We & The Bean

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2009-02-18T11:08:00.000-08:00

We've been without camera for weeks.
We left it over at a friends house late December.
Now it's February and still no camera.

A small indicator of how busy we've been I guess.
Storey, in the meantime, is growing and changing faster than we can believe. Last year at this time she was still kind of a blob. Just starting to eat baby cereal, mostly spitting it out. Uncontrollably waving her arms all over the place. Kicking with both feet at the same time.
Looking a little like Jabba The Hut if you propped her up against something.

It's crazy how fast the kid is growing up.
Yesterday, she counted to four.

Winter (again)

2008-12-08T18:56:00.000-08:00

Well, it snowed.

But the way I see it, snow makes the cold worth it. A lovely coating of it arrived just in time for the downtown lighting festival at the end of our street. A ridiculously long line to see Santa! Crafts involving googly eyes! Wine, cocoa and donut holes! Glow sticks! Two giant Belgium horses and a carriage! Fabulous.

Cold, but fabulous. And check out that deliciously cute snow suit! (Thanks, Mimi. Very toasty!)

It's the new black

2008-12-02T15:46:00.000-08:00

The photo says it all...

The last two weeks Storey's has had a bad flu/cold/something (puke! in her bed! okay, move her to our bed. now there's puke in our bed! yuck.) and 2 more teeth have come in.

There's snot everywhere. And drool everywhere. And she whines and hangs on me and wants to nurse every 20 minutes. All day and all night long. And I have snot all over my clothes. And I have snot on my boobs. On my boobs people.

That's just wrong.

Gummy

2008-11-15T16:32:00.000-08:00

About four weeks ago, I took this photo, knowing it was likely the last gums-only photo we'd get. Look at that smile... (wait, if there are no teeth, is it still a smile?) (yes! of course it is!)

Storey had no teeth until she was about 13 months old. Then, in the last three weeks she's gotten her bottom two and top right teeth all one right after another. This week the next two teeth on the bottom and the left top tooth is making their way. Let's just say there's a lot of extra nursing and crabbiness due to lack of sleep going on in our house.

I've wondered lately if the way a kid gets their teeth is premonitory of how they'll do other things in life. Will Storey delay learning to drive until she's 29 and then become a cross country semi truck driver? Never pick up an instrument until she's 47, then proudly we'll sit at her Carnegie Hall debut?

Kids. What funny little people.

Oink!

2008-11-03T10:08:00.000-08:00

Today, another proud parenting milestone: I violated Storey's piggy bank.

I had good reason (sort of). My wallet is in Storey's bag, which is in the wayback of our car, which Jason drove to work and parked in a lot somewhere around East 32nd street. Which means that in addition to not having a car today, I have no money as well. Most importantly though (and this is the good part of the story), thanks to etsy.com, I needed to ship these two lovelies to New Hampshire:

So I.O.U Storey. $2.19 (plus another $1.50 for a coffee on the way home because you woke up at 5, ohmygod5!!! again this morning.)

Love, Mama

Ah, ah, ah!

2008-11-02T08:52:00.000-08:00

My parents have been cleaning out their attic. Some of the things up there I asked them to save. Like the Sesame Street Count Von Count doll from when Dylan was little (a zillion years ago). I figured, Storey doesn't watch T.V. and has no idea who he is, but who doesn't love the Count, right? We can make introductions with some snippets from YouTube and get counting. (My personal favorite: The Count counts Honkers.)

Well anyways, Storey LOVES the Count. She's borderline obsessed. We're now counting everything with the Count (one! one apple! one, two, three, four, five. five toes! one, two. two puzzle pieces! ah, ah, ah!).

Jason caught some Count-love on tape about a month ago and only just today did I have time to convert it. Check it out: one. one Storey Rain! ah, ah, ah!

Braauck, Braauck, Boo-aaack!

2008-11-01T10:29:00.000-07:00

There's nothing scarier than a chubby chicken...

running a muck at the zoo...

just before devouring a plate of mashed potatoes.
(mmmmmm... potatoes.)

Back Log

2008-10-26T20:04:00.000-07:00

I'm so behind with the Blogging. On the internets.
The last post was from over a month ago and features my baby's naked butt - outside.
It's not even warm out anymore.
It's freezing outside.
Her butt would freeze.

So the inevitable course of action: Thursday, I quit one of my jobs. Hey, we can go without beer. And eating out. Ever. I'm my own barber now too. But it doesn't matter. Besides, my hair looks surprisingly good.

The thing is, the dogs are dogs, they bark and might wake the kid. The kid who sometimes doesn't even attempt a nap anyways. The same kid recently needs 1,000 hugs for each newly erupting tooth and regularly wants held or nursed all day to ease her misery. And my husband. He deserves a clean house, clean underwear, a meal ready upon arriving home and a tearless weekend once in a while. The work-at-home gig was stressing me out. Every moment of freetime sacrificed, Storey asked to play by herself way more than I'm all that comfortable with, the housework neglected to the point to the point of grossness. It became such a drag. So I'm done. Done working from home.

As testament to my (our) liberation, here's all the swell stuff that occurred even while life has been a little lumpy:

Friend Celia!

Bath (ahhhh...)

Papa and pumpkins!

Family tree (Storey, Grandpa and Grandma)

Baby airplanes at the beach.

Friend Sam at the Zoo!

Signing

2008-09-18T17:54:00.000-07:00

When Storey was about three months old, Jason and I started signing to her. Just the basics (and intentionally two of her most favorite things ever); milk and bath. At around nine months she started signing back. Milk. Bath. (Milk. Milk. Milk.) Usually the signing took place during the milking or the bathing. Basically we were limited to talking about things as they happened, but, hey, it was something.

What we hoped for was that eventually she'd talk to us about things she wanted to happen. Well, these last two weeks it started happening. She's got milk, bath, more, finished, eat, drink, night night, and elephant (of course!) all in her little grasp, using them all to express preference. In the morning we come downstairs and ask, "Do you want to play or eat?" and she'll sign which one she wants to do depending upon whether she's hungry yet or not. After eating a bit, we ask, "Do you want more or are you finished?" and she tells us more, finished or drink. Less whining. Less tears. It's nice. She's got control but within the limited choices we give her. It makes for a happy kid, which makes for a happy us.

For lack of a photo of her signing, instead here's a baby pool butt shot. Because... well, it makes me smile.

One

2008-09-11T20:54:00.000-07:00

One very large play date at Lakewood Park.

One tall stack of thank you cards (still awaiting our attention) for the incredibly kind presents from friends and family.

One post-visitor, concurrent baby + mama head cold.

And on one quiet evening when it was finally just the three of us...
One... delicious... carrot cake.

Happy first birthday Miss Storey Rain.

(Way more than one year has gone by. Right?)

She's getting so big...

Sun & Sand

2008-09-01T20:00:00.000-07:00

Summer is almost over, and yet we hadn't been to the beach. So, today we went, the three of us.

Loved: the sun, nice breeze, the waves, shells and rocks, warm, dry sand, the playground
Not so loved: wet sand (gross, this is gross, get it off me), one gritty baby butt crack.

Diapers do wonders holding in 30lbs of lake water. However, they're not so hot at keeping out the sand. Ouch.

Diapered Olympian

2008-08-30T07:52:00.000-07:00

And now, Storey Rain Williams, representing the United States, will attempt a triple half back with a quarter twist - off her rocker. This is a very difficult routine, but just before her nap she successfully nailed it on every attempt. Let's see how she does here today...

Great Fun

2008-08-27T07:22:00.000-07:00

For my brother Dylan's wedding, folks traveled. Cousins, Grandparents, Uncles and Aunts. And since it wasn't our wedding this time, we were able to visit more than usual with some of those travelers. Storey is unbelievably lucky to have three out of her four maternal Great Grandparents alive and well. Grandma Marceille (88!) in particular is not only around, but still doing things like...

driving all the way up from Florida and back (thanks Uncle Barney!)
sticking stickers all over the place (and each other)
laughing 'till there are tears (what better way to laugh)

Great Grandmas. They are great.

First Nuptuals

2008-08-25T09:38:00.000-07:00

This weekend: a wedding! It was our first with kid in tow, Storey's first (she being the towed kid), and my brother Dylan's first (and ideally last). It was lovely. Storey was exceptionally patient and her usual swell self. Likely the highlight for her; she found the perfect opportunity to have a one-on-one (loud) conversation with the priest during the ceremony (why waste such a great audience?). Jason quickly whisked her away right after she made a huge raspberry to punctuate an especially touching moment.

The ride down was even great. She and Uncle Wes shared the back seat for the whole 2 hours and 45 minutes. They also shared the same hair at the reception.

Punk rock!

The Things We Keep

2008-08-14T09:10:00.000-07:00

My mom has had three kids, all about 10 years apart. Her youngest [Uncle Wes] will be 17 this November. That's a long time to hold onto anything baby related. But she has. Little artifacts that, for her, embody the babyhood of each of us. The thing she held onto from my youth was a fabulous jumpsuit. Red. With a blue prancing pony. And matching zippered jacket. The only thing that would make it more early-70's would be if it were made of velor and had a fast stripe or two down the leg. Recently she pulled it out of storage in that Storey is big enough (almost too big!) to wear it. I have fond memories of Dylan and Wes in that jumpsuit. When I picture them, the images are partnered with the smell of graham crackers. Nice memories. That one jumpsuit has gotten a lot of play.

