Musings of a Mum: 9 months old



Little chicken,
Stop! You are making my uterus hurt.  Talk about a babymoon, sheesh.  I cannot believe you are my very own baby.  I get to cuddle and snuggle and chomp on your cheeks with kisses whenever I want to.  I get to smell your tasty skin and nuzzle into your baby neck. I get to swoon at you in sun hats and laugh at your jolly giggles. You also reach for us and bury your face into our skin, making me remember how my own mother's smell is still something I crave and am comforted by.  Divine, I say!  I feel the days passing away and I cannot contain my panic - for soon enough you will not let me kiss you and dress you and feed you broccoli.

A few things may have contributed to my being blissed-out on Baby +Bowie .  I will attempt to capture them here, for record keeping purposes, of course.

1.  You are sleeping through the night!  What victory is mine.  We started the sleep training the day after you turned 8 months old.  Despite me being prepared for a few days (even weeks) of crying nights, it took you ONE night!  It's now been a month of 13 hours of uninterrupted sleep each night, and I am shaking my fist at myself (which is anatomically hard to do!) for not attempting this much, MUCH sooner. See 'Sleeping' section for more info.

2.  You have finally cut your first two teeth which has restored your pleasant, easy-going, (dare I say) patient personality.

3.  You seem to be on the tail-end of the separation anxiety and are content playing independently.

4. You are on the brink of crawling, but not yet!

All of these factors combine into one tasty pot of 'this isn't too hard' soup for Momma.  Every day, I realize this new normal will evaporate so quickly, but I am determined to enjoy it now.

So much has changed in a few short months.  You seem less and less baby and more and more Bowie.  One of my favorite things is to hold up a toy in each of my hands to see which you pick.  It's so interesting watching a human develop preferences.




PERSONALITY
Your sense of humor has taken off this month and you have so many expressions!! We will walk by your room as you are falling asleep and hear you giggling to yourself.  You love your kitty cat, though I can't say the feeling is mutual.  

Your view has seemed to broaden from just Momma to include Dad, Grandpa, Grandma, and several other of our friends who adore you.

Dad and I often remark on how sweet you are, what a good baby you are, how happy we are, how easy it is to be around you, and how remarkably patient you are - for a baby. 

You used to hate being in the baby carrier, but I clued into the fact that you disliked being so low.  I adjusted it so you could see over my shoulder as we take walks, and you now love it!  Where once your limit was a 15 minute walk, I can now traipse about the neighborhood for 45 min (which is my limit.  You aren't light!).  We go on 'noticing' walks where I point out various blooms and plants.  

Whenever you pick up something to play with it, you 'offer it to the toy gods' as Dad and I say.  You lift it up over your head with both hands, pause for a bit, then slam it down as hard as you can.  Perhaps you are testing the god's strength or your own or the toy's.  

You love it when anyone sings to you!  I like to sing Zou Bisou Bisou and make you do a little frenchy dance.  Oooh la la!  You laugh every time.

DEVELOPMENT
  • You have cut two teeth.  First was the bottom right, and a few days later, the bottom left.  
  • Your pincers are working wonderfully, and you are becoming more and more skilled at manipulating toys and objects to your will.
  • You are rocking back and forth on your sitting bones, eager to crawl, though not yet able to keep your torso on plane with your head.  (p.s. I am fine with this!)  Instead of crawling to move around, you are steam-rolling all over the floor.
  • You say 'th' and several vowel sounds, but consonants are not quite there.  I've been working on 'B.'
  • You love to eat your toes and hate being on the changing table.
  • You love, love, love the bathtub.
  • You are attentive with books, and right now your favorite is one about dinosaurs and one about Monet.  Atta' girl!
  • Your hair is growing in as a mohawk...and darker than I expected.
  • Your eyes, though still dominantly blue, seem to have more yellow specs forming.
  • You've started to grab hair and scratch skin, and we've been working on the word 'Gentle' and 'No.'  Your eyes tell me you understand completely.


FEEDING
You are our little baby bird!  You like almost everything we've given you now, and you will open your mouth wide in between bites, waiting for us to fill it.  You are usually silent in between those bites, but almost always once you have food in your mouth, you make a low moan, as if grunting will assist the newly-learned chew skills.  

