1.

You know how I know it's been a seriously long time since I've blogged? I don't even want to look to see when I posted my last entry. For those readers who have taken copious notes from postings past, you already know that my goal was to write about once a week about our journey. "That was such a cute idea, Heidi. Awe. *patting my own head* You had no idea what raising a toddler was going to be like." I'm gonna throw in a self-hug, too, that was so adorably ignorant of me.

But I finally have found a space of time in which my son is deep into a stellar REM cycle, all the clothes are clean, and to my knowledge, there are no bodily functions hanging off anything in the house. And I can finally focus on providing one helluvua posting, because let's face it, I've got a lot of catching up to do. If you order a steak and it's an hour late getting to your table....that better be the juiciest effing fillet you've ever had. I realize the challenge set before me, and fear not: you'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll nod your head knowingly and maybe even start a solo slow clap.

But enough waiting around - let's dig in:

My bouncing baby boy - the one with the locks of golden hair at birth, the one who smiled up at me four weeks into his life on this earth - is now one year old. He's a full-on child, a fact that amazes me and drives home how the passage of time is one sneaky paradox. It seemingly just strolls along with you by your side, at a nice little pace, maybe commenting on the weather or asking if you're up for a smoothie... and then, BAM!, your son is smiling up at you in the playroom, skinny neck, defined face, rolling a ball back and forth from one hand to the other saying "ball!". And your old pal "time" is shrugging innocently, like hey - whaddyagunnado! Now how 'bout that smoothie?

So his very first bithday came on Thursday, August 2nd. A couple months ago, I bought him a onesie that said "Birthday Boy!" in colorful lettering right across the front. I gleefully hung it up in his closet with the anticipation of him finally getting to wear it, and the obvious implication that he would be an entire year old. Every time I went into the closet to grab Max an outift, I spotted the birthday onesie and smiled. And finally, after weeks of waiting,  the day finally arrived! I picked Max up out of his crib and gave him a hundred smooches all over his face and neck, as though he would pick up on this subtle cue of affection and think, "whoa, Mom, slow down there.......wait a minute.......it's my birthday, isnt' it! You may continue."

And finally, I was able to put him into The Outfit. His navy blue onesie, with the huge proclamation across the front, fit him to a T. I held him outstretched in front of me to admire. So totally adorbs! He cocked his head to the side and I could feel his body start to wriggle out of my hold to go hobble around the house and find small objects. It was after I put him down and watched his little butt swing back and forth as he shuff out of the room that it dawned on me:

Now what?

It's a Thursday. Josh is working. There are no play dates on the books. Our schedule is completely empty and open. So we did what any mother-toddler duo would do on his birthday and with the world at their fingertips: we walked around Safeway. Strolling the aisles, we nodded appreciatively to the passerby who noticed his onesie and wished him a happy day, and I of course got a Starbucks. Then we decided to pick out a "smash cake" for later in the evening when the grandparents and Bubbie were to come over to celebrate. Our version of a "smash cake", for the sake of that evening's festivities, was simply an oversized slice of chocolate brownie (if you just gasped, you should probably stop reading my blog altogether).

Considering his options for a "smash cake". Notice onesie.

That night, after Josh got home from work, the grandparents and Max's great grandmother came to the house to gift Max with a Radio Flyer wagon! It is the classic version with the wooden sides, and mommy's favorite part - a canopy! Max's Grammie had already been over the day before to play and give him his sweet "European" (aka: fancy!) toy car and board books of all the Disney Classics, which we can all openly acknowledge we moms enjoy just as much as the babes (if you still don't wish, on some minute level, that you could be Ariel for a day, then you're on glue).


Max's birthday party was Sunday, August 5th at The Little Gym of Paradise Valley. I highly recommend this place to hold a birthday party  - the staff is super nice, they help you set up decorations (and provide them, too, if you so choose), run the party at a nice pace, serve the food and cake, and clean up everything afterward while consolodating all of the kid's loot into bags and helping you bring it all out to your car. If they did laundry, I may have never left.

Max had an awesome time playing with all his little friends! They sang, played with balls, bubbles, and parachutes, ran around, and ate snacks and cake. And as this all took place, I looked around at everyone. So many people came to celebrate Max, half of whom I didn't even know a year ago. It proved to be quite an emotional moment for me, filled with gratitude for all my friends and family, old and new. If it weren't for a rubber ball inadvertently thrown at my head, I may have even teared up a little.

And then, like any other day, the sun began to set, Max got cranky for a much-needed nap, and it was time to wind down. Only now, we go forward with a one year old son. A child who, in the past 365 days, has managed to turn my world into the most vibrant life force of love and happiness I could ever hope to reflect back to him. Max, your Daddy and I love you beyond measure, we love who you are and who you are becoming. Thank you so much for choosing us.

Listening to the birthday guests pick "toppings" for the imaginary cake. Clearly, Max has a more refined pallete than his parents.

Monthly pictures of Max since birth

Tell me if this needs more sugar.

Playing with my new car from Grammie!

Opening gifts from Grammie

Birthday morning! I'm one, and I have no idea!

My new wagon from Nonie, Grandpa, and Bubbie!

All business

A little nostalgia

I was YouTube-ing cute things to show Max on my iphone today, and came across this clip from Sesame Street. It's something I remember watching and adoring from my childhood... It's very simple and beautiful. I also sing this to Max at bedtime. Thought I would share :0).

"Don't Want to Live On the Moon"

Biting the hand that feeds you

This is the first (but certainly, not last) time I have ever started a blog post having absolutely zero idea what I'm going to write about. And although I feel the creative juices dancing around, a few things are working against me in churning out a goodie: first, I am sitting in the playroom with Max clamoring up at me. I am in a chair, legs tucked up like I'm mid- cannon-ball and my laptop resting up on my collarbone so that my son can't get  his oatmeal fingers on the keys. I could probably lick the screen right now, true story.

