Paul and I marvel every day at the things Henry can do. We're both amazed to think that 8 months ago, he was pretty much a sleepy lump about whom I'd tell Paul, "I think I forgot to talk to the baby." Now, he is a bundle of energy and motion that definitely can't be ignored. I love to watch his little mind work as he figures something out, be it studying out the carpet or really working on getting crawling (still not quite there yet). I can't imagine how exhausted he must be at the end of every day as a result of all that thinking and doing.
However, there are times we have to wonder.
We recently (finally) lowered the mattress in his crib this weekend. He's only just started being able to sit up on his own and still doesn't have much interest in pulling up so the impetus wasn't there until I walked into his room after a nap and he was resting his foot on the rail. The bumper set for his bedding is in four pieces but because of the design of his crib, the end bumpers can't be used with the lower mattress. There isn't a way to tie the bumpers on securely. No worries, I thought. It isn't necessary.
And it isn't, except he's woken himself up the past three nights hitting his head on the end of the crib as he squirms around in the bed. We both laugh when we hear the thunk, knowing exactly what he's done and knowing what is to follow. Thankfully he quickly goes back to sleep after we move him down a bit and give a few snuggles. I just wonder how long it will be until he figures it out.
Showing posts with label Parenthood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Parenthood. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Confusing little clothing
On Wednesday evening, Paul and I were discussing the plans for the next day. Paul was dropping Henry off earlier than usual because of a meeting and as we were talking through the logistics, I mentioned that as it is getting colder, I'd included some socks with Henry's little outfit for the next day. Paul asked if there was anything special, or confusing, about these socks. Um, no. Just a pair of socks. And then I remembered why he was asking.
One of the first times Paul had Henry solo was in early April. Henry was about five weeks old at the time and I had a dental appointment. I knew I'd be gone only about an hour total and while I was willing to take the baby along that morning (and the dentist and dental assistants were all disappointed I didn't bring him), Paul said he would stay home for a bit extra so I could go alone.
Just as I was sitting down in the dental chair, I had a phone call from Paul. Henry was pretty congested around this time and was spitting up what seemed like bucketfuls. He had spit up all over whatever little outfit I'd left him wearing, including his socks, and Paul was wondering where more clothes might be. We had a quick discussion of possible wardrobe changes and things were good. So I thought.
When I got home, I met an obviously frustrated Paul. He was trying to bottle feed a baby who didn't really like bottles at the time. Said baby was wearing a sleep sack because Henry was fussing about the onesie coming off and that was the easiest thing Paul found to dress him in. I sympathized. And then I laughed because I saw the socks. Most of the little 0-3 month socks we had were the kind that the tops fold over and many of the socks had little puppy dogs or paw print decorations on the outside of the folded over part. Paul didn't understand this (and understandably, as most boy socks don't do this) so he had turned the socks inside out and put them on Henry. He'd not pulled the socks all the way up because he knew the little decorations were supposed to only be at the ankle. Then the socks were too long so the foot part of the sock was just flapping around, not actually on Henry's foot. Apparently it was a rough hour for Daddy. But it made for a great story that we could laugh about not that much later. (And Paul, and Henry, are both better with clothes and bottles these days).
One of the first times Paul had Henry solo was in early April. Henry was about five weeks old at the time and I had a dental appointment. I knew I'd be gone only about an hour total and while I was willing to take the baby along that morning (and the dentist and dental assistants were all disappointed I didn't bring him), Paul said he would stay home for a bit extra so I could go alone.
Just as I was sitting down in the dental chair, I had a phone call from Paul. Henry was pretty congested around this time and was spitting up what seemed like bucketfuls. He had spit up all over whatever little outfit I'd left him wearing, including his socks, and Paul was wondering where more clothes might be. We had a quick discussion of possible wardrobe changes and things were good. So I thought.