We've been feeding you cheerios for a few weeks now.  Usually, you are able to pick them up, but weren't quite getting them into your mouth.  However, in the last few days have you seem to have mastered the skill, using almost exclusively your right hand. Whenever I used to help you get one by offering it to you from my own fingers, instead of taking the cheerio, you would take my entire hand and bring it to your mouth.  Smart.  Why the extra effort?  On the occasion that you are unable to grasp the cheerio, usually because they have become wet from you splashing water from your cup onto the tray, you complain swiftly and loudly.  I will enjoy the time when you can say, "Dear Mother, when you have a moment, will you please assist me?"  

You have taken to your sippy cup this month, gulping water with fortitude! When bottle fed, you hold it almost entirely on your own.  


We've added meat and grains to your diet.  You love entertaining yourself with rice cakes, though I am not sure you are getting any calories from it since it ends up on your hands, face, hair, clothes, and the floor more  often than not.

SLEEPING
Remember how just after last month's letter to you, I said that we were starting your sleep training that very night?  Well we did it and I am happy to report that you took to it like a fish to water.  I had always associated 'The Ferber Method' with 'The Evil Method' and so never gave his book a fair chance. When our naturopath said to do it, I decided to look it over.  It turns out that many women had this same impression of Ferber...that is, until it WORKED (even if you co-sleep, it works!).  

The first part was recognizing your sleep associations.  While you could put yourself to sleep, you began to rely on nursing or a bottle to get yourself back to sleep in the middle of your night wakings.  I knew this was the case for several months, but didn't have the courage to let you cry - even though I knew you didn't need the calories.  Because I allowed it to go on so long, I assumed the breaking of the habit would be arduous and drawn out.  

Not so.  Either you are a quick learner or the method should be called 'The Miracle Method.'  Whichever is true (I'm pulling for you), we are a happy, happy family sleeping through the night for almost a month now.  

The method involves a crying-it-out, but in small intervals.  For the first night, whenever you woke up, we would go in and comfort you every 5, then 10, then 15 minutes.  (We adjusted this to every 10, 15, then 20 minutes because our going in was more disruptive and would just get you worked up again.)  You woke five times that night, and it was really hard for us.  I had a few mantras running through my head for help and your Dad did the bulk of the comforting - since you wouldn't smell milk on him as you would with me.  We all suffered that night.  I was prepared to battle again the following night.

However, the next night, you woke only 3 times (as opposed to the previous night's 5 times), but each for not even 3 minutes.  You cried and then put yourself right back to sleep.  Night 3, you woke once for 1 minute.  By night 5, you were out cold until 6am.  Glory, glory, GLORY BE!

As it turns out, this training has also made you able to sleep better in foreign places as well.  You will cry for 1-5 minutes, work it out, then fall right asleep.

One of the many benefits of you getting 12+ hours of sleep per night is not only that you are happier and more resilient during the day, but also that I have gained a deeper sense of knowing you and your cries.  Since I have allowed you to cry, I can know immediately now if you are mad, hurt, hungry, dirty, or stuck in-between the grates of your crib.  Before, your cries were closer to guess work.

Now that we have nighttime pretty well down, I am hoping to create a more predictable nap schedule.  Right now, we are working toward a 1.5hr nap in the morning and a 1.5hr nap in the afternoon. 

OUTINGS AND EVENTS
In one month, you saw your first snow AND your first cherry blossoms.  Welcome to Seattle Spring - such a glorious time of year when the heavy clouds lift and we ache to spend our days outdoors sipping rosé.  

You have had the pleasure of spending several afternoons with Aunt Niki as I go and write.  You certainly get loved on when she's here!


Aunt Plume stopped by too.  Though you met her once already, she never had a chance to hold you since all you ever used to do was sleep.  This time, you two played and giggled and she fell in love with your cheeks.

We went to the library together for the first time, enjoying the beginning of warmer weather and sighting our first cherry blossom.

We have been going to Grandma's not only on Sundays, but also usually once midweek (for my sanity). You are quite happy there.  You touched grass with your feet for the first time on their property.

We had another appointment at the chiropractor that necessitated you coming with me, and you went right to 3 different ladies without a complaint! You even smiled for them.  I was so proud that you felt so safe.