I also made the mistake of playing one round of "peekaboo" with him by pulling down the back of my laptop at random intervals. If you are a mother (or someone who has ever babysat), you see the mistake in that sentence. There is no such thing as one round of anything with a toddler.

The thought crossed my mind to wait until Max takes his first nap to sit down and blog. But that's when Mommy gets to shower - though ironically, my clothing choices for the day will parallel exactly what one might wear when nixing a shower. Sigh. "Cotton tees and shorts really do take errand comfort to the next level."

So, please bear with me, and read my entry with the knowledge that between every few sentences, I am turning to a grabby Max, gasping like I just discovered the land of free chocolate and pointing to a toy he's seen a thousand times.

Diving right in (ahem), can I just say that 10 month-olds are bomb. They are toothy (well mine is), cherub-cheeked little rugrats who stand and clap for the smallest things because they're the biggest things to them. They laugh and repeat words and are really loving the whole cause-and-effect thing. And the cuteness factor is baby-specific, too - just as the library singalong is really kicking it into high gear, you can find one of my friend's 11 month-olds contently breathing in life in downward facing dog. But along with all the good stuff that comes with this age, we are now starting the battle against one very hallmark issue: biting.

What a tricky business. We encourage our young children to "teeth" on practically everything of the non-led variety. This is how they explore the world around them, self-soothe, or just busy themselves. We don't flinch when we notice our child gnawing on Elmo's eyeballs or the cover of "Where is My Belly Button?", yet when they apply the habit to, say, our shoulder, it's a big, fat no-no.

To that end, I ask myself daily what the best approach is to squelch the act of biting people, yet as far as toys, have at it. Admittedly, I've tried lots of techniques that I have heard do the trick over time (except the ever-popular advice of, "bit 'em back. Then they'll learn!" If this has worked for you, ok, but it's just not my jam). I can tell you now that after trying out various methods, we are still finding our groove. My favorite attempt was on the advice to "sob like they hurt you real bad!". Max bit my knee. I stopped what I was doing, turned to him and said, "Ouch, Max, that hurt Mommy!", then proceeded to bury my head in my hands and 'cry' with the feigned authenticity of a gold-digging widow. I boo-hoo'd in the palms of my hands, then looked up only to find Max grinning from ear to ear and going for round two in a fit of euphoria. If I had been the neurotic "me" of 8 or so months ago, I would have been convinced we were raising a sociopath. I would lie awake in bed at night, clutching to my husband and a flashlight and staring at the door in anticipation of it slowly opening to reveal a salivating toddler with a deviant twinkle in his eye. I'd have nightmares about shark teeth. And bear teeth. And molars and the dentist and then maybe that little basket of  dum-dums up at the front desk for after you survived your appointment, those were cute. But then more shark teeth. I might have searched Max's crib mattress for a shank.

But anyway.

Then there was the time that I simply snapped, "NO biting Mommy!" and raised my finger to him. This was quickly followed by, "NO biting Mommy's finger!"

As with creating most new behaviors, Josh and I are now banking on the concept of patience. We consistently tell him "Ouch, no biting Mommy/Daddy/insert victim here", and "kiss instead, Max, like this!" He seems to bite when he is very happy or excited, which I hear is normal. It's just that Max is always happy and/or excited, which may be slightly less than normal. At any rate, I'll let you know how it turns out - or, perhaps you'll learn for yourselves, just keep tuning in to the 5 o'clock news.

can you hear the theme from Jaws? I can.

His Day.

As everyone in the free-speaking world knows- especially Hallmark - tomorrow is Father's Day. Since I know I will be too busy spending quality time with my family to write, I thought I'd jot down a few notes on this Father's Day Eve.

Tomorrow will mark my husband's very first Father's Day. This is significant. Two years ago on Father's Day, I surpised Josh with the news that we were pregnant. A few weeks later, I miscarried. The following Father's Day, I was nearing the end of my pregnancy with Max, and we talked about the fact that Max will be almost a YEAR OLD by the time Josh celebrates his first official Father's Day for realsies. The thought of our unborn son turning one year old was enough to make our heads spin.

And in the blink of an eye, here we are. Our bubbly, bobbling little sweetheart talks, explores, and laughs up a storm each and every day, and each and every day we just watch him in amazement. So tomorrow we get to celebrate Daddy, without whom we would not have this little boy who amazes us so.

As Josh and I were dating and getting to know each other, I asked him what he had always wanted to be growing up. "A Dad", he stated. Yes, professional baseball player and I'm sure archeologist snuck their way onto many an elementary school homework sheet (really - I dare you to find someone who never, at some point as a child, wanted to be an archeologist). But as his abstract cognitive skills grew with age, and as soon as he could conceptualize what fatherhood actually entailed - bam. That was the pinnacle. That was the goal. Now although being a father comes with a ton of responsibility, it alone doesn't pay the bills. So Josh selflessly started moonlighting as an Abe Lincoln impersonator at political functions.

Just seeing if I've lost ya.

No. He goes to work authentically passionate about what he does, with a drive to succeed so that he can provide for his family. As devoted as he is to his work, he is such simply to support his devotion to Max and I.

Every day, Josh looks at our son with the pride and love of having achieved his greatest goal in life. Not by having a kid - not by having a son even - but by having Max. It is no surprise to me that every time we hear the garage door open at around 5:00, Max stops everything he is doing, crawls in a few circles out of sheer excitment, then bee-lines it for the door to greet Dada at his feet.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention one extrordinary man who we can only celebrate in spirit. My dad, who passed away 11 years ago, was one of the greatest fathers on the planet. I could write hundreds of posts on his character alone, but the point that is so important for me to make here, now, is that had they met, my dad would have so loved Josh, for my husband and for the father of our child. He would have seen in Josh the same qualities I noticed right away and held on to like the treasures that they are.

I so look forward to telling Max about all the special times he and his Dad spent together when he was just a little booger (and if he doesn't believe me, do you think I'll have enough pictures to prove it?). Bath time, shower time, dancing in the nursery, "the scissors leg shake" (I'm sure you can piece that one together), swimming, sitting on Daddy's shoulders. If the memories already being made are any indication of what is to come, I am left with nothing but overwhelming gratitude that this is the man I married, that this is Max's father.