So yesterday was uncommonly cool for August. Storey and I were headed for Lakewood Park. We needed long pants. Red pants. With a blue pony.

Do they make toddler clothes now that, after 35 years and three kids, will still look brand new?

George

2008-08-12T11:08:00.000-07:00

This past Sunday the three of us went to the Zoo for the first time. It was swell. Storey, who is a big fan of horses, horse noises, etc. got her first peek at an elephant (horse) and a giraffe (horse). There was lots of pointing, excited wiggling and horse pbbbbbbttt pbbbbbbbting to be had by all.

The next day at a garage sale, much to Storey's extreme joy, we found George, the giraffe. A new best friend to Bob and doll, La La. Pbbbttt, pbbbbttttt. George is now often selected for nap time as seen here.

My question: when did our baby become a toddler? She fell asleep on top of me. Her head on my shoulder and her feet somehow dangling all the way down to my kneecaps. How can that be?

First Word

2008-08-10T05:18:00.000-07:00

Ah... the first word. We've been very selective in identifying Storey's. One could have said it was "da da", in that that's a sound she's made for months. But "da da" lacks meaning in our home (Jason is Papa) and seems more like verbal exercise as it's expressed at totally random moments.

But starting Friday, clear as a bell, Storey combined waving or greeting with her first, authentic word: a lovely, impish, gummy, "Hi!"

The best is waking up to it.

"Hi!"

"Hi!"
"Hi!"

Eck.

2008-08-05T06:25:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure what the purpose of this post is (do any of them have a purpose, really?). Catharsis maybe. Regardless, it's about dogs. Or a dog. Specifically Gracie. This time every year, she sheds. Huge amounts of hair. It's everywhere. I loathe it. I take her outside and brush and brush and brush, huge rafts of fur floating on the breeze across the lawn like the down of a cottonseed tree (only black, less romantic and more houndy if you will). I do this, and yet, these were our stairs this morning.

Gross! I broke down, put Storey in her excersaucer (once a toy, now a containment device), and threw myself into the War Against Hair (WAH, as in "wahhhhhhh", which is what Storey did the entire time I was cleaning).

Ah, the question that runs through my head as I vacuum and sweep and sweep and vacuum; If I could go back in time, would I find us, pre-kid, considering a rescue named Belle (now Gracie), and whisper in our ear "DON'T. Don't do it. She's hairy and she peeps incessantly. When you have a child, she will drive you both completely insane."

(sigh)

No...

Because when she enters the room (giant ball of discarded fur trailing behind her) Storey squeals with glee, wiggles and jumps and bursts with the unbridled happiness that only Gracie inspires. She gives our kid kind kisses and tolerates all her tugging and petting, clapping and screeching with the patience of...

well... us.
Broom and vacuum at the ready.

Some Play

2008-07-31T10:25:00.001-07:00

Had anyone told me that someday, in the future, I'd have a large plastic play structure in my house, taking up most of our one spare bedroom, I would have smugly replied, "Oh, no. No plastic. You must have me confused with someone else. Someone who's in favor of large plastic play structures."

Whatever. This kid loves to climb, crawl through, slide, and stand tall on said plastic abomination. She sends her friend Bob down it. It's awesome. And Craigslist is awesome. One evening of tutoring = many long winter months o' fun ahead. Ahh... plastic. Mwwwah!

Some Work

2008-07-15T10:25:00.000-07:00

Before Storey was even born, Jason and I decided we'd do what we could to keep one of us at home caring for her rather than both of us work and pay someone else to do the caring. Just last month it appears we've finally managed to piece together a solution that keeps us out of the red each month. Triomphe! Here's a little rundown though of life as we currently know it:

Jason gets up super early, so that he can come home early after working all day.
I watch Storey, walk around town running errands and keep the house in repair/less-filthy all day.
In addition, I work about an hour each day from home for a local non-profit while Storey is napping. Sometimes she doesn't nap, so I get to ignore her and work with her crying and eating my knees during that hour. Fun.
Then, when Jason gets home, I go off to work, to the library up at the end of our street to either teach or work the desk in the computer lab or tutor.
While he watches Storey, Jason also makes dinner and runs a few loads of laundry, goes grocery shopping etc.
Then on Saturday I work at the library again all morning, while Jason has Storey again.
On top of all this, I still paint, print, package and sell art most weeks.
Jason also volunteers for LEAF and coordinates a hot meal at a local church.
Somewhere in there we also feed the dogs, scoop crap out of the yard, clean the bathrooms and the kitchen once in a while, run the dishwasher and try to vacuum all of the dog hair off the floor before Storey exceeds her ingestible limit. In the time that's left, if there is any, we maybe watch an episode of Weeds together, go for a nice walk, or read a sentence or two in a book before surrendering to sleep.

There's never enough time for everything. The dogs are bored and seem more like furry furniture than pets, spousal-only time has become a distant memory, and the hours I used to enjoy to myself... talking with a friend, going for a walk, laying in the sun, reading a whole book, gardening... I've come to accept that there isn't that kind of time anymore.

All of this to say, we're really tired. But here's the thing: these are our choices. I sometimes wonder what a life where we worked just as hard or harder towards ends that were not of our choosing would be like. So, we're tired, but we're also very lucky.

Grandpa Funny

2008-06-25T17:01:00.000-07:00

This right here is a man who really likes being a grandfather. Who can blame him? When else are you socially permitted to make silly faces and goofy noises at someone and get nothing back but big gummy smiles?

This same First-Meeting-In-Vermont photo is now in Storey's drool-proof photo album. When she gets to the Grandpa Howard page, she explodes with squeals of delight, laughter and smiles (and of course, drool. Lots of it.)

Dear Grandpa,
You make me drool.
(and smile)

Love, Storey

Chunky Monkey

2008-06-11T17:22:00.000-07:00

You CAN'T visit Stowe, VT and not go to the Ben & Jerry's Factory.

Hey, when did Ben get so creepy looking? Run Jerry, run!

Mimi's Genes

2008-06-09T13:00:00.000-07:00

In my family, appearance-wise, my mother's genes prevail. Brown hair, brown eyes. Us three kids, all brown. My poor father has a gaggle of turdly children, none of which allowed his recessive blue/grey eyes to mark them as his own. He just had to take my mother's word for it.

I thought for sure my own children would follow suit, brown & turdly, like me. But look! What light hair these two ladies have!
They could be twins!
And Storey's eyes? Still as green/grey/hazel as the day she was born.

Sawtell genes prevail! Not that there's anything wrong with brown, Mom. Other than the fact that it's the color of turds.
(Okay already, Kris...)

Swim Baby Swim

2008-06-08T12:38:00.000-07:00

How fabulous is it that not only does Jason's mom invite us up to a timeshare condo in lovely Stowe, Vermont for a week to kick off Summer '08, but that said condo conveniently includes both an indoor and outdoor pool for our leisurely enjoyment? Super fabulous.

The public pool in Lakewood hadn't opened yet, so Storey had her first swim on vacation, complete with yellow floaty tube and a newly discovered "stinkerface".

Ah... summer.

Those Mile Stones

2008-06-07T09:51:00.000-07:00

630 miles away from home...

Storey started crawling.

We have some baby-proofing to do when we get home. Like, as soon as we enter the front door.

Holy cow, she's fast!

Rolling Stones

2008-05-30T03:32:00.000-07:00

So much of early kiddom is about milestones. Our pediatrician tells us to watch for them, note them as signs of health and proper development. Like slow rolling stones, the months between sitting and moving can seem void of anything notable.

The two most common questions of Jason and I these past few months after "How old is she?" are "Oh, she's standing/crawling right?" and "So, how many teeth do we have?" The answer to both, at eight months and three weeks is still, "Nope." and "None." In fact, I've noticed myself lately heading these questions off at the pass with the admittedly odd introduction of, "She's almost nine months, noteethyetandnotcrawlingeitherjustbusydoingotherthings."

[There, that's out of the way.]

But, in fact, she is busy doing other things. We're busy doing other things. Somewhere along the line, Jason and I just stopped waiting and watching for teeth and four-legged forward motion. She's close to both, and when met, those milestones will be exciting, but...

just having fun together is so much better than waiting for stones to roll.

Beautiful Mess

2008-05-28T08:28:00.000-07:00

Our friends at Bela Dubby are throwing a Kid's Art Show/Charity Fund Raiser to benefit Rainbow Babies & Children's Hospital research for Children with Cystic Fibrosis and Storey was invited to submit a donated piece! So this morning, she worked her first canvas (and ate her first paint.) (no worries! non-toxic.)

Come to the artist's reception and silent auction, held on Saturday June 21st from 2-5pm to see her finished piece!

Bela Dubby is a kid-friendly coffee house located at 13321 Madison Ave. Lakewood, Ohio. There you'll find Phoenix coffee, live music and comedy, and our parental favorite, Brooklyn Beer on tap! Yum... beeer.

Mmmmm...Bob

2008-05-27T11:28:00.000-07:00

Storey has mad skills involving those fingers now! She's moved on from nostrils to Os. A much more socially acceptable favorite.

Bob (in red) likes to look on in admiration. Bob is thumb-less, so, alas, Os are not part of his morning routine.

