Six Months

I just went back and read what I wrote here when Charlotte was six months old (see here). I know it's odious to compare your children, but I couldn't help think how different, and yet how similar, parenting is this time around. Sam is a few pounds heavier than Charlotte was at six months, and about an inch and a half taller. He has one tooth, whereas Charlotte had two (although that second one of Sam's is about to bust through). He has a pretty respectable head of auburn-blonde hair, while six-month-old Charlotte was bald as a cue ball, save that one, three-inch-long curly strand at the crown of her head. Sam has rolled over a few more times than Charlotte, and has rolled over back to front in addition to front to back. Sam has sat unsupported for a few seconds at a time, which is well ahead of Charlotte (in all fairness, she probably could have done it. It just wouldn't have occurred to me to, you know, set the baby down every once in a while).

Other things are different, too. We're short one great-grandparent after losing my Grandpa Deur in April 2007. We're plus two aunts, both conveniently named Katy/ie (thanks, ladies!). But the most significant difference is in Jeff and me. I think we're both substantially more laid-back as parents this time around, more confident. We can't give Sam the undivided attention we gave Charlotte--and he's none the worse for wear. And, of course, Charlotte's a sibling in this new family equation, and that has changed so much, too.

Sam at six months is a delight. Most of the time he sleeps wonderfully--typically two naps lasting from 1.5-3 hours each, a 7 p.m. bedtime and a 6 a.m. rise-and-shine with (usually) one feeding wake-up between the hours of 10 and midnight. I would make some minor tweaks (always waking up at 10 p.m. for his night feeding, for example, and a slightly later wake-up time), but for the most part I am much MUCH more well-rested than I was when Charlotte was this age.

And he wakes up happy almost every single time, cooing and sucking his fingers in his crib. I can hear an untranscribable sound over the monitor when Sam's awake, a kind of scootch-scootch-scootch sound that heralds the fact that Sam's doing his horizontal Riverdance move, kicking his legs rhythmically while his arms and torso stay stationary. When I go in to get him from his crib, he smiles with his entire chubby little person, arching his back and wrinkling his forehead and chortling with pure glee.

He eats some baby food now, and tonight partook of prunes with a gusto I didn't know anyone could have for prunes, lunging at the spoon with enthusiasm. He chews constantly on his fingers, his bib, his shirt, my shirt, my fingers, his sister's fingers ("Sam's eatin' on me!" she shrieks), anything within reach. If you catch him in a big smile, you can see that little glimmer of white, that faint razor-sharp pearl of a first tooth, and the slight swelling next door indicates number two is on its way.

He's suffering from the classic second-child troubles: I haven't updated his baby book in quite a while, and haven't even started his birthday photo album. There are probably about a third as many pictures of Sam (which is completely unfair, because he is just as photogenic as his sister) and those I do take are often shot from the hip instead of carefully composed.

But he's not short on attention, on love, on doting sisters and parents. He's got that in spades.

Charlotte's birthday weekend was loads of fun. It featured vast quantities of buttercream, balloons, and spontaneous renditions of a song Charlotte calls "The Tractor and the Mower." The temps were soaring and the humidity was high, but we all sweated through the outdoor birthday party happily. The buttercream also sweated, unfortunately. (Still delicious). The night before Charlotte's party, our water heater broke. We all (and that includes my visiting parents) enjoyed "pioneer baths" Sunday morning, involving trips from the stove to the tub with pots of boiling water. After the party we took cold showers. Invigorating! Fortunately, the problem was fixed Monday and we could all return to our indulgent, Western ways.

We had Charlotte's birthday party on Sunday, but her actual birthday was, of course, Tuesday, and I wanted to do something special to commemorate her actual day. Now that she's three, she knows the difference between just a boring, regular day and a celebration, and I didn't want her to feel short-changed. So we went to Chuck E. Cheese's.