Happy Father's Day, my love!

XOXOXOXO ADED

Vogue, y'all.

So this post is going to have to be short as I have limited time - Josh and I are leaving soon for dinner and a show at Gammage (Broadway Across America season tickets = money well spent, if not for the theatre than certainly the people watching!).

Last week, Josh, Max and I invested in a professional family photo shoot now that the little booger's expressions almost always surpass that of wide-eyes or gas. We'd been looking forward to this day for months, planning out our little outfits and conjuring up images fit for a Nordie's catalog. Max would be looking up at his Daddy, smiling from ear to ear as Daddy and Mommy struck perfect, I'm-not-even-trying-to-pose-and-yet-all-the-right-parts-are-skinny-at-this-angle positions.The photographer would snap some shots, then slowly lower the camera down from her face to look at us proudly because we were making her job so fun and rewarding. There are happy tears involved.

So that's the fantasy, right?

Last Sunday started out just how I'd planned, inasmuch as Max was put into the outfit I'd wanted him in. After that, everything's kind of a blur.

Max's molars decided to show face that day, equating to a mouth full of fingers for the better part of the shoot, a squinting look for reasons I'm still unsure of, and the most major flare-up of seperation anxiety to date. The photographer was incredible and tried so hard to entertain Max in looking toward the lense, but efforts were futile as he whined and squirmed in our arms, not really knowing what he wanted. I knew it was a less than stellar shoot when the photographer starting apologizing to us. Adding icing to the cake of misfortune, Josh and I then attempted explaining to this lovely girl how Max is "usually SO happy"; "he's never like this, it's so weird!"; "he's seriously laughing and clapping all the time - even this morning right before you came over!". Even though she smiled, nodded and blindly agreed, I could see the glazed over look that comes with the territory of listening to new parents explain their kid.

That being said, I was positive that no good shots would come out of this photo session (to no fault of the photographer - she was incredible and we plan to use her again!). So I was as suprised as anybody when the photographer posted a "sneak peek" photo from our session on her facebook page. And it wasn't half bad at all:

 

 

 



I am very excited to see how the rest came out and will be sure to share! In addition to photographer and pediatric nurse, this girl can add "miracle worker" to her resume as far as I'm concerned. If you are interested in a great photographer in the valley, look no further than Kristin Celestina.

Until next time,
Hk

Hilahhhrious.

My father in law emailed me this the other day and I got a real kick out of it, obviously because each scenario is so true! Enjoy:

Word.

Mine.

Almost every Thursday, a group of mommy friends gets together for a playdate so that the kiddos can play with each other and get their energy out while we moms get our energy back. Max and I attended this week's playdate at the Scottsdale Quarter's splash pad, an area of shallow "splash" water with scattered fountains that spew up every few minutes. It is literally the perfect place to take the wee ones as the temperatures crawl to a makeup-melting 104 degrees.
Before all the splashing fun commenced, we spread out our blankets and unpacked our increasingly stocked diaper bags. Toys, sippy cups, and snacks adorned our area like sprinkles on a cupcake (I am hungry). Now, I'm no parenting expert, but I'd venture to take an educated guess Google that the concept of "sharing" is totally lost on a 10 month old. How can they possibly yet know that taking an object straight out of a peer's hands and adopting it as their own plaything is socially frowned upon? That being said, after observing Max's interactions with the other sweet poopsies at the splash pad, I can tell you that this "sharing" thing is going to be a doozy. As Max swats away his own, brand new sippy cup in an attempt to maniacally crawl toward his unsuspecting friend to snatch THAT KID'S sippy, I can only wonder what is going through my son's head:

"Oh good, my sippy cup has arrived. Amazon is so swift. Thanks for delivering this to me."
"Let me show you what that looks like in my hands. You'll love it."
"If you're trying to win my affections, it worked. Hand it over."
"I will take this and I will call it my squishy and it shall be my squishy."
"I'm just gonna check if that water is mineralized."
"You found my sippy! Man, if my head wasn't attached to my body..."
"Funny story.... I'm about to take that from you. Hmm. Guess it's not that funny after all."

Which leads me to our next first: Max's first tantrum! Sound the trumpets.

Max saved his very first tantrum to be witnessed by dozens at our neighborhood library's singalong. It, too, was sparked by the taking of another baby's sippy cup. As he slowly drew the spout up to his mouth, I unclenched his fingers from the handle and pulled it out of his possession. And as I did so, I heard the ominous rumblings that can only be rivaled by the built up pressure of magma in a volcano. You know what's coming.

He wailed and wailed, engaging in the most textbook of tantrum behaviors: flailing his body backward and turning into dead weight. As I stifled a giggle deep into the pit of my stomach, I knew this one had to be documented as a real first. God bless the singalong teacher for sailing right into a rousing rendition of Where is Thumbkin.

I love you, my little stinkpot.











Taking a Stand

Greetings, friends! I am back after an admittedly lengthy hiatus to share with you all the latest goings on in the Kaplan family. For starters, Max is 10. Months. Old. Holy ass crackers. We have just recieved his 1 year birthday invitations that I ordered in the mail and I swear, if I hadn't placed the order myself and was not anticipating their arrival to my doorstep, reading the invitation in print may have caused me to seize. One year old. It's coming, and FAST (sniff sniff).

Things that have occurred over the course of my blogging hiatus: Max has been sick once, pseudo sick once (teething- hello, molars, you are about a million months early), noticed his shadow for the first time, cruising and standing on his own, mastered the sippy cup, first road trip and overnight at a hotel, our first Mother's Day, and white cheddar cheese doodles. Ok that last one hasn't necessarily 'occurred' so much as been a constant in our pantry, but they're worth noting 'cause they're soooo good and are always there for mommy.