When I got home, I met an obviously frustrated Paul. He was trying to bottle feed a baby who didn't really like bottles at the time. Said baby was wearing a sleep sack because Henry was fussing about the onesie coming off and that was the easiest thing Paul found to dress him in. I sympathized. And then I laughed because I saw the socks. Most of the little 0-3 month socks we had were the kind that the tops fold over and many of the socks had little puppy dogs or paw print decorations on the outside of the folded over part. Paul didn't understand this (and understandably, as most boy socks don't do this) so he had turned the socks inside out and put them on Henry. He'd not pulled the socks all the way up because he knew the little decorations were supposed to only be at the ankle. Then the socks were too long so the foot part of the sock was just flapping around, not actually on Henry's foot. Apparently it was a rough hour for Daddy. But it made for a great story that we could laugh about not that much later. (And Paul, and Henry, are both better with clothes and bottles these days).
Sunday, October 3, 2010
My first encounter with the crazy
I guess I should consider myself lucky in that in the just-over seven months of Henry's life, I've not really gotten unsolicited advice from well-meaning strangers. I had some when I was pregnant but even then, not much. Perhaps I put off a vibe. This morning, I wish that vibe had been a little stronger because this morning, crazy lady in the grocery store decided she knew exactly how I needed to be raising my son.
I knew this week's grocery trip was going to be a quick one so I took Henry with me when I went about 8:30. If it's a going to be a more-involved trip, Henry stays home with his dad. It was mostly empty in the store and we were able to complete our list quickly. The checker was one whose line I'll frequently seek out--she's friendly but professional, just chatty enough, and she loves babies. She and the bagger both gooed at Henry who obliged by smiling and gooing back at them. As I was walking out, crazy lady came rushing over to tell me how cute Henry is and commented that he looks Irish. I thanked her and said something about Irish being in there. She then said something about how he looks like me and I look Irish. I mumbled something again about there being Irish in there somewhere and Henry looking like his dad, thanked her for complementing Henry, smiled and tried to walk by her.
Not happening. She started in on how people have all kinds of crazy ideas about babies these days. For some reason, and I'm still not sure how, the topic of feeding came up. I laughed that we'd postponed solids mostly out of fear of the diapers and she apparently didn't get the joke just reiterated how people have crazy ideas about babies and she had food at 6 weeks and was fine. Do we at least feed him cereal? Does he like his cereal? I answered yes, he loves oatmeal. She said, "But what about cereal?" Um, oatmeal *is* cereal. I then had to hear how "they" would put it in bottles and cut off the nipple and give to children and I should try that. Uh, he doesn't really do bottles. Oh, you were able to breast feed (thank goodness that conversation ended there--would hated to have delved further into that topic with the crazy). Does he eat? Yes, he loves most whatever we shove at him. What was his reaction to ice cream? We've only been giving him food for a month; he's not had ice cream. People and their crazy ideas about babies! It's the doctors you know. They don't want to deal with sick babies.
Mind you, this whole time, I'm trying to walk out the door. Freedom was a mere 10 feet away and I couldn't make it. OH! And then she said, "No, no dear" and patted his hand as Henry was trying to eat the end of the strap on his little grocery cart seat cover. I swatted at her hand and said to Henry it was OK. Seriously.
By now, I'd at last made it to the door of the store and she's following me and prattling on about something while I'm mindlessly uh-huhing and grateful I chose a close parking spot. She asked his name and responded that it was such a good American name! And the rest of it? Mac. Didn't get any response to that because by now I was standing by my car (she was actually between me and the Subie). She said something else but by now, my brain and all politeness had shut off. She thankfully figured out that this was my car without me saying anything and wandered off into the parking lot.
I'm truly grateful Henry was in his usual cheerful mood. I can only imagine what kind of advice I would have gotten had he been fussy.