When I mentioned this fact in my status update on Facebook, many people applauded me for my bravery or expressed surprise at my (I assume) stupidity. I think people must have either different impressions of Chuck E. Cheese's (henceforth CEC) than I do, or bad memories there. Because it was rad! Some of my favorite birthday memories are my brother's and my golden birthday parties (the seventh and the eighth, respectively) which we celebrated at what was the equivalent of CEC at the time, Show Biz Pizza.

Charlotte was understandably overwhelmed by all the flashing lights and bells and whistles, but after we ate our pizza in the presence of a giant animatronic rat, she was ready to participate. But to be honest, I think my parents, Jeff and I had as much fun as she did. Skee-ball, people! Did you know you can still rack up 32000 points on skee-ball when you have a six-month-old strapped to you in a baby bjorn? It's true! I let Sam deploy the button on one particular game, and he won 34 tickets! Jackpot!

At one point, as my mom and I stood in front of a machine, feeding tokens in hypnotically, she turned to me and said, "I don't think we should ever go to Vegas." Heh.

Three years ago, right about now, I was informed that I was still only dilated to about 5 cm after several hours laboring both at home and the hospital. I was momentarily disappointed but Jeff hauled me out of bed and I alternated walking laps around the room and bouncing dementedly on the giant inflatable labor ball.

That helped, because two hours later I was fully dilated. Of course, Charlotte wouldn't emerge for another three hours after that, because what's more fun than making your new mom push for three hours!? Nothing, that's what.

I remember with absolute clarity the moment Charlotte was born. With this pregnancy, we had elected not to find out the baby's sex ahead of time. I had written in my birth preferences that I wanted Jeff to announce the sex of the baby after he/she was born, but Jeff balked (he later admitted that the umbilical cord blocked his view) and I was the first of us to see as they flipped her up onto my stomach. "It's a girl!" I said. "Hi, Charlotte! I knew it was you." And I did, the whole time. She stopped her quiet squalling and searched around when she heard my voice. Her eyes found my face and time froze.

Oh my word, look at that chubby newborn face!

I should probably have lots of lovely poignant things to say on the occasion of my daughter's third birthday, but all I can keep thinking is "I can't believe it! I can't believe she's three!" and it's true. I really can't. I mean, wasn't she just like this:

and this:

and this:

a second ago?

(I swear, she was awake sometimes. Like this,

see?)

How did she get like this

so soon?

Happy birthday, baby girl. You changed everything. I'm so glad you're here.

I haven't been writing much lately, because I just haven't been inspired. The only things I can think of to write have to do with either: 1. adorable things my children have said/done, and while I know Charlotte-isms are one of this blog's more popular features, I don't want to come off as a family circus-cartoon knock-off; 2. political and/or social commentary that I decided long ago is going to be off-limits on this blog, because while I'm more than happy to talk about my nipples here, political matters are just too personal, apparently.

So I think I'm in the summer blogging doldrums. No wind of inspiration stirs to lift my writing sails, so I stagnate. And write hokey metaphor.

Each day around here is pretty much the same: wake up at the all-too-early hour of anywhere from 5 a.m. (if Sam's feeling extra sprightly) to 6:30 a.m. (if we're lucky). Feed Sam, who's usually chatty and smiley when he wakes up. Laugh at Sam's funny bellowing voice. Vow to capture Sam's funny verbalizations on video one of these days. Beg Jeff to get up with Sam and allow me a couple more hours of sleep. Once I do get up, the day unwinds with a series of naps and wake-ups/feedings for Sam and snacks/meals for Charlotte, along with playtime and books and walks to check on the garden. Occasional errands, trips to the library. Sneaking away to check my email while Charlotte reads to herself. Then suddenly it's 5 p.m., dinnertime, bathtime, bedtime. And I'm somehow worn out from all that inactivity, and can usually only summon the energy to watch a pirated movie on my computer or read a chapter or two in my latest book. Then off to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat.

So, everything's fine. My daughter is turning three in just over a week, and every morning she wakes up asking if it's her birthday party day. I got her a present I'm super excited about. My son will be six months old a few days after his sister's birthday, and where has the time gone? Really, where?