Extracting at random one of the momentous events in our life mentioned above: Taking our "Kaplan Journey" to the most literal of interpretations, Max, Daddy and I ventured out onto the open road last month for a family reunion. Ever the expeditioners, the family decided to commence from all across the country in the most primal of locations: Vegas. While I had some anticipatory reservations (read: bit my nails to the knuckle) about Max in a car for 5 hours, I cannot tell you how PROUD I am to report that he was absolutely incredible on our trip. Slept 12 hours straight through his very first night in a hotel. Mind you, we got a suite with an extra enclosed "wing" for him and re-created his nursery down to the nightlight, but let's give credit where it's due, shall we?
Our time with Josh's dad's side of the family was wonderful...it was so great spending time with them all and we are already looking forward to the next reunion!

Max has a ton of hair. I really can't make a seemless segue into this one. It's getting blonder, if you can believe it, and it has started to curl at the ends. Very beachy, which is a real hoot as his mom's a natural brunette from Chicago. He continues to snap, loves being "surprised", and kicks with joy on the changing table. I'm not dramatic or anything, but I will die a thousand deaths when that stops happening. Hell I practically fell to the floor the day his original bottle of baby lotion ran out. At least his thighs are still chubby sacks of whale blubber.

Big Announcement: Max is finished with physical therapy! He has made so much progress over the past 8 months: he weight-shifts to both sides, crawls normally, and the greatest achievement of all-No More Tilt! Yes, the Tilt (head tilt to one side due to weak left neck muscles) is now a thing of blog archives. His head is totally level, so when he's whining at you because you're sitting on the COUCH in the playroom instead of on the FLOOR with HIM, he can look you straight in the eye.

Speaking of things being over, Max has also completed his first round of swimming lessons. I am so proud of the little guy; he loves the pool and splashing around and is a happy fishy going under water. He could use a little more practice in keeping his mouth shut when going under to avoid swallowing half the pool, however. As soon as we give him the generous cue of "One, Two, Three, Under!", the kid opens his mouth like Pavarotti in the first act of Turandot.

But a perfect child would make for a pretty boring blog, don't ya think?


-hk-

I will be perfection on this road trip and you will want to reward me with many things

Blondie

Gee, Mom, the Paris feel exactly like the Cave Creek!

Chlorine is good for you. Keeps ya regular.

 







Bon Appetite!

If there is one thing that I have learned while surfing through friends' and strangers' blogs alike, it is this:

You are not a true blogger until you have posted a recipe.

I do not care what the recipe is for, and if you were to argue that many blogs have nothing to do with anything that would necessitate a corresponding recipe, well, you'd be wrong. Blogs about die-hard dachsund-lovers, you argue? Organic milk bone recipe. Star Wars enthusiast? Skywalker Sliders (light saber garnish optional, but highly recommended). Here's the rub: I don't cook, and on the rare occasion that I do, I'm not excited about it. But it seems as though every blog I read contains at least one culinary tutorial, leaving me feeling a little inadequate in my own postings so far (unless "Add 1 cup skim milk to 1 cup cornflakes, stir and serve" constitutes?)
Didn't think so.

So it is with great pride, thrillage, and made-up words that I present to you my very own recipe. Since this will most likely be the only recipe I ever write about, I'm going to savor the experience for all its worth and provide you with the backstory...

Since starting my post-baby exercise regime, I have become more consious about the foods I consume, getting my jimmies off of knowing that what I am eating is either fuel of some type, or a decadent occasional treat. When considering how constrained my time is in the mornings, I brainstormed up a quick, pop-in-your-mouth snack that would contain the right type of nutrition to support the impending exercise. So far, my "Peanut Balls" (I won't laugh, nope) have been a flourishing success, so says me.

So here is it, friends, family: My Very Own Peanut Ball (tee hee!) Recipe. I'm so excited! Omg omg ok here we go:

Ingredients:

1/2 of a 16 oz jar of Trader Joe's organic, unsalted peanut butter

1/2 of an 8oz bag of Trader Joe's raw almond slices (any type of raw, unseasoned almond will do, but I prefer the sliced variety for their texture)

1/4 cup of organic honey

1 cup of  Trader Joe's WonderCocoa powder

3/4 cup of water

Mix water and cocoa powder to form a paste.

Mix all ingredients in a bowl. Roll into 1" balls.

Freeze.

Store them in the freezer; even frozen, they remain soft enough to bite into.

Warning: these puppies are DENSE. Keep in mind that they are meant to be eaten one at a time as a
form of sustainance, not popped like Rolos. It also seems silly to clarify, but you will not enjoy these bite-sized snacks if you don't like peanut butter. But I feel that the protein content with honey and cocoa powder for added taste is the perfect combination. If you're feeling particularly motivated, other things you can try adding to the mix are flax seeds and vitamin B12 drops (you can find them at Sprouts).

Happy "cooking"!

                                  

I'm, like, a mom, for realsy.

Lots of exciting things going on lately for our little munchkin, who is not so little any more - 20 lbs, to be exact. First, he has been crawling up a storm for the past month, typically straight past his toys and onto the much more alluring calls of our rustic Mexican pine coffee table (complete with pointed, "rusted" handles). While our baby proofing could probably use a little bit more fire under its ass, Max has done quite well exploring much of the house without so much as a bump here and a scrape there. He has also picked up some adorable little habits. He has started to pucker is mouth into an "O" and breathe through it creating a whistle noise due to the seperation of his front teeth. Totally adorbs! Also, my husband and I were mesmerized when he started to snap while eating his solids in the high chair. Yes, snap. All throughout dinner. Totally serious expression on his face, as if to say, "yes, I am snapping. Care to provide a little bass line?" If you didn't know, Max's parents are kind of scary fanatics of Michael Buble so this was a real treat. Then we started talking about all the shows he'll sell out and what his set list should be and how he should go by just "MAX" 'cause that really pops written in lights.

