GH Mom Blog: Experiences of a First Time Mom

Bye Bye!

2006-12-29T06:41:00.000-08:00

This is my last blog entry! I'm leaving Good Housekeeping, so the blog has to end. I've been thinking for days about what I want to say, and there's just no way to sum up the last year and a half. So I've made a list:

Top ten most surprising things about having a baby:

10. You do forget the pain of childbirth.
9. You don't ever sleep. Ever.
8. They really do grow up so fast!
7. You love them more than you could possibly imagine.
6. Every baby is the cutest baby in the whole world.
5. Every baby is a genius.
4. Ohmygod, they are so expensive.
3. It is truly impossible to get into preschool.
2. Poop isn't so bad when it's your son's.
1. Hearing your baby say Mommy for the first time takes your breath away.

Thanks for a great 17 months!
Jennifer

Happy Holidays, Everyone!

2006-12-21T07:28:00.000-08:00

We're on our way to Florida tomorrow morning to spend Christmas with G's family. We're so excited! Fox will meet his three little cousins for the first time, and I know he's going to be so happy to have other kids in the house. For weeks, we've been telling Fox how much the girls will love to hug, kiss, and tickle him. He's at such a squishy, delicious age right now, like a baby doll come to life.

But I can't help but be nervous about the effect a major change in routine will have on him. As everyone who reads this blog knows, Fox has never been a great sleeper. In fact, Fox's sleep has been the major challenge of the last year and a half. I have tried just about everything — and given up hundreds of hours of my own shut-eye — to get him to where he is now: able to fall asleep on his own at 7 pm, waking up at 5:30 or 6. When we went away for a night several weeks ago, Fox was so thrown by a strange room that he had the worst night he'd had in months. And while he got back to his regular pattern not long after we returned home, that one bad night was enough to scare me silly. I'll do the best I can — but to all the people in a ten-mile radius of Fox's grandparents' house: I apologize in advance for the 2 am screaming!

Oh, and it's 80 degrees in Florida. Ho ho ho!

Mornings Are the Cruelest Times

2006-12-04T09:23:00.000-08:00

This morning was good because Fox didn't start screaming "No!" as soon as he saw his babysitter.

Separation anxiety is hell.

The books all said it would happen around this age, but even so, it crept up on me. The last few weeks, he's been unusually clingy in the morning, wanting to be held constantly (flashbacks of his infancy, when I couldn't put him down for even a second), calling for Momma the instant I turn my back (have you ever tried to brush your teeth with a toddler pulling on your leg and whimpering to be picked up?). And, worst of all, fighting the handoff to his sitter. Even blueberries — his favorite food — barely slow the tears.

Of course I wondered if something else was going on — does he not like her? — but I'm reasonably certain that's not the case. After all, we hired her from a family friend whose son she looked after for five years, and they all still love her. And Fox clearly does get along with her — when I come home at night, he's always sitting on her lap, happily reading a book, and he gives her a big kiss good-bye. No, this is a phase, just a particularly wrenching one.

I Love Holiday Weekends!

2006-11-27T08:43:00.000-08:00

Four days with Fox is heaven. So many kisses and smiles! So much cuteness! G's little brother, B, came to stay with us for a few days over Thanksgiving. It was really nice to have an extra set of hands around to help with the toddler wrangling — I got more done in the three days of B's visit (tidying up the basement, cleaning out a closet, sweeping the backyard) than I have in months. And Fox got to show off his tricks to an eager new audience. Fox's latest: taking a grownup by the hand and leading him to wherever Fox wants to go. His destination is usually the refrigerator, but the other day Fox brought G into the kitchen just so they could dance. Then B taught Fox a new game, and we played it all weekend long: You ask Fox to give you a high five, and when he does, you yelp, "Ouch!" and shake your hand like it hurts. Fox thinks it's HILARIOUS. We could make him laugh for hours, just doing it over and over and over and over...

Another Battle in the Sleep Wars

2006-11-20T08:55:00.000-08:00

Last night, Fox put a new weapon in his arsenal. He woke up at 3:30 and started saying, over and over, Mommy, mommy, mommy. I've gotten pretty good at ignoring his midnight crying and wimpering — at 16 months, everyone agrees he should no longer be waking up — but this plaintive cry was almost more than I could bear. I put a pillow over my head and my fingers in my ears, and eventually Fox and I both fell asleep.

Then I jolted awake at 4:30: Mommy, mommy, mommy.

When he started up at 5:30, I went upstairs and got him. I'd managed to convince myself that he was trapped in the bars of the crib or covered in pee or hurt in some way. But he was fine, curled up like a tiny bug in striped pajamas. I'm not even convinced he was fully awake. I brought him to our bed for a family cuddle, and then we all got up soon thereafter.

So it wasn't a good night. And I probably should have let him cry until 6:00, which is his official wake up time. But I did the best I could — believe me, it would have been a lot easier to go up there at 3:30 and either soothe him back to sleep or bring him into our bed. Here's why I didn't: I picture him at age three, climbing out of his toddler bed every night and clambering into ours. I imagine him at four, still needing me to soothe him back to sleep. At five, insisting I be in the room while he drifts off. I'm convinced that if we don't work this out now, it will get much, much worse. And then I remember how much better Fox sleeps now than he used to, and I know I can do it. I know I can!

A Lot to Learn

2006-11-13T07:24:00.000-08:00

Fox's aim has at last gotten good enough that he can reliably dump something in a bucket. It's pretty cute -- there goes Daddy's slipper into the paper bag on the floor! Oops! There goes the spatula, into the recycling bin. But I realized this morning -- as I dug my barrette out of the toy bucket -- that his new skill does have certain drawbacks. I don't think I've seen my hairbrush in a few days now.

Dumping things in buckets is a developmental step; Fox is learning about inside and outside, and practicing his motor skills. For the most part, G and I have been relying on items we have around the house -- like paper bags and spatulas -- to teach this stuff. But for some reason this weekend, I decided we weren't doing enough. Other kids show up at the playground with tons of toys in tow, and Fox always wants to play with them. So I hustled G and Fox off to the toy store, suddenly desperate to buy a Shape Sorter.

A Shape Sorter is exactly what it sounds like: You put shapes through the hole that matches. The toy store had one that looks like a mailbox, with wooden pieces you mail like letters. I couldn't wait to get it home for Fox to try (though first we had to get over the tantrum as we left the store. Turns out that Fox wants a train set). I showed Fox how to put the yellow cylinders through the circle hole, and he got it immediately. He didn't quite understand where the red square was supposed to go -- but we'll grapple with that one later.

Suddenly Stomach Flu

2006-11-09T12:48:00.000-08:00

I was away from G and Fox for two nights last weekend -- the first time I've ever spent the night apart from Fox. Wouldn't you know it, he came down with a terrible stomach flu. He started throwing up on Friday night, taking G completely by surprise. Two baths and several changes of pajamas later, G finally got him to sleep. And when Fox woke up at midnight having vomited on the last clean crib sheet, G brought him into bed with him.

My mother came over to help on Saturday morning, and Fox continued throwing up. By Sunday, both G and my mom were feeling queasy themselves. When I walked in so happy to see them on Sunday afternoon, G handed me a listless, slightly smelly child and crawled into bed for the rest of the day.

I wish I could say Fox was all better now, but he's not. The throwing up has slowed down, but hasn't ended completely: He lost his dinner before bed again last night. All his friends are also sick; from what we can tell, they picked up the bug at our library's Story Hour last Friday. I really, really hope they all feel better soon.

Veni, Vidi, Vici

2006-10-31T08:19:00.000-08:00

There's nothing cuter than a baby in a Halloween costume. This year, Fox is Julius Caesar. Yes, my sweet baby is an emperor.

I made a toga out of a pillowcase and gold braid. G broke what I consider a cardinal rule of parenting and bought Fox a sword (I have a no-weapons policy, but how long was that really going to last?). I fashioned a coronet out of the leg of a plant, which Fox refused to wear for even one second. Then, with a big blue coat to cover our little baby dictator, we trotted off to a Halloween brunch.

We were invited to the same party last year, and what a change all the kids have gone through! Last year, they all had to be held the whole time, and half of them slept through the entire thing. This year, they all looked like real people. Everyone is walking well, and while no one is really talking, you heard a lot of "Mama!" The host baby was born on the same day as Fox, and even though she weighed a little less than him at birth, by age three months (last Halloween), she was almost twice his size. He's caught up a bit (or she's slowed down), but she's still a lot bigger than he is. There's also been a marked trend in Halloween attire: Last year, half the kids were dressed as vegetables (pumpkin, chili pepper). This year, everyone but Fox was dressed as an animal (monkey, butterfly, leopard, kangaroo).

And next year, who knows what my baby emperor will be...Charlemagne? Henry VII? Napoleon?

It's Tough to Shift a Schedule Overnight

2006-10-30T07:00:00.000-08:00

Years ago, I was in Guatemala when the president, whose last name was Serrano, instituted daylight savings time. It took a while to get used to the change, so buses ran on two schedules, "God's time and Serrano's time."

I thought about that this weekend because while the rest of America luxuriated in an extra hour of sleep, I was in Fox's room, trying to persuade him to lie down just a little longer. Overnight, his habit of getting up at 5:15 became a 4:15 wakeup -- totally unacceptable. There's baby time, and then there's daylight savings time.

I'm a Zombie

2006-10-23T07:22:00.000-07:00

A colleague just passed me a press release announcing that 54 percent of moms in the US say they aren't getting enough sleep. Yes, once again, someone has paid for a study to show something we all know already. As you might have guessed, the hardest hit are moms who work full time, with 59 percent of them not sleeping enough. Stop the presses!

But the more I think about it, the more amazed I am that 46 percent of moms ARE getting enough sleep. This must be because the study didn't differentiate among the ages of kids. I mean, call me overly optimistic, but I hope I'm sleeping again by the time Fox is 25. (I'm losing faith that I'll get any rest before then: While he's not doing too terribly at night, he still won't nap on weekends, which has me and G completely exhausted come Sunday night.)

A Great Week in France

2006-10-20T08:23:00.000-07:00

Hey! I'm back! Vacation was amazing. Fox and G and I went to Antibes, a small city on the French Riviera. The weather was amazing, the beach was beautiful. In fact, everything was so great that I'm inspired to try an even more ambitious trip next time. But I'm getting ahead of myself:

What we did right:
1. We got Fox his own seat on the plane. We didn't absolutely have to, since Fox is only one. But I figured that the trip was long enough (7 hours to get there, almost 9 to get back) that it was worth it. And it was. Really, he did amazingly well on the plane, much better than I expected. But we did need every inch of space.

2. We rented a two-bedroom apartment. Wow, a lifesaver. The apartment meant that we could come back in the evening, put Fox to sleep, close his door and have a leisurely night to ourselves. It also meant we didn't have to worry so much about making noise. And we could prepare Fox's food ourselves. And it was cheaper than a hotel.

3. We rented a car. Again, this gave us a lot of freedom. Plus, we got a car seat from the car rental agency so we didn't have to lug one overseas. Once we got into the swing of things, our days looked something like this: Wake up. Go find coffee at an outdoor café in a courtyard (so Fox could play nearby while we revved up). Drive to a nearby museum or other touristy site. Have lunch. Shop for dinner. Put Fox to bed. Make our own dinner. Repeat.

4. We chose a small city on the beach. Antibes is big enough that there was plenty to do (and buy), but really manageable. We could walk to everything. And the beach could not have been more beautiful.

What we did wrong:
1. We never managed to figure out naps. Fox adjusted unbelievably quickly to the time change, despite the six-hour difference. But we could never seem to coordinate getting home from whatever tourist site we were visiting in time to get him down for his nap. We always seemed to arrive at our destination just as he dropped off. Poor Fox was continually being woken up, which made him (and us) rather cranky.

2. And restaurants were a disaster. Part of the reason we'd rented an apartment was so that we only had to eat lunch out. It's a more casual meal, and we figured the wait staff would be friendlier, Fox would be happier…but no. The wait staff was often nonplussed, and not afraid to show it. And Fox just could not sit still for a three-course meal. This meant that we ate in shifts: I would cram down my food while G took Fox for a walk outside; then we'd switch.

But all in all, it was a big success! And wow, French kids' clothing is cuuute. (Fox just may have come home with a few more sweaters than he left with.) Anyway, next year, I'm thinking Scandinavia.

Meeting Patrick

2006-09-27T12:38:00.000-07:00

Momentous encounter in the park this weekend! Here's the story:

Almost a year ago, right after she started working for us, our babysitter made friends with another sitter in the neighborhood. The two of them have stayed close, and so their charges, Fox and Patrick, could reasonably be called best friends. Every day, we get an update on Patrick's progress: "Patrick started walking today!" Or, "Patrick is sick." Even, "Patrick's getting another tooth." Yes, Patrick has become an almost mythical figure in our house -- and that status is reinforced by the fact that G and I had never met him, or his parents. Patrick was like an invisible friend, a major character in Fox's secret life.

Until this weekend.

We were in the park early Sunday morning. Only one other father was there, with his son. The boys wandered over to each other, and we said something to Fox. "Is that Fox?" the dad exclaimed. "This is Patrick!" Much hilarity ensued. Then Patrick's mom came to the park on the way back from a run. "Is that really Foxy?" she said with a huge smile. Fox has become as much of a fixture in their house as Patrick is in ours.

I felt great after meeting them. The parents are super-nice, and we've agreed to coordinate our sons' music classes. It even turns out that Patrick's mom and I went to the same college, two years apart. The world just got a little smaller!

Poo-splosion!

2006-09-27T12:05:00.000-07:00

Sometimes Fox has a dirty diaper so big that it makes you wonder where in his tiny little body he keeps it all. You'd think the Fresh Kills landfill had gotten tired of Staten Island and moved into his nappy. Or the sludge from an offshore oil refinery swam to Brooklyn and settled in our boy's pants. Or...you get the idea.