Pictures and videos and such coming this week. But until then, I'll be dropping anchor in quiet waters for a while.

She
-holds my hand on a walk of any length, even from the dining room to the kitchen.
-usually has sticky hands these days.
-calls the refrigerator "Mr. Cold."
-likes to be present for Pooh's diaper changes and wake-ups.
-calls her brother Pooh Bear.
-is my constant helper.
-has questions about everything. Everything.
-is teetering on the brink between toddler and little girl.
-goes to sleep entirely on her own, sleeps through the night, and wakes up happy almost every day. (What a change from a year ago!)
-has grubby feet and a new shin bruise or two at the end of every day (she has her mother's complexion for sure).

He
-wakes up happy, cooing and shrieking with joy, about 90% of the time.
-is cutting his first teeth, quite droolily.
-has the most genuinely happy smile I've ever seen.
-beams.
-follows his sister's movements like a flower follows the sun.
-has moisture rashes in his neck folds and in the folds behind his knees, places that rarely see the light of day.
-still has blue eyes, with a brown streak in the right eye.
-is now most definitely a blonde.
-loves to be in his exersaucer.
-has started baby cereal (verdict: meh).
-has not offered a repeat performance of rolling over (Charlotte was the same way).

This morning, I was sitting on the bottom step as Charlotte stood behind me, giving me a "scratch massage" by rubbing her hairbrush on my back. My bra strap caught her brush through my t-shirt a couple of times, and after the third time she stopped and grabbed the neck of my shirt, pulling it back and nearly choking me.

"What are you doing, Charlotte?" I asked, laughing.

"I'm lookin' for your bras. Are you wearing bras?" she replied.

"Yes, I'm wearing a bra," I answered, still laughing.

Jeff overheard the whole conversation, and interjected, "Charlotte, that's like the kind of thing I did with my babysitters when I was a kid."

"What!?" I said.

"You knew that!" Jeff said. "I've told you that before."

"Uh, no!"

"Yeah, I had one particular babysitter...I said, 'Hey, do you wear a bra? Cuz I wear a t-shirt,'" Jeff said. "I was hoping she'd engage me in a frank conversation about bras."

"Didn't happen?"

"No, sadly."

A nearly three-year-old who never watches TV is the ideal audience member for Pixar's new movie "Up" because no suspension of disbelief is required. There is no disbelief. Charlotte was really and truly convinced that everything that happened on the screen was, in fact, actually happening. Dogs really flew biplanes. Houses really soared above the clouds lifted only by balloons.

Obviously, this has its drawbacks. For one, the scary scenes (and there were a few) were actually terrifying to her, not entertaining. And at one point, Charlotte was so convinced by the animation that she exclaimed in terror that "the theater is moving, just like the house is moving!" Poor baby thought we, the audience members, were also hurtling through the air, headed straight for the ground at frightening speed.

Charlotte was not the only child frightened by the film, and she wasn't the youngest in the theater either. Both of those things made me feel a bit better about taking her to the movie. That, plus the fact that today she can only talk about "Up," about what happened in the movie, and what this character said, and what happened then, etc.

On the drive home from the theater yesterday, Charlotte said she'd like to see the movie again. "But...maybe when I'm a little bit older," she added. "Like maybe five."

Good idea.

Oh, summer. Don't ever leave.

I'm enjoying my summer vacation so much. And I think I can attribute that enjoyment to two things: 1. the vacation part (you know, being off from school); and 2. the summer part (as in, the season).

The first reason is obvious. I have time now to do all sorts of things I didn't have time for during the school year: taking long walks with the kids. Playing pointless games with Charlotte. Puttering around in my garden. Cleaning my house (!). Finally putting away my winter sweaters. Leisurely grocery shopping. Baking and cooking. Getting my haircut (finally). Coaxing Sam to roll over (still no repeat performance on this one).

And the second reason...well, summer is best for a lot of the things we're doing with all this extra time. Things like walks, and playing in the inflatable pool, and gardening, and baseball games. I think I'm getting lots of Vitamin D these days, and I feel better for it.