This For That

2008-04-21T12:20:00.001-07:00

Whew. It's been a long time since the last post. Busy.
Doing things like...

Selling this:

So we could get this:

And it's oh, so worth it.

Where Is Pointer, Brother John?

2008-03-29T04:35:00.000-07:00

Storey's developed the unfortunate habit lately of waking up between 4 and 5 o'clock in the morning. Up for good. Ready to start the day. We are not. Usually, I placate her with a boob or two until Jason gets up to get ready for work and blessedly whisks her away to sit in her swing while he showers.

Well, it's Saturday and this morning, Jason slept on. No whisking. I laid there thinking, "No. No way. Not 4:00 on a Saturday. I can't." And apparently I didn't. After trying to put her back to sleep for awhile, babbling back at her in the pre-dawn darkness as she softly bapped my face with her fist over and over, I inadvertently fell back to sleep. Hey. She's not crawling yet and she was safely between us on the bed. There's only a few weeks left before she's mobile and we no longer get to languish at all. Don't judge.

Anyways, she's really into pointing at everything lately and how did I wake up? Her laughing, and two little index fingers fully inserted up my nose. What better way to start the day? I say.

Poop Song

2008-03-18T12:42:00.000-07:00

Sarah Silverman, Jason's new favorite female comedian (shhhh... big crush), wrote this song called the Poop Song. It comes from an episode of her show on Comedy Central where Sarah gets herself a daughter (just for one episode).

Video of the first time Storey ate prunes and a tidbit of the song edited all together made a nice film project for me one afternoon during nap/creative time. So now, for your viewing pleasure, here you go:

And no, we didn't actually go to the mall, so no, she didn't poop there.

Tada! Meet Clayton

2008-02-28T16:13:00.000-08:00

Jason named him. I'm crossing my fingers that someone really needs a stuffed bunny and perhaps a sheep print for Easter. This post-holiday spending lull is not good for our accumulation of millions via etsy.com.

Mod Bunny

2008-02-28T06:49:00.000-08:00

My mind and hands are bored, so turning to stuffed toys for the answer seems to be working. We'll see how it turns out.

Winter

2008-02-27T18:21:00.000-08:00

As soon as Storey went down for her nap today, I threw on gloves, coat, hat and boots and ventured out to the garage to fetch the shovel. We've been bound in at least a foot of snow. It's bad enough not wanting to go anywhere because of the weather. It's worse feeling like you can't go anywhere, which is how I've felt for the past few days. I hate winter in Ohio. And winter in Ohio, at home, with a baby can equal double or triple the blahs.

Buried under all that snow somewhere was our car... and the path OUT of here. It took me 30 minutes, which was exactly how long she slept (sigh, that is NOT long enough). So, surrendering to our seasonal reality, we both got bundled up and headed out to visit my mom.

Ahhhhh... there. That's the best way to warm up a boring winter Wednesday.

Prunes

2008-02-26T12:38:00.000-08:00

Gross.
Food should not look like poop.

Buckets

2008-02-25T09:41:00.000-08:00

Before Storey was born, our friend Emily gave her a bucket (yes). It had a tag attached that said, simply, "Buckets are amazing."

This sentiment apparently came from experience because Emily's daughter Aliza is just over a year old. Little did we know how highly accurate those words would be.

You can put things into a bucket, dump things out of it, bang on it, wear it, laugh at Mama wearing it, throw it and whack yourself in the head with it. Your voice even sounds big and impressive when you squeal into it. Damn.

Buckets ARE amazing.

They're delicious too.

Funniest Papa EVER!

2008-02-17T06:14:00.000-08:00

Storey and I, we do things together. We read. We pretend. We talk about what the dogs are doing. We go for walks and play on the floor. Good stuff. Good, good stuff.

But Storey and Jason. That's a whole different kind of fun. Maybe Mamas produce quiet smiles and an occasional giggle, but only Papas elicit belly laughs in this house. Big, loud, contagious ones.

(Please excuse Howard Stern in the background talking about something apparently large, with a big head. Oh, come on. We all have our vices. This, much like the occasional epithet escaping from our parental mouths, we've justified as harmless until she begins talking. Then we'll reevaluate. Maybe.)

Bleck!

2008-02-12T12:09:00.000-08:00

These are a little old (from last month just before she got the flu) but they're funny enough that this post is better late than never. She has moments when she thinks she likes eating cereal. She has moments when she knows she doesn't too.

Yesterday she figured out she has a tongue. She likes to make clicking noises with it and lap at her upper lip like a dog. I gave her a taste of cinnamon and sugar toast this morning and she spent the next hour smacking her lips and licking the cinnamon off her face. Figuring out you have a tongue gets you two steps closer to not spitting your entire dinner onto your shirt so, hey, it's progress.

Monkeys!!!!

2008-02-03T18:08:00.000-08:00

It was inevitable. I had to paint big and little monkeys. Had to.

Vino, Snaps, Bath, and Love

2008-01-31T17:25:00.000-08:00

What a day.

By the time Jason arrived home I was so tired of hearing the sound of Storey crying, I think I filed my teeth down a cm or two from all the gritting and grinding. She had better be just about to do something developmentally amazing, because her sleep, day and night, is crap, CRAP I say!

It's sooooooo defeating when your kid is on your lap (for the third time since nap time should have started) screaming, kicking, wailing, arching. Ug. Again, thoughts of failure readily entered my mind. I even had to put a screaming her in her crib and leave the room at one point. I was so angry. At a baby. Angry. I am such a rotten person...

Regardless, when Jason got home, I fixed dinner, then declared that depreciating savings account be dammed, we (I) needed a glass of wine and some ginger snaps. So off I went to the store. Jason gave Storey a bath and when I arrived home, I fed her and then he graciously whisked her away to put her to bed. I married a good man. (God, that's such an understatement...)

Anyways, inspired by the wine, I drew my own bath. A bath that was mine, all mine.

As I soaked, I looked down at my floating self. I weigh less now than I did when Jason and I met. Breastfeeding, lots of walking around town pre and post baby, and eating like 11 little meals per day whenever I can grab something rather than three big ones, has led to me loosing around twenty pounds of pre-baby weight, around thirty-five pounds if you count the bulk the kid added on during pregnancy. That's a lot of me, all gone. But that's actually not what I noticed.

What I noticed was the absence of her. The kid, in utero. The last time I had a bath and had time to brush warm water over my belly, I was pregnant, with Storey. I remember how huge I thought I was, but now that I think of it, there was a KID in there, so I was actually pretty small, considering the kid and all. A KID people. SHE was in there. That's frikkin' CRAZINESS.

Now there's nothin' there. Instead we have a little person. She laughs. She sits up. And yes, she cries. This is the first time I've had a moment to consider the fact that all her little parts, her fingers, hair, eyes, ears, all those parts were there, just waiting, as I floated in the bath, belly cold, protruding out of the water like a hardboiled hen's egg.

That's amazing.
Really amazing.

She's really amazing.

You Are Where You Sleep

2008-01-28T11:36:00.000-08:00

Slowly, as Storey recovers from the flu, we've been moving parts of her upstairs nursery to her bedroom downstairs. First the crib, then the dresser, yesterday the changing table. I've started putting her down for naps in that room. I expected her to object, but surprisingly she seems to like it. Eventually, nighttime sleep will occur in there as well. In fact, it's not that she's not ready, but rather more like Jason and I aren't willing to sleep without her in our bed. These connections between us and the girl are oddly powerful. Who would have thought we'd WANT to give up our adult, marital space and delay in taking it back? Not me. But here we are, dragging our feet. We talk about it every few weeks, checking in to see if the other has had a change of heart. "She's still so little." we say. It's that whole thing where half of kids growing up is parents letting them go/grow.

In addition, I'm sure there's some book somewhere that says I should put Storey in her crib awake rather than rock her to sleep. I do both, actually, which then blows all the rules of consistency. But in my opinion, whoever wrote that book, or any book that mandates a single, rigid solution, they've likely missed out on some really wonderful, soft, quiet moments holding their baby, while they were still small and still enough to rock, rock to sleep.

I'll take my chances and continue to indulge. Wouldn't you?

Boob Head

2008-01-27T07:01:00.000-08:00

(Hat: The Littlest Nipper from Etsy.com.)

It's funny. Prior to the whole flu thing I started to consider weening Storey early. I had wanted to breastfeed her until at least a year, but at times, nursing, something that seems like it should be naturally easy, has been anything but.

I've always had just enough milk, but no more than what Storey needs. We have no reserve supply for date nights. She's four months old and still nursing every 1.5 - 2 hours around the clock. As those lofty, modern goals of sleeping through the night and having a life kept tugging at my sleeve, I desperately looked for boob-solutions. Rice cereal? Will it stick to her stomach and get her to sleep longer? No, not really. How about herbal tea? Will it double my milk supply as promised? No, not really. Feed more often and more milk will follow? More often? Are you kidding me? Let's just say, some days I've been happy to be her milk cow, others I've just felt like a failure.

Then she and I got this flu.