G and I call those diapers poo-splosions! They come in every color and consistency, but only one size: extra large. G and I are archeologists of poo, so we know all the varieties. I'm rarely surprised by the stuff I find in those diapers (corn, blueberry skins), but there was one that made me look twice. It came a month ago, a couple of hours after we discovered that Fox likes edamame, or those Japanese soy beans you buy in the freezer section and steam. Fox ate a big handful and then returned them, intact, in a poo-splosion.

So that was surprising, and so was this: Every night before bath time we take off Fox's diaper and let him run around naked. He likes it, but mostly we do it because it's so cute to see his big belly and his little bottom. It's family bonding time. Anyway, it's all babyproofed there, so G and I sit on the couch while Fox plays. A couple of days ago, he disappeared for a few moments longer than normal. I went hunting for him and found him stooping over a big pile of poo on the floor. Before I could stop him, he put his hand in it and flung it all over. Well! I hollered for G and plopped Fox in the bath before he could do any more damage. Then, while I hosed down Fox, G mopped up the mess (sorry, honey). That was a poo-splosion to remember.

A Trend in Boys' Clothing

2006-09-25T06:59:00.000-07:00

I'm spending so much time in the park that I can't help but pick up on nuances I'm sure I would have missed even six months ago. I've also discovered the pleasure of shopping for clothes for Fox — and the combination of the two has led me to this observation: Orange is the new blue.

That's right; if my thoroughly unscientific study is to be believed, little boys these days all wear a lot of orange. On Saturday, for instance, of the six boys playing on the same jungle gym as Fox, all but one was wearing orange. One had orange pants, another had orange shorts. One had an orange-and-blue striped T-shirt. Fox's pants had orange seams, and his T-shirt had an orange stripe.

And you know what? I'm all for it. Orange is bright and cheery, and a nice break from denim. And unlike a color such as purple, orange hasn't been co-opted by girls. I'd like to think that G and I are avoiding gender stereotyping, but when it comes to clothes, there's still a fierce divide. I wouldn't dress Fox in pink, or flowers, or pastels. Which leaves, well, orange.

Ooh la la! Un Passeport!

2006-09-19T12:53:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, bright and early, we trotted Fox off to the big post office in Brooklyn. There, we stood in line (we were first!) for half an hour, waiting to submit Fox's forms for his first passport. That's right -- we're going to France!

I had downloaded everything we needed off the Internet and we had it all with us: filled-out forms, birth certificate, 2" square pictures of Fox's tiny little head. Both parents have to show up when a child gets his first passport, I guess to keep one parent from absconding with the child. We were both a little nervous when the agent stapled Fox's original birth certificate to the form and dropped it in the mail. But we shouldn't have worried: Just the other day, the birth certificate showed up again...with Fox's brand spankin' new passport! Now all we have to do is pack.

Getting Snippy

2006-09-11T08:37:00.000-07:00

Fox had his first haircut this weekend! Someone made a joke that he was starting to look like Ryder, Kate Hudson's son, and that was that. We made an appointment immediately. G found a cute place called Doodle Doo's that specializes in cutting kids' hair. Fox got to sit in a little wooden boat and watch an Elmo video (he's never seen anything so exciting in his life!). He banged on the steering wheel with a wooden baton and was really pretty happy about the whole thing -- until we tried to leave. Then all hell broke loose. As Fox screamed bloody murder on the sidewalk, G and I just looked at each other: What do we do now?

Tantrums, by the way, seem to be Fox's newest developmental stage. The haircut was Saturday afternoon. Only hours earlier, I'd been at Fairway, a big grocery store in Brooklyn, holding on to Fox for dear life as he thrashed and kicked and screamed because I wouldn't let him play with the mop and bucket of bleach that the janitor was using to wash the floors. (Of course, G and I ran into two couples we know.) Other shoppers were literally averting their eyes, as though we were some horrible accident they couldn't bear to witness. Is this the terrible twos, a year early? Or is it only getting worse from here?

Sleep Struggles

2006-09-06T12:34:00.000-07:00

Just have to say, I'm glad Vanity Fair got it right: Katie and Tom are both gazing at little Suri on the new cover. Anyway...

Last night, we hit an upsetting milestone in our struggle to get Fox to sleep: He cried so hard he threw up. Babies apparently do this, and the books all say it's not something to freak out about. Still! I put Fox down to sleep as always, but I've been trying hard to put him in his crib when he's still a little bit awake (again, following the advice of all those books), and I guess he was a little too awake, because he quickly started crying. We let him cry for a couple of minutes, then G went to his room and settled him. But the calm didn't last, and Fox started up again. After about six minutes, I went into Fox's room. He stopped sobbing as soon as he saw me, and I'd been holding him for a couple of minutes when -- blech -- he threw up all over his jammies, the floor, and my sleeve. G and I cleaned him up, then G settled Fox down and he slept the rest of the night without incident.

Even so, this feels like a big step in the wrong direction. I don't want Fox to learn that throwing up means lots of attention and that he doesn't need to go to sleep on his own... but I also obviously don't want him to be so unhappy that he makes himself sick. I am very unsure what to do next.

Fox Is Now Senior Baby

2006-09-01T08:16:00.000-07:00

We're so excited! Two babies were born to Good Housekeeping editors in the last week of August. First came Francesca, who was born to one of our copy editors. Then hard on her heels came Sigrid Rose, the daughter of a senior editor. Moms and babies are doing great -- and we can't wait for them to visit the office.

Believe it or not, Francesca and Sigrid are just the start of the GH baby boom. Think there's something in the water? Two other staff members are expecting this winter -- and one of them is having twins. We'll have to designate one of our conference rooms as a child-care center!

Speaking of babies and working: there's an amazing story on the front page of the New York Times today about how lower-income mothers find it impossible to pump breast milk at work. The reporter uses Starbucks as an example: Moms in the corporate division enjoy gorgeous lactation rooms and company-provided pumps. Moms who work behind the counter are forced to pump in customer bathrooms during their breaks. Pumping in that situation is so unpleasant that most of those women can't continue breast feeding. The reporter makes a compelling argument that this disparity is contributing to a real health gap: Rich babies get healthy breast milk; lower-income babies get second-best formula.

The story's sidebar really got me, too: It's about a professional woman who often has to travel for work. She pumps when she's on the road and brings the milk back to her baby. But since there's now a rule about no liquids on planes, she's going to have to stop pumping (you can bring breast milk onboard only if you have a child with you). The woman cried as guards threw out her milk, but given the scary state of world affairs, airlines have no plans to change the policy.

What Makes a Word?

2006-08-28T13:42:00.000-07:00

Don't get excited -- we haven't had our first word yet. But Fox is working on it. He has one sound that I'm sure will become "ball" and another that is trying to be "dog." Which makes me wonder: How do you decide when it's a word and not just a cute little sound?

I think there are two keys: consistency and coherency. (Babycenter.com has a helpful page about language development in 13-month-old babies.) I'm listening carefully to hear if Fox always uses the same "ba" sound whenever he's talking about a ball. And I'm also on the alert for how understandable he is to other people. Is "ba" just the product of a mother's overactive imagination? Or do other people know what he's talking about when he says it? So far, I don't think anyone but G, me, or his babysitter would know he's talking about a ball.

As much as it kills me to say it, "mama" and "dada" aren't passing the consistency test yet, either. Fox uses the sounds often, and I think he knows that they have meaning. But he'll look at me and say, "Na Na!" and he'll also walk down the hall happily singing, "mamamamamama." I'm still waiting...waiting...

Judgment Calls

2006-08-21T13:49:00.000-07:00

Every day as a parent brings an opportunity to judge someone else's choices. Case in point: A friend told me about a mom who fed her one-year-old twins a steady diet of processed macaroni and cheese, frozen French fries, and chocolate cake. "Why would you feed your babies junk food?" she asked. "I know!" I said. "G and I would never!"

Or this weekend, Fox and I were at a café when another child, a toddler, started yanking toys out of Fox's hands. Fox didn't fuss -- as I've mentioned, Fox is pretty relaxed -- but the girl was old enough to know better. "You have to share!" her mother snapped. "Or we're going home." But the girl continued (even acting like she wanted to hit Fox), and the mother never followed through on her threat. "Pretty good way to teach your child there aren't any consequences for behaving badly," I whispered to G.

We could debate kids' nutrition and discipline strategies forever. Instead, let me offer a mea culpa: I was far too quick to judge those moms. Who knows what they're dealing with? In the case of the twin one-year-olds, my friend later told me that the family also has twin three-year-olds. Who wouldn't resort to packaged foods in that situation? And I don't know about the other mom, but I can imagine: Maybe Dad was home working. Maybe there are behavioral problems. Maybe the family is going through a stressful time. Of course, every mom has to believe that the way she's raising her kids is the best way. But I need to remember: Parenting isn't one size fits all.

You Can Have It

2006-08-21T07:15:00.000-07:00

We've stumbled across a developmental milestone that so far I haven't read much about: grabbiness. We first saw it in action a couple of weeks ago, when the 10-month-old child of some friends kept crawling over to Fox and taking toys right out of his hands. The parents were very embarrassed, but Fox didn't seem to mind. He didn't even protest. He would just find something else to play with.

We noticed the same thing again last week with a slightly older child. Then our babysitter mentioned that there's a kid on the playground who often takes Fox's water. The sitter wants Fox to stand up for himself and fight for his stuff. "I tell him to go and take it back!" she told me. "But he's a gentle boy," I said. She didn't seem impressed. On the playground, you have to defend your territory.

Me, I'm not worried. Soon enough, Fox will get possessive and start yanking things out of kids' hands. And then we'll have to teach him about manners and sharing and all of that. In due time, he'll figure out how to stand up for himself in the playground, too. For now, his lack of possessiveness has highlighted his resourcefulness: He's good at entertaining himself, and good at rolling with life's punches.

Read, Already!

2006-08-16T09:29:00.000-07:00

Fox has a favorite book, Slide, Already!, by Kit Allen. It's a silly story about a boy who thinks a slide is a big metal chair. He's enjoying a moment of relaxation when a group of kids ask him why he's not playing. He's scared to go down the slide, but when the kids push him into it, he has a great time. There's something about this book that Fox just LOVES. And G and I like it too; it's fun to read out loud.

Of course, Fox isn't a one-book kind of guy. He's got bunches of favorites. Another staple on our nightstand is Night-Night, Baby, a story about bedtime routines. It's one of those lift-the-flap, feel-the-fuzzy-stuff books, and Fox grabs at the tactile inserts as soon as he turns the page.

Then there are my personal favorites, Sheep in a Jeep and Sheep in a Shop. G and I can recite them by heart, but they still make us laugh -- a miracle after reading them both a billion times.

Since we always read to Fox before bedtime, he's figured out that the last book means he's going in his crib. So he tries to prolong the whole thing as much as possible. He'll hop off my lap to get another book -- and another, and another -- even when he's stumbling he's so tired. When I keep him from getting down, he'll change tactics and will endlessly turn the pages of whatever we're reading. I'm glad he likes books. But I fear there's another sleep-training marathon in our immediate future.

Daddy's Boy

2006-08-10T13:39:00.000-07:00

My sweet baby Fox has fallen head-over-heels in love with his daddy. Fox reaches out his little arms to G the second he sees him, refuses to be held by anyone else, and trots after him as fast as he can. I'm finding it rather wonderful. Seeing G be so loving toward his son never fails to make me smile, and it's also great to feel like a tight family unit, a real triangle instead of a line, if that makes any sense. G has been careful not to laud his newfound favorite status over me. He sees it as a sign that Fox is learning that he can express an opinion, that he can impose his will on the world. G's right -- but only partly. With a daddy as nice as G, what kid wouldn't want to spend time with him?

Shh! No One Talks About Weaning

2006-08-08T10:48:00.000-07:00

Sorry for my absence -- we were on vacation (fun!), then I had to make up for lost time at work. So there's a lot to catch up on! Here's what's on my mind right now:

Since Fox turned one, I've ratcheted down the breastfeeding. The day I put on a dress and left home without my pump was a big one for me. I felt light on the subway (that pump weighs a ton) and so girly in my dress (it's been a year since I've worn one because you can't nurse in them). Not pumping has been great, albeit slightly uncomfortable. I can't say I miss sitting in a closet with my shirt off. No, what's been hard is that Fox still wants to breastfeed as much as ever. Other moms have told me that their children naturally lost interest in nursing, and I assumed Fox would be the same. But so far, he's as eager as ever. And he's mobile and dextrous enough to walk up to me and pluck at my shirt when he's hungry.

That's how I discovered there's a big hole in the literature: how to wean. All the books give some lip service to it in a short last chapter. But really, the emphasis these days is all about establishing breastfeeding, trouble-shooting so you can continue breastfeeding, making it work even when you're away from the child. When it comes to stopping -- and as dedicated as I've been to the endeavor, I have never wanted to be one of those moms who nurses her three-year-old before he trots off to school -- they're pretty much mum.

My solution, for now, has been to go with the flow. Fox is drinking cow's milk during the day. At night and in the morning, I nurse him. I assume that together, before too long, we'll figure out how to stop nursing all together. And when we do, I confess, I'll be a little sad.

Par-tay

2006-07-21T07:32:00.000-07:00

Here are a couple of pictures from Fox's birthday party. We had both sets of grandparents and a few of our closest friends over to our house last Saturday. G made a cake and we talked about how adorable Fox is. Fox had never seen a candle before, and he found them very interesting. He also really liked the dump truck his babysitter brought him. But the best present was one Fox gave me: He started saying "mama." It's not entirely clear that he knows what it means, but every time he says it, my heart does a little flip.