We spent this weekend with Jeff's parents, and it was the ideal Memorial Day weekend. Long walks, visiting the farmers' market (is that right? I'm never sure about the apostrophe in that one), grilling steaks, planting tomato plants, soaking in the wading pool. Yesterday we went to KC for Sam's first major-league game. The stars aligned for us: not only were the Tigers in town for the Tigs' visit, but they were playing an afternoon game on Memorial Day (better timing for the kiddos), it was a promotional game with $5 tickets, and it was Dollar Dog day. The rain held off until after the seventh inning, by which time the Tigers had already secured their W.

Hot Dog tally: Jana--2.667 dogs; Jeff--3 dogs; Charlotte--1.333 dogs; Sam--fiercely eyeing everyone else's hot dogs (time to start solids?)

Ah, summer.

Charlotte and her Grandma T. are playing a guessing game.

Nana: I'm thinking of someone with hairy legs...
Charlotte: Who is it?
Nana: He has hairy legs, and not alot of hair on top of his head.
Charlotte: Who is it?
Jana: Who do you think it could be, Charlotte?
Charlotte: It's Sam!

(P.S. It was Papa T.).

Scene: Charlotte and Jana are sitting at the table, eating egg sandwiches. Charlotte sniffs her sandwich.

Charlotte: This smells cheesy! And...hammy!
Jana: Hammy! (laughs)
Pause
Charlotte: You should write that up on your blog!

Around two p.m. yesterday, did you hear something you couldn't quite identify? Something sort of...breathy? Like a gigantic, huge sigh of relief? Well, that would have been me. Sorry if it blew your hair back or anything.

Yesterday afternoon I went onto campus with Charlotte to hand in my final seminar paper. My first year of my Ph.D. program is OVAH. If I knew how to insert audio clips, I'd place the Hallelujah Chorus here.

This year has been really, really amazing. Having an entire academic year off from teaching proved to be an enormous boon. I love teaching, but being able to devote myself entirely to my own studies and paper-writing, particularly this semester after Sam was born, was so helpful. Perhaps even essential. I must admit I'm more than a little nervous about how things are going to go next fall when I'm teaching two courses and taking two as well.

I have so many things I want to do this summer during my time off. I am taking a summer course (that looks to be amazing) from July 20-31, but until then I'm completely free. Well, not entirely. My to-do list grows daily. But it's a fun list. In addition to polishing and revising some of my essays to submit for publication, I have several art projects planned. There are places in Kansas City I want go as a family. Outings to parks, swimming pools, museums, baseball games. Plus I'm going to work on running again (check out See Tig Run for more on that) and will actually start cooking for my family again, too (see Tig Eats for details, there).

In addition, two days a week Jeff will be leaving the house bright and early to get in a full work day. One thing that has made this past academic year not only workable but actually pretty good was the fact that I have an amazing husband who stays at home with our kids while I am in school. I love that we don't have to pay for (and find!) daycare. I love that our kids get more daddy time in one week than some kids do in a month.

But Jeff has his goals, too, which have been put on the back burner while I'm in school. I know how hard it is to get work done in the evenings after the kids have gone to bed, especially after a long day spent caring for those kids. I hope that having some dedicated work days this summer will allow him to write and submit his poetry in a way he hasn't been able to this year.

Summer break! WOO!

I'm breaking radio silence to regale you with what will no doubt be a mish-mash of seemingly unrelated tidbits, because that's how I roll when I've been laboring over seminar papers nonstop for what seems like weeks. My critical texts have started entering my dreams. Last night in my dreams I was having a conversation about Anzia Yezierska with two dead theorists over cookies. At least the cookies were tasty.

So, Tulip Time was this past weekend. I have much to say about it but like I said I'm saving my coherence for my paper-writing, so all you get is this picture:

Oh my word, the Dutch cuteness is overwhelming me. Also, my baby has fat little feet.

