Week 8 Day 5: Holy snowly

Gavin didn't wake up a single time last night. Usually he feeds twice during the night, but last night Dude just sacked out. I, of course, wouldn't have even noticed since I sleep through the majority of his night feedings, but Stacy certainly did. I got up around 5 (having trouble sleeping due to my cold, etc. Though I am happy to report that I am almost over the cold) and Stacy came stumbling out of the bedroom a little before 6 clutching her chest and reporting that Bear was a hard core snoozer. Who knows, maybe he's phasing out night feedings on his own. But it's too soon to tell.

Schedules are hard with babies. You think you've got something down and before you know it everything has changed again. Like his nap times have been roughly from 8-10 and from 2-4, up or down an hour depending on when he wakes up. But today he was exhausted by noon. I don't know why since he'd slept from 7 p.m. to 6 a.m. So even though it wasn't "time" to take a nap, I put him down anyway. He's the boss. All I can do is watch for his cues and signals and follow along.

It's snowed like crazy all day and is supposed to snow tomorrow, too. Hopefully we can get Gavin bundled and outside over the weekend to experience snow. I wish we had a sled to pull him around the yard on but we don't. We do have a wagon which I stole from the people who used to rent my mom's house (they left it behind along with tons of other shit, most of which they never picked up. Plus they trashed my mom's house, so I don't feel at all bad about this). But a wagon won't be any good in the snow.

Gavin's eating solid food like a champ. Even spinach. I love the way he opens his little mouth like a bird. He and I are both getting better about getting more food in his mouth and less on his face, tray, bib, and hands. He also has a burning desire to drink out of glasses or bottles now. Basically whatever I am drinking out of. Ever since Stacy gave him some of her water out of a glass he does his baby bird routine if you drink anything around him. He had some experience with cups in the past since when he started day care and staying home with me two days a week he wouldn't take a bottle. So we tried cup feeding him (very messy. The majority of the milk ran down his chin and his chest. And then when he did get some in his mouth he would often gag a little bit or gulp because it was too much. Eventually we got a rhythm down, but then he started to take a bottle. Thankfully.

Solid food is really transforming Gavin's, um, waste output. When he was strictly a breast milk guy he'd only poo every few days (he once went 9 days, which was insane, but at no point did he act distressed, uncomfortable, or ill. We'd decided to take him to the doctor when he finally decided to get it over with. Or I guess I should say "all over with" since it was copious and messy). But now he's going two, three times a day and it's less and less like baby poo. That kind of freaks me out. But that's how you know you love somebody, right? When you can look at them and say, "You smell terrible and I want to help" and no matter how much they kick and scream (not always, but sometimes), you change their soiled clothes and dispose of their waste. I'd do the same thing for Henri. In fact, I do.

We went nowhere today and the day was kind of long, but I didn't feel like getting us all out in this weather and I also wanted to continue to keep this cold at bay. I did, however, go out and shovel the walk and driveway while Gavin was napping. It makes me nervous to leave him in the house alone, but he's in his crib and it's not like I'm far away. Maybe I'm a negligent mother. I don't know. But I wouldn't be able to hear him if I was in the basement doing laundry, either (and I did manage to get a load of that done today, praise be).

Week 8 Day 4: Pointing south

When I got Gavin up this morning there was a bead in his bed about the size of a pea. It was just right there, in the middle of his mattress, right next to the bunny rabbit he takes to bed each night. And there he was, on his stomach in the corner of his crib, lifting his smiling head up to look at me as if to say, "Hi Mom, I didn't eat that, aren't you happy?" I'm sure he didn't even notice it (though one of his developmental milestones at this point, according to the books, is the ability to pick up something as small as a raisin between his fingers. Needless to say, we have not actively tested out this theory). In any case, the bead culprit was Stacy. It fell out of her PJ pocket in the middle of the night while she was doing one of Gavin's night feedings (he has two). I've been finding these damn beads in the washing machine for the past week. They're from a broken wine charm (is that what they're called? Those little trinkets that go on wine glasses so you can tell which one is yours? I don't drink wine so I don't know, but isn't alcohol anti-bacterial? So does it really matter if you drink out of someone else's glass?) and Stacy had squirreled them away intending to put it back together. When I showed the bead to Stacy she looked at Gavin with abject horror and said, "I'm so sorry, Baby."