Amidst the vomiting, the doctor on call at the physician's office meant well when she gave me this advice: "Feed her in smaller amounts every half hour. If she sleeps, don't wake her." It was that last bit that got us in trouble. Storey slept, I didn't wake her, the boobs got full, and even though I pumped, over time my body must have figured she wasn't eating, so she didn't need the milk anymore. Plus, I was dehydrated from being sick myself. I suddenly found myself with a near-dehydrated baby, who wouldn't drink the stupid Pedialyte the doctors kept saying she needed in order to stay out of the hospital, and my milk supply had dwindled down to next to nothing.

Enter, the La Leche League. I called the local league lady and left a teary message. She called me back and told me to camp out, skin-to-skin, in bed for a day or two with Storey, nurse her all the time and my milk would come back. She also said to forget the Pedialyte.

This probably all sounds like common sense. The thing is, I was tired, second-guessing myself, worried and sick, I wanted to do what the doctors said and avoid feeling like I'd screwed-up every possible decision put in front of me. I put my instincts aside, and did what I had hoped was best. Thank goodness the boob-lady set me straight.

I did what she said instead, and it felt right. My milk is back. Storey's thriving. All with no medical/supermarket intervention. From her birth on, Jason and I have had to make choices, discerning between what's medically and commercially available (and often times recommended) for Storey versus what's actually necessary. I'm sure this won't be the last time either.

The ironic thing: once threatened with the possibility that I might not be able to continue to breastfeed her, I wouldn't give it up for anything now. She can eat every hour for all I care (and in fact, she is...)

P.U. The Nasty Flu

2008-01-26T09:14:00.000-08:00

Yuck.
First I got it. (Nursing while nauseous then running to the bathroom to puke with baby still at the breast. Priceless.)

Then, while I still had it, she got it. Way worse than I did. Then, Jason got it. Let's just say January's water bill will be steep and we've all totally had it up to here with vomit, headaches, fevers, chills and the like. At one point Storey was so bad we ended up taking her to the emergency room, because for days everything she ate, she threw up tenfold and babies + dehydration = dangerous.

Some of the most difficult moments about having a kid so far came about during this nastiness. There's nothing finer than guessing whether or not you should put your kid through the unpleasant experience of a few nights in a strange hospital bed, needles, IVs and lots of poking and prodding or keep her at home and hope that she's getting and retaining enough fluid. I've never doubted myself so much in my life. We opted for the stay at home, cross your fingers and wait it out route, but not without a lot of tears and sleepless nights (and of course, those were mine, not the kid's).

It's been a full seven days already and she's still blowin' out the bottom end, but is slowly getting her strength back. Yesterday she decided that as testament to her recovery she was going to start sitting up on her own. What a big kid! Look at her, all peaked and upright. Yes, she'll be doing a face-plant on the hardwood soon enough.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaay

2008-01-11T11:19:00.000-08:00

Storey has always been a thumb-pacified baby. Once or twice, in desperation, we even tried to introduce a pacifier. She hated it. Hated various different models. Hated all of them. How dare we offer something other than a thumb or boob?

So, our thumbs have been her friend, her comfort, her security. They've put her to sleep every night, helped soothe her stomach after every feeding, dried her tears when scared and kept her quiet in the checkout line at the grocery store. There's convenience built into this approach. Thumbs never fall on the floor and get dirty. They never get gummy, never need replaced, and YOU get to decide when to take them away.

Ah, yes, the thumbs rocked. Up until a week or so ago.

Anything in excess causes problems I suppose. Looking back, I think we might have over pacified things a bit. Any grunt, cry, whine, fuss and wapam! friend thumb would appear. Having every little complaint met with comfort was fine for the first few months, but then Storey started to form her own little personality and test the amount of control she had over her environment. This became most apparent when our dear sweet baby found a voice and started shouting at us, really shouting. Not crying, shouting, like, "HEY!" Yes, shouting for the thumb. Downright bratty.

And so, thus began the Era of Thumb-Weening. Immediately. I don't do well being shouted at by anyone, let alone a baby. Babies turn into toddlers who turn into kids who turn into teens and then adults. Bottom line, we want her to feel loved, but loved does not = entitled. Better to let her know now that that's not how we do things.

The first night she cried for 34 minutes. The second, 10. Last night 3, then after every middle-of-the-night feeding, she soothed herself to sleep without a peep. Today's noontime nap: just a whimper and then zzzzzzzzzzzzzz. I'm so proud of her. Our big girl. She turned 4 months old yesterday. What a hard won but victorious birthday present. The Fonz, I know, would approve.

Not So Fresh

2008-01-09T09:10:00.000-08:00

P.U. Babies stink. Or at least our baby stinks.

She naps, and wakes, kicks and coos and I go up to say "Hi baby!" and feed her. I lift the blankets that cover her, and pweeeeew! Baby dutch oven! She's been laying up there, tooting away, making a baby stink bomb just for me.

Gross.

Fresh

2008-01-08T21:24:00.000-08:00

You're looking at a baby about to breathe fresh air. Oh dear.

The past few days we've had a break in the weather. It's been around 60 degrees with a nice pleasant wind to stir up the stagnant winter air. I opened the windows, strapped the kid in the Bjorn and headed out into town.

At a crosswalk, an older woman addressed me. Not with, "Hello", "Good morning", "Nice baby" or "Ugly shirt" even. No, instead she hissed, "Your baby is going to get sick from the wind in its face." Oh.

This has happened more than once. Apparently babies shouldn't leave the house before the age of one. Apparently they shouldn't feel sunshine on their face. And they most certainly should not inhale fresh, warm air traveling at any speed other than zero. The sling I carry her in when not using the Bjorn will certainly hurt her back and if not wearing pink she MUST be a boy. MUST.

What I wanted to say in return to the windy lady was not nice. I wanted to tell her thank goodness she was out walking at the same time we were. Otherwise how would I've ever known how to mother my own child? Or, how about, well, maybe if you stick your face in her face a bit more and breathe a little more on her she'll develop immunities to all the germs flapping about in the wind.

I didn't say those things. I did make a mental note to self, that when I'm older and Storey is grown, I'm to walk up to strangers with children and comment only on the ugliness of their shirt ~ nothing more.

Maestro, A Little Shower Music Please

2008-01-03T14:11:00.000-08:00

O.K. I'm a parent, therefore I've become weird.

This morning I'm in the shower and Storey's in the magnificent Lights, Sounds and Music swing we borrowed from our friend Lisa that buys me about 4 minutes to clean myself, dry and dress each day. Then suddenly, above the sound of water I hear a burst of canned midi music, the kind the swing only makes if someone pulls on a ring that dangles from the top bar. This can only mean that Storey has accomplished a very exciting milestone! I look out, mid-shower, and ta-da! She's did it! All by herself!

Listen people, this is no easy feat. The swing is moving, the ring is swinging, and there's a limit to how much arm and hand control one has as a baby. Her arm to head proportion/ ratio is right up there with that of a T-rex for crying out loud.

Anyways, here's where I become weird: I get so excited as I watch her repeatedly cycle through a variety of midi tunes and lights, I cheer, "Yay!" at her, a floating head popping out from behind yellow plastic curtain. Then, I decide I must have a photo before this amazingness ends! I turn off the water and run half-naked and dripping wet to get the camera and hide outside the bathroom door, snapping photo after photo discretely as to not interupt her extreme genius.

Whatever. I know.
But I called Jason at work and told him, and he was all "Yay!" so at least I'm not alone in my weirdness.

2007

2007-12-20T13:58:00.000-08:00

What a year.

I had a baby.
And my mom had a brain aneurysm.
I think, in general, a new life tends to breathe new life into the lives of the living.
And really, who doesn't benefit from a little new life now and then...

On November 30th my mom was putting gas in the car on her way out to see Storey and I. She lost her balance, fell to the ground, got up, drove home and threw up in the driveway. My dad called to let me know that she wasn't coming out - something about her ankle hurting from the fall. I hung up, then called back. Something wasn't right about her falling and throwing up. My mom is never sick. I remembered seeing somewhere that dizziness/fainting and nausea are the two most common signs of stroke or heart attack in women. Dad said her head had started to hurt and they were on their way to the hospital. 50% don't make it this far.

They get to the ER. The doctors there do a CAT scan. She's got a brain aneurysm that's ruptured. They life-flight her to the Cleveland Clinic. We wait through what was the longest night ever as they figure out how to fix what's happened.

The next day, December 1st, mom had brain surgery. Of the 50% that make it to the hospital, only about half survive to see the operating table. A man named Shaye Moskowitz performed surgery, filling my mom's aneurysm with tiny threads of platinum, saving her life. Something he's likely done many times in his career. Something that meant everything to our family. Jason proposes that each year, on December 1st, we toast Shaye, thanking him. I say, if we have a second child and it's a boy, Shaye is an excellent name to keep in mind. Either way, neither gesture is thanks enough for what he and the others who cared for my mom have done. They're why my mom is still here today. They're why Storey gets to grow up enjoying two grandmas. They're why I get to be a mom but still be a daughter. It's painfully overwhelming to think of life otherwise and I guess I've been made to think about it a lot these past few weeks. Of the 25% that survive to undergo surgery, two thirds survive the surgery itself.

My mom spent less than a week in ICU. I think by the 8th of December she was discharged to Metro for therapy. This past Tuesday, the 18th, she returned home. Overall, she had roughly a 16% chance of surviving what happened and an 8% chance of surviving without serious disability.

My mom is amazing.
We're all amazingly lucky.

They're beautiful together aren't they?