And this one:

This last one deserves a bit of an anecdote. My kids are pictured with my cousin Amy's adorable son and stepdaughter Jack and Joclyn. While we were all gathered around snapping picture after picture, we were attracting a small crowd. Several random tourists wandering through Scholte Gardens were also taking pictures. Of our children. To whom they were not related. I was so busy trying to get the perfect shot that I nearly missed Jeff carefully dictating the kids' names and the spellings of their names to an old lady whose husband was snapping away with his Nikon. She wrote down the names on a tattered envelope above a little map she sketched of the kids' locations in the pictures. I can only imagine my children making their way into this random woman's scrapbook of her trip to Pella for Tulip Time 2009.

Will my children attain fame as archetypal Dutch kids? Only time will tell.

Also, today is this joker's birthday:

That would be the joker at the top, not the dejected-looking sweaty blond joker, or the fat sleeping baby joker.

Happy birthday, dad!

I'll be back as soon as I can crank out some academic genius. Now, to find some cookies and dead theorists...

She looks impossibly small, suddenly, next to all these other kids. Although they're only a year or two older than her, they seem to tower over her, all gangly arms and shrieking mouths and long legs. They clap along with the singing and punch each other in the arms and giggle and act like kids. I look down at her, at her rounded baby-cheeks, her wide blue eyes taking it all in. Her hand holding mine tightens as she looks around in awe.

We visited Charlotte's preschool yesterday. It's official: she'll be starting in the fall, three afternoons a week. The visit went really well. I loved the school (it's run by our church)--the teachers we met were very friendly, the facilities were new and clean and organized, they have special art and music classes, and even do YOGA (I want to go to preschool!).

But I had that moment...that cliched, Hallmark-card moment when I looked down at my baby and realized she's not a baby. Even though she seemed all round belly and toddler-face yesterday, I know that by next September, she'll be taller and leaner and more capable, and she'll be the little girl in braids hugging her friend spontaneously as they walk to their classroom. She'll be the one learning and painting and singing and making friends. That moment when I thought of her little hand slipping out of mine and into one of her little friends's as they walked down the hall...well, I got a little teary-eyed.

She'll love it, of course. I remember how excited I was for school when I was a little girl. She's been begging to go to school like our neighbor boy for months. September, to her, probably seems like an eternity away.

But for me, it'll come so quickly.

Keywords

Sam, 4 months old:

Active

Alert

Chubby

Happy

Spastic

Cooing

Drooling

Hungry

Smiling

Charlotte, 2 5/6ths years old:

Bossy

Creative

Curious

Demanding

Imaginative

Tender

Sensitive

Precocious

Funny

Bruiser

Sam had his four-month checkup today. He weighed in at 18 pounds 3 ounces (97th percentile) and was 27 inches long (off the charts here). He weighs almost a pound more than Charlotte did at that age, and is as tall as she was at nine months.

My favorite part of the appointment was when the doctor was checking his hip joints. He made a sound that caused the doctor to apologize to him. I said, "Oh, don't apologize. That's how he laughs." I can't describe the sound, although I've tried: it's sort of a throaty, grunty chuckle. It doesn't sound like a laugh, but it is. Sam's laughter is laugh-provoking. I should try to get it on video.

I've just spent part of the afternoon hanging pictures up on our dining room wall, collage-style. They're mostly pictures of the kids, although Jeff and I make a couple of appearances. One of Charlotte at nine months old stopped me in my tracks. I can see such a resemblance between her and Sam, and I can see in her chubby baby face the little girl she is now. I study Sam's face sometimes wondering how he'll look in five months, a year, three years.

Things are good. If the blog is a bit quiet over the next couple of weeks, it's because my semester is winding down...which, of course, means anything but winding down. I have two seminar papers to write, plus a number of smaller projects on my plate. So I'll try to post some Charlotte-isms and photos (here and at flickr) and other little tidbits while that's going on.