A Day to Remember

2006-07-20T08:19:00.000-07:00

Today is Fox's first birthday. A lot of people have been kind enough to remember, and it's gotten me thinking about what happened a year ago. Or rather, what started a year ago yesterday.

It was hot, humid, and sunny. I was fat, slow, and exhausted. For the past week, G had been driving me to work so I didn't have to lug my belly up and down the subway stairs. That morning, he and I went to work as usual, but before I'd been at the office an hour, my doctor called. She had test results, and they weren't good. It seemed likely that I had cholestasis, a disorder of the liver that would resolve as soon as I gave birth. Only problem: The baby could be stillborn.

Forgive the understatement, but that was a rotten way to start the morning. In a daze, I called G. Then, after telling my boss what was going on, I spent the rest of the day at my desk, writing memos to prepare for my leave. I stayed at the office until 5 pm — which now seems crazy, given the news I'd just gotten. I guess I was in shock, and writing memos must have felt like something I could handle, while the possibility of a stillborn child was unimaginable.

G picked me up, and we drove home, trying to keep a happy face on things. We were about to have a son! G cooked steak for dinner, my favorite food. Then I packed a bag, and we went to the hospital, aiming to get there by 9 pm, as my doctor had requested. We arrived right on time. And 24 hours later, we had Fox: the most precious, sweetest pumpkin anyone could hope for. Happy birthday, Fox!

What a Good Eater

2006-07-19T07:33:00.000-07:00

I blinked, and Fox turned into a little boy. It really hit me when G started taking pictures of Fox's dinner. I mean, look at that plate: Fox is eating yams, pasta, peas, red peppers, cauliflower and a meatball. He even feeds himself.

Right after G took these shots, Fox grabbed his meatball in his fist and devoured it in a couple of dainty bites. He loves the spiral pasta G makes for him; usually about 7/8ths of it go in his mouth and the last smidgeon ends up on the floor. Mommy's boy is growing up!

When the Going Gets Tough...

2006-07-17T10:32:00.000-07:00

This morning, Good Housekeeping moved into new office space AND got a new editor in chief. Big changes! For me, the biggest upheaval is that for the first time in years, I'm sitting in a cubicle. I have a pretty good view (I can even see a slice of the Empire State Building) and really, plenty of room. What I don't have is privacy. So at about 11:00, I went off in search of a place to pump. Months ago, HR told me there would be a lactation room on the 14th floor.

Fourteen has a new gym (nice!), human resources and miscellaneous departments like a medical center. The HR person I talked to couldn't have been nicer. But the long and short of it is this: The lactation room won't be ready until September. The HR person nicely suggested using the bathroom, but as I pointed out, there are no outlets in the stalls.

So back up at the GH offices on 28, I staked my claim on Workroom B, a random room meant, it seems, to house old photos and other files. There's a lock on the door, a chair, a desk and, very key, an electrical outlet. I can't say pumping there was the most relaxing experience — especially since the lights went out twice (in this supergreen building, the lights turn off when there's no motion in the room) — but hey, when it comes to breastfeeding, a mom's got to do what a mom's got to do.

Etiquette Question

2006-07-07T09:56:00.000-07:00

I came home last night to find a purple envelope addressed to Fox sitting on our dining room table. Inside, an invitation to a first birthday party for a little girl he knows from the park. How nice! A chance to meet some of Fox's friends! I told G we should definitely go.

But then, I looked closer at the invite and realized the party is being held next Wednesday at 1:00. No way on earth a working parent can make it to that. I was disappointed, but still happy that Fox and S had been included.

Until this morning, when S pointed out that I have to get a gift. She's right — she shouldn't show up empty-handed — but suddenly, I was annoyed at the parents. I mean, I've never met them, I've never met their child, they're holding the party at a time when I absolutely can't make it, and I'm supposed to buy a present? Isn't there some sort of etiquette issue here? Shouldn't they have specified No Gifts on the invite? I mean, the party's not at their house; it's at the park. And Fox won't even eat anything! He's still on a diet of breast milk and steamed vegetables.

Okay. Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe I'm just grumpy I can't go. Maybe this is an honest mistake by rookie parents. Really, I don't mind buying a toy for a little girl. But still, note to self: No Gifts.

Our Other Son

2006-07-05T07:52:00.000-07:00

Just in case we'd forgotten we're responsible for TWO rambunctious boys, not just one, our cat, Bumpers, jumped out the kitchen window last night. It's about 12 feet off the ground, and this time -- unlike the three other times he's done this -- he injured his right leg.

He couldn't walk on it last night, but he let us touch it and he wasn't panting or crying. So we went to sleep, hoping he'd be better this morning. Except he wasn't. So we loaded him in his carrier, hopped on the subway, and were at the vet's office by 7:30. She took x-rays -- wow, cat bones are cool -- and found that, thankfully, Bumpers hadn't broken anything. But he's not yet all-clear: The vet is keeping him overnight to make sure there's no bruising that could interfere with his breathing.

The reason we were able to get to the vet so early was that Fox was off on an adventure of his own: his second swimming lesson. Every Wednesday this summer, he's going with my parents to the pool where they swim. There, with seven other babies, he's being swished and splashed and bounced through the water. According to Grandpa, Fox is the cutest baby in the class. Unfortunately, he's also the one who likes the water least: He howled through the whole first lesson. Happily, this morning was better and by the end of the lesson, he was even enjoying himself. Now maybe I can breathe again.

Fox Theodore, Superstar

2006-06-28T13:16:00.000-07:00

I've taken a certain amount of flack for my comments on this blog about Brangelina's new baby, or rather, for my dissection of the picture of them that ran on People's cover. Everyone from G on down seems to think I was being unfair, even "weird," for saying it was odd that Angelina was looking at Brad instead of Shiloh. Several people have pointed out that hundreds of pictures were probably taken and that the final shot was selected by an editor. Okay. Point taken. But still: A mom's eyes are almost always drawn to her child.

For instance: Fox and I were at the park with a friend and her baby. I was gazing at Fox — who was doing something adorable, like smiling — and I said something innocuous, like, "Isn't he just the cutest?" (That's the kind of annoying pabulum that comes out of my mouth these days.) The friend said, "Yes, I know," and then said something that made it clear she thought I'd been talking about HER kid, not mine. That's when it hit me: She hadn't been watching Fox; she'd been looking at her own child. I mean, now that seems rather obvious, but at the time it felt momentous. Because when I'm with Fox, it's as though there's a spotlight on him. Everything else is in shadow. It hadn't occurred to me until that moment that the spotlight isn't real, that every person in the room isn't staring at him. To me, he's like the President or a superstar (Brad? Angelina?), and I can't take my eyes away.

There is one exception: when I'm touching him. If I'm holding him, then I can look at other things.

A Glimpse of the Future

2006-06-26T08:30:00.000-07:00

G and I went to the park this weekend with my friend W and her five-year-old son, Stephen. We were on the big kids' side of the playground, so Fox stuck close to me and G. Stephen raced off and immediately made a friend, a boy who was brandishing a sword and chasing after a pair of girls. The point of the game quickly became to "get the girls" by beaning them with wads of silly string that the boys picked up off the ground. The girls didn't seem to mind. But when the other boy smashed one of the girls with his sword, W stepped in. As the two boys raced by our bench, she pulled them both aside and reminded them that there was no hitting. The other mother -- who until then had been preoccupied with a baby and not paying any attention to her rampaging child -- instantly got defensive. "My son isn't hitting anyone," she said. "He's only throwing that silly string."

I wasn't sure that was something to be so proud of. But W handled it really well. She told Stephen to be nice to the girls and to pay attention if they said they didn't want to play anymore. Then she turned to the other mom and engaged her in a friendly conversation. As they chatted, G leaned over to me and whispered, "You're going to have to learn how to do that." It was a mini-tutorial in parenting an older child, playground politics included.

Working Late

2006-06-23T08:10:00.000-07:00

Sometimes a girl just has to stay late at the office. Last night I worked until 9 pm, which meant I didn't get home until almost 10. Fox had to fall asleep without me -- not an easy task for a small fellow. Because of nursing, I've put him to bed almost every night of his life. G accepted the challenge bravely and defrosted milk so that Fox could still have his late-night tipple. Nevertheless, bedtime didn't go as smoothly as it should have. Fox wanted to play -- that's what Daddy is for -- and had trouble settling down. He refused milk from the bottle and cried when G put him in the crib. Over the course of the evening, I received regular phone calls. They went something like this:

G: When are you coming home?
J: I still have more to do.
G: Are you coming home soon?
J: I'll be there as soon as I can.

So here's my question: How do you raise a kid who is flexible and can deal with Mom not being home, while still giving him the stability of a predictable routine?

Happy 11 Months, Fox!

2006-06-20T07:12:00.000-07:00

In honor of Fox's 11-month birthday today, I held a haiku-writing contest, open to a few of his most ardent admirers. The entries are so sweet I could barely stand it. Everyone's a winner! Yay! Thanks for playing!

Carrots, peas, and yams
They are fine I guess. But I
Can't wait for ice cream!
—Alice

"Eleven Months"
How old am I? Well,
Old enough to take five steps
On my own. Hooray!
—Jennifer

"Get ready, Mom"
One more month to go
Then I am on my way to
The Terrible Twos!
—Richard

I walk, talk, giggle,
squawk, wiggle, wave, and look brave.
I'm so talented.
—Kate

Hi. My name is Fox
And I'm a milk-o-holic.
Nightcap, anyone?
—Jessica

I'm not yet a man,
But I have long known the sound
Of one boy pooping.
—Saleem

Blonde hair and blue eyes
Ladies Man in the making
Mom, please let me date.
—Jane

July fourth last year
I wasn't born, but now they
Can't live without me.
—Sarah

I'm Turning into a Lactivist

2006-06-15T10:06:00.000-07:00

Everyone has been buzzing about the story in Tuesday's New York Times science section about a government push to get women to breastfeed. The story is basically a standard run-through of the health benefits of nursing, but it does touch on a couple of interesting points. Here's the part that really got me:

"Urging women to breast-feed exclusively is a tall order in a country where more than 60 percent of mothers of very young children work, federal law requires large companies to provide only 12 weeks' unpaid maternity leave and lactation leave is unheard of. Only a third of large companies provide a private, secure area where women can express breast milk during the workday, and only 7 percent offer on-site or near-site child care, according to a 2005 national study of employers by the nonprofit Families and Work Institute."

I've been lucky because I can close my office door and pump. I've also been lucky because my supply has stayed high, which has enabled me to continue breastfeeding exclusively. Most women I know found their supply dropping soon after returning to the office. One woman told me that even pumping twice a day, she was only bringing home three ounces (Fox drinks about 20 on average). What makes me so sad about this is that it never crosses women's minds -- or their employers' -- to try to figure out a way to work less (or differently) and make more milk. Instead, the women stop breastfeeding. And really, in today's workplace, what other option is there?

Weeble Wobbling

2006-06-13T06:52:00.000-07:00

We started the morning with bleeding, so that was no good. Fox took a tumble while he was walking and did something to his lip or his mouth — I couldn't really see what — that made him bleed all over the place. Blood on G's shirt, blood on my bathrobe, blood on Fox's face and on his thumb, which he was trying to suck for comfort.

This isn't the first time this has happened. There was that time in the park when he split his lip while trying to walk along a bench — blood then, too. And there's the enormous scratch on his nose from when he fell in the park on Friday. According to our nanny, Fox was pushing his stroller, using it for balance while he walked, and he let go and pitched forward onto his face. She was right behind him, but it really does happen in a split second.

I take comfort from another nanny, who, when she sat down next to us in the waiting room of the doctor's office, took one look at our scabby boy (he was there for some other reason), and kindly said, "I see your son is learning to walk." She'd obviously seen lots of babies with scabby noses and big, black-and-blue bumps on their foreheads. Fox looks like a drunken sailor as he wobbles around, and unlike a Weeble, sometimes he does fall down.

Brangelina's Been Breeding

2006-06-08T08:03:00.000-07:00

The pictures of Brad and Angelina's baby are out. There's really a lot to say about the shot that will be on People magazine's cover tomorrow (for which People reportedly paid $4.1 million). Let's dissect:

1. The baby, Shiloh, is sleeping. Um, sleeping? During a photo shoot? Is this a new breed of miracle baby? Fox had to be held, nursed, cooed at and rocked before he'd close his eyes -- and even then, the slightest disruption would wake him right up.
2. The baby, a girl, is wearing blue. Not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just unusual. As anyone who's ever had a kid well knows, there's a massive conspiracy to dress all girls in pink or purple and all boys in blue and denim.
3. This is the weirdest: Angelina's looking at Brad, not the baby. In every picture of me taken since Fox was born almost a year ago, I'm gazing at the baby. It's like my eyes are drawn to him by some supersonic force field. So I find it a tiny bit disturbing that only a few days after Shiloh's birth, Angelina can bear to peel her eyes away. I mean, who cares that Brad Pitt is good looking? Shiloh's her daughter!
4. Angelina's wearing a nursing bra. You can tell by the hooks on the straps. Now this I approve of.

Incentive-based Management

2006-06-05T09:02:00.000-07:00

Fox becomes a more daring walker every day. But when it comes to crawling, he's purely utilitarian: If he has to, he will. Otherwise, no thanks. So to encourage him, G has come up with a plan he's calling incentive-based management. This is how it works: G builds a tower of blocks well out of Fox's reach. Then he puts Fox on his stomach (Fox hasn't figured out yet how to get to sitting from lying down). Fox is so eager to knock over the tower that he'll crawl across the room. Here he is in action. Go Fox, go!

Because...