And then when I went to change his diaper I realized he was soaking wet. Drenched in pee, to be exact. His diaper had literally exploded, the inner absorbent goo all over his stomach. When I took his diaper off I saw that his tiny penis was folded in half so that it pointed directly up. That, combined with his stomach sleeping, was a recipe for a peetastrophe. Do I need to mention that Stacy is the one who diapered him before bed? Yes, yes I do. The direction of the penis is a very important factor in baby boy diapering. I am very conscious of this. Hyper-conscious, even. For one thing, I don't want him to pee all over himself, and another, I want him to be comfortable, not contorted and smooshed inside his diaper. Diapers are already damp airless chambers of skin sadness. But it's really not practical to let Gavin spend his days and nights buck naked (though some would argue otherwise, but the whole diaper-free thing is really way beyond my comprehension and temperment).

Despite our rocky morning, Gavin and I had a good day together. New foods were tried: peaches (a big hit) and spinach and potato baby food (not so much). I never even gave him a bottle because he really filled up on solid foods during his feedings. Bottle feeding was such a trial yesterday that I figured I'd feed him solids and then wait to bottle feed him when he acted hungry again, which he never did. I did make his cereal with breast milk so he did get some of his usual fuel. But he's getting to be quite a good eater.

We also went to Target yesterday to get Mama D some more DayQuil. Our shopping trip was largely uneventful, which is good news. Yesterday was the first time he ever reached out for something on the shelf, but today he didn't, except for some clothes on a rack in the baby department, and really he just reached out and brushed his hand across them. He didn't try to yank anything into the cart. He will eventually. Laura and I were famous for slapping glass jars off the shelves when Mom would take us to the supermarket. Maybe we were comforted by the sound of breaking glass. Right now Gavin is really serene at the store, taking it all in, looking up at me with this part-wise, part bemused look on his face. It won't be long, I'm sure, before he's crying because I won't buy him an Elmo doll. ("But I told you we hate Elmo, Gavin! Elmo is not welcome in our house.")

Week 8 Day 3: Cart pimpin'

I just read two poems and each one of them has a line or two that seem somehow linked to this business of parenting: "I have been giving the job / of vacuuming the desert forever" (Franz Wright) and "If there's pee on the seat it's my pee" (Diane Seuss). Although most days I do no literal vacuuming (much like the dog and cat, Gavin is not a fan of the vacuum), pee certainly does play a large day to day role.

I do, indeed, have a cold. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I don't transfer my sickness to Gavin. So far so good. If only I could have tubes in my ears to drain my head I think I'd be okay. Alas, DayQuil and NyQuil and Zicam and lots and lots of fluids will have to do.

Bottle feeding was a major pain today, literally and figuratively. Gavin was just not having it. I read that teething can make sucking painful so maybe that's his deal. His two top teeth have wasted no time making their appearance. You can feel them poking through his gums now. And they look huge, like two tiny kernels of white corn. I guess that seems like an oxymoron, but his teeth would be tiny for corn kernels, but huge for something growing inside a baby's mouth.

Our big adventure today was to go to CVS and Rite Aid. I didn't have anything I needed, per se, but I like to get us out of the house when I can. Plus Lisa bought one of those shopping cart seat covers for me off of eBay, so I figured we'd try it out. Gavin likes to ride in shopping carts. In fact, he has this little posture he assumes, kind of leaning to one side with one arm out like he's the shopping cart pimp or something. Our CVS trip went smoothly, but truth be told I actually wanted to go to Rite Aid, we just went to CVS to practice. Meaning I knew they had shopping carts at CVS but I couldn't for the life of me remember seeing them at Rite Aid. Sure enough, when we got to Rite Aid there were no shopping carts. I asked the clerk of they had any and he said, "No," without further explanation. So I said, "Really, none?" And he said, "People took 'em." I'm not sure how CVS manages to keep themselves in the shopping cart way, but Rite Aid, which is maybe one mile away, can't. But I am past the point of being able to take Gavin to a store without a shopping cart to plop him in. He's just too heavy. We managed to buy diapers at Rite Aid (buy one get one for 1 cent, holla!), but it was a trial. So next time I go to Rite Aid I'll have to get a shopping cart from CVS first.