Anywhoo, Max continues to go to physical therapy every other week. We are hoping make them monthy visits soon, as he is making all the right strides developmentally, and so far, his torticollis has shown very little in the way of affecting his milestones. Max also started swim lessons this week! Our little fishie will enjoy 8 lessons in hopes of getting him comfortable and familiarized with the pool. We go to classes through Kidtastics, which a friend of mine co-owns and for which she teaches. Max and I attend with my friend and her sweet little daughter, so the four of us are sharing this awesome experience together.

In addition to PT, swimming lessons, and our old standby, Musicology, Max and I continue to go to Stroller Strides a few times a week. It's incredible how after only 8.5 short months, we have so much to do, a pretty solid routine, and as I said in earlier posts, I am feeling pretty on top of my game with him most days. So it shouldn't have come as a surprise to me when, after our workout as a mommy friend and I were feeding the babes in Starbucks, another mother came up to us and asked us for some advice. She was hauling a double stroller with two beautiful, sleeping twin baby boys and juggling a diaper bag with her fresh cup of something uber caffeinated, I can promise you that. As she approached my friend and I, holding our respective kids, I thought she may be wanting to know what exercise program we are a part of, or, as I had wondered myself before discovering Strides, "why are you all hoarded in front of Starbucks every day at 10:30 like a swarm of bees?" Instead, she asked us if we wouldn't mind giving her a few tips on feeding, how many ounces, have they started solids? How did you know when to stop burping them? etc. She appeared as though she had it all together, but the woman had questions, and she was refreshingly candid about her feelings of being overwhelmed at times. Now keep in mind, I have only been a mother for under 9 months, and as she looked at us for a little guidance, her eyes wide with acceptance of anything we were willing to give her, I had a flashback. That was ME. Not long ago. AT ALL. I had asked so many questions, just like her. I had dark circles under my eyes, no offense lady but just like her. I had a cup of something dangerously caffeinated in my grip at almost all times, probably just like her. And here I am now, sitting on the other side of the table, being asked. All of a sudden I felt like I should be perched on a tree somewhere, all feathery sporting a gradution cap and monacle, gesturing to a chair saying,"sit, sit, let me tell you all about it." I had the answers. At least, I had the answers that worked for me, and this woman wanted to know my experience. I have an experience.

As my friend and I answered her questions, her head bobbled in appreciation and mental note-taking. I had to laugh - that was SO me. Still is, at times.

It's amazing how quickly new mothers bond with one another. Do we bond out of our shared anxieties and fears? Or is it moreseo the common denomiators that now bind us, like the sleeplessness and selflessness that comes with the territory? My appreciation level went through the roof when a more experienced mommy could give me a tip, or hell, just nod and tell me that what I was feeling/doing was normal. I never felt so extrordinary to be told that my experience was ordinary. The gratefulness was palpable. I would want to hug and kiss that woman, buy her a frozen yogurt, and possibly, down the line, get her name tattood on my ankle.

Whatever the common denominator is among new mothers, it is strong, it is visceral, it is everlasting.

Tale As Old As Wine

So if you are a mommy, you no question understand the importance (and efficacy) of singing to your baby as he drifts off to sleep. Lullabyes are a staple of our napping and night-night routines. That being said, I knew from the beginning that I would sing plenty of songs (slowed down and sung softly, lullabye-ing them up, if you will) from the Disney movie collection. Namely, from the movies I grew up adoring, like Beauty and the Beast.

If you have yet to enter into motherhood, here's a tip: starting a lullabye is much like starting up a steam locamotive. It's a lullabye, people - its intent is to lull. Once it begins chugging along, there is no stopping, no "um, um, what was that line?", lest you want your little one waking up from the botched attempt of maintaining song flow and staring up at you like an unimpressed preteen.

No. Once you're out of the gate, you must keep the tempo, and if you forget the lyrics, well, you'd better scrape together some suffiecient replacements and keep on a-going. Such was the case yesterday afternoon during Max's nap routine in the glider. It being from one of my favorite Disney movies from my childhood, I was shocked that I couldn't remember the words, and had to scramble up whatever I could to make do. I apologize to all Disney fans, and namely, Alan Menken and Howard Ashman, the lyricists for "Belle", from Beauty and the Beast. Enjoy:

Actual lyrics                                                                   Mommy lyrics

Little town It's a quiet village                                          Little town, such a quiet village
Ev'ry day like the one before                                           Every day like the one before
Little town Full of little people                                          Little town, full of little people
Waking up to say:                                                          Waking up to say:

Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour!                   Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour!

There goes the baker with his tray, like always                 There goes the baker with his bread and something
The same old bread and rolls to sell                                 To sell some bread and stuff to selllllll
Ev'ry morning just the same                                            Every morning just like me
Since the morning that we came                                      One plus two can equal three 
To this poor provincial town                                             It’s so crazy in this town
Good morning Belle!                                                       Good morning, Bellllllle!

Look there she goes that girl is strange, no question          Look there she goes she’s such a spaz no question
Dazed and distracted, can't you tell?                                 I can’t remember what to telllll

Never part of any crowd                                                  But the morning such as she

'Cause her head's up on some cloud                                  Is he good enough for me?

No denying she's a funny girl that Belle                             It's a snap and crackle pop that little Belle

Bonjour! Good day! How is your fam'ly?                            Bonjour! Good day! How is your fam'ly?

Bonjour! Good day! How is your wife?                               Bonjour! Good day! How is your wife?

I need six eggs! That's too expensive!                               I need! A book! What's going on here?

There must be more than this provincial life!                     There must be more than this provincial liiiiiife!



Don't judge - I got a two hour nap outta that one.
                                                        

Wish upon a star

While Max did dangle the carrot in front of me for awhile by napping effortlessly in his crib, alas, it was just a phase, and he is now back to dozing on my person. If I am going to be completely honest, however, I must say that I enjoy this time, as I know it will be gone sooner than I could ever imagine. Furthermore, and something I have come to find quite significant about "our" nap schedule, I too am able to have the time to rest my body and my mind from all the chaos and 'to-do's' that motherhood brings.

