morning, I asked my lieutenant if he had seen the mosquito while I was gone.

"Um," Tim said. "I killed a bug that was flying in front of me on my way to the bathroom. I think it was a fly ... It could've been a mosquito. I'm not sure. I didn't have my glasses on."

Not good enough, Soldier, not good enough.

Part 1: The Ride

We (my parents, my brother's family, and my family) had planned a short road trip to visit family and friends a few hours away. We planned it months ago. I should've known the plan was doomed when (a) my mom's company unexpectedly put a moratorium on all vacation time for the next two months, (2) my dad injured his foot weeks before and dashed all chances of taking vacation days, and (3) Tim had to take a trip to California the same week for work. I had wanted to see two good friends and most of my family in the area, but I chopped my plan in half when I realized I'd have to drive by myself, with Rain, of course. We decided my brother, his family (including their 4-month-old daughter), and my grandma would drive in one car, and Rain & me would follow in the other.

Let me go ahead and break it down for those of you who have never travelled with an infant under 4 months of age:
1. Don't.
2. If you must, realize that you will end up packing approximately two tons of kid gear, and at some point in the trip, you'll still say, "How could I forget her ___? Of course she'll need her ____! Dummy, dummy, dummy!" Memo to me: How many times will I forget to pack dishwashing soap? Bottles don't get cleaned on their own, honey. Was this not the second time I've had to rummage the hallways at 3 a.m. hoping the poor desk clerk will let me in the kitchen for some soap? Ay!
3. If you still insist on traveling, do NOT go it alone. On a normally 4-hour trip, our caravan stopped every 30-45 minutes. Rain ran through her bottles quick-like and insisted that I change her diaper every hour (why this surprised me when she does the exact same thing at home, I don't know). She cried from boredom, teething, gas, and the lack of kites in the air--just about everything, it seemed. My sister-in-law was kind enough to ride in the back with Rain for a while to keep her entertained (notice: she had to leave her own peaceful 4-month-old to do this). If I had to drive all by myself, who knows how many more times I would've had to pull over?

Once we got into the city, traffic was hideous. We hit it at rush hour (again, this was not part of the plan), and by then my brother had veered off on another road to stay the night with his in-laws. Rain & I inched along the highway--exactly 2o minutes from our hotel--while she wailed over the infliction of another dirty diaper. Tim asked me a few weeks ago, "How long do you think Rain would cry non-stop over a dirty diaper?"

Answer: 20 minutes.

The second I turned the ignition off in the hotel parking lot, Rain fell silent. I gripped the steering wheel, bowed my head, and said a catchphrase Tim & I began a while back:

"That's messed up, Rain."


PS- As much as it pains me to admit it, I can't blame Rain for whining. Who wants to sit in a car seat (sweat included) seeing the same scenery for 5-6 hours? Yeah, me neither.

Road Tripping

Sunday evening we got back from our first road trip with Rain. The experience will now be related in three parts: The Ride, The Rowdy, & The Rainbow.

You Are So Beautiful to (Only?) Me

Before I was pregnant, I had a Simon Cowell-type reaction to most babies:

"No, darling, you're much too chubby. Bulging thighs? Won't do."

"Elf ears--seriously? Does Santa know you've escaped the workshop?"

"You're simply too skinny. I just can't see you on a Gerber jar."

"Pink is not the new tan. Please, please do away with the strawberry complexion."

You get the idea. I found most babies just as cute as their normal-sized counterparts. Some were cute, some weren't. I never was a I-Just-Love-Babies-Can-I-Hold-Yours sort of girl. I concluded that if I had a baby, I would (a) think he/she was adorable, because I was biased, or (b) know that my child was not a looker and feel terrible for knowing it. Really, what kind of mom says, "Wow, if I'd known she'd look like this, I'd have left her inside"? All moms are supposed to think their children are beautiful. I decided early on that my own habit of self-criticism would most likely affect the view of my children. I would be unable to find them cute because I tend to be harsh towards myself. If my kids had sweet faces, would I even know? More important, could I fake it if they didn't?

These thoughts I filed under "More Reasons I Shouldn't Have Kids." In my mind, motherhood requires a mix of Mother Goose, Maria (a la Sound of Music), and Mother Teresa--with a pinch of Mary Poppins. You can't be critical about appearances and be a mama, I thought.