Wow. I can totally picture my sister clapping very slowly and somberly saying, "Good story, D'Anne. Good story," a sort of family tradition in the face of very boring stories. In my defense, however, Laura is the kind of person who always wants to regale you with descriptions of her dreams. Have her tell you about the raspberry flavored dog food dream next time you see her. Fascinating stuff.

I think the NyQuil is kicking in. I apologize for anything I may or may not have said.

Week 8 Day 2: Funky hematoma

There's some hardcore teething going on in Gavin's mouth right now. Mid morning he was on his back on the floor and when he opened his mouth I saw a bluish mark on his gums. It looked like he'd sucked on a blue marker, though I knew that wasn't possible because a) I know to keep such things out of his reach and b) his hand-eye coordination is good, but not that good. Surely there would have been marks on his cheeks and hands and chin and eyelids, etc.

"Lemme see that," I say, reaching toward his mouth. This, of course, is his cue to clamp his mouth shut and refuse even a modicum of cooperation. "Dude, I need to look inside your mouth." After a bit of wrangling I see that there is, indeed, a purplish hue right where one of his top front teeth would be if he had top front teeth. "Does that hurt?" I ask, and then touch it because I am, you know, a doctor. He doesn't seem bothered by it and I make a mental note to Google "teething" during his nap.

But then I don't. I forget. I also run out of time. For one thing, it became increasingly obvious as the day went on that I am coming down with a cold (awesome!) and so I kind of veg out after I throw a load of laundry in and put the dishes away. And Gavin's first nap was piss-poor. He slept for almost an hour, not the heavenly two hours he needs and I desperately want. Alas.

The hours between his first and second nap were long. He was cranky, never quite satisfied with his position or activity. There was a lot of carrying going on (and with Gavin clocking in at about 22 lbs. that's pretty much the equivalent of me doing prison chain gang labor). I hold out as long as I can for his next nap lest I put him to bed too early, but not before verifying that he probably has a gum hematoma (do not do a Google image search for this term) and his top front tooth and/or teeth are a-comin'. Poor Bear, I think. And then, Poor Stacy. He's already bitten her and all he's got are two bottom teeth. Soon he'll have a set of chompers to work in tandem on my poor wife's hoots. The plan is to breast feed him until he's a year old. We'll see if they make it (and I say "they" because I am not part of this equation or decision. It is in no way mine).

One of the many activities we engaged in was a combination of Playing on the Floor With Toys and Listening to Mama D sing along with early Dionne Warwick (the Burt Bacharach stuff is her best. He really is the best pop music composer ever). Gavin is a good audience, for the most part, looking up occasionally when I do hand gestures and finger points along to the music or sing a particularly loud part. Mostly he's humoring me, but I don't really need more than that. It's slightly more gratifying than singing alone in my car, which is how I usually roll.

Stacy had to work late and so it was up to me to bathe the Bear tonight. Feeling, as I do, like my head is slowing expanding and my throat closing, I was less than enthusiastic about this. I was running out of energy and it takes coordination and alertness to clean a wet squirmy baby. Protocol around here is co-tubbing, which means getting in the tub with Gavin because no bath chair will hold him and he's too unstable to sit there himself. I'd been drinking a lot of liquids today and as soon as we got in the tub I felt a strong urge to pee. I am happy to report that I did not. Gavin peeing in the tub during a bath is one thing, his mom is another.

Week 8 Day 1: We are in love

Stacy had a snow day today so Gavin and I weren't flying solo (or flying duo, I guess).

He was extra resistant to bottles today. I can't blame him since it was obvious Stacy was home. But last night we'd put two bottles of breast milk from the freezer into the fridge and that stuff isn't good for more than a day after it's been frozen. It's liquid gold. So I gave him the bottles while Stacy pumped in the other room and I think it was pretty clear to Gavin he was getting shafted.