I knew this week's grocery trip was going to be a quick one so I took Henry with me when I went about 8:30. If it's a going to be a more-involved trip, Henry stays home with his dad. It was mostly empty in the store and we were able to complete our list quickly. The checker was one whose line I'll frequently seek out--she's friendly but professional, just chatty enough, and she loves babies. She and the bagger both gooed at Henry who obliged by smiling and gooing back at them. As I was walking out, crazy lady came rushing over to tell me how cute Henry is and commented that he looks Irish. I thanked her and said something about Irish being in there. She then said something about how he looks like me and I look Irish. I mumbled something again about there being Irish in there somewhere and Henry looking like his dad, thanked her for complementing Henry, smiled and tried to walk by her.
Not happening. She started in on how people have all kinds of crazy ideas about babies these days. For some reason, and I'm still not sure how, the topic of feeding came up. I laughed that we'd postponed solids mostly out of fear of the diapers and she apparently didn't get the joke just reiterated how people have crazy ideas about babies and she had food at 6 weeks and was fine. Do we at least feed him cereal? Does he like his cereal? I answered yes, he loves oatmeal. She said, "But what about cereal?" Um, oatmeal *is* cereal. I then had to hear how "they" would put it in bottles and cut off the nipple and give to children and I should try that. Uh, he doesn't really do bottles. Oh, you were able to breast feed (thank goodness that conversation ended there--would hated to have delved further into that topic with the crazy). Does he eat? Yes, he loves most whatever we shove at him. What was his reaction to ice cream? We've only been giving him food for a month; he's not had ice cream. People and their crazy ideas about babies! It's the doctors you know. They don't want to deal with sick babies.
Mind you, this whole time, I'm trying to walk out the door. Freedom was a mere 10 feet away and I couldn't make it. OH! And then she said, "No, no dear" and patted his hand as Henry was trying to eat the end of the strap on his little grocery cart seat cover. I swatted at her hand and said to Henry it was OK. Seriously.
By now, I'd at last made it to the door of the store and she's following me and prattling on about something while I'm mindlessly uh-huhing and grateful I chose a close parking spot. She asked his name and responded that it was such a good American name! And the rest of it? Mac. Didn't get any response to that because by now I was standing by my car (she was actually between me and the Subie). She said something else but by now, my brain and all politeness had shut off. She thankfully figured out that this was my car without me saying anything and wandered off into the parking lot.
I'm truly grateful Henry was in his usual cheerful mood. I can only imagine what kind of advice I would have gotten had he been fussy.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
What it takes to get me back to this place--
I've been meaning to come back over here and write. I need to come back over here and write. There just always seems to be something else that comes up, like a diaper needing changed or an infant needing to be fed or a bed calling my name. Things are settling back down though and I need to come back and write about the last six months before I completely forget what it was like to be mama to a tiny little baby.
As it is, my baby isn't too tiny any longer. Everyone who sees him comments on how big he is for his age or they ask if his father is tall. At almost 7 months, he weighs about 18 lbs. and is 28" long. Henry is rolling and gooing and chatting and smiling and laughing and *almost* sitting independently. Every day, even those rare bad days, Paul and I realize how fortunate we are to have such a happy, content little fellow.
We are now about seven weeks into the school year and everyone seems to have settle into a routine. Paul handles the mornings and drop-off while I take over in the afternoons after school is finished. Henry is enjoying daycare--he *LOVES* the infant room teacher Demi with a love that knows no rival--and things are going pretty well for our little family.
And now those two little stories that I just can't forget and why I'm back writing over here--
Every Sunday evening, I lay out a week's worth of outfits for Henry. Paul asked if I would so it is one less worry for him during the morning and I do enjoy making the little outfits for Henry. I make a stack with a onesie and shorts/pants, paired together for each day. Because he is so long, Henry doesn't have many one-piece rompers but he does own a couple of them. Two weeks ago, I'd put one in the stack for Henry to wear--a little plaid one-piece shorts outfit. When I picked Henry up from daycare that day, Demi told me that his shorts were in his cubby. I was quite confused as to why Henry would have shorts when he was already wearing shorts and said something to that effect. I told Demi that I wasn't questioning her but I was wondering why Paul had put Henry in another pair of shorts. Curious.