Then, Rain was born. Babies are all scary looking when they are born, that's all there is to it. If you think differently, you haven't witnessed a delivery. Trust me, all newborns look like they're not quite "done" yet, if you know what I mean.

Days went by. Weeks and now months have followed. The other day, I was nursing Rain while reading a story on the Web. I became distracted and lost track of time. I assumed Rain had fallen asleep, because I no longer felt her nursing. When I looked down at her, her brown eyes were large and bright. She was smiling, waiting for me to notice.

Then I figured it out. She was beautiful. Really, really, beautiful. And, I didn't even care if anyone but me & Tim thought so.

Rose-tinted glasses must come with the New Parent Kit. That's fine by me.

PS-No, I did NOT buy a very pink bow for my daughter to wear! Said bow was purchased by her grandma, who can't find anything pink and princess enough for any of her granddaughters. But I love you, Ma!

Raise the Roof

Today's piece partly pertains to paraphrased, painful prose pronounced from the preacher's pulpit (sorry, couldn't--wouldn't--help myself):

"God hears His Children's prayers, just like all parents can hear their children. As a preacher, I've heard many babies cry during services. I've never really found it distracting. The only time I've ever been distracted by babies crying is when my own two children were babies. I could hear them cry wherever they were in the building, because they were my children. Actually ... the only other baby who has ever been able to distract me like that is Rain. When she cries, she can hit a pitch--well, she must have inherited that from Tim."

(*Congregation laughs*)

Yep, my baby (and me, too!) was called out in church. Yes, the preacher was joking, but only in part, ya know? Who can blame him, though? My baby, as I've tried to explain before, can raise the roof when she's mad. She has serious throat power, and if you don't believe me, you might ask the local police department (*ahem*):

When Rain was only a month old, I had to go to a doctor's appointment. Thankfully, my sister was in town and offered to watch Rain while I went to my appointment. I promised I'd be back within the hour. I changed Rain's diaper, and with that, I was gone. When I returned, there Rain was in my sister's arms, quietly sleeping. I thought everything had gone well, until my sister said, "Yeah, so the cops came."

"What?" I said, and followed with all the other w's. "Who?? Why? When?" Turns out, after I left, Rain began to cry. My sister assumed she was tired and tried to rock her to sleep. Rain continued to cry, so my sister tried everything she could think of to comfort her. Rain's cry escalated, but still, my sister couldn't figure out what was wrong. Eventually, Rain raised the roof with her screaming. My sister finally realized that, alas, her diaper was dirty (though I had just changed it), and now she was peeved that service had been delayed.

Someone banged on the front door. My sister chose to ignore it until Rain had a new diaper on (good call). When she did answer the door, it was the police. Someone had heard Rain's screams and called the police. Ay! They said that the caller noticed that neither Tim's car or mine was in the parking lot (I had no idea our apartment neighbors kept an eye on that sort of thing), and wanted to find out if the baby was home alone--egad! What must they think of us?

Anyway, my sister had to explain that (a) the baby was fine, (b) Tim & I were not dead, and (c) that in spite of the hair-raising screams, Rain only had a dirty diaper (though she can make it sound as though you've beaten her with a pipe). The officers took a look around the apartment ("No dead bodies in the kitchen? Check."), and left after a few minutes.

As for me? I had to grab one of my parenting books and review the chapter on, "Just because your baby cries, that doesn't mean you're a bad parent." I remind myself of that daily. Now you know why I got giddy over Rain's first laugh.

Must go now. The baby monitor lights are, of course, flashing.

She laughed!

Rain laughed! Punch my card, 'cause my mommy skills have been validated!

Quit Trying to Eat My Baby!!

Last night I slept in a hotel. I had a bunch of weird dreams, which always happens when I don't sleep in my own bed. I don't recall what most of them were about, but when I woke up I told Tim something like, "I had a dream about this fly who bit you. Then he tried to bite me, and I was running around everywhere ..." It was kind of funny, since I hadn't seen a fly all summer.

Anyway, today we returned from our trip. I was proud of Rain, who had demonstrated excellent behavior the entire time. I expected her to wail during the car trip and have difficulty sleeping in the hotel, but neither was the case. Still, when we arrived home, I was tired. I got in bed, nursed Rain, and drifted off to sleep before I was the wiser. Fifteen or twenty minutes must have passed. I woke up to Rain whimpering.