Privileges

2007-11-28T10:53:00.000-08:00

I finally finished a book I've been reading called Baby Catcher: Chronicles of a Modern Midwife by Peggy Vincent. This memoir detailing 40 some years of delivering babies made me cry more times than I could count. It also left me with a feeling of profound gratefulness that I delivered Storey the way in which I did, with the support that I was lucky enough to have, and that the result was a healthy, happy baby. Such is not the case for everyone.

Birthing a little person is so strange. On one hand, it's happened everyday to thousands of women for thousands of years. Part of life. On the other, it's such an amazing gift. Such a privilege, to be someone's mother.

Sideburns Baby!

2007-11-27T06:49:00.000-08:00

Ahh, the holidays...
Just when things are approaching normalcy (sleep, eating, smiles), family visits, visiting family, car rides and late night bedtimes throw a baby's life into delightful chaos. I do mean delightful though. Sure, I have a cold, am back to feeding every 1.5 hours around the clock, grabbing 45 minutes chunks of sleep at night, and sigh in resignation at our whiny girl who only wants Mama lately - however...

The trade-off: the pleasure of watching Jason's mom coo back and forth with our girl, spending time getting to know his cousin's teenage daughter and her tattooed & pierced boyfriend, helping oneself to two pieces of Uncle Dylan's awesome pecan pie (yum dammit!), and sharing baby photos of Uncle Wes around the table at his 16th birthday party.

The latter happened really fast... when did he become this furry young man?

Sleepy Bees

2007-11-22T04:54:00.000-08:00

She was playing away, talking to her bee, having grand old time, for nearly an hour. Then suddenly, silence. I look over, and...

Hands Are Amazing

2007-11-20T16:48:00.000-08:00

Who knew? But they really are. Storey will sit for ages looking at her own hand, turning it this way and that, making it do what our hand is doing, grabbing our hand and moving it over here, over there. Hands are amazing.

Yum

2007-11-19T09:58:00.000-08:00

She's nearly sleeping through the night, loves to play, chatter and flirt and saves all her poop for one day out of very six or seven. One, some or all of these developments are making for a very sweet and happy baby. Don'tcha just want to eat her up?

Big, Big Things

2007-11-12T18:21:00.000-08:00

Bath photos must be shared. They are so happy. We LOVE the bath. There's lots of grinning and laughing and cheery conversation going on in there every evening. It's a party.

On a more prickly note, today was Storey's two-month checkup at the doctor's. She got her first round of shots. I cried. So did she. But at least I negotiated the number from six down to three. It was sad. But we both got over it, indulging in an afternoon of just napping and nursing. Could we have had a better excuse?

The rest of the doctor's visit was super though. Storey got to share with the doc all the big girl things that she can do. She impressed the hell out of everyone. Holding her head up, grabbing at things, wiggling, sucking fist, staring at fist while it zooms in and out via arm, standing, tracking moving objects and people, whipping head around to follow mama and her voice where ever she goes, babbling and smiling and laughing away at everyone. These are all signs of absolute genius at two months, of course.

Never mind that she needs assistance washing her bum. She's well on her way to big, big things. Right after her bath.

Lucky Ducks

2007-11-08T10:22:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was really grand. First Storey gifted me a 35-minute scream-free car ride out to my folks' house. Then she bestowed lots and lots of smiles, grins and dancing on my mom, who of course can't get enough. A peaceful nap followed while the two of us enjoyed a nice lunch and chatted. Next we headed off to my dad's workplace, where the girl smiled and flirted with the wonderful ladies he works with.

But best of all was the visit with my Grandma; Storey's Great Grandma. (What a lucky duck - she actually has three Great Grandparents!)

My Grandma Ginny is 85. She lives with my Grandpa about 5 minutes from my folks' house. She is one swell lady. Anytime we were sick as kids she'd stay with us, fix us her famous pot roast or Apple Betty, or my brother Dylan's favorite, cottage cheese on toast with black pepper sprinkled on top. We'd watch Price Is Right, then her "stories" and when we'd feel up to it, she'd play a rousing game or two of Aggravation and beat our pants off every time. She's a lady of many hugs and by example has taught us that often it's best to just have a good laugh over whatever life might bring. She has Alzheimer's now, but that didn't keep her from remembering Storey, and in turn, my girl saved the biggest smiles, best stories, and happiest coos for her Great Grandma. The two of them sat chatting for longer than I've ever seen Storey do before. I couldn't bring myself to post the photos of my Grandma gazing at my baby's face while she slept sweetly on her lap. It's a memory I'll keep close however, and share with her when she's older.

The ride home and a last minute trip to the grocery store were fussy-free as well. We couldn't have asked for a better day. Our girl's growing up. It's something to see her start to take in the world - and give back to it as well.

Little Birdies in the Bath

2007-11-06T08:33:00.000-08:00

What's funnier than a pear-shaped, pudgy baby in the bath, flippin' all the bird because bath time's over?

Were you a Good Witch or a Bad Witch?

2007-10-31T21:36:00.000-07:00

My guess is that there are two audiences that tend to ask what your child was like when they were a new baby: new mamas and, at some point, your own child. I've wondered how I'll answer that question on more than one occasion and I've noticed that, over time, my answer seems to change right along with our growing girl. The older she gets, the easier it gets - of course. So lately, I feel my answer morphing into regarding Storey as being an easy baby - because lately, that's starting to be the case.

Oddly enough, what I don't want to do though, is forget the hard times. The loss and redefinition of self, the inevitable stress on our gratefully solid marriage, the trial and error attempts at soothing, the lack of sleep, the sometimes constant fussing and screaming and the sight of her grumpy little face has been just down right hard in these early weeks. Really.

Not that I plan on telling Storey that she was a difficult baby, but especially if a new mama asks me, I don't want the patience, support, tears and triumphs to go forgotten in the haze of that all-too-cheery selective memory mamas of older babies sometimes seem to develop.

Bottom line, taking care of a small infant 24-7 has been one of the hardest things I've ever done. But, I will say that when I see the little person that's emerging due to our Herculean efforts, it's way, way worth it.

Mad, Mad, MAD!

2007-10-22T06:07:00.000-07:00

Storey spent last week smiling, cooing, laughing, flirting. She was sleeping in regular intervals and eating at a rate that allowed me to complete a small task or two in between. Then...over the weekend...some other baby arrived in her place again.

Our smiling, cooing lovey has turned into Lou Ferrigno, crying inconsolably, kicking, resisting sleep, eating every 12.2 minutes... turning green and ripping her clothes off at the seams. (Hulk mad! You make Hulk angry! Very angry! Rarrrr!)

It would be really funny if after she came out of it she'd give us a bewildered David Banner monolog, wondering about the cars she overturned and trees she uprooted during her time as her nasty green self.

Make New Friends

2007-10-18T17:06:00.000-07:00

Storey's only 6 weeks old or so, and already she has what must be her dearest friends. 10 of them to be exact. There were 12 - Rat Ox Tiger Hare Dragon Snake Horse Sheep Monkey Rooster Dog Boar - but two of them must have met some demise before coming to hang blessedly over her changing table.

This mobile was one of my most favorite of items inherited from my mentor the first year I taught Third Grade. Now it's Storey's most favorite item (in the world). She can be screaming, totally inconsolable, and if we take her to see her friends, poof! she starts smiling, cooing, laughing, dancing. We say, "Look! There's your friends!" and the madness ends, joy begins.

Like I've said in previous posts, it's a lucky thing to have such great friends.

Old Man

2007-10-17T00:38:00.000-07:00

He loves her.

I've been wondering lately how much time we have left with him. My hope is that he sticks around long enough for her to get to love him back. My sweet old man.

Books & Prunes

2007-10-16T09:18:00.000-07:00

When my younger brother Wes was young, he'd hold his poop for days. Sometimes it would seem like weeks. But, I'd take him to the library or the pool and as soon as we'd settle in and start enjoying our surroundings, he'd go. It was uncanny. I don't know what the deal was with the pool, but I'm convinced that something about books, magazines, newspapers, etc. makes them the thinking man's (or woman's) laxative. Perhaps it's due to the fact that books were always part of potty training in our home (you gotta have something to do while you sit there for hours, waiting). Regardless, we've all ended up pretty patterned.

Apparently Storey has inherited this gene from my side of the family. Each morning we read. Our current favorite is Goodnight Moon. I'm thinking about adding an extra line to the text, (goodnight poop) because, as we read, she fills her pants with great abandon. In reference to my oration abilities, I'm not sure whether I should feel flattered or offended.

Fun Papa

2007-10-15T17:54:00.000-07:00

They've started their own band.

Poopy Present

2007-10-14T19:43:00.000-07:00

I was looking through digital photos today, sorting out ones that I might like to get printed, when I happened upon this one from my mom's birthday. It's a nice one, isn't it?

Yeah, look closer.

I remember this happening, and us all laughing, but I don't remember taking a photo of the unpleasantness. Sometimes it strikes me that perhaps I'm a bit off. Oh well. It's certainly one of those "special moments" they'll both treasure forever.

Fruity-licious

2007-10-11T04:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, in the middle of napping, our doorbell rang. On our front porch I found a nice lady with an even nicer offering - a giant bouquet of fruit! It was astounding, and, I felt, most definitely photo worthy. (Inside was a head of lettuce, surrounded by kale! This has to be the most ingenious edible gift ever.)