This also marks 9 months since we have become a Mom and a Dad.  We often say to each other how content we are with you, each other as parents and spouses, and our new normal.  You are an easy addition, rock-star baby.  We see this time with our ancient eyes, teary with nostalgia.  It's just so good and gentle.

As we sat on a blanket in the sun this afternoon, I realized that for one of the first times I can ever remember, I am very much present in the moment.  You've put me into the now, grabbed my forward-wandering attention, and slammed me right back where I belong.  With you.  Right now.

I guess that's what happens when one encounters the most beautiful thing they have ever seen,


"Momentum, for the sake of Momentum"*


I see the moss being ripped from the stones of my brain, the soil in reluctant acquiescence to the bounty and strength of my own internal, intellectual Spring.  Ideas, thoughts, dreams all begin to roll, to gain momentum where once they were still and cozy in their bed.

I underestimated the energy that this small writer's workshop would provide toward my own self-education.  I suddenly have a strong desire to methodize my work, to keep hours, to create a studio space and altar for writing, to submit rough drafts, t,o attend book readings, to read and read and read.  Even the people I want to read has changed drastically.  While I still have a great reverence for the literature of the great past, I have a new hunger to read these names I am encountering in the class.  It all started with Cheryl Strayed, but from there I have been devouring the brilliant poetry of Brenda Shaughnessy, the writing wisdom of Natalie Goldberg, the rhetoric of Jessica Valenti, the lyrical non-fiction of Lidia Yuknavich.

It's as if I just learned to read and I am hungry for more and more words.  A world has opened itself before my eyes and I am jumping into it.  Authors I never cared to know about, books that seemed too easy, too modern.

I am asking myself all kinds of questions, really hard questions...but I am also finally empowered enough to feel as though I can actually answer them for myself.  To define myself as writer based on MY principles and preferences and definition of success, and not what I assume it should be.  I hear this voice saying,"I can do this!" whereas I used to hear it question, "Wait, can I do this?". I have to tell you, it's impossibly thrilling!

Forsythia from Mom's

Even more Forsythia!

Forsythia in sunlight

Standing under the canopy of a very old cherry

Cherry Blossoms line our streets

I love the contrast of old to new growth

Driveways lined with Camilla flowers

Weeping Cherries are one of my very favorites

What a great house

Daphne!


In other movement, Spring has certainly sprung in Seattle.  In an effort to exercise more (and to get Bowie out of the house), the baby and I have been walking all around our lovely neighborhood on what I call 'noticing' walks.  I probably look crazy, since I am carrying Bowie on my back and people must think I am actually talking to myself, but I speak to her of all the trees and plants and birds that I happen to know.  We touch them and smell them and take photos of them.

In even more movement, I have decided to make Kombucha!  The first batch is brewing as we speak, so I am hoping beginner's luck will smile upon me.



And last, but never least, Bowie has also gained momentum in a few areas.  She cut her second tooth, has tried (and loved) rice cakes, is on the brink of crawling, and has decided to grow hair in the style of 80s punk rock.  I am proud.




*Neko Case

Baby's First Snow



A very simple Spring flurry welcomed us to today in typical Seattle weather unpredictability. It did not stick, and it was barely noticeable, but it remained Bowie's first snow.  This morning, as we sat on my bed cozily looking out the window, she watched the snow pensively, as if she too knew it was somehow out of the ordinary.  The reverie ended quickly as she returned to her task of torturing the cat (Octavia is so glad she's not crawling yet).  We stepped outside later in the morning after I hastily put her large head into her tuque and for a few seconds, she stared in wonderment...the precisely perfect reaction to one's first snow. She's really quite smart you know.



What sort are you?



We really are a cup-and-saucer kind of people in this abode.  As I stood before the great window overlooking the neighborhood, I wondered what a passerby might think of me sipping in such a manner.  Would the gesture seem odd?  I turned to my studious husband working on a final research paper and noticed his even more dainty tea cup.  How did this happen?  Why do I use the saucer?  As it turns out, I am terribly clumsy.  The saucer was meant to catch the dribbles of tea and to hold a biscuit.  I have adapted its use to coffee and a (half!) donut.  And just one second ago, I grabbed the cup without the saucer and dropped coffee on my shirt.  Damn it. Sidenote: Lest you think I always eat donuts, I would like to say I made a kick-ass oatmeal this morning complete with hot cinnamon apples, toasted coconut, raisins, and brown sugar.