A bedtime conversation:

Jana: Goodnight, Charlotte!
Charlotte: Mama, I have a question.
J: Okay, what is it?
C: Ummmmmmm... (long pause). Do...you...like...animals?
J: Charlotte, are you stalling? Yes. I like animals. Goodnight.
C: But wait!
J: What, honey?
C: I want you to know. I DON'T like animals.
J: Okay. Noted. Goodnight, now, sweetie.

Minutes later, I hear Charlotte loudly singing in her room, NOT sleeping. I go to remind her it's bedtime.

Jana: Charlotte! It's bedtime! Time to be quiet and close your eyes and go to sleep!
Charlotte: What!?
J: It's bedtime, honey. You know that. Goodnight.
C: Mama, where is my candy (Easter candy we've been parsing out a little each day)?
J: It's downstairs, honey.
C: Is it in the heart bag?
J: Yes, Charlotte. Now, go to slee...
C: But is the bag hanging up!?
J: I think so honey. Now, it's time for bed.
C: But mama. PLEASE, make sure the bag is hanging up for me.
J: Will do. Good night!

So far, no more disturbances. But the night is still young!

Tomorrow morning, I run my first 5k. Click over to TigBlob to see how I'm feeling about that.

Last night, I was just about asleep, when a thought struck me: in just a couple of months, Sam will be ready to eat baby cereal!

Seriously, these are the kinds of things that keep me awake at night.

When Charlotte was a baby, every stage seemed to stretch out to infinity. Do you know what I mean? Brand new infancy, with its constant night-waking and nursing, felt at the time like it was lasting years. Charlotte smiled for the first time when she was just over a month old, as did Sam. With Charlotte, though, it seemed as though she had been around forever, just crying and sleeping and waking and eating and pooping for ages, before cracking that first smile. Sam's smile snuck up on me. Like, what's that? Wait, you're not old enough for that! (Consults Charlotte's baby book). Oh, I guess you are. Carry on, then.

Sam's fifteen weeks old. Yesterday I busted the exersaucer and bumbo seat out and he's used both of them, briefly. Again, it felt like Charlotte was centuries old before she broke in those things. Sam feels fresh out of the hospital and he's trying to sit up! Chortling! Conversing in a secret baby language consisting of coos and grunts! How did this happen!?

That's an approximation of what went through my head last night as I tried, again, to fall asleep. Those of you who are parents to more than one child will assure me this is normal, but for me it feels anything but. It's surprising, but it's all brand new all over again.

One of the nice things about having friends and family visit* is being able to pose for a family picture without having to set up the tripod and run back to the couch while the self-timer flashes. Thanks to my friend Mindi, who spent the weekend with us, for this picture:

What's that adorable dress Charlotte's wearing? I'm glad you asked! Here it is, closer up:

My mom made this dress for her. I picked out the fabric and the pattern (find the pattern here). My mom does a great job sewing, and I always think what she makes is beautiful, but this has to be my favorite project of hers yet. Way to go, Nana!

*Another perk includes having someone else able take some of the hits from Charlotte's constant barrage of requests to read to her. Mindi really earned her stripes in that regard this weekend.

It's 1 a.m. I'm up working on a paper proposal, due tomorrow at 7 p.m. Instead of working, I'm thinking about: Sam's cheeks. Charlotte's singing. Jeff, who is heading home from a Bonnie Prince Billy concert. Baseball...

And that last one suddenly makes me remember a story Jeff told me when we were dating. We were talking about prank phone calling people. The basics: is your refrigerator running? etc. Then Jeff tells me about a phone call that wasn't a prank, but was totally in earnest. Somehow, 12-year-old Jeff finds the phone number for Orel Hershiser in Michigan and calls the number.

Orel Hershiser III answers the phone. Jeff asks "Is Orel there?" It doesn't take the man long to figure out this 12-year-old baseball fanatic is referring to his slightly more famous son, Orel Hershiser IV. This Orel, sadly, was not home, as he no longer lived with his parents in Michigan. Jeff recalls having a brief but pleasant conversation with Orel's father, though.

I love this story.