When questioned later, Paul said he thought the romper wasn't really shorts since it was so baggy and while he thought I'd messed up by not putting out shorts, he was rather proud that he'd fixed the problem without asking me. He then offered/threatened to put Henry in three pairs of shorts to take to daycare the next day (he didn't but told Demi that he might some day just because he could).
Last Saturday morning, we'd gone to the swimming pool early and came home before Henry's morning nap. We bathed Henry and I put him down for a nap in only his diaper, knowing that he's figured out how to get at least one tab of the diaper open but not thinking he'd do much beyond that (if that much). He isn't a great napper but we keep trying and even though we could hear him "talking" in his crib after about 30 minutes, we left him for a little down time for over an hour, until Henry let us know he was done with his alone time. After Paul picked Henry up, he called to me to come up to Henry's room when I got a chance, no hurry. Upon entering the room, I was told to check out Henry's crib where there was a big wet spot right in the middle of the bed. Apparently Henry had managed to not only undo his diaper, he'd wiggled out of it and was waving it around when Paul went in to get him. Smart little monkey. And now we no longer leave Henry in just his little diaper. Lesson quickly learned.
As it is, my baby isn't too tiny any longer. Everyone who sees him comments on how big he is for his age or they ask if his father is tall. At almost 7 months, he weighs about 18 lbs. and is 28" long. Henry is rolling and gooing and chatting and smiling and laughing and *almost* sitting independently. Every day, even those rare bad days, Paul and I realize how fortunate we are to have such a happy, content little fellow.
We are now about seven weeks into the school year and everyone seems to have settle into a routine. Paul handles the mornings and drop-off while I take over in the afternoons after school is finished. Henry is enjoying daycare--he *LOVES* the infant room teacher Demi with a love that knows no rival--and things are going pretty well for our little family.
And now those two little stories that I just can't forget and why I'm back writing over here--
Every Sunday evening, I lay out a week's worth of outfits for Henry. Paul asked if I would so it is one less worry for him during the morning and I do enjoy making the little outfits for Henry. I make a stack with a onesie and shorts/pants, paired together for each day. Because he is so long, Henry doesn't have many one-piece rompers but he does own a couple of them. Two weeks ago, I'd put one in the stack for Henry to wear--a little plaid one-piece shorts outfit. When I picked Henry up from daycare that day, Demi told me that his shorts were in his cubby. I was quite confused as to why Henry would have shorts when he was already wearing shorts and said something to that effect. I told Demi that I wasn't questioning her but I was wondering why Paul had put Henry in another pair of shorts. Curious.
When questioned later, Paul said he thought the romper wasn't really shorts since it was so baggy and while he thought I'd messed up by not putting out shorts, he was rather proud that he'd fixed the problem without asking me. He then offered/threatened to put Henry in three pairs of shorts to take to daycare the next day (he didn't but told Demi that he might some day just because he could).
Last Saturday morning, we'd gone to the swimming pool early and came home before Henry's morning nap. We bathed Henry and I put him down for a nap in only his diaper, knowing that he's figured out how to get at least one tab of the diaper open but not thinking he'd do much beyond that (if that much). He isn't a great napper but we keep trying and even though we could hear him "talking" in his crib after about 30 minutes, we left him for a little down time for over an hour, until Henry let us know he was done with his alone time. After Paul picked Henry up, he called to me to come up to Henry's room when I got a chance, no hurry. Upon entering the room, I was told to check out Henry's crib where there was a big wet spot right in the middle of the bed. Apparently Henry had managed to not only undo his diaper, he'd wiggled out of it and was waving it around when Paul went in to get him. Smart little monkey. And now we no longer leave Henry in just his little diaper. Lesson quickly learned.
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