What now seems like years ago, back when I was registering for baby stuff, I researched and added (read: copy-pasted from another mom's registry) a simple night light in the shape of a star. It looked sweet online - providing a pale yellow glow, the shape of it soft, like a star you might see in the pages of a Pooh storybook. Fitting enough, I didn't give it too much more thought and gleefully clicked "add to wishlist".

Some ten months later, I now rock with baby in my arms in his nursery, kept cool amidst the encroaching heat by the overhead fan and some gentle assistance by the muted blues on the walls. I pan the room: there's the tree painted on his wall, branches reaching out to hover over and protect the quote displayed over his crib ("Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We will get there some day." -Winnie the Pooh). Then there's his little book shelf filled with pages of stories, letters, numbers, and imagery that he will absorb on a different level each time he revisits them. And there, glowing near the carpet and providing a soft illumination of this baby haven, is the star night light. As I rock my sleeping son, I can hear only the whirr of the fan and the rhythmic creaking of the glider. My eyes rest on the night light, and I am transported. Not in the sense that I am looking to leave the bliss that is holding my baby boy as he dreams, but just as his mind is able to drift away to wherever it may, so is mine for that 75 minutes. For a few of those minutes, I am back in my own childhood room in Northbrook, Illinois, laying on my bed playing with my stuffed animals and listening out for the "call" that our neighborhood game of Capture the Flag is about to begin. More minutes might be spent strolling in the sand on the shore of Lake Michigan.  Other minutes, I am playing cards with my dad at the kitchen table while he teaches me words in foregin languages. Or I am once again meeting my husband for the first time. My mind gets to dance from memory to memory, and I am there. Amidst a schedule that is jam-packed with bottle washing, diaper changing, and stroller pushing from this thing to that, these 75 minutes are filled with places and spaces I will always hold right up against my heart.

In the span of eight short months, Max's nursery has become my refuge of sorts, and my spot in that glider gives me a vantage point I will never forget for as long as I live. His painted tree, his quote, his book shelf. I know that when that small block of sun dances its way across the shadowy wall and is illuminating the "W" in 'Winnie', it is 5:30pm and my little boy should begin to stir any minute now. Our minds will converge to the present, from wherever they were, and the nursery will come into focus once again. I will stand up with him in my arms, kiss the top of his head, and out the door we will go.

That's it - I'm Leaving the Band!

Yesterday, after nine very quick weeks, Max graduated from his DOC Band! It was our final visit to Cranial Technologies to take off Max's band for the very last time and get his last round of imaging for some before-and-after pictures. The photos below illustrate how his head has rounded out with the help of the band. Furthermore, it is clear from the photos that Max's torticollis (neck tilt due to muscle tightening on one side) is all but gone.

On our drive to the office, I thought about this being Max's final appointment with Cranial Technologies. We had taken him for weekly band adjustments for the past 9 weeks, but had been in contact with them since November. For a kid who is just about to turn 8 months old, that's a pretty good chunk of existence for us as a family of three. I looked back to the start of our journey, his journey.... noticing his flat spot for the first time at 6 weeks old ("Hey..that's weird...honey come look at this"), to finding out it had an actual name, to discovering the DOC Band intervention and beginning the process of "shaping up" his noggin. At the very beginning, I was upset. I was upset that he had this condition, albeit purely cosmetic; I felt badly for Max, having no idea at the time that he wouldn't even notice the band's existence; I was nervous of the reaction of others, seeing my little one sporting this oddly-shaped piece of plastic on his head. I remember being in the grocery store for our first outing after he started wearing the band... a very lovely woman approached us and started shmoozing with Max. "What big, beautiful blue eyes you have! Look at that smile. You sure are a happy little guy, aren't you!"

My translation: You are wearing a strange thing on your head, I am going to assume you have a mental and/or self-control problem and I'm going to avoid acknowledging this potentially awkward situation by commenting on everything below your forehead. Poor kid. Poor mom. Tsk tsk tsk.

It also didn't help that right about the time this interaction took place, Max proceeded to lick the grocery cart.

But it wasn't long before I got so used to Max in his band, he looked naked without it. Especially when he was really naked. Whoa, where'd he go?  I also found him to look adorable in it, like Toad from Super Mario Bros. When people would smile at Max and I as we strolled down the aisles at Costco, I no longer interpreted it as pity, and I looked forward to the conversation that would typically eventualize about him: his age, his weight, why yes, he is our first born, oh yeah it's just to correct some flattening in the back of his head. And the more people I talked to, the more it seemed like I was smack in  the middle of a game of Six Degrees to Kevin Bacon, if Kevin had plagiocephaly. Everyone I talked to either had a child or grandchild who wore a band, or knows someone who has. Right on!

If the me today could have sat down with the me three months ago, I would have taken myself by the shoulders, looked straight into my eyes, and told myself, "Do not worry. This is simple, this will fly by. Enjoy the process." And then we would split a piece of pie because I'd know we'd both love that.



My Little Toad

               

 

I did it, Ma!

Mom. You said "one photo".

 

 

Head shape, before and after DOC Band therapy

 



                           





Isn't lifting my baby enough?

The decision to start working out again post-delivery is a crossroads many mothers face. There are those who get right to it, so that within two weeks it appears as though pregnancy was never even on the menu (witches, I tell you), and then there's me:

(Max is one month old)
"...I can't start working out yet, I just had a C-section mere WEEKS ago! Shame on you! I will take a Fig Newton, though. Third shelf in the pantry."

(Max is three months old)
"...I can't start working out yet, I'm in over my head just trying to brush my teeth!!!"

(Max is five months old)
"...I can't start working out yet.......it's.....too cold outside, and.......he's.......teething.....? Ok and, and, Aquarius is in the fifth lunar house this month and that's bad luck. You don't want me to break my back, do you??? I didn't think so." (Eats a chip)


(Max is six months old)
"....I can't start working out yet....The gym is such a schlep. Hey maybe if we had a treadmill HERE IN THE HOUSE! Yes!....... Let's look into that. Sometime."