Stacy is the one who usually puts him to bed at night and she said that before he goes to bed she tells him the worst thing and the best thing that happened that day. Today the best thing for me was dancing around in the kitchen with Gavin and Stacy to "Papa Don't Preach." Granted, it's kind of an ironic song when you think about it, but Gavin loved every minute of it. As did I.

On the new Sade album there's a song called "Babyfather" that has a refrain that goes, "Daddy's love comes with a lifetime guarantee." It gets stuck in my head a lot but I always hear it as, "Daddy's don't come with a lifetime guarantee."

I guess it makes sense that I would hear it this way, first because I have a son with no daddy, and second because the last two books I read included really shitty fathers, one who was abusive in every meaning of the word and another who was distant and unresponsive and ultimately gave his son cancer (X-rays. It's a long story. The book is Stitches by David Small. Really, really excellent. I highly recommend it). In the book with the abusive father the son kills his parents and his sister with a baseball bat. It's a true story. It's one of the books my dad gave me for Christmas. Thanks, Dad, for making Christmas last all year!

Stacy and I tell a little story about how Gavin was sitting on a cloud looking down trying to choose parents and he saw us and said, "Two mommies. Yes." And off he went to become our son.

Writing "sitting on a cloud" it makes it sound like I'm talking about Heaven or something. I think it has its origins more in Cupid. But Stacy and I were both raised Christian, though different flavors of it, so we've appropriated some of the iconography. Neither one of us identifies as Christians any more. Man, I hope Stacy's grandma never reads this. I think that's the only person who would care. She prays for us all the time, but not in a "please turn my granddaughter straight" kind of way. She's 95 years old and she's very accepting of us. Man you should have seen her when she finally got to meet Gavin. We took him down to Florida at Christmas because that's where Stacy's mom and Grandma and aunt live. She was smitten with him from the start. I am really glad that Gavin got to meet his great grandma Ina, even if he won't remember it. We have pictures to show him later.

Shit. Now I have the song "Castle On A Cloud" stuck in my head and I only know the line that includes the title. So that's on repeat. I don't even like that song. I'm trying to will "Papa Don't Preach" back: "We are in love, so please..."

Week 7 Day 5: Carrots are full of win

I now know what my son's face looks like when he eats solid food he likes. We fed him carrots for the first time today and they were quite the hit. I wish I had a video of it, but we fed them to him at Rosemary's so we have a witness. It's the first time that he acted upset after the serving was all gone. Usually you're left trying to cajole, trick, or flat out beg him to open his mouth after he's eaten a couple of spoonfuls. This has been true with green beans, peas, oatmeal, rice cereal, bananas, apples, and sweet potato. Not so with carrots. And by carrots I mean carrot baby food, not to be confused with baby carrots which are a major choking hazard for a seven month old.

Almost seven months, anyway. Tomorrow he will be seven months old. I really can't believe that. It feels both longer than that and way shorter, all at the same time. It's a good thing, though, I know that. Babies growing and getting older is the point, that's how you know you're doing it right.

Stacy, Gavin and I went to Rosemary's today. Gavin got to play with Maddie, who is about 19 months, and Ella who is four. He's still not big on interacting with other kids, but the girls were quite fascinated with him. Maddie was especially interested in the strawberry on top of his head. I can't blame her. It's not every day that you see one. And Gavin still has very little hair so it is very prominent. I don't think about it much, it's just part of his head's topography. We've been told it will eventually go away by the doctor and from what we've read -- and by a random guy at the airport who told us his daughter also had one and it went away, pointing at her neck as evidence. It doesn't bother us. We just say he's fruit bearing. Gavin had himself a good time until Channing came home. I think Gavin is getting into the stranger danger thing (or getting strange, as my sister calls it) and Channing is a pretty tall dude. So when he walked over and towered over Gavin and said in his loud man voice, "Well hello!" Gavin responded by bursting into tears. After awhile Gavin warmed up to Channing (though this isn't the first time they've met. Last time we were there Channing held Gavin and everything) even feeling the rough skin on his face.