2006-06-01T08:07:00.000-07:00

I know you're not supposed to cry over spilt milk, but this morning when Fox knocked over a freshly pumped bottle, it was all I could do not to weep. It was my fault, not Fox's; I should have put the bottle away immediately. But still. That stuff's expensive! At milk banks -- which exist to provide breast milk to premature infants whose mothers can't nurse -- it costs $3 an ounce. But in real terms, it costs a lot more. Breastfeeding is unbelievably demanding. I nurse Fox when he wakes up, then I pump before I go to work. Then I pump twice at work. Then I nurse him before he goes to sleep, and pump once more before I go to bed. Even pumping four times a day, I can't quite make enough to satisfy him. I spend the weekend trying to pump enough to maintain the supply in the freezer, so the nanny has enough milk to feed Fox his 5:00 bottle.

Keeping this up has required an enormous outlay of energy. I'm skinnier now than I was before I got pregnant, mostly because of the huge calorie demands of feeding Fox. Breastfeeding exclusively has also required unbelievable willpower. Almost every night I would rather go to bed -- where G is already slumbering gently -- than stay up for another half an hour to pump a measly two or three ounces (Fox consumes about 20 ounces a day). But after all but the worst days, I force myself to do it. It has been exhausting.

The obvious question, then, is why do I continue? Why don't I just give Fox formula? I was fed formula, and I'm fine. Most of my friends were fed formula, and they're fine. If it's so hard, why don't I stop? Because I love it. Because breastfeeding has been a tremendous pleasure, a huge accomplishment, and I'm proud of succeeding. Because there is no sweeter moment in my day than when I hold Fox and watch his little eyes float shut as he fills his belly with warm milk. Because when his soft hand flutters against me, I feel such peace, such joy. Moms devote their lives to doing the right thing for their children, and for me, breastfeeding's been a pretty good place to start.

Walking! At Ten Months!

2006-05-30T08:03:00.000-07:00

Fox took his first unassisted steps this weekend! I was sitting on the floor and he was standing in the V made by my legs, holding on to my shoulder and looking around the room. He spotted a particularly appealing wicker chair a few feet away...and let go of me to toddle over to it. G and I both started clapping and cheering and kissing him, and Fox looked very, very pleased with himself.

And thus started one of the most fun games ever: aiming Fox toward a couch or a parent and encouraging him to walk to it. Fox had almost as much fun doing this as G and I. He would laugh and grin and make strange baby snorting noises -- and G and I would cheer and exclaim about what a perfect, genius baby we have. By the end of the weekend, Fox had gotten pretty good at judging distances, which had one disturbing ramification: instead of taking a number of baby steps, he'd take one step, or two, then fling himself at his goal. This worried his father, who had visions of bloody noses and bruised cheeks (and indeed, Fox did end up with a black and blue bump on his forehead). But me, I don't know, I could only grin and clap like the smitten, idiot mom I am.

No Babies Were Harmed

2006-05-24T06:56:00.000-07:00

We have a pair of modern chairs in our living room. They look like they might be at home in an S&M dungeon, all straps and leather, but in fact they're rather comfortable. They turn out to be kid friendly, too -- those chrome bars are super fun to play on.

Here's Fox, using the chair as a jungle gym. The little monkey is getting quite good at falling, and the tumble you'll see in the photos below was entirely without tears.

TV for Tots

2006-05-22T08:27:00.000-07:00

Have you heard about the new cable TV station aimed at babies? It has 24-hour programming for kids between the ages of six months and three years. Given that the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends absolutely no screen time for children under two (that includes TV, videos and computers), I find the concept rather alarming. I mean, we all know about creating lifelong consumers and capturing brand loyalty, but this seems extreme. For our part, G and I are adamant that Fox watch as little television as possible, and one of the things we like about our nanny is that she never turns on the TV.

Still, I'm trying not to judge this new channel too harshly. For one thing, I do sometimes disagree with the AAP (one example: they recommend against co-sleeping, which we did for six months). Obviously, it's great to encourage parents to spend time with their kids rather than parking them in front of the television. But, come on, we live in the real world. How else are you supposed to keep your child busy while you're doing housework? G and I have the luxury of often hiring a babysitter to watch Fox for a couple of hours on Saturday while we work around the house. I know other babies who will play happily in a playpen. But what if yours doesn't? I'm pretty sure this channel won't ever become a part of our routine. But I'm already learning that there's a big difference between the perfect parent I'd like to be (and that Fox deserves) and the imperfect (but trying very hard) parent I've become.

Hi World! It's Me, Fox!

2006-05-17T14:07:00.000-07:00

Now that the weather is warming up, many days when I get home, S is hanging out with Fox in front of the house. I'll turn the corner onto our street and see him walking slowly down the sidewalk, holding S's hands tightly and grinning from ear to ear. It's the cutest thing -- you just don't see two-foot-tall people going for a stroll all that often. Seeing him out there, enjoying himself, makes me so happy, and I instantly forget the stress of the day. It's a great way to start the evening.

Yesterday, I wasn't feeling so hot and I went home early. So it was I who was out front at 6:30, going for a slow walk with Fox. I was amazed at how many people stopped to say hi to him! Apparently, he doesn't just hang out waiting for me to come home: He hangs out making friends. G and I have lived in our house for three years, but I met people yesterday I'd never even noticed. And as the day started to fade, a group of neighbors and I were still outside, talking about all sorts of things: the house for sale across the street, the restaurant on the corner that's gone out of business. You can add one more entry to the long list of Fox's talents: ice breaker.

Yep, It Was a Bummer

2006-05-15T09:44:00.000-07:00

The other night when I came home, I did exactly what I always do: Blew a kiss to Fox, put my breast milk in the fridge, and washed my hands. Then I took Fox from his sitter's lap so I could kiss him hello and she could leave.

As he often does, Fox fussed and held out his arms for S, the sitter. As I always do, I handed him back to her so she could give him one last kiss and hug good-bye. But this time, when S handed him to me again, Fox started to bawl. He bucked and kicked to go to S. And for the first time I can remember, I wasn't able to comfort him. He cried as she put on her coat, he cried while she got her bag, he cried as she went out the door and we watched her walk down the street. It took me several minutes to calm him down.

I am trying to handle this maturely and to look on the bright side.

The bright side:
1. Separation anxiety is developmentally appropriate. He's right on schedule. At nine months, babies have figured out that you still exist even when you're not there. The crying is normal.
2. Fox likes S so she must not be abusing him when I'm at work (every mom's fear about the sitter). It's good for them to have a close relationship.
3. Um, I can't come up with a third good thing.

Because it's so upsetting! I mean, I know I don't see Fox very much during the week. But to have it driven home in this way is horrible! Maybe this is why I haven't been motivated to break Fox of the habit of waking up in the night. True, it disrupts my sleep and his. But any time I get to spend with him is precious.

GH's Mother's Day Mom Blog Contest

2006-05-11T12:39:00.000-07:00

Reading through all the entries to our mom blog contest was amazing. There were funny ones (poop and spit-up were major themes). And there were sweet and sentimental ones (the mixed blessing of watching your baby grow up figured largely in those). But the common thread was love: Every mom talked about the depth of her feeling for her child. I remember seeing Fox for the first time, and even though I was lying on an operating table, I felt so happy. I thought, Oh, I get it. And I did: I really got it, why we have kids and how we would do anything for them. That feeling has stayed with me through all the sleepless nights and the fevers, and it keeps me going all day long.

That's what I and my colleagues here at Good Housekeeping enjoyed so much about this winning entry: Christine Hayes did a beautiful job of expressing her love. We're so happy we can share her insights with you.

Mother's Day Mom Blog Contest Winner Christine Hayes

My kids need their mom. They need me to sneak in healthy foods among the chicken nuggets. They need me to slather them with sunscreen, arbitrate toy disputes, and fight off the dangers of a troubled world. But it took me by surprise how desperately I need them in return.

Of course I love my funny little boys: one patient and meticulous, the other bold and fearless. But motherhood ventures beyond love into a bond so strong it takes my breath away. I *need* to check on them five times a night, steal every hug and kiss I can, drink in every detail of their faces before they outgrow those round cheeks and toothy grins.

I get busy and frantic but they never stop coaxing me to play. When I lose my temper, they still run willingly to my arms, tearful and forgiving. The older boy brings me flowers from the garden and tells me I look pretty on days I haven't showered. The little one traces my features with a curious finger, finding worth through his young eyes that's difficult to see through my own. Sure they need me, but I need them more -- a surprising discovery indeed.
--Christine Hayes

Here are two more great essays, from our runners-up:

Mother's Day Mom Blog Contest Runner-up L.J. Stevens

What surprised me most about becoming a mom was how close it made me feel to my mom -- even though she passed away 20 years ago.

It was just after my college graduation. She was 45 years old, and I've never seen her so happy. It was a brain aneurism. It seemed like in a single moment she was gone.

When I first held my daughter in my arms, I cried. I called my sister, and we cried. I called my brother, and we cried again. These were tears of joy, because the for the first time, I understood what Mother had tried to tell me when I was young... and I found myself whispering the same words to my tiny infant girl: "I will always love you, no matter what." That's just what mothers do.

There was a moment when I notice my aging hands wiping her tiny bottom, and I suddenly remembered my mother's hands: long and bony, gentle and firm, sure and tender. I don't think I've ever felt closer to my mother as I do now. And for the first time I truly believe her whispered promise... that she will always love me, no matter what.
--L.J. Stevens

Mother's Day Mom Blog Contest Runner-up Jodi Schwen

I am continually surprised by the joy and lessons I receive from my children.

On countless schooldays, my third-grade son, Nick, forgot something at home: a mitten, his homework, a library book. The list seemed endless.

But one March morning as I backed the car out of the driveway, I said, "I have the feeling that I'm forgetting something."

Nick quickly shot back, "Welcome to my world."

On another occasion, I discovered a neatly bundled blanket and a Pound Puppy in front of my bedroom door. My nine-year-old son had just cleaned his room.

"What's the meaning of the bundle by my door?" I asked, suspecting what his answer would be -- we've traveled this road before.

"I've decided it's time to grow up," he said, "to become a man."

"What if I'm not ready for you to become a man?"

"Too bad," he replied mischievously.

I can still recall the time a few years ago when he turned his baby quilt over to me for a final laundering before storing it away. I wasn't prepared for that step, either. His baby steps are becoming youthful steps down the road to maturity.

I'm just trying to keep up.
--Jodi Schwen

Happy Mother's Day, everyone!

TGI Saturday Morning (Soon!)

2006-05-10T13:39:00.001-07:00

All week I look forward to Saturday mornings. That's when G and Fox and I go for a long walk around the neighborhood. Fox gets up at 6:00, just like every other day, so there's no sleeping in. Instead, G and I get dressed, feed the boy, and bundle him into his stroller. When we go out, it's still early, and the streets are hushed and peaceful. Fox is in a good mood during these walks, and when we peek into his stroller, he's either quietly looking around or dozing, his little mouth working his pacifier.

We stop for coffee and a bagel with cream cheese at one of several neighborhood breakfast spots. Lately, in the warm weather, we've been taking our snacks to a park. If Fox is awake, he'll sit on the lawn and pull up blades of grass. If he's asleep, we'll sit as long as he doesn't stir. And when he does, we'll keep going, pushing the stroller to lull him back to dreamland. It's a low-stress way to run errands; last week, we wandered over to Staples and bought a shredder. In weeks past, we've gone to Lowe's or to the grocery store. These are long walks, half an hour in each direction, but the weekend wouldn't be the same without them. When we're out together like that, we feel like a unit, a family, reunited after our difficult week at work, nothing to do but to enjoy our Saturday stroll.

Happy Birthday, Graham!

2006-05-08T08:31:00.000-07:00

Fox's friend Graham turned one! So Fox went to his first birthday party this weekend. He had a blast, mostly because there were so many new toys to play with. There were a bunch of other kids, too, but Fox didn't do much socializing. He really only notices other babies when they have a toy he wants -- or when one of them takes his toy. Watching babies play is like watching a nature documentary: The little kids know instinctually that they're below the big kids in the pecking order. Fox was the youngest kid there, so he had to give up his toy a few times. But he didn't seem to mind.

Graham's parents had gone out of their way to provide baby-friendly food: mac and cheese with no eggs, cake with no sugar, Oatey-O's in tiny Dixie cups. Fox liked the Oatey-O's, but he threw most of them on the ground. I felt bad about the mess, but that's a nice thing about a kids' party: No one looks down their nose when your baby acts his age.

The most fun thing, though, was seeing how differently all the babies are developing. Graham, at one, is a master crawler. He could scoot all over the place. But maybe that's why he's not too interested in walking. He's the opposite of Fox, who, at nine months, still isn't crawling. Why would he? He's figured out how to get almost anywhere by holding onto the legs of a chair and pushing it across the floor like a walker. One 16-month old was walking by himself reasonably well, but his mom said he hadn't taken a single step until he was well over a year. I guess this is why people join parents' groups: Seeing other kids grow is way more instructive than a book could ever be.

Teensy Tiny Babies

2006-05-05T11:36:00.000-07:00

For a long time, it freaked me out whenever I saw babies even smaller than Fox. I'd be in the park, or walking down the street, and a mom or dad would be cradling a newborn in a sling or pushing one in a stroller and I'd think, Ohmygosh! I can't believe babies are still being born! It's like I figured that once Fox happened, all baby making could stop. Once you've reached perfect, why keep going?

But now Fox is big enough -- nine months -- that he's passed into a different phase of babyhood. He can sit up, and walk holding on to things, and he looks at you when you say his name. He turns the pages of books and he even sings along as he does it, as if he's trying to read. He's becoming a little boy.

So now I look at tiny babies with less disbelief and more of a connoisseur's eye. "Still in the car seat stroller," I think. "Bet those parents are doing a lot of jiggawalking." It's good I've gotten to this stage, because two of my dear friends have just given birth. I can't wait to meet Mila (who lives in Los Angeles) and Wolfe (who lives in Tampa). Hi guys! I'm so excited for the day they all play together!