(Max is seven months old)
"Jesuswhathappenedtomybody?"

A little over a month ago, a mommy friend of mine told me about Stroller Strides, an exercise program for moms and their little ones that involves working out while pushing your kid in his stroller. I loved the idea of having Max by my side while I got my sweat on. Admittedly though, I envisioned a bunch of us new moms, trotting around with our ponytails swinging in unison, our grande iced skinny vanilla lattes resting perfectly in our stroller cup holders while analyzing the latest Bachelor Pad. It sounded a little cliche, a little sugary, but also another excuse to get the deuce out of my house with my kid. So I decided to join this 'Stroller Strides'.

Let me assure you: there is no strolling involved.

The hour-long class typically consists of 70% cardio and 20% conditioning/strength training. Yes, I passed MAT110 - the remaining 10% is always reserved for wheezing and whining. But I never feel better than when Max and I are walking back to the car after having given it my all. We've been going three days a week, and I am very excited to report that I'm starting to notice the very beginning of what some might refer to as - in some cultures - perhaps in a mis-printed anatomy book - calf muscles. Also, I have more energy, which comes in mighty handy when our 3-4pm "witching hour" ensues and I'm skull-deep into the empty jar of instant coffee, licking the glass bottom for any remaining grounds.

It has also proven to be anything but ponytail-swinging, latte-swigging gossip sessions. I have met some wonderful women who share the bond of parenthood. We can talk all about solid foods and reaching milestones, or not. Surprisingly (and yes, I'll say it- refreshingly), Stroller Strides is hardly about the strollers; it's all about the strides. The babies, entertained by their sippy cups, fresh air, toys, and change of scenery, are pretty much the footnote of our workouts (though I'll admit, while running up six flights of parking garage stairs, I have silently begged Max to pull out a screaming fit and "need" me for three minutes). Most of us moms greet each other, maybe pop our heads into the strollers for a quick, "aww, don't you look cute today! Looks like you LOVE those crackers!", then resume the focus and discipline of an olympic athlete before the gun shot.

Ok, maybe that last part's in my head. Whatever gets you through, right?

Some of my favorite workout quotes:

 

 

Some thoughts.

Let me start by making this perfectly clear: I don't journal.

This is not so much a proclamation than a simple fact about my life. Don't get me wrong - I've tried. The countless diaries I own, housing 3, maybe 4 pages of attempted memoir followed by glaringly empty lines is proof positive that I do attempt to document my thoughts, activities, and emotions. But there is just no staying power, for reasons perhaps I will uncover within myself some day.

I do have one means of archiving: a "One Line A Day" memory book my mother gifted me with last spring (she knows my shortcomings all too well, given the book's title). I am comitted to jotting down simply one line every day - the Cliff's Notes version of the past 24 hours, if you will. There are five sections from top to bottom on each page, each saved for that particular date for five consecutive years. It's a neat idea, and something I can apparently manage to maintain. But true JOURNALING? The keeping of a DIARY? Nope. Can't do it.

But if I were to journal . . . .

If I were to journal, I would write about my son.

I would write about the past seven and a half months, and how the cliche of "how fast they grow up" grips me to my core; how it takes my breath away as I turn around and each time I do, he is exhibiting a new strength; a new side of his personality. How he looks like a kid. That I stop dead in my tracks as I witness myself writing things on my Baby Shopping List that I never anticipated him being ready for. Real foods. Larger clothes. I would write that he is about 5 minutes away from crawling, and our lives as we know it will again take another turn as he becomes - gulp -  mobile.

If I were to journal, I would be sure to include that over the past few months, I have noticed myself feeling a sense of pride in my abilities; especially to multi-task while being mindful of the moment. That I am experiencing an ever-increasing sense of confidence in this 'mothering' thing. Even in those moments where I am unsure...it is still under a general umbrella of "but hey... I think I know what I'm doing, here." And that's pretty cool.

I would joyfully jot down some of my very favorite things about him: the way he flails his arms and legs with something that can only be described as pure GLEE as I change him on the changing table; how, after he does something that makes me laugh, I notice the connections being made in his brain and that twinkle in his eye as he repeats it over and over so that I laugh more and more; seeing those 7 nubby teeth in his mouth every time he giggles; the way he looks after a bath, wrapped up in his lionhead-hooded towel, wet belly protruding from the terrycloth; the smell of his formula breath, stinky as it is, that is like a shot of endorphins through my system.

But more than any of that, if I were to journal, I would find myself writing about letting go. That the minute I eased up on my attempt to reign in and control things - his daily schedule, getting a certain number of ounces of food, length of naps, where to nap - was the minute he showed me what he needed; the minute he simply progressed beautifully and effortlessly, illustrating nature actively taking its course. I would write about looking at him playing in his exersaucer, sporting his car, train, and plane footie pajamas, and fully experiencing the enormous lump that forms in my throat as the tears of happiness well up in my eyes. Capture the moment like a snapshot in my heart as I feel it swell with love for this little boy of mine. How I am constantly looking forward to who he his becoming, while at the same time bidding the bittersweet goodbyes that speckle each day as he grows out of his babyhood, one cell at a time.


If I were to journal.

I love you, my Max.

Just fixin' my flat.

Well, Monday was the big day. Max and I went to The Wrap Shoppe - this very cool place that does professional wrapping on motorcycles, cars, boats, you name it - and had his DOC band wrapped. This company does complimentary wrapping for DOC kiddos, which is so totally cool seeing as though we drove him to the place with one arm and one leg because Max's helmet cost us the other limbs. It was a pretty neat process, actually. We went in a few weeks ago and met with the staff to discuss what we would like on the band. They sent us a proof via email, and, once approved, the band wrapping was ready to go. You can see our little one's creation below:

The back says "Just Fixin' My Flat". Tow truck, flat tires...get it?

Yeah, we dig it.