Things have seemed soft lately, despite a rigorous social schedule.  Today is the first day I've not had a social event in an entire week, which is terribly straining for my introverted self.  Each activity was quite pleasurable, but it's often not until I am settled back into this solitary place that I realize how much I needed it.

As the baby despot sleeps on her throne, I ponder the new momentum in my life.  Yesterday's work was supremely productive! As I walked home from a writing lunch with a happy belly full of wine and Caesar salad, I noted how good it felt to be mentally exhausted again, to pour out thought after thought, inane and important, banal and profound onto the welcoming pages of my journal.

There really is nothing like the marriage of your passion and your work.

And speaking of passion, my mind has been swirling with brave thoughts of art.  I am reworking definitions for myself and what it means to be a 'writer' and am uncovering a lot of fear preventing me from taking myself more seriously and also realizing how much energy exists inside of me toward this work.  It's easy to write, it's easy to be around other writers.  Taking this small, informal workshop has breathed new life into my craft unlike any I expected.  It assigns me weekly readings (this week's was phenomenal!) and several timed free-writes from prompts.  Additionally, the teacher will accept voluntary submission of rough drafts of essays, and I am still working on my subject to see if I could indeed do this.  Since the topic is writing through inner change, I have several I could delve into (conversion to agnostic/atheism, my conversion to feminism, or the change of motherhood).  All seems like too much to bite and all very confusing!

I am wondering as well...

  • Is art art if it remains unshared?
  • I am any less an artist than my dear +Umber or +Jillian because I don't have shows or sell my work or spend as much time on it?  I believe they would certainly give a resounding NO, to legitimize me...but there is still something to putting your livelihood on the line.  There is a difference, but I am trying to unpack it truthfully (do I use my inability to do what they do as an excuse to keep from taking risks for what it is I do?)
  • Do I have to embrace the 'arty' lifestyle and mimic other's creative process and reside in their work-space or can I TRULY make it my very own? (Can I be more drawn to people than nature?  Can I take less than amazing photos and still hare them?  Can I be Type-A and highly-planned and crass?  Can I prefer the city to the country?  Can I own more books than plants? Can I love Twinkies instead of kale? Can I wear PJs all day instead of boots and skirts?  Can I have small humans instead of large canines?) Sidenote: this list not meant as any ridicule of their lifestyle, but just a comparison of how I have seen two of my intimates live as artists.
  • Why do I write?  What is my truest truth that I need to extract?
  • What if I hurt others by writing that truest truth?
  • Can I still write every day, delve into pieces and pour myself out on paper and still consider myself a writer even if I never publish a single thing?
  • If I do want the notoriety and publication, can I have them or am I too scared?


Just me, my cup-and-saucer, these quiet few minutes, the sound of the wind-chimes, the steady type of my husband's fingers, and the freedom of unanswered questions.



Friends with Art: Good Medicine

I consider myself something of the unofficial photographer for UmberDove's art shows. "Good Medicine" opened on Thursday night at The Ghost Gallery here in the Capitol Hill district of Seattle, and runs all month if you are in the neighborhood.  Afterward, we do what we always do: drink.








I've been thinking a bit about personal deadlines and when to allow yourself rest and when to allow yourself work and when to allow the work to be enough and when to allow it to be deficient.  It's an inspiring life being surrounded by others who think on the same things.  Kelly works hard, terribly hard. There is no wishy-washy "Maybe I'll try my hand at art for a while to see if maybe I'm good enough."  She is head's down, buried in foliage and silver and paint most days.  I must say, I got to see her more when she wasn't so successful, so it doesn't really benefit my social life - but it is certainly motivating for me in my own craft.

Which brings me to my good medicine.  Today I began a writer's workshop with the subject of writing on Inner Change/Personal Transformation.  I sit around the table with eight other (rather magnificent!) ladies who are grappling with being a writer and being a human, and it has put a serious bee in my bonnet.  

So let it begin, I say...the flurry of an writing so much that I feel beautiful exhausted from the work of my soul. Just like she does.