Women’s Lib

2006-04-28T14:06:00.000-07:00

Last night, for the first time since Fox was born, I went out solo, as in alone. By myself. Just me. No G or Fox. And it felt great! I used my free evening to go to the Edgar Awards, a big ceremony for mystery book writers. Yes, I am a geek — a mystery-obsessed geek.

So as I was craning my neck for a glimpse of Michael Connelly (love him) and making my way through mushroom soup and chicken with vegetables, G was home with Fox, defrosting a couple of packets of breast milk. Usually — as in, every other day of Fox’s entire life — I'm the one who puts Fox to bed, nursing him quietly and patting his bottom after I lay him down in his crib. But you know what? As worried as I was that I would come home to a screaming child and a husband speed-dialing a couple's therapist, it was fine. The house was dark, quiet and still. And in the morning, I learned from G that he and Fox had a sweet, peaceful night: They went for a walk, they had a bath, they read a story. Then Fox drank a bottle and settled down. The lesson here: My going out was good for all of us. G can handle it and Fox can do without me for a bit. Maybe, just maybe, I can start to reclaim my life.

Adventures with Teething Biscuits

2006-04-25T07:17:00.000-07:00

When we first started solid food, the doctor told us to introduce one new ingredient a week. The idea is that if your child has an allergy, it will be immediately obvious what the allergy is to, and you'll be able to adjust his diet accordingly.

So we started with rice cereal, then added sweet potatoes, then went to apples...you get the idea. Fox has now been eating solids for four months now, and -- knock wood -- he doesn't seem to have any food issues. But we still stick roughly to the one new food a week guideline.

G was very excited that this week we introduced teething biscuits. It's the first food that Fox is able to cram in his mouth himself, and boy, is it fun! He loves to chomp chomp chomp on them just like the big people. He gets them all over his little hands, his cheeks, his hair, his high chair, everywhere.

It's unclear how much he manages to actually ingest, but I suppose it doesn't matter. Like so much at his age, it's for the experience. (Wouldn't it be great if grown-ups could say that? Gee, I'm sorry, I know I made a huge mess. But it was a great experience!)

Dreaming of Sleep

2006-04-24T09:20:00.000-07:00

Both Fox and G seem to have recovered from the evil stomach virus that is sweeping New York. (Two more of my friends caught it this weekend. Am I a carrier or what?) But I was unprepared for one side effect of Fox's illness: It totally disrupted his sleep.

Mom is very, very tired.

Before he got ill, Fox was waking up only once a night, at about 5am. Since we put him down at 7:30, I figured that was a legitimate time to be hungry, and I would go upstairs and nurse him. Then he would usually sleep until about 6:30, at which point we'd all get up. But no longer. Now, Fox wakes up several times, and it's really hard to console him. Last night, he woke up howling at 12:30, 3:30 and 5:00. Each time, it took me almost an hour to get him back to sleep. So today, I'm off to the bookstore: If the answer is out there (and it must be!), I will find it...or fall asleep trying.

Not Quite Davy Crockett

2006-04-19T06:55:00.000-07:00

The park by our house is not exactly Eden. I mean, it's nice, by New York City standards: The size of an entire block, it has separate play areas for babies and older kids, lots of basketball hoops, some trees for shade, benches for the caregivers and a fountain the kids can run in when it's hot. My nanny reports that the bathrooms are even clean. Still, there's no grass, no unexplored areas and no animals, since the city keeps the place pretty well dosed with rat poison, if the signs posted all over the place are to be believed.

So we're very lucky that my parents have a small house in the country where Fox will be able to turn cartwheels, make forts out of fallen branches and ride a bike without Mom worrying that he'll be flattened by a city bus. We went there this weekend, and Fox helped his grandpa -- who was clearing brush -- by picking up twigs and putting them in a pile. I didn't see him do this, though, since I was inside napping. Yes, napping: a first for me, and a major benefit of hanging out with the grandparents.

Fox's Teeth Hurt

2006-04-17T07:53:00.000-07:00

Fox has been sick since Thursday night, not sleeping well, refusing solid food, cranky, lethargic. I learned my lesson from the last fever, so G brought him to the doctor on Friday. She peered in his ears and down his throat, and said it would pass. G had a stomach bug (icky) on Wednesday, and we think Fox probably caught that. But he's also struggling with teething. I guess it's harder for some babies than for others, and Fox is getting slammed.

So what can you do when your baby is sick and the doctor says just to wait it out? You can worry. Our nanny added fuel to my anxiety this morning when she told me that one of Fox's friends lost four pounds because he stopped eating during his latest tooth. Fox is a skinny kid, and four pounds would amount to more than 20 percent of his body weight. Of course, there's no evidence that he's lost any weight at all; he's been nursing and drinking juice, and he's certainly not going hungry. But still.

I've also discovered a secret streak of defensiveness, a quality I'll call Mommy Bear. A well-meaning friend said she'd heard Fox was having a hard time with teething. My immediate thought was, No he's not. He's doing great. Then I wondered where that came from. I mean, she's right. He's sick and unhappy. I've said it myself. Plus, she wasn't criticizing him; she was being sympathetic and sweet. So where did my reaction come from? And how will I respond the first time someone really does say something mean about him?

Let's Cruise

2006-04-13T07:49:00.000-07:00

I've learned a new word: cruising. When you have a kid, it loses its old meaning -- looking for someone to pick up in a bar -- and takes on a totally different one. In my current reality, cruising is when an infant walks holding on to furniture, the walls, your legs, whatever.

Last week I must have blinked because suddenly I noticed that Fox has become a master cruiser. He wants to walk everywhere, and he doesn't need your help, thank you very much. In the living room, he shuffles along the edge of a chair, then -- this is scary -- lunges for the sofa. If he makes it, he scoots along the sofa to the end table, to the other chair, to the fireplace, to the bookshelves. Along the shelves to the French doors...then he's stuck. Mom!

Since he's still not very interested in crawling (he can do a little bit of commando, but not without a lot of complaining), G and I have assumed that he was going to skip straight to walking. But this morning on my way to work, I ran into the parent of a one-year-old girl. He told me that Lizzie cruised happily until she figured out that crawling was more efficient. She stopped cruising, started crawling, and still hasn't quite mastered the walking thing. "As any drunk college kid can tell you," he said, "learning to balance is pretty hard."

Sunscreen for Tots

2006-04-11T13:31:00.000-07:00

It has been beautifully sunny here, if a bit cool, so last weekend we took Fox to play in the park. There, it was immediately obvious that we're going to have to figure out how to keep him from getting sunburned. Like his dad, Fox has delicate skin.

Our first line of defense is a big, floppy hat. We bought it when we were visiting Fox's grandparents in Florida, and it makes me giggle. At the park, a little girl, just learning to talk, pointed at it and said, "Fish!" Fox looked very pleased. But since he's soon going to figure out how to rip that hat off his head, we've been looking into sunscreen. I must admit, the idea makes me nervous. Doesn't he seem young to be slathering chemicals on his face? Plus, he often touches his face then licks his fingers. But the American Pediatric Association approves sunscreen for infants older than six months, so I guess we'll be investing in some.

Fox's Latest Trick

2006-04-07T12:59:00.000-07:00

G is so proud of his little boy! He goes crazy when Fox learns a new skill. Here, another installment from the devoted dad:

“Fox is a stander! He has learned how to pull himself up on the chair in this picture without any help. His upper body strength is rather surprising. So is his raw determination. As soon as he's standing, he smiles a huge smile and looks very proud of himself. (It probably helps that Jen and I are usually clapping and kissing him and telling him what a terrific boy he is.) But soon after, he starts looking for the next challenge…like shuffling to the edge of the chair, switching hands or -- oops -- sometimes letting go.”

Out of the Mouths of Babes

2006-04-05T10:52:00.000-07:00

Fox can't talk, but he has a very expressive face. Someone suggested this picture begged for a caption. I sent it to a few of Good Housekeeping's most creative copy writers (thanks J, R and A!), and they made my morning with these:

What part of "No, you can't have the ducky" don't you understand?

Youth wants to know.

I've told you a million times. I'm over Johnson & Johnson. I want Frederic Fekkai!

I don't know what you're talking about! I never SAW the brownies!

Stand back, he's gonna blow!

Three cans of frosting, or the rubber ducky gets it.

Fox Plays Magazine Editor

2006-04-04T07:00:00.000-07:00

Fox takes after his mom: He just loves to rip up magazines! He can obsess over the tiniest piece of copy. Here he is in action.

Fox's Favorite Foods

2006-03-29T07:25:00.000-08:00

I find it strange that a creature so small could have such pronounced tastes, but Fox does not like green beans. He'll eat them occasionally -- if he's really hungry—but most of the time, if beans are on the menu, you'll get a wail, a turned head and pursed lips. But one food Fox never turns down is apple-raspberry mush. As soon as he realizes that's what's on the spoon, he's like a baby bird waiting for a worm, beak opened wide.

We started Fox on solids that we made ourselves -- okay, that G made himself -- but after a couple of weekends of frantic apple boiling, that bit the dust. It turns out there just aren't enough hours in the day to puree sweet potatoes and do everything else. This past weekend, we tried giving him avocado scooped straight out of the skin. But after a couple of very confused bites, it was clear that Fox didn't quite know what to do with the stuff. So we decided to wait until he has more teeth before trying again.

Adding solid food to Fox's diet stopped him up a bit (oh the joys of studying the stool of your offspring!), but the smooth stuff in the jars seems to go down -- and come out -- pretty well. We are devoted to the organic goop we buy at the natural foods store near my office. Every week, Fox tries a new flavor. This week it's chicken. Yay! Fox's first protein!

The Myth of the Clean House

2006-03-27T07:24:00.000-08:00

A while ago, I asked my aunt how she managed to keep her house clean while she raised two boys. Her answer: "I spent 18 years bent in half like a hairpin."

That phrase -- bent over like a hairpin -- has been running through my mind ever since, and not just because I love the image. Instead, it has made me feel better that I do, in fact, spend most of my time at home either on my hands and knees, kneeling, stooped, or, at the very least, armed with Windex and paper towels. I am forever putting toys in their baskets, laundry in the hamper, diapers in the trash. It takes so much time that I often think there must be something wrong with me -- why aren’t I more efficient? But my aunt’s phrase has helped me feel better about it. Keeping the house neat takes this much time because it does. And it’s not going to ever take less.

As much as I can, I’m trying to make a game out of it. Fox is often fussy in the half hour before the nanny comes at 8:30 and doesn’t like to be put down. So this morning, Fox and I walked around and tidied up together. I narrated everything we did in a singsong voice. “We’re going up the stairs! We’re picking up the coffee cups! We’re going down the stairs and putting the cups in the sink.” And so on. Hey, whatever works.

Elsie Darling

2006-03-22T07:06:00.000-08:00

My grandmother died yesterday. She was 92. As far as such a thing is possible, she had a good death: at home, in her own bed, surrounded by people who love her, her dog at her feet. She didn't suffer, but she had time to say goodbye to her husband, her children, and her many friends. She met Fox twice, which comforts me. She loved to touch him and stroke his downy head. When he's older, I'll tell him, "You don't remember, but you met your great-grandmother. She was a very special lady, and she loved you very much."

Tooth Be Told

2006-03-20T11:20:00.000-08:00

The tooth fairy came and dropped off Fox's first tooth! It broke through the bottom gum this weekend. It's barely visible, but it's unmistakably tooth-like: a wavy top, and hard.

The tooth started me and G on an orgy of tooth-related sayings and puns:

"That's a toothsome smile!"
"Get to the tooth of the matter!"
"Fight for it tooth and nail!"
"A tooth for a tooth!"
"The bitter tooth!"

Anyway, I'm excited about this. As soon as Fox gets one on top, he'll be able to gnash and grind with the best of them. Oh! And today is his eight-month birthday. He's a perfect, squishy baby. Utterly delicious. And that's the tooth!

Random News

2006-03-15T07:18:00.000-08:00

Have you ever gone to Google and typed in "baby and news"? I hadn't either. But when I did it this morning, a couple of interesting things popped up.

The first is this site, http://ipopmybaby.com, where you can buy a onesie that makes your baby look like an iPod. I mean, hey, whatever floats your boat. The clothing makes me think of all the baby T-shirts people sent us that had pop culture icons on them: a Warhol image of Elvis, the AC/DC logo, Che Guevara. Not sure what the compulsion is here...but there you go. People love this stuff. The site also goes so far as to nominate the World's Cutest Baby. She is cute. But she's no Fox.

The second, far more useful thing that popped up is a blog connected to the Baby Bargains book. A friend passed the book along to me when I was pregnant, and I relied on it completely to make choices about what to buy. Smart folks that the Baby Bargains people are, they're using their blog to list recalls and product news and random info, like that Babies R Us now won't take returns unless you have a receipt. I can't imagine ever having time to read the whole thing, but it does seem like a useful resource.

Locomotion Notion

2006-03-13T11:54:00.000-08:00

The minutia of looking after a baby can be very boring. After all, every two hours they have to be fed, changed, and walked in their stroller, day after day. It's not exactly intellectually inspiring. But take an even slightly broader view -- week to week instead of minute to minute -- and raising a baby is one of the most exciting things I can imagine. I guess in this respect it's like any challenging, long-term project. I mean, sitting down to write for two hours can be exceptionally dreary. But publishing a book -- wow! Now you're talking!

This weekend, I had one of those "this is why I'm doing this!" moments as I was sitting on the floor with Fox. He was in his office -- that's what we call his activity mat -- and I was worrying about the unwashed piles of laundry and the story I'd brought home to edit and blah blah blah. I was stressed out and distracted. But then I noticed that Fox was not just wiggling -- he was getting somewhere. I perked up. And before my very eyes, he started to crawl! Okay, he was going backward, but still! I hollered for G, who must have thought the ceiling had caved in because he came running. As we watched, Fox pushed his way through his office, out the other side, and under a plant. We cheered and clapped and Fox looked pleased as punch. Watching your kid crawl for the first time -- what could be more thrilling than that?