The card wished Storey a happy one month, congratulating Jason and I for weathering it with her. This from fabulous mama, May. She has this way about her, just laying low and then thinking of just the right thing to do or say. Her son is about to turn one, so she's freshly aware of what the first month can bring for new parents.

All I have to say is, fruit rocks. Storey thought so too (flailing about a short time after I ate some).

It's amazing how lucky we are to have such incredible friends. A month after her birth and people are still dropping by with little outfits, hats, things they saw at the store and had to get for Storey. She's like a kindness magnet. I ran out of thank you cards weeks ago.

You Are What Your Mama Eats

2007-10-07T10:55:00.000-07:00

Ahh. We're learning so much, stumbling, bumbling through. Trial and error.

First, Storey got all stuffy, to the point where she couldn't breathe when she ate or slept on her back. Our days and nights were filled with snorting, screaming and the sucking sound of the bulb aspirator (a gross but miraculous tool).

We got rid of the feather pillows. I dusted the ceiling fan (ew! how did WE breathe?) and we still had one miserable kid on our hands. Finally I came across chocolate as a possible allergen. Here over the course of about 4 days I had consumed a carton of chocolate soy milk, two chocolate bars, and our share of a big plate of brownies brought over by another kind mama. Delicious! And apparently torturous for our screaming baby.

So I cut chocolate just to see. And the snots went away. Sigh. Please, enjoy some on my behalf...

Next, she broke out in a nice crop of baby acne. This is apparently normal, but it kept getting worse, spreading into her hair, all over her ears, down her neck, over her shoulders... ouch. Zitty baby.

Then she started spitting up large quantities. Think 2-3 tablespoons of projectile milk all over the bed, me, her - all day, all night. Burp cloths rendered useless. So, I read some more and find that these two discomforts in tandem indicate a dairy allergy. Argh.

So, added to the list: No cheese. No milk. No yogurt. Oh well. The acne is clearing up and she's no longer clawing at her face. Relying on older photos for now, I thought the one above was pretty appropriate. Crabby.

Mama Said...

2007-09-26T05:46:00.000-07:00

Days like yesterday... Mama said there'd be ones like it. Storey cried anytime my thumb or my boob wasn't in her mouth. And there was no napping, for either of us, other than the one she took in the sling when I walked up to the gallery and back to drop off some more prints to Linda. By the time Jason got home I was fried and so was our girl. It's almost like, in order to maintain patience and calm, I have to go comatose, numbing myself to the fact that my day has, for the most part, sucked.

But then, there's my husband, who took her as soon as he got home and put her miraculously asleep (after she filled her diaper in his honor). Then towards the wee hours of the morning he stayed up with her again and let me get some much needed sleep before we started another day together. And he woke me with a hug and let me take a shower, before his. A long, unhurried shower. It was pure bliss. And he made us eggs for breakfast.

I can't explain how much this means to me. I think it helps the girl too, because unlike yesterday, today Storey is already napping. Who knows. Maybe she was constipated or growing or just too damn sweaty for a Tuesday and it threw everything off. But it rained last night, it's nice and cool, she's had a bath and all seems to be right again with the universe.

It's funny how someone so small can impact your whole existence on a daily basis. I wonder how many people-to-be-parents realize just how much life becomes nothing about you once you have a kid. I'm sure my Mama said that too at some point.

Smelly Belly Buttons

2007-09-19T04:02:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, when I opened Storey's onsie to change her diaper, her cord tumbled out.

Grody.

I stood there and stared at it. The last of what tethered us together while she was inside of me. I can remember raising my head when Dr. Mikol twisted her body out of me and seeing the thick, opalescent blue rope running from her belly, still connected, still pulsing, even though she was breathing air. In that moment we were giving her everything we had to offer, from inside and out. Then Jason cut the cord and she was out, here with us, for good.

So, on her eighth day, what was left of it, left her. It was smellin' pretty funky anyways. I told her now she can wear a two-piece without shame.

And then we read a book to commemorate the occasion.

How often as adults do we remember the origins of our own belly buttons, and the connection that once was there?

It left me inspired to call my Mom. Just to say hi.

She's A Maniac

2007-09-17T15:27:00.000-07:00

Friends give the best presents.

Flashdancing down the runway, Storey's sporting a rockin' Max & Grace onsie crafted by Mike, Danielle and Sam, the leggings are made by Mama (me) and the Mary Jane socks are courtesy of Walter, Judy, Lila and Iris.

What a feeeeeling.
Bein's believin'.
I can have it all, now I'm dancing for my life.
Take your passion
And make it happen.
Pictures come alive, now I'm dancing through my life.
What a feeeeeeling!

Working Man

2007-09-16T07:17:00.000-07:00

Both of us had noticed a rash of inequities during my pregnancy regarding social assumptions about the father's role in this whole baby thing. People regularly asked me how I was feeling, or whether I was excited, anxious, etc. about what was coming. Rarely did anyone outside of our circle of, I guess, a few enlightened friends and family ask Jason how he felt, as his own fatherhood approached. Is it really that embedded in our culture that fathers will take or are expected to take a less passionate, less involved, secondary role in parenting? If so, that's unfortunate.

This phenomenon probably irked Jason only because, conversely, impending fatherhood has mattered so much to him. He's so committed to being a tremendous part of her life. I'll be pumping my breast milk, not because I need a break or want to "hand off" something to him, but because he wants to feed her at night, bond with her. He has spent months collecting things for us to enjoy as a family. Our i-pod is full of all the music he's excited to share with her. I think I even saw Storey-love in his eyes while she was screaming bloody murder, flailing her feet into a very tarry diaper during a recent change.

And tomorrow, well, he has to go back to work. We talk about it. It's very sad. For both of us. It makes me motivated to heal faster so that ideally nothing at home (meals, laundry, groceries, etc.) is waiting for him when he gets home. Not because that's what moms or housewives are supposed to do. Not because I'll have lots of "time on my hands" during the day. Yeah, both of these ideas can rot in the same cultural crap bucket as "fathers are 2nd-tier on the parent pyramid" as far as I'm concerned. Rather, if his heart has to break every morning upon leaving, it should have the opportunity to mend every night when he comes home, as he spends time with her, with us.

Pretty Babies

2007-09-15T19:02:00.000-07:00

I'd be honest if Storey didn't fall into the pretty baby category. But she most definitely does. We can't stop looking at her. It's amazing how each day that passes there's this sense that the three of us are bonded closer and closer together. I've never experienced anything like it. Jason teases me about the concern I had that having a child might sacrifice the closeness we already enjoyed between us. The house is quiet. We take turns holding and soothing her. Enjoying her. This week has been incredible.

Coming Home

2007-09-12T14:02:00.000-07:00

Squeezing out a very big kid, with no meds, over a period of about 15 hours, with the last hour's worth involving the ring of fire... yeah, that all leaves a battlefield in its wake. I'm fairly sure that most postpartum women share some set of physical woes. Well, one of mine is incontinence. I can't tell when I'll pee, nor can I stop or start it. I'm telling you, it's a wreck down there...

So, we come home and Jason transforms our downstairs into a homecare-baby-mama-papa-uber- living-space while I feed Storey and "wait to pee" (right... little did I know.)

Finally, I hand off the kid and walk into the bathroom to go and along with every possible thing a gal could need to heal her bottom, this is what I see:

witch hazel, a lit candle and a flower. I start to sob. Jason...

He comes to see what's wrong and that's the lovely moment when I start to pee. All over the just-cleaned-floor, in the just-made-perfect bathroom. Wetting oneself completely in front of the one you love. There's nothing finer.

Papa

2007-09-11T13:18:00.000-07:00

I've always suspected that Jason would make a great father, because of the kind of husband he is. In fact, one of the reasons why our Storey didn't start till now was because I wanted to be just "We" and enjoy him all to myself.

All through the pregnancy, he was supportive, understanding, involved. Ask Jason about anything pregnancy related and it's likely he'll have read a book or article, subscribed to a mailing list, polled our child-weathered friends, etc. already about it and could offer up an amazingly rounded, informed perspective.

He cared for me and cried at my pain during labor. Though I had thought it better that he never see what happened to my body during birth, instead he sat right next to Dr. Mikol at the end of the bed, telling me over and over that I was strong and that I could bring our daughter into the world. He was right.

He is awake with me throughout the night, and cared for us non-stop every day of this week. I've seen him weep more in the past 4 days than in our 5 years together. He loves her so much. He loved her from the moment we found out we weren't going to be just We anymore. It makes me love him even more - if that were at all possible.

Thank you Jason.

On The Day She Was Born

2007-09-10T15:54:00.000-07:00

Sunday, 9/9/07
10:00 - 11:00 pm
Watching Planet Earth, sill counting contractions, in bed. It's a party compared to what's to come.

Monday, 9/10/07
11:00 pm - 2:00 am
3 more hours of early labor. Contractions getting stronger, in fact, they just plain hurt, birthing ball not cutting it upstairs, so I start laboring in a hot bath. Much better. Contractions are at 1 every 4 minutes, well within range for going to the hospital but I still want to hang out at home for as long as possible.