"Come on, Baby," I cooed, "please go back to sleep. Mommy's very tired." I snuggled her and closed my eyes again. A few minutes later, Rain was crying. My eyes were dry, and sleep was a blink away. "Please, please, Rain," I begged, "go night-night." I tried to sleep, but every few minutes, I would wake up to Rain fussing. I hadn't slept well the night before (that's a story for another time), and I could feel annoyance rising up in me.

Tim came in to try to soothe Rain, but no dice. Finally, Tim left to take care of a few things, and Rain and I were left to suffer in bed together. She wouldn't take a pacifier, and I knew she wasn't hungry. Her diaper was clean, so I said, "Honey, it's nap time, so we're going to nap." Just as I was about to close my eyes again, I spotted something on her forehead. It was red. I wiped my eyes and looked closer. It was a bump, a definite bite.

Something flew by my ear, buzzing as it went. "Another mosquito!" I thought, and ran for the swatter. "I'm sorry, Baby," I told Rain. "Mommy didn't know, but now she'll go get that bug!" Rain smiled at me, as if happy I figured out the problem.

I heard buzzing again, but this time behind me. I whirled around but saw nothing. I closed the bedroom door, so the mosquito would be trapped. I waited. I circled the room several times and finally decided to wait in bed for it. With swatter in hand, I kept guard. A minute later, the nasty thing flew by. Was it a mosquito? Nope. It was ... (drum roll) ... the black fly! The one from my dream!

I was horrified. Not only had I never seen a black fly (which according to my husband, are commonplace in the northeast), I didn't even know flies could bite. They actually tear flesh open to feed! The flies we have in Texas are puny little things that we shoo away from watermelons and hotdogs. I didn't realize our flies were the runts of the fly species. Black flies, and their bee-sized behinds, have apparently migrated south, because one was flying around in my bedroom.

I swatted at it with all my might and could not kill it. I trapped it behind the mini blinds, and still, he avoided me. I smacked at him as he crossed the bed to Rain. He disappeared. I thought I had killed him, but I found him crawling along on the floor underneath the bed, waiting for me to give up the hunt. I had to vacuum him up with the wand, for crying out loud!

So, to those of you causing global warming (us) and therefore making black flies move south towards innocent people (me), I demand that you (me) stop your Earth-breaking habits. To black flies everywhere: I frown upon global destruction, but I have no qualms with insect extinction.

Follow-up: Tim thinks that there's nothing supernatural about my nightmare fly becoming a reality. I think he just doesn't have enough imagination.

Multiple Choice

When Rain wakes up in the morning, she's the happiest she may be all day. She nurses, smiles, and is all cuddly-wuddly for a half hour or so before returning to sleep. When she wakes up, she coos and snuggles with me, and I think, "This mom gig is kind of ... sweet."

Sometime about noon, I start to see the signs that Baby Jekyll is going out to lunch, and Baby Hyde is on call. After that time until dinner, Rain gives me a short minute to figure out her needs, and if I don't comply quickly, she does what I call "raise the roof." When she gets going, she can scream 'til the roof might go. Scream, not just cry, people.

Most of the time, thankfully, it's easy to figure out her needs by her cry. She has one kind of cry for hunger, another for a dirty diaper, and another for sleepiness. Other times she has gas she can't get rid of or is tired beyond her ability to put herself to sleep. The problem with this multiple choice is that (1) if I've missed her early cries, I can't tell what she wants by the time she's screaming, and (2) at least twice a day, usually in the evening, it seems like none of these are the answer. The hardest to call is gas and sleepiness. Unless she's tootin' a lot or pulling her knees to her chest, it's hard to tell if she's got gas. Because she fights sleep anyway, who knows if she's really tired or not?

Whatever the answer is, if I don't come up with it ASAP, I'm going to face the headache-inducing consequences. That's one of the hardest jobs about my new life. Rain can't talk, but she needs things. I want to give her those things, but she can't talk. The vicious cycle isn't hard to pick out.

But when I guess right .... oh, yeah! I'm so proud of myself and thankful that she's content. She gives me this look like, "Finally, you figured it out! If I had to sit in a wet diaper one more minute ..." Baby Jekyll returns for a spell, and Mommy might even get in a short nap.

There's nothing more frightening, though, then waking up next to Hyde.