Preschool Madness

2006-03-08T07:38:00.000-08:00

The New York Times had a recent story about how hard it is to get into preschool in Manhattan. Apparently, there's been a recent baby boom (mostly due to the high number of people having twins and triplets), and New York City has only half the slots it needs to accomodate these youngsters. As a result, the good, private Manhattan preschools are so competitive that parents often apply to as many as eight. Each of those applications can carry a non-refundable $500 fee, and may require two interviews: one for the parents, and one for the child. A year's tuition, for those tykes lucky enough to be accepted, can run more than $10,000.

If it sounds crazy -- and obscene -- it is. But that doesn't stop thousands of parents from running the gauntlet every year, and forcing their two year olds through it too. Some even hire guidance counselors to help prepare their children for the playdate that constitutes their part of the interview. (Though this can backfire, as in the case of the two year old who proudly announced to the admissions officer of one elite preschool that he'd "done this test before in practice.")

This insanity isn't limited to status-obsessed hedge-fund managers with nothing better to do with their billions. People G and I know rather well go through this too. Because when there are a limited number of spaces in the few decent public schools (and you have to live in a superfancy neighborhood to qualify anyway), what else are you supposed to do? Move? Send your pumpkin to a failing school? There's something dreadfully wrong with a world in which I'm busily strategizing for my son's preschool education -- and saving diligently for his college -- before he can even crawl.

G's Big Trip

2006-03-06T07:40:00.000-08:00

G left for a five-day business trip on Saturday. I was pretty nervous in the days leading up to his departure. But then a friend gave me some advice. She told me to think about this time as a chance for me and Fox to get into our own special groove. "You don't have to think about anyone else," she said. "You can just do whatever you and the baby want."

So I've made that my mission, and my mindset. It's all about me and Fox. On Saturday afternoon, we visited a friend. Fox was sleepy, so we took a long walk home and he dozed in the stroller. We spent time on Sunday with my parents, who nicely looked after him while I did the kinds of chores -- changing kitty litter, doing a dozen loads of laundry, watering the plants -- that are impossible while holding an infant. When Fox got sleepy at 6:30, I nursed him and put him down for the night.

Being this baby focused is working. Except for a slight cough, Fox is reasonably happy, and so am I. But we both miss G. This morning, Fox wanted to be held nonstop. If I set him down somewhere to play, he fussed and reached his little arms out for me. I kissed his head and told him that his daddy would be home soon.

Fever, Part 2

2006-03-03T11:42:00.000-08:00

The morning after Fox's big fever, our babysitter, S, called to tell me that Fox seemed fine, that he was alert and happy. She said she wanted to take him outside to the playground, and I told her that was okay. But moments after S and I hung up, the doctor called. "Jennifer," she said, "with a fever that high, you must bring the baby in. Today." She explained that fevers often go down during the day only to spike again at night, and she needed to make sure Fox didn't have a brewing ear infection.

Immediately, I felt like the worst mother in the world. There was I, blithely trotting off to work, when my baby could be working on an ear infection -- or, in my overheated imagination, something much, much worse. I got home as soon as I could, then S and I walked to the doctor's office together.

Long story short, the doctor checked him all over, and Fox is fine. She instructed me about the kinds of things that should send me back to their office: another spike in temperature, a low-grade fever that lasts for days, any kind of rash. None of that has happened, and Fox has shaken off the illness. But I have not been as quick to shake off the bad-mommy guilt. At work, one mother reminisced with me about her son's first fever, recounting how she ran to the doctor and promptly burst into tears. She meant to reassure me that a first fever can be an emotional event, but instead, I felt even worse that I had gone to work. A mother's instincts are supposed to be so vaunted, but what if mine aren't up to snuff?

Fox's First Fever

2006-03-01T07:04:00.000-08:00

Fox had his first fever last night. When I got home, the sitter was holding a very still, very hot little boy against her chest. About half an hour earlier, he had suddenly started burning up. She stayed for a few minutes and talked with me about his symptoms -- cranky, constipated, feverish -- and then she left. And I was on my own. G had a work event, and my parents were at a play.

The doctor had warned us that after six months, a fever is common. This is when the baby is no longer relying on the mother's immune system but is on his own when it comes to fighting infection. Though breast-fed babies get sick less often than formula-fed babies (and Fox is still not taking any formula), illness in kids is obviously inevitable.

So I didn't panic. Instead, I consulted two books, What to Expect the First Year and The Baby Book, by Dr. Sears. Both of them made it clear that my first step was to figure out exactly how high Fox's fever was, and my second would be to try to bring it down. The doctor had showed us how to take a temperature using a digital thermometer in Fox's armpit and told us that we needed to add a degree to any temperature taken this way. Alarmingly, Fox's temperature was 104.4 degrees. I flipped madly through the books, which said to really worry at 105. So I moved on.

He had woken up from his catnap, but he was still very docile. I gave him some infant Tylenol and ran a lukewarm bath. I sponged him off in the tepid water, trying to cool him. According to the books, if the water was too cold, his body would compensate by shivering and raising his temperature even more; too warm and he could get heat stroke. He sucked on his rubber ducky and looked at me with trusting eyes.

I dressed him in his PJs and nursed him. When he fell asleep, I put him in his crib and choked down some of my own dinner. When he woke up crying, I picked him up and comforted him until he settled down. Soon after G came home, Fox woke up again, still very warm. G and I took his temperature -- it had fallen to 101 -- gave him more Tylenol, and brought him into our bed. Somehow, we made it through the night.

In the morning, Fox's fever was gone. But it had left behind a very cranky, obviously unhappy baby. He's sick. I left a message for the doctor, delivered him to our nanny, and walked on heavy feet to the office. My hope for the day is that our nanny doesn't call and tell me the fever is back. If she does, I'll be on the next train home.

Hoping for a Sleep Solution

2006-02-27T08:24:00.000-08:00

I finally ran out of excuses. After seven and a half months of waking up at least four times a night to feed the baby, it had become abundantly clear that I needed to do something. G and I set two goals: move Fox out of our bed and into his crib, and teach him to fall asleep in the middle of the night without nursing. It's a tall order, and one -- I'm very sad to say -- that isn't going to be accomplished without some crying.

Friday night we put Fox down in his crib in his room. When he woke up crying three hours later, we comforted him, but we didn't take him out of his crib and I didn't nurse him. We did the same on Saturday night, and again on Sunday. Each time he cried, we'd let him wail for about ten minutes before going in and patting him. He only woke twice each night, but it took more than an hour for him to fall asleep each time.

Even though we haven't yet seen much change for the better, G and I are hopeful that we'll get this sorted out. Fox has been waking up in a good mood, smiling and playing, possibly better rested than usual. Which is more than I can say for his parents: G and I were so stressed about his unhappiness -- and so worried about him when he was silent -- that we were up half the night. This is going to be hard on the whole family. But I'm keeping my eyes on the goal: a child who knows how to comfort himself. After all, he's going to have a lifetime of tough stuff to figure out on his own.

No, We Don't Pull the Cat's Tail

2006-02-24T10:59:00.000-08:00

People often ask me how our cat has adjusted to having Fox in the house. If you've read the early entries in this blog, you may remember that B, the cat, ran away twice after we brought Fox home from the hospital. Fortunately, B's daring escapes from a second-floor window were unsuccessful, and he's still with us.

Since then, B has accepted his demotion with a great deal of dignity. He's decided to pretend that Fox doesn't exist and steers a wide path around him. But B has forgiven me and G, and on the rare occasions that one or the other of us isn't holding the baby, he'll curl up on our laps. He still sleeps at the foot of the bed, and he greets me at the door every night when I come home. My parents worry that B's starving for attention, so they lavish him with petting and scratching every time they visit. B's a pretty scrappy fellow, and I think he's doing okay.

For his part, Fox hasn't quite discovered B yet. Occasionally he'll notice him, and when he does, it's clear Fox thinks B is a big, fuzzy toy come to life. Fox will hold out his little hands and try to grab B's tail. One day Fox will be coordinated enough to succeed -- and then all bets will be off.

Fox Loves a Long Weekend

2006-02-21T13:20:00.000-08:00

Fox needed every minute of the long weekend to cram in all the new fun things he was exposed to. We flew (his first time on an airplane!) to Florida (his first time in Florida!) to visit G's parents. After a cold week, the weather in Orlando cooperated beautifully, and the temperature zoomed up to 80. We went to Target and bought him the cutest sun hat and tiny swim diapers (yes, his first!). And then, we took him swimming.

That was a brand-new experience that surprised him immensely. If he'd had a thought bubble over his head, it would have read: This is a mighty big bathtub! He clung to me at first, but quickly relaxed and started looking around. His father swept him through the water as though he were swimming. And Fox loved it! He laughed and smiled and cooed. And when his little lower lip started to quiver from the cold, we got him out, swaddled him in a big, fluffy towel and rubbed him warm and dry.

But here's what a sap I am: His grandparents -- and all their friends -- kept saying what a gorgeous, special kid he is. And like a goofy new mom, I believed every word. It wasn't until we returned home that I thought, Wait! His grandparents are biased! (Should the 1,000 digital pictures -- no exaggeration -- taken by his grandfather have tipped me off?)

Organic Food Study

2006-02-16T12:02:00.000-08:00

Many people start eating organic food when children enter the picture, and G and I are no exception. We bought mostly organic products during my pregnancy, and we've continued. At this point, Fox's diet consists mainly of breast milk, but all of the solid foods we've introduced have been organic. The baby food is easy to find -- they carry it at our grocery store, and there's a ton of it at the health food store down the street from my office.

Now there's a study that shows that children who eat mostly organic food have far lower levels of pesticides in their bodies than children who eat conventionally grown food. Researchers in Seattle tested the urine of 23 elementary school kids. Not surprisingly, the kids' levels of organophosphate pesticides declined dramatically when they ate organic food.

What hasn't been conclusively proven is that the pesticides cause health problems at the levels they're found in children's bodies. But I don't care. Pesticides are engineered to kill things -- it just doesn't seem like a huge step to say that they don't belong in my child's tummy. I'm not going to get crazy about it -- I'm sure Fox will eat lots of stuff that's not organic -- but one look at his trusting, happy little face is all it takes for me to stock our refrigerator as healthfully as possible.

Let It Snow

2006-02-13T08:25:00.000-08:00

New York got a whopping 27 inches of snow this weekend. Fox's first blizzard! Of course, he barely noticed it since he was tucked safe and warm inside all day.

Not being able to leave the house posed an interesting dilemma as far as Fox's naps were concerned. He's used to spending most of the day outside with the babysitter, and he usually naps at least once in his stroller. He's never been a good sleeper -- in fact, he's a rotten sleeper -- so I was at a loss for how I was going to get him down. I wasn't exactly going to push his stroller through two feet of snow.

But for a kid who hates to sleep, he did pretty well. Sunday, he took his first nap in his crib. It was shorter than usual, but I was heartened. When he started getting fussy and needing his second nap, I put him in his stroller in the middle of the living room. Then I went about my business. And wouldn't you know it: His little eyelids drooped, then closed. His little hand floated up around his head. And he slept for an hour. I'm feeling like an optimist: He's going to learn to sleep soon.

More Milestones

2006-02-09T08:06:00.000-08:00

Fox and I passed a small milestone together on Monday: We spent our first night without G. I confess I was a little nervous. What if Fox chose that day to get his first high fever? To swallow half the water in the bathtub? To go on a nursing strike or, worse, a sleeping strike?

I did what any self-respecting girl would do: I called my mom. She came right over and even brought pork chops for dinner. The three of us -- me, Mom and Fox -- sat at the dining room table and talked about our days. Fox ate sweet potatoes. He banged his spoon against the tray of the high chair and screamed "dadadadadada!" And when the meal was over, my mom left. Fox and I went through our happy nighttime ritual of bath, story, milk and bed. Piece of cake!

Then, yesterday, Fox rubbed in just how minor a night without Dad really was. He showed me up by crossing a major milestone of his own: He pulled himself up to standing. I didn't see it -- it happened during the day -- and it turned out the babysitter hadn't seen it either. She was in the bathroom, and when she went back to Fox's room, he was standing proudly in his crib, surveying the scene. That's my big boy!

Changing Times

2006-02-06T09:38:00.000-08:00

Sunday's New York Times had a story about a dad who is walking around Manhattan counting the number of men's restrooms with baby changing tables. Then he's plotting their locations on a Google map.

I LOVE this.

The world needs more parents out there banging drums! Plus, he's got an excellent point: What's a guy with a poopy kid supposed to do? One fellow quoted in the article described trying to change his daughter in a bathroom stall. Sounds like a surefire way to make an unpleasant task that much more impossible. I was heartened, though, by how much more common changing tables in men's rooms are becoming. Apparently, they're standard issue in new buildings, and as more dads complain, they're being increasingly added to older men's rooms too.

But this guy is notable not just for his crusade. He's also the author of G's most favorite blog, Daddy Types. It's about being a new father, and he links to tons of products. Ever dreamed of a $500 Eames-ish bassinet? Me either, but I am glad that I now know where to get one.

Bless You!

2006-02-03T13:19:00.000-08:00

Fox woke up with a cough this morning. He seems happy -- I don't think it's serious -- but it is disconcerting to see such a tiny creature making big, grownup noises. Like a cat sneezing or something, very weird. G and I weren't exactly sure what to do, so G immediately consulted Consumer Reports about what humidifier to buy, and I resolved to ask the helpful people at the Good Housekeeping Institute if they'd ever tested any. Then G and I figured we'd wait and see. Will Fox get better? Will he get worse? Like the overanxious mom I am, I bundled him up in an extra layer.