We need to get Gavin around more dudes. Stacy and I just don't have a huge number of guys in our immediate lives. We each only have one brother, we don't have male cousins we're close to. Stacy's dad lives several hours away and besides that doesn't seem that interested. I think my dad is probably the man he sees the most. My dad's a good grandpa. But he does also say things to Gavin like, "Bros before hoes" every time he visits. I'm kind of hoping those aren't Gavin's first words.

I think that's a big worry for a lot of folks when they think of a lesbian couple raising a son. That we're not going to be able to teach him what it means to be a man. But frankly a lot of the shit that is passed down from father to son is a lot of emotionally stunted bullshit. So I don't think we're necessarily at a huge disadvantage. What makes someone a decent human being is pretty gender neutral. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying there's no difference between males and females. Granted, during my late teens and 20s I bought into the feminist thinking popular at the time that nurture trumps nature. I remember in my Women's Studies class reading the story of Baby X and thinking, "That's it. That's how I'm going to raise my child." And yet, now that I actually have a son and the more reading I've done about boys (and prior to Gavin's birth I did a lot), I really don't think the Baby X story is tenable. Am I a feminist? Yes, most definitely. Do I believe I have a Baby X? No, I do not. I think the story's intent is a good one. And I definitely want to raise Gavin to know that it's okay to talk and show your feelings and cry and all of that and if he wanted to play with dolls I'd let him. Although so far he has shown zero interest in the organic cotton non-gender-specific dolls and toys I bought for him. He likes things that are plastic and shiny and complicated and that light up and make noise. Although he also really likes Dapper Dan. I want to raise him as gender neutral as possible but, for example, I am not going to put him in a pink sweater. In fact, we got a pink sweater in a box of hand me down clothes that were otherwise all pretty boy specific and we just gave that sweater to Rosemary for her girls. However, I will put Gavin in a pink sleepsack or put a pink sheet on his bassinet or put him in a big pink bib with a strawberry on it that says "I'm berry sweet" or buy him a giant purple car seat. That stuff doesn't matter to me. But when I dress him I dress him like a little dude.

Before Gavin was born, I never would have thought that I would be choosing or rejecting clothes on a gender specific basis, but I do. I've rejected, for example, a pair of green and white stripped stretch pants with a duck face on the butt as "too girly." He has the same pants with brown and white stripes and a monkey on the butt, and they're okay. Part of it is my preferences. I love monkeys and I also am not very girly. I think I'm more comfortable with having a boy than I would be a a girl. When I walk through the baby girl clothes at the store I can't help but shudder. I just don't relate to that stuff at all and think so much of it is ugly. Granted, a lot of baby boy clothes are ugly, too, but I love dressing Gavin up in a Paul Frank t-shirt, a hoodie, and little corduroys, for example. I love when he looks like a little man. Which is weird since males have never been a focal point of my life. But that certainly has changed.

Week 7 Day 4: Baby fun jail

Gavin digs his new playpen (which apparently has its own blog? What?). We set it up today in the living room. It's smaller than I thought it would be, but gigantic since our house is very small. Now that he's starting to get mobile, the playpen, or as I call it, baby fun jail, will definitely come in handy when I need to contain him somewhere so that I can do something else. This something else is often make him his bottle. I guess "make" is the wrong word since the contents come pre-made from Stacy's milk glands or whatever. All I have to do is heat it up. But it's more complicated than that. I often have to pour the milk from one bottle into a Dr. Brown's bottle, which is the only bottle I'll use with Gavin. We have tried others and the result was a very frustrating feeding experience for all involved. But these bottles have several parts and it's just not possible to assemble everything while holding Gavin at the same time. Especially since he's hell bent on grabbing anything and everything within his reach. Case in point, the playpen has toys built into each mesh side and Gavin, while on his stomach, turned himself 360 degrees in order to check out each and every toy. He seems to like the crinkly butterfly the best. What is it with kids and crinkling? So many of Gavin's toys feel and sound like they're filled with hardcandy wrappers.