We went in to Cranial Tech for our WEEK 5 Visit! Yee-haw! His head continues to round out beautifully and the tech is guessing he will be completely finished with it in about 6 weeks at the most. To look at his head shape at this juncture, you would not think he needs his helmet anymore at all; however, there is always growing to be done and the band still has room for him to "fill in". Might as well get our money's worth!

More to come!

I know a place where dreams are born. . .

Naptime.

You remember: that time of the day you refused to take advantage of in your youth ("I can't sleep when it's LIGHT OUTSIDE!"), which you now look back on wistfully as there just aren't enough hours in the day.

Naptime for babies should not be as difficult as it can be for, say, toddlers or school aged kiddos. Set a schedule, start a "wind-down" routine, and plop 'em in the crib so you can clean the house/do laundry/wash bottles/finally get that blasted hangnail/or in my case, all of the above after surfing facebook for too long by any standard.

In almost every area of baby life, Max is doing beautifully. He sleeps 10-12 hours a night and is hardly ever cranky during the day. He eats what you offer him and he "teeths" for about 10 minutes per tooth. They're a tricky business, though, those nap times. When it comes to taking his daily snoozes, he refuses to be anywhere near his crib. Ah, no. Why settle for a Serta when you can REM on a warm body like Mommy's?

Yes, Max has decided that he will only nap on me. Which means that twice a day, I sit in the glider, bounce/rocking him until he falls asleep and holding him in that position for the better part of an hour. Depending upon how he falls asleep, at times my body is severely contorted, biceps shaking. I look like a marquee for kabuki theatre. I know what you're thinking, and yes - I HAVE tried to tip toe him into his crib after he's fallen asleep in my arms.
Guess what happens.
So I flip a U-ie and take my place back in the glider. Any leading figure in child-rearing would shake his head at me, then snap a photo to put in his next best-seller under "See What Can Happen If You Don't Listen To Me?"

Truth be told.... I kinda love it. As I rock - no, glide- with him across my chest and on my shoulder, all I need is to glance down at that chubby little face, eyes closed and mouth hanging open as only a sleepy trip to Never Never Land can produce. And I'm inches away from his own personal little dreamscape. And it hits me: he doesn't want his crib to nap. He wants ME. There is something that only I can provide him so that he will relax enough to drift off during the day for his naps. I help him to dream. When he dreams, he learns; he grows. These days will be gone all too soon.

Yes, I hold my son during his naps. Write an entire chapter on me.
I'd have it no other way.

 

 

Be sure to tip your waitress

If I were to just dive right into this blog post, would you catch that it's been over a month since I've written? Whew. GOOD.
Last week, we celebrated Max's 6 MONTH BIRTHDAY. Six months is halfway to his first year (you're welcome on the math). I still catch myself at times holding his chin up to burp him, even though he is completely able to handle his oral flatulence on his own.... any flatulence, for that matter. He is not keen on being held "Baby Style" anymore and prefers being propped up over your shoulder to get a real good view of the world around him. He continues to smile all the time, and don't call CPS on us when I say that this kid loves the get the s#&% scared out of him. We've decided to call it "being suprised":

Me: Honey, Max is in the living room doing tummy time. Go "surprise" him.
Josh: I'm on it.
(Sneaks into the living room, creeping up on our deliciously oblivious son as he inpects his teething froggie).

"BOO!"

Max: ....... " HAHAGAGAHAGAHGAH!"

I know it sounds bad, so here's a video so you can see how he just BEGS for it:

As illustrated in the above video, you may or may not be aware that our little monkey has plagiocephaly. Do yourself a favor and read past posts, if not for the details of his helmet journey, then to revisit the hilarity that my writing ensues. Two weeks ago, Max was fitted with his DOC Band (Dynamic Orthotic Cranioplasty, or, "expensive ass piece of foam"). It weighing 6 ounces, Max didn't even flinch as it went on for the first time, and he's barely noticed it since. We go back to Cranial Technologies weekly to continue monitoring Max's growth. As he grows and his head gets bigger, his head will fill in the areas that were once "flat" while the already good stuff is just held in place by the band. At his latest appointment, the technician said that if he continues to grow at the rate he's been, he'll be out of the band in no time, so we can kiss his noggin without catching a honking piece of plastic in our mouths. Moreover, those adorable, sleepy "head butts" he does after waking won't threaten to send mommy to the ER.

Yay!

So what else with life. Now that he is over 6 months old, we are seeing more personality than ever. He is also displaying signs of seperation anxiety, or perhaps he is so spoiled by Mommy spending almost every moment with him, he gets frustrated when she has to, say, shower. In fact, it's pretty remarkable. Thinking he could pass the time in his exersaucer for 10 minutes - situated in the master bathroom - in front of the shower - while Mommy palms some shampoo through her hair, I plopped him in and started to get ready for my cleanse. I am not one foot in the shower when, all of a sudden, the musical, multi-colored, light up plaything that's been mesermizing him for months loses all potency, and the realization that I am not engaging with him takes over. I hear the whiny grumbles of suspicion.

Quick. Lather.

"Wwa. Wa. Wwww."

I can get my legs tomorrow. Just the necessities.

"Mmmaaa...waaaaa....waaaaaaaaaa...."

Conditioner's for losers, anyway...

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

This is the place I like to call the middle of the tunnel. I'm too far into my process to abandon ship, but I can forget about taking my time to finish up without his popping a lung. The only thing to do: entertain.

That's right. I can talk to him. But I've got to keep it novel. He can't see me, so I can't do a bunch of funny faces for him to zone out on.....I'll have to rely on my voice.

"Maaaax!"

Crying turns to silence. I've hooked him.

"Maxie Maxie poo poo poo!"

"waa."

Shit. Ok, changing it up. How about I SING your name! As.....Christina Aguilera?

"MA-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-X!"

Silence.

Andrea Bocelli.

Sting.

Lady Gaga.

Annie (It's a Hard Knock Max!)

I pulled out all the stops. Not only did it work, but it made me think of myself as quite the impressionist and I'm updating my fantasy acting resume as soon as I'm done here.

Here are some updated photos of our little guy. Enjoy!