It's things like this that make me realize that every article I've ever read about the so-called debate between working moms and stay-at-home moms is a load of nonsense. Because though the media acts as though there's some huge line in the sand, the truth is that moms on both sides feel conflicted about their decision. I love to work, and it never occurred to me not to. But I would do anything to have hovered over Fox today making sure his cough didn't turn into anything more. And I suspect that there are daily triumphs that I experience in the office that some at-home moms I know would love to enjoy. So what do we do? Like anybody, we muddle through.

A Steady Diet of Books

2006-02-01T11:29:00.000-08:00

G and I are both big readers, and it would be some kind of crazy fluke if Fox didn't like to while away the hours with a book. I'm not too worried about making a reader out of him -- he'd be hard pressed to avoid it. Still, the parenting manuals all say that it's important to read aloud even to the youngest of children. The goal is to expose them to the cadence of language and let them hear a wide variety of vocabulary. Accordingly, G and I read a book to Fox every night before bed.

We're still working our way through the huge collection that was sent to us when Fox was born. One of the first books we read was Fox in Socks, by Dr. Seuss. It's a tongue twister, and it cracks me up to hear G try to get through it quickly. Fox in socks on blocks with chicks on bricks! Lately we've been reading Gossie and Gertie, by Olivier Dunrea, about a pair of goslings who go everywhere together. G intones, "They're beeeeeest friends." Look Baby! is another favorite. The pages are made of cloth, so it's fun to hold.

And therein lies the problem in reading anything to a six-month-old, or at least to our six-month-old. He grabs at everything, and everything goes in his mouth (the books we've read all have large drool stains at each corner). When I try to take the book out of his mouth to turn the pages, he puts up quite a fuss. I plan to remind him of this when he's in high school and doesn't want to do his homework. "Fox," I'll say, "you used to devour your books. What happened?"

Office Visits

2006-01-31T09:20:00.000-08:00

Fox satisfied many of his fans on Friday by making a rare personal visit to G's office and then my office. I get a kick out of taking Fox to work, especially since it brings out the best in him; he loves to smile and laugh with strangers (though stranger anxiety is around the corner developmentally if the books are to be believed).

Even nicer to see is how he brings out the best in the people he meets. My colleagues gathered around, handing him toys, singing him songs and acting endearingly goofy. How great to see this side of people! Being close to a baby stimulates people's senses in a way that's rare in the workplace: Babies are wonderful to touch, sweet to smell, a joy to hear and see. We're programmed to want to care for them, to make them happy. And with a baby like Fox, who is so easy to please and such a delight to cuddle, it's all the more special.

The experience made me wonder: What would the world be like if we exerted that much effort to make grownups smile?

Six Healthy Months

2006-01-27T09:11:00.000-08:00

I just came from Fox's six-month checkup at the pediatrician's office. Fox is so plump, smiley and wiggly that he's obviously healthy, so G and I weren't worried. We'd cooked up a couple of questions -- like, "Is there anything we can give him when his gums seem to hurt from teething?" (Answer, chamomilia tablets from the health food store.) But we didn't have any real concerns.

The doctor talked to us about continuing to introduce new solid foods, including exciting ones like lentils. She also gave us a lecture about baby-proofing the house, especially since Fox is now such a pro at rolling over and sitting up. When I sheepishly admitted that we'd bought the stuff but not yet installed it, the doctor said, "I know it's tedious, but do it now. As soon as he really starts moving, you'll learn how much more you have to do." Looks like G and I have our work cut out for us this weekend.

Fox also got weighed and measured. He's still a long, lean baby, at the top of the charts for height and at the bottom for weight. And then, after some poking in his ears and peering in his eyes, it was time for four more shots. Fox has gotten smarter than he was as a newborn, and he howled like crazy, elephant tears rolling down his cherry-red cheeks. When it was over, we bundled him up and whisked him home -- where S was waiting to take him to story hour at the public library. Aren't Fridays grand? Have a good weekend!

Fox's Throne

2006-01-25T07:55:00.000-08:00

We've solved the high chair problem, thanks to some inspired advice from our friend J. He suggested we try IKEA -- and of course they had the perfect thing. We snapped up a modern, wooden high chair for the easy-to-swallow price of $49. You can't see them in this link to IKEA's website, but the chair also has an optional big, round tray and a cushion.

IKEA calls the chair "Blåmes," but we call ours Fox's throne. He sits at the table with us while we eat dinner, happily banging Tupperware lids against the tray. And, of course, he uses the high chair while we feed him. This week's yummy new food: squash. Mix it with rice cereal, applesauce and breast milk and you've got an mmm-mmm-good baby snack.

Web Surfing

2006-01-23T11:29:00.000-08:00

Someone at work (thanks, R!) turned me on to a website called rosemarybaby.com. Started by a massage therapist who specializes in pregnancy and post-pregnancy treatment, the site sells creams and potions for new moms and babies. But the thing that's so great about it isn't just the products, which I've never tried. It's the logo: the adorable, scrunched up, screaming face of an infant.

The guiding philosophy of the company seems to be that your precious little pookie-kin can morph in an instant into a wailing terror, and you probably need a break. My favorite page was this one, called Rosemary's Babies, where visitors to the site have sent in photos of their crying cuties. G and I have commented that Fox looks sweet even when he's howling, so I understand the temptation to take a picture. Still, when I see those tear-stained creatures, a part of me wants to put my hands over my ears -- and another wants to buy the Night to Yourself Bath Crystals.

I'm No Role Model

2006-01-20T06:49:00.000-08:00

This morning as I took the subway to work, I was thinking about the kind of parent I had always planned to be: A parent who had family dinners around the dining room table every night, complete with a hot, home-cooked meal. A parent who fed her child a solid, unrushed breakfast every morning before school. A parent who taught her child the thrills of physical exercise and an active life. A parent who wasn't a big, lousy hypocrite.

Because now that I have a child -- albeit one who is still too little to fully register his mom's behavior -- I'm realizing how far off the mark my habits have strayed. G and I, exhausted from a long day at the office, often eat a takeout dinner in front of the television. We rarely have time for breakfast at home (I'm eating mine at my desk right now). And I haven't formally exercised since I was pregnant.

So who, exactly, is going to raise my child in the June Cleaver fashion I've been imagining?

It's a never-ending struggle to be a good role model to your kids, according to L, a mom here at the office. But she does report one victory. "I've taught my daughter to be very good about saying please and thank you," she says. "And that has gone a long way." In parenting as in life, the little things do count.

Not Exactly a Nursing Station

2006-01-18T14:02:00.000-08:00

I got called for jury duty the week I returned to work from maternity leave. I postponed, but yesterday, the waiting period was up. I was due at the Brooklyn Courthouse at 8:45am.

My breast pump and I were there, right on time.

The guard at the entrance who ran my pump through the X-ray machine looked at me, looked at the black bag and said, "What on earth is this?"

"A breast pump," I said. "I'm nursing an infant."

He took his hand from the bag as if he'd been burned and waved me through. In the central jury room, I went up to the clerk and explained my situation. He sent me to the chief clerk, an overweight black woman who, when she finally got off the phone, pointed me to empanelling room number five. "It's got a lock," she said, "and you can use it when it's free. Otherwise, you've got to use the bathroom."

And that's how I found myself barricaded in a cheerless, fluorescent-lit room in downtown Brooklyn, shirt up, pumping. I made it through yesterday okay, but this morning I had to cut my pumping short when a lawyer kept trying to get into the room. "It's locked," I heard him shout. "Can someone open the door?" I got out of there as fast as possible.

But several hours later, breastfeeding worked in my favor when I told the lawyers who were interviewing me for a case that I needed to pump every two hours. They eyed me sympathetically, didn't choose me for the jury, and I was sent home soon thereafter. The experience left me with mixed feelings: It was a handy excuse to get out of service and back to my job, and everyone was certainly very nice. But shouldn't nursing mothers be better accommodated in the courts?

Schedule Troubles

2006-01-13T14:01:00.000-08:00

Have you ever watched Nanny 911 or another one of those Mary-Poppins-like shows where the parenting expert comes in and solves all the family's problems before taking off in a poof? One bit of advice the expert always gives is to put the family's schedule on a whiteboard so everyone knows who has to be where and when. It's Organizing 101, and if you watch the show, it seems to work like magic.

But if you're in the real world, like me and G, you probably muddle along without one and hope there's always a parent available to look after the baby.

Last night, G and I found out just what happens when you don't explicitly coordinate your schedules. I walked in from work -- 15 minutes late, again -- and mentioned that I had to be at a meeting this morning at 8:30. G looked at me in horror. "But I have a meeting at 8:00," he said. "And I absolutely can't miss it."

That meant two adults, two unmissable meetings -- and since our babysitter doesn't show up until 8:30 -- one hour with no one to look after Fox.

Fortunately, our babysitter is very flexible, and she agreed -- when we reached her as she walked in the door after one long day -- to start the next an hour earlier. Disaster averted. And on this weekend's shopping list: one erasable calendar board.

Must-Have High Chairs

2006-01-11T08:12:00.000-08:00

Never let anyone tell you that having a baby isn't all about acquiring stuff. Sure, there are those heartwarming first smiles and life-affirming cuddles, but the thing you'll do most often is shop. I swore I wouldn't get swept away in a tide of baby paraphernalia, but, inevitably, I have. The last month of pregnancy was filled with buying things (the books call it "getting ready"), and it seemed like every Saturday I woke up with a huge list of stuff we really did have to get ("G! We have no diapers! Do you think we need diapers?"). And the pace hasn't slowed.

The latest thing it turns out we genuinely need is a high chair. The chair I would buy if price were no object is made of molded plastic and looks like an egg. But at $575, I would be unable to live with myself. Then there's the Svan, which seems to be the chair many of the people I know have bought. It's still a lot more than I'd like to spend ($235), and I've heard from one person that it can be rickety, but at least I could stand to look at it in my living room for the next couple of years. At the other end of the spectrum are much more affordable ($120) but far less appealing chairs like this gray plastic and metal one by Chicco.

What's a mom to do? I can't figure it out. Until I do, Fox will continue to be fed by one of us while sitting on the other's lap. Can't say it's a great solution, but it points to one thing I've learned about parenting an infant: Sometimes you just have to do the thing that works.

Good Thing He's Cute

2006-01-09T11:25:00.000-08:00

Last Tuesday, the science section of the New York Times had an article about cuteness. The researchers who study such things -- yes, they do exist -- have documented exactly what makes something cute: big round head, wobbly stance, forward-facing eyes, fuzz. Product designers and advertisers use these symbols to make us buy their stuff -- the VW beetle is the perfect example of a "cute" car -- but cuteness also serves a real purpose. Nature, the great manipulator, uses cuteness to make us respond to babies -- a good thing, since the helpless little creatures require so many of our resources.

I've been thinking about that piece a lot since Fox is so unbelievably cute -- and so demanding. He's entered a whole new phase of fussiness, and we're convinced that he's now teething for real. He spent hours this weekend complaining: not really crying, not really talking, but whining in a way that made his discomfort obvious. G and I exhausted ourselves making funny faces, playing airplane, handing him one toy after another. Finally I hit on the idea of wearing him around the house in his baby carrier -- facing out so he could see -- and he settled down long enough to let us make dinner.

We jump through these hoops for him because he's cute, of course, and because he's ours. He's cute in a way that we particularly understand: He has G's cheeks and nose, my eyes and hair. I respond to him without having to think about it, completely automatically. I don't consciously decide to soothe him; I naturally wake up in the night when he needs me, stretch my arms out for him the moment he starts to fuss. In fact, much about having a baby has happened like that for me: entirely outside of my conscious, intellectual decision-making process. It feels like a biological imperative, like something I was born to do, which, really, is exactly what it is.

Fox's First Solid Food

2006-01-06T07:46:00.000-08:00

Over the Christmas holiday, G and I gave Fox his first solid food. We whipped up a yummy snack of rice cereal (all organic, no genetically engineered ingredients) mixed with breast milk. My mother manned the video camera. I sat a squirmy, wiggly, hungry Fox on my lap. G loaded up the baby spoon (a gift from friends with a slightly older child) and aimed it at Fox's mouth. We all held our breath. When he swallowed, we cheered. Hooray!

Since then, our champion eater has had some good days and some bad ones. The doctor told us to introduce one new food a week so that if Fox had an allergic reaction, we would know exactly what was causing it. By the end of his week of rice cereal, our little boy was bored, pursing his tiny lips and turning his face away from the spoon. The books say that at this age you give them food for the experience, not the calories, so we didn't force it.

G is so excited for Fox to start eating real food that he bought several cookbooks about cooking for toddlers. He's already made one recipe for us, a bland mushroom pasta dish that wasn't horrible but had us both reaching for the salt and pepper. Fox isn't quite there yet, of course; only this week we started apples, which G blanches and grinds up himself. We mix them with rice cereal and breast milk to make a rather unappetizing mush. Still, Fox loves it. He gets lots on his face, but he'll open his mouth wide for the next bite. Next up: peas. It's a whole new world!

News Flash: Parents Are Depressed

2006-01-04T08:49:00.000-08:00

There's a story in yesterday's Washington Post about a study showing that parents -- especially those with minor children at home -- are more likely to be depressed than people who have never had kids.

Makes sense to me.

Though I wouldn't have put it quite that way, I've certainly experienced more ups and downs since having a baby. The minute I got pregnant, things I used to be able to handle easily -- such as disgusting car exhaust blowing in my face as I'm trying to cross the street -- suddenly became a lot more aggravating. That car exhaust could hurt my baby! Everything from global warming to peanut allergies assumed a larger significance as soon as I had a child to protect. I look around me and the stakes seem so much higher. We have to figure out health care! And the environment! I can get myself really worked up.