There is nary a bump on his head from his spill yesterday. He is fine. But I have to admit that I keep picturing it happen over and over again and hearing that sound. That horrible thud like someone threw a softball onto the wood floor. And each time this churning feeling in my gut and I can feel my entire body flush all the way to my cheekbones.

We took a video of Gavin pushing himself backwards along the floor today. He can totally move his body, just not in the direction he wants. Once his mobility is fully activated I am in big trouble. Our house is so small. It's really no place for a little boy to run around. We never meant to be in this house so long and always said we'd move to a bigger place before we had a baby. But in this market that obviously wasn't happening. I'm going to look into some kind of program at the Y or something where Dude can run his ass ragged. Once summer comes we can run around in the yard. Not huge, but not a bad size for a toddler. We can go to parks, etc. Then again, I could suit him up and set him loose in the snow in the backyard. A day like today would be good for that: sunny but not terribly cold. I never much liked playing outside in the cold when I was little. I remember at recess when I was in elementary school on top of the twisty side where I was shielded somewhat from the wind and just huddling there wishing recess was over. I hope Gavin is more game than that. But the snow could be over by the time he's walking. Probably will be, in fact. Still, getting him out in the snow at least once should definitely happen, even if he just sits in the snow and topples over into it.

Week 7 Day 3: Headlong

So my wife and I are still married even though she let Gavin do a sommersault off a chair and onto the unpadded nursery floor headfirst. He is, thankfully, okay. And she's still alive.

I know, I know, I'm probably over reacting. But maybe not! Right now Gavin is asleep in his room and all I can think of is, "What if he has a concussion? What if he's lapsed into a coma?" Stacy went to parenting club (no, this is not a joke. It's a real group set up through Beaumont of parents who had babies at about the same time. Most people bring their baby and their partner. We did this once. But the group meets form 7-9 and our Bear likes to be in bed by 7 at the latest. Usually earlier. So now one of us, me, stays home with the Bear and the other, Stacy, goes to parenting club. It is also not called parenting club, but that's what we've always called it so I don't know the real name) and Gavin woke up a little before 8:00 crying. Usually I'd let him cry for a bit because often he goes back to sleep quickly, but tonight I high-tailed it into his room and scooped him up. His crying sounded a little different than it usually does and I was convinced that he was crying because he was in pain from hitting his head on the floor. And so I gave him some dye-free cherry-flavored Children's Tylenol, held him for a bit and put him back to bed. He's snoozing again. And I am fighting the urge to check on him.

I know I will eventually do something dumb that results in Gavin getting hurt. The first time he was sitting up and then tipped over and clunked his head was on Stacy's watch. I was very upset with her. Then a couple of days later it happened to me. The flip off of the chair thing was far more egregious, though, because Stacy was right there, not even inches away. She just wasn't paying attention for that one second. And that one second was all he needed. You really can't trust babies. As mentioned before, they have little regard for their own health and safety. But it's also pretty impossible to keep them safe all the time. Even if I held Gavin in my arms all day long he could still get hurt if I tripped and fell. Hey, I slipped on some ice today on my way to my car. I didn't fall down, but if I had been holding Gavin I probably would have since I used my arms to stop myself by grabbing onto the trunk of my car. In any case, I want pain to not be an option to Gavin. This is, of course, not fair to him. There is, of course, the idea that one only knows joy if one also knows sorrow, and this has always been fine when applied to myself. I appreciate the whole spectrum of emotions and all. But then it comes to my son it's hard to have the same attitude. I absolutely hate the thought of him one day spraining his ankle or getting made fun of and having his feelings hurt. I already feel terribly guilty that he will have to experience junior high. I never want him to feel the way I felt during those horrible, ugly years. But that's not really my job - or within my power. My job is to make sure he always has a place to go after that shit happens. To try to always be one place in his life that doesn't suck and to be someone in his life who is constant. The love part. The part that makes the bad shit better.

And he's going to be okay. We're all going to be.

Week 7 Day 2: Fat Tuesday in Hamtramck

I