Monday, 9/10/07
2:00 - 2:30 am
Calling the doc, running around, grabbing bags, shoes, cell phones. Contractions are 2 + minutes apart (holy crap!). Good thing we only live 3 blocks from the hospital. We're admitted and get our room. I am 3 cm dilated. Only 7 more to go.

Monday, 9/10/07
9:00 am
We've breathed our way through 6.5 more hours of early labor. I remember thinking, "the pain can not get much worse than this." Ha. The doc comes in and says, contractions are good, but I've not dilated much further. This sucks. She offers to break my water, and we decide sure.

Monday, 9/10/07
12:00 pm
Active labor. Holy, holy crap. This is pain. The contractions are blinding. Jason and our nurse, Andrea, breathe through them with me, one at a time. They are incredible. I begin to doubt that I can do this with no meds.

Monday, 9/10/07
1:15 pm
I'm stuck at 7- 8 cm. She's stuck. They turn me on my side.
I push and the doc guides her past the last bit of cervix. The doc, Sharon Mikol, is amazing. Let's just say I picked the right lady way back when. In many other realities, my delivery could have likely become fraught with intervention and/or a c-section (our baby ended up being 9lbs, 3 oz of it and 21 inches. That's a BIG baby.). Dr. Mikol knew all the tricks and never once suggested anything outside of my initial wishes. She stuck to my guns... for me. No drugs.

Monday, 9/10/07
1:35 pm
"We see her head! We see hair! It's long, and there's lots of it! She's almost here. Push!" they say. "Almost". That's a relative term, depending on who's perspective is king.

I will say this about this part of delivering a baby: It's an experience that either can't be described with words or people just don't talk about it afterwards. I have a very high tolerance for pain, so the contractions, I managed. But, what I did not anticipate, was the anti-intuitive yet required act of causing myself pain (pushing = pain) a number if times over in order to get her out. I thought it would never come to an end. But it did.

Monday, 9/10/07
2:49 pm
More than an hour later, with much yelling, tears and exhaustion, we witness the real beginning of our Storey. Storey Rain Williams.

Spinning Babies

2007-09-09T21:55:00.002-07:00

Sunday nights are hard. We spend the weekend together, hoping for the Bean to arrive. And then she doesn't. And Jason has to go back in to work and hear "oh, you're here, she didn't have the baby?" 10,000 times over. Then he calls me - one time for every time he hears it, to see if I have anything new to report. Which I don't.

So, tonight (after researching the pig semen thing) I decided to occupy myself by looking into why I would be having all of these contractions for days and then have them repeatedly fizzle out. I found this website: http://spinningbabies.com and discovered that the Bean's position is likely not putting enough pressure on the cervix to cause it to dilate, so the contractions are all for naught.

For the last hour Jason and I have been repositioning her with me on all fours, then using The Abdominal Lift with each contraction to get her to slide backward into the right spot.

I know. We're getting pretty desperate here.

Gross-NESS!

2007-09-09T20:46:00.000-07:00

Well, still no kid. I've been having full, intense contractions all weekend. We even had an hour's worth, 1 minute long, 5 minutes apart last night, which is when you're supposed to pack it up and head to the hospital. But something told me though that it still wasn't time - and it wasn't. The contractions fizzled into the night...kindly allowing me to get some sleep instead.

Here's why I'm extra glad we didn't go to the hospital. Had we gone, they might have witnessed the slowing down of contractions and recommended a prostaglandin insert to ripen or soften my cervix. Not only does this intervention often lead to other types of intervention but HERE'S THE GROSS PART: apparently that med. is made of pig semen.

Sorry, but that's very gross...

Big Ones

2007-09-06T05:31:00.000-07:00

In an effort to occupy myself I finished two large paintings yesterday. I had a hard time taking them in. They're pretty fun.

Meet:
Night Owls (24 x 30")

and
Big Crush (24 x 24")

On Being Late

2007-09-05T07:57:00.000-07:00

Ah. The first quality apparent, handed down by myself, rather than Jason, to our lovely daughter is... tardiness. Due September 2nd and yet, she's still hanging out in there, enjoying all the ice cream I've been consuming.

So maybe she's destined for a lifetime of being late for everything, unless she's lucky enough to have someone, like her father, to move her along and get her where she needs to be on time. Unfortunately in this present case, even Jason can't do much to expedite her arrival.

So we wait. And we wait.

Elephant Money

2007-09-01T08:14:00.000-07:00

This is so small. Should be so insignificant.
But, this morning I sold my first item on etsy.com. Elly the Elephant. Go Elly, go Elly, someone bought you, go Elly!

This distraction comes at a good time, in that I spent from 10pm till 4:30am weathering full contractions, only to wake up this morning with nothing but a sore belly. I can't express how much of a bean tease this was. I was really ready to say hello to her today, but I guess she still has some thinking to do. Maybe thoughts of woolly elephants... they are pretty intriguing.

Ha Ha

2007-08-29T08:12:00.000-07:00

This man is going to be a dad...(and a really, really, good one I might add)

One Half Of We

2007-08-28T07:55:00.000-07:00

Well we've had a birth (of sorts). Jason plays drums for Mike Uva and Hook Boy. Their CD, Static Songs, was released last week. It's the best yet. The bean agrees. She's enjoyed many hours of basement rehearsal in utero. It will be a staple for our living room dance parties together, I'm sure. Check it out, buy it, etc. at: www.collectibleescalators.com.

Testing Our Non-Stress

2007-08-28T07:32:00.000-07:00

Well, for the past week I've had no energy. Zilch. Which is a first, so I took notice. And, the bean isn't moving as much as she always has. So yesterday, when we went for our weekly OB appointment, I mentioned our apparent lack of enthusiasm for being awake. The doc hooked me and the bean up to two big, stretchy belts with disks underneath them, squeezing her tight, tight, tight. Her little heartbeat started causing mountains and valleys on the printout that steadily flowed out of the top of the machine. As she left the room, the nurse said we were looking for 2 movements (and thus an increase in heart rate) within the next 10 minutes. The bean immediately started flipping out, skooching around, trying to get out from underneath the belts. The kung fu hands and feet were flailing. When the doc showed up at the 6 minute mark, the bean had already revved her heartbeat way up 4+ times. So all is fine with the bean. She's just thinking. About when to come out.

Racing The Bean

2007-08-17T14:12:00.000-07:00

I've been racing. My opponent weighs in at 6.5 - 7 lbs and is only about 18 inches long, but we're neck and neck. Each week for the past three, I've been painting like a mad woman, trying to get material into the gallery and online before the bean gets here and places things on hold.

I'm proud to say that I now have my own online store on etsy.com (It's called We & The Bean!) with actual art for sale. It's pretty exciting, though we'll see if people want my silly cows, sheep and dogs. You never know.

Baby-dar

2007-08-16T19:55:00.000-07:00

This photo is funny to me for two reasons. First of all, it illustrates the recent fun-ness of how I always seem to have a breezy gap between my pants and the bottom of my shirt (sexy).

Secondly, look at Max. Staring at the bean. He has been freaking out this week. Constantly barking, sulking, moping, giving me the cold shoulder, cuddling with Jason in excess as if just to spite me. And on Sunday, for the first time since we first found out we had a bean on the way, he peed on the floor upstairs. In addition, he also dug out a bar of Burt's Bees Buttermilk Baby Bee soap from the changing table up there and ate it and 3/4 of its box, leaving the other 1/4 as evidence on our bed, just to make a statement. His items-o-destruction have always been so intentional... (my passport two weeks before I was due to leave the country, my bra before a date, a whole packet of birth control pills, three of Jason's books when he first moved in, 5 remote controls back when I actually watched T.V. on a regular basis, etc.) What are we going to do with this big baby when the one on the way arrives? Man, I really hope he loves her to pieces.

Whoa There!

2007-08-14T10:06:00.000-07:00

Okay. Yesterday was our first internal exam. I'm pretty sure our doc stuck her whole hand, arm and shoulder up to the clavicle up there. THAT was unexpected to say the least. But the news: I am 50% effaced and she felt either two inches or two centimeters of the baby's head. I was too preoccupied with unclasping my hands from the table rails to hear the exact unit of measure with much accuracy. Regardless, she's on her way...

Bad Blogger

2007-08-10T13:45:00.000-07:00

I know, it's been a while since the last post. We're just in waiting mode and sometimes it feels like there's not a lot to say other than that. 37 (or is it 38 now?) weeks and counting. We had an awesome baby brunch with friends and family here at the house a few weeks ago. It was more like a party than a baby shower, with Jason's waffles, fritatas and mimosas and incredible live jazz courtesy of Gene's Jazz Hot. A breezy, shady, happy morning. And of course, my mom sent everyone home with a plant for their garden or home, with this little diddy inserted into the soil that says it all.

These weeks have been some of the most content that I can remember, despite the obvious discomforts of having a giant baby riding in the front seat of my body. Summer has been very good to us.

Swell-ness

2007-07-10T18:47:00.001-07:00

Okay, now that the bean is so big, people, total strangers, are being exceptionally kind.