Add that heightened sense of the world's problems to a healthy dose of exhaustion, too many demands from too many people ("I'll get that to you right away, I swear!"), a messy house, a whole new set of financial pressures and absolutely no time to myself -- all par for the course for any parent -- and you have a recipe for mental breakdown. So what's not to be depressed about?

Of course, the study didn't examine the flip side: With the higher risk of depression must also come more chances for pure joy. Witness Fox's gorgeous little face light up with happiness as I come through the door. That's the thing about big stakes: More to lose. So much more to gain.

Happy New Year!

2006-01-03T13:29:00.000-08:00

Fox rang in his very first new year with an extra helping of breast milk. An early-to-bed friend came over for mini-hamburgers at 6pm, and we talked about all the parties we used to go to on New Year's Eve. G and I were asleep by 10. When G woke up in the middle of the night, he turned on the TV and watched the fireworks in Chicago.

And you know what? It was one of the best new years ever. We were with our snuggly, happy, healthy baby, with a good friend, and together. We didn't have to dress for the weather, fight for a cab, deal with a hangover the next morning.

Plus, the Thursday before, we'd taken Fox to a party at the loft of the director of a movie that's out right now. It was a small gathering, but there were at least two big-name movie stars in attendance (G's memorable line: "Don't they have anywhere better to be?"). Even so, everyone's eyes were on Fox. The hostess carried him around with her -- he makes excellent arm candy -- and Fox smiled and giggled like the world's most genial baby. People couldn't help but ooh and ahh, and G and I were so proud. That's our boy: stealing the spotlight from movie stars.

Getting into Harvard

2005-12-22T09:17:00.000-08:00

Slate has an article about a book that's been a bestseller in China since 2001 -- it's all about how to get your kids into Harvard. Apparently, for the newly minted Chinese middle class, getting a kid into a top Western college is the ultimate in success. The book has spawned a recent counterpart here in the US: Top of the Class: How Asian Parents Raise High Achievers and How You Can Too. Written by two Asian sisters, a doctor and a lawyer, Top of the Class shows how their parents instilled in them an Ivy-League-worthy work ethic. Slate suggests that this book is unlikely to be a bestseller here, for a variety of reasons.

One of the most intriguing ideas they put forward is that American parents aren't willing to do as much work to get their kids into top schools as Asian parents are. According to Slate:

"...non-Asian mothers and fathers see all too clearly that they can't possibly match their Asian counterparts as models of dogged labor and sacrificial devotion to their children's educational advancement. ...The truth is, it's hard to expect your kids to be superdiligent at school and slave away at extra studying if you aren't working tirelessly yourself and then squeezing in tutoring time with them at home.... (Standing on the athletic sidelines, cheering and chatting with other parents, is considerably easier.)"

Really interesting. How do you get your kid to turn off the TV and finish his homework if you're crashed out on the sofa, too?

But I think Slate is missing another reason this book won't quite work. It puts the cart before the horse. Encouraging your kid to go to Harvard is fine, but to my mind, it misses the point. Rather than aiming at Harvard per se, I think it's a parent's duty to teach her child to love learning, to have a curious mind, to question the world around him. She should show, by example, that reading will open up whole new worlds; she should teach him how to express himself creatively.

If a child can do those things, then he'll get the grades that will get him into Harvard. But he'll get something else, too: life skills. Showing an enthusiasm for trying new things and a talent for hard work translates just as well in the office as it does in the classroom. And isn't that part of the point of going to a school like Harvard? Getting an edge on making it in the real world?

Of course, this is an easy soapbox for me to climb on. It's been almost 20 years since I applied to college, and I'm certain it's a lot more competitive now. Maybe it's not enough to love school; maybe you do have to run marathons and hold ice cubes in your hands, as the Chinese book recommends. Plus, I'm years away from having to deal with this with Fox. He's only five months old. He still demonstrates his love of learning by shoving books in his mouth.

What Contingency Plan?

2005-12-20T07:08:00.000-08:00

There's a transit strike in New York City today, and neither the subways nor the buses are running. Like many people who live in the city's outer boroughs, G and I are stuck at home, unable to get to the office. The news channels are full of the few determined souls who have been braving the 20-degree weather and walking or biking to Midtown. A TV news staple this morning has been a helicopter shot of the Brooklyn Bridge, crowded with hearty, athletic Brooklynites, their breath fogging the air. But I bet you a million dollars those commuters don't have five-month-old babies at home.

Having a baby makes everything more complicated. Do you think those intrepid hikers are walking five miles to Midtown carrying a heavy breast pump? And how do you think their nannies got to work -- bicycle? And what's Mom's contingency plan for getting home so she can breastfeed the baby at 6:30 like he expects? Our nanny couldn't get here this morning, so G and I are taking turns holding Fox, taking turns at the computer. But it's okay. I've decided to be optimistic. In my fantasy world, the strike will end tonight, I'll get lots of work done, and Fox will go down for a two-hour nap.

Who Needs a Thumb?

2005-12-16T06:44:00.000-08:00

These pictures speak for themselves. Have a good weekend!

Attack of the Baby Toys

2005-12-14T08:38:00.000-08:00

When I got pregnant, I vowed I would not allow my house to be taken over by baby stuff. I looked down my nose at parents whose living rooms were festooned with toys, who couldn't keep their kid's stuff confined to one room. Well, like so many other things I naively assumed about how I would be as a parent, that one is totally out the window.

There's a stroller in our living room -- two, if you count the car seat and its base -- as well as a vibrating chair and a whole bunch of toys and books. The bedroom is even worse, with an activity mat and a crib and a mobile and a ton of baby-sized blankets, toys, and spare sweatshirts.

I hate it, but I can't seem to stop. Just this weekend we added one more insult to the interior: a bouncing seat. It's in the bedroom, hanging from a doorframe on a cord and a spring. When Fox sits in it, his little feet touch the floor just enough for him to feel like he's standing. He loves it. This morning he looked completely enthralled as he twisted and bounced, and twisted and bounced, and twisted…this mom's heart just melted. As much as I hate what they're doing to my décor, I am a sucker for the baby toys.

Toys That Make Noise

2005-12-12T08:11:00.000-08:00

When Fox was born, one of the first gifts he received was a singing caterpillar. When you press on the caterpillar's shiny red nose, he plays music and lights flash. Fox loved it, and we were thrilled. We hadn't thought to buy any toys and everyone else had bought him clothes, so we played with the caterpillar all the time.

Now, four months later, whenever someone accidentally hits its nose and the music starts, I want to stab myself.

I'm learning that this is the case with all of the things we have since acquired that play tinny versions of Mozart or Bach or Beethoven. Our mobile plays all three, and I'm so sick of it I could scream. The geniuses who designed the thing didn't think to put an off switch for the sound, so if you want the mobile to turn, you have to listen to the music. Fortunately, Fox's swing can be operated without sound. The batteries are wearing out, so when we do play it, the music comes out in a too-slow, wah-wah kind of way that could wear the patience of Mother Teresa. The vibrating chair makes a noise like waves -- I wouldn't have thought that could get irritating, but I'm here to report that yes, it can.

Here’s my suggestion: Toy makers should make a slot for cassettes, so you can rotate the tunes that each piece of equipment plays. I would love a mobile that sings Handel's Messiah -- or John Denver. Or Christmas carols!

G's Breastfeeding Diet

2005-12-09T08:29:00.000-08:00

I've always been able to stop eating as soon as I feel full. Before I got pregnant, G usually finished my dinner. Then I got pregnant, my appetite got better, and I became a charter member of the clean-plate club. G lost a couple of pounds. Now I'm breastfeeding and basically, I'll eat anything that's not already in someone’s mouth. I'm taking candy from colleagues, eating donuts off the free table, running out for an afternoon snack -- all things I used to never do. Now I'm the one stealing off G's plate. If he pauses for a moment in the meal, it's all over: I'm not above snatching potatoes, beans, prime pieces of meat. G's losing weight like crazy.

Fortunately, G's a great cook, and he's taken it upon himself to feed me -- and by extension, Fox -- really well. He's whipping up fish, vegetables, stews and soups, salads and sauces. He sends me to work with homemade lunches that I heat in the microwave. I'm lucky he's making the effort, because with my ravenous appetite, I would eat junk as happily as I eat healthy food. Every time someone comments on how alert, healthy and robust Fox seems, I take it as a personal compliment. I know, I say, thanks.

Great-Grandma's Cup

2005-12-07T07:19:00.000-08:00

When Fox was born, his great-grandmother gave him a small silver cup. The cup was hers when she was a baby, and it's engraved with her full name. We had Fox's name engraved on it, too, and now it's his favorite toy.

I never would have thought that a hundred-year-old houseware would be such a hit, but it is. Fox loves to stick it in his mouth, fling it about by its handle, throw it on the floor. It has a couple of Grandma-induced dents already, and Fox is eager to put his own mark on it.

Fox is getting to the stage where everything is a possible toy: fingers, sweaters, table mats, newspaper. I'm constantly on the lookout for good, safe things to play with (I hear Tupperware is an incredible baby toy). But there's an obvious downside: A lot of stuff just lying around is a hazard to the baby. At dinner a couple of weeks ago, Fox grabbed a fork and aimed it straight at his eye. He missed -- his hand-eye coordination wasn't as good then as it is now, thankfully -- but G and I had one of those eureka moments. Our active little boy will soon become a hazard to himself. I know! I know! We need to start babyproofing!

Yoga Momma

2005-12-05T11:20:00.000-08:00

A while ago I read a story in a parenting magazine about the close physical relationship the author enjoyed with her daughter. The writer described how great it felt when her daughter would climb on top of her to snuggle; how much she loved the intimacy of curling together for a nap; how sweet was the pleasure of reaching down and stroking her daughter's head.

I've been thinking about that story recently because that physical closeness has been one of my great pleasures with Fox. Since I'm still breastfeeding, the intimacy is obviously really intense. But it's rewarding in other ways, too, not just nutrition: I know I can calm him down just by picking him up; I know that when I hold him against me, he'll relax. When I feel his little hands flutter against me -- well, let's just say all the frustrations of being a working mom evaporate like so much fog in sunlight.

I love the closeness. But I've lost something, too, and that's the feeling that I own my own body. So this weekend I went back to yoga for the first time since Fox was born four months ago. I was nervous that I wouldn't be able to do a lot of the poses, and in fact, I couldn't. Still, the class was terrific, and here's why: For the first time in more than a year, my body was mine again. I'm not pregnant, Fox was with his father, it was just me and my sore back, my tight hamstrings. It was amazing to be in my body again.

Of course, after two hours, it was time to go home. I could tell that I needed to feed Fox. My body was mine -- and that reminded me how delighted I am to share it.

Baby Magician

2005-12-02T07:51:00.000-08:00

I have not been very adventuresome about putting Fox into difficult situations. I'm too conscious of not disturbing other people. Who wants to listen to a crying baby in a movie theater? Or a restaurant? So I've erred on the side of not bringing him places.

It's dawning on me that this strategy may be a mistake. How will Fox learn how to behave in public if he's never out? And how will his parents feel like grown-ups if they don't act like them? So after four months in which we've seen only one movie (and readers of this blog will remember how successful that was), I decided it was time.

We took Fox to see Harry Potter.

G and I got there early so we could snag two seats by the door. And we picked a Saturday matinee, figuring it would be the least crowded. Fox surprised us both with his good behavior! He got less sleep than we would have liked (he would drift off...then pow! something would explode and wake him up). But he wasn't whiny or fussy, and I suspect the other patrons didn't even know he was there. Success!

Did I enjoy the movie itself? That's harder to say. Like everything else I'm doing these days, I'm so focused on Fox that I hardly pay attention. Maybe we'll catch it again on video.

The Four-Month Checkup

2005-11-30T08:25:00.000-08:00

Fox had an appointment at the pediatrician on Monday. It was a standard well-baby checkup, given to all kids when they reach four months. Fox got another set of shots, and the doctor evaluated him to make sure he is developing properly. So far, he's right on track.

He's also becoming his own little fellow. The doctor remarked on how active he is (no surprise to our nanny). Fox wiggled through the entire appointment and grabbed repeatedly at everything in reach -- the doctor's stethoscope, her fingers, the cord to the light she shines in his eyes. Clearly, there's no problem with his hand-eye coordination. The doctor encouraged us to start childproofing the house now, since Fox will soon be locomoting (a great idea, but when are we ever going to find the time?).

Then we found out his height and weight. That's the part I like the best since it gives me a good sense of how well I'm doing at breastfeeding. At 26.5 inches, Fox is in the 90th percentile for height (tall like his dad and grandpa). But he only weighs 13 pounds, which puts him in the 21st percentile for weight. The doctor didn't see any reason for concern -- especially since G and I are both skinny -- but we asked the nanny to make sure he eats as much as possible during the day. All that wiggling is burning calories like crazy.

The Cutest Pilgrim

2005-11-28T11:16:00.000-08:00

Fox isn't eating solid food yet, so Thanksgiving is a different experience for him than for the rest of us. For him, it was all about meeting his devoted admirers. G and I hosted -- G is the chef in the family -- and we were 11 for dinner, not including Fox. That meant 11 grown-ups spent most of the day entertaining the baby. We played our version of Hot Potato: Everyone cooed at Fox until the next person started begging to hold him, and then he was passed along. It was a welcome break for me, and fun for Fox. He's very social -- unlike his bookish parents -- and likes nothing more than wobbling away on a new person's lap.

It's nice for me to watch other people hold him, too, because it gives me fresh ideas about things he likes. One woman sat him on her lap and clapped her hands in front of him. Fox loved it. He grabbed at her fingers and tried to put them in his mouth. A new game! Another woman liked making him fly, which gives Fox good practice holding up his head. And when Fox laughed after G sneezed, we all spent hours fake-sneezing, trying to get him to giggle again. But no luck. We're still working on his sense of humor.