This morning, in lovely downtown Lakewood, I was wandering back to what I thought was our black VW. But in Lakewood there are many VWs and we all like to travel in packs and park near each other, so mid-crossing-the-street I figured out that the one ahead was someone else's car and ours was actually parked behind me on the curb. A man likely in his 50s came up to me as I waddled back to the sidewalk and asked me, "Are you okay?" I replied yes and gave a brief explanation about the whole car confusion thing. He smiled and said, "Well, you have a good excuse (gesturing to the bean). I just noticed you were pregnant there and just wanted to make sure you didn't need any help or anything". I thanked him and as he walked away he turned and ended with, "I wish you and your baby a very safe birth and hope he or she will go on to do great things." Well. How often do you hear that from a total stranger? All I can say is Lakewood has always offered us exceptional neighbors, and a warm sense of community, but being preggo with the bean here has opened up a whole new world of swell-ness. It makes me excited that she'll live amongst all these good people (and of course incur the added bonus of a multitude of those fine, compact German automobiles).

Magic Ice Cream

2007-07-04T16:43:00.000-07:00

What has:

0g Total Fat
0g Saturated Fat
0g Trans Fat
0mg Cholesterol

Tastes like delicious goodness AND gives you

12% of your daily Fiber and
10% of your daily Protein?

Mmmmm... Magic Ice Cream
Jason and I are in love (with this product) (oh, okay...and each other).

This stuff is a pregnant lady's dream. I even checked the ingredients to see what weird chemicals I was feeding the bean and there weren't really any terribly bad ones.

Thank you Breyers. You rock.

Bigger-ness

2007-07-03T14:44:00.000-07:00

31 weeks.
the bean is huge.
how much bigger can she get?

Girl Power

2007-06-14T16:33:00.001-07:00

My whole life has been filled with boys. Two brothers, my neighborhood playmates growing up, most of my friends as a young adult. My dog, my husband, etc. Synopsis: I like boys.

So when, as part of my graduate program, I was told that my teaching apprenticeship would be at an all girls school, I was a little wary.

That apprenticeship turned into a lead teaching position and I quickly discovered that I actually loved spending my days with girls. For Pete's sake, I'm a girl!

The first year I taught, two of my students made a t-shirt for me at the end of the year. I wear it to bed all the time. So, I looked down this morning to see all their little faces on my big belly and thought, "Hey now, that's blog-worthy." Here's why: I've loved spending my days each year with these girls so much, that my heart has broken each June when I have to say goodbye. Their stories, their crafty, articulate hands, their laughter, their interests and the way they share them, celebrate them, celebrate themselves. It's magical, and it's different than with boys. Last week, I wept when I said goodbye to this year's girls, realizing that it may be the last time I spend my days with girls, for a while. But then it occurred to me, that special magic... we're about to have some of that - all of our own. In our home. In our lives every day. And I get to enjoy her, for the rest of my life. How absolutely fabulous.

Big-ness

2007-06-14T16:11:00.000-07:00

Our neighbor kindly said hello yesterday as he walked his dog past our house. He then said, "Boy, you only have a few weeks left, huh!?"

"Well, I don't know, at least 8, maybe 10 or 12," I replied. His eyes went directly to the bean and then back to me, filled with disbelief. I'm guessing our bean is destined to either be a very large baby or a very tall, all folded up baby. Sigh. It's belly eruptus, belly erectus, belly interjectus, belly elephantitus, belly protrusionitus, belly catapultus, belly holymolus...

Jumping Bean

2007-05-28T04:53:00.000-07:00

So, the bean's been moving so much lately, we decided to film the fun. Available in two formats...

.mov format for Quicktime

.wmv for Windows Media

2 Lucky Girls

2007-05-26T09:10:00.000-07:00

I just have to say, what girl could be more lucky to have this guy loving her?

Good thing there's enough there for both me and the bean or she'd have a fight on her hands upon arrival. (Big giant bruce lee hands don't scare me baby!)

(Really he's just thinking about his tasty beer.)

(I'm jealous.)

(I miss beer.)

Green. With Leaves.

2007-05-26T08:33:00.000-07:00

It's been quiet the past few weeks. I guess things seem to go more slowly when you're waiting for someone to arrive. 15 weeks and counting. Right this moment, that feels like a really long time. Wonder what she'll look like. Green. With leaves maybe.

We went to see the doctor again Thursday. She's growing (the bean, not the doctor) and is very active (see Giant Bean Hands). She's about 13 1/2 inches tall, and weighs about a pound and a half. All is well and healthy. Lately, every once in a while, a 2 second video of the whole birth thing flashes inside my mind and I know my face is wrought with disbelief that I'll do okay welcoming the bean into the world. For now, I just continue to cram those thoughts back to the farthest corner of my mind and focus guessing what body part just shark-swam past by my belly button.

As we wait, babies are appearing in record numbers amongst our group of friends. With each arrival Jason and I share a sigh of relief, happy that everyone is okay, excited to see how life will change for them, for us. I imagine we'll have no shortage of sound advice and small people to play with in the coming years. Suddenly I'm glad we stayed in Lakewood for a whole new set of reasons.

Giant Bean Hands

2007-05-02T17:27:00.000-07:00

Okay. We have a very, very active child. The bean's been kicking, hitting, etc. me for awhile now. Jason's even been able to feel a tap, tap once or twice from the outside. Then over the weekend the bean stopped moving around. I even kind of missed her pokes and poked her to see if I could get a response. Alas, all was quiet. Well, she must have been growing giant Bruce Lee bean hands and feet those few days because yesterday she started kicking again and now it's BIG! Like whoa, did you feel/see that? BIG. Like ew, was that a head or a butt just then? BIG. Like ow, enough, you're going to make a bruise. It's fun though. It makes me wonder even more so who we have coming along to join us in life. Do you think Bruce could work as a girl's name?

20 weeks

2007-04-26T17:29:00.000-07:00

Well, another baby appointment, another belly shot. The bean's about 10 inches tall now. All is well. She's moving all over the place too. Kicking, kicking, kicking. Jason says she's not kicking, she's drumming. Regardless, she doesn't seem to care much for the doctor's visits. In fact, each time the midwife tried to listen to her heartbeat, she wiggled away. In the elevator, on the way out, Jason and I were mocking the bean using the voice and extended leg/foot motions of Stuart from MadTV.

"Noooo. Doooooon't."

The Smarter, Stronger Sex

2007-04-15T08:38:00.000-07:00

Well, we saw the bean for the first time yesterday morning. At 19 weeks she (that's right, she) no longer looks anything like a bean. Instead, she's about 6 inches of growing baby.
The most important part is she's healthy. All the parts are there and in the right place and she's moving around like crazy. It was especially cool to see her move on the screen while feeling her kick and hit me in disgust while the ultrasound tech tried to get her to show us her bum to determine the sex. Bottom line: she rocks.

New digs

2007-03-29T18:33:00.000-07:00

Well, I've had two weeks of spring break - but neither of us has been relaxing. The family helped us rip up all the carpeting upstairs and for days now, I've been going up and down two flights of stairs at least 900 times a day to cut flooring or trim or fetch the pencil I left in the basement next to the saw. We're both exausted, but check it out - now the alcove of our bedroom looks like a baby could move in without getting misplaced in a heap of laundry, dog hair or dirt. It was the last of the carpet in the house and I'm really glad now that it's gone.

So tonight, after a big IKEA furniture assembly session, we identified our favorite nursery item:
this excellent LED bird mobile thingy Jason found at the marvelous IKEA. As we stood next to the crib in blue illuminated quiet, he said "I wish I was small again. I want to climb right in there and go to sleep."

Hopefully the bean feels the same way.

Once Upon A Time-ah

2007-03-18T08:14:00.000-07:00

Okay, I think this is pretty funny and it's baby related. Sort of.

Way back in the day, when Jason still lived in Burlington, VT, his band knew other bands and one of those bands was Bag Of Panties. We have a few of their CDs. They're quite clever. Anyways on their CD, Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day, is fabulous track 6, titled Catastrophe. I'd like to think it's about the conception of George W. but, alas, the song predates awareness of that catastrophe.

Here's the first line, repeatedly sung throughout our house over the past few months:

And here's the entire song if you have the time and bandwidth:

If you're using Firefox, you need to do this to hear the Panties:
1. Open Quicktime Player
2. Go to "Edit -> Preferences -> Quicktime Preferences"
3. Go to the Browser tab and click the MIME Settings button.
4. Enable MP3 files.
5. Click OK and refresh We & The Bean

Every Baby Needs A Rat

2007-03-18T06:36:00.000-07:00

So the thing about babies, they take a while to get here. In the meantime, we're entertaining ourselves in some pretty infantile ways. We drove to the Pittsburg IKEA yesterday to buy a crib setup. We ended up getting way more than just the crib, all for someone who's still breathing in their own pee. Jason's #1 favorite purchase was a rat. Apparently every baby needs a rat. Or at least ours does. I've named it Templeton so as not to get too creeped out. Memories/visions of my college pal's pet rat Ava, dragging anything and everything to her treasure pile under the bed pop into my head whenever I look at it. I stop myself before Ava adds our baby to the pile.

Whatever... Jason loves it and I love Jason, so our baby, has a rat.

Expansion

2007-03-09T18:05:00.000-08:00

Today I buttoned my pants...and by the time I got to work I wanted to rip them into a sad, sad pile. Thus, I have immediately converted to using a rubber band to fasten my pants together. By the end of the day I decided that that's really what rubber bands are made for. As the day passes, the bean makes more gas, the belly gets bigger and the band... just expands. It's one of those modern miracles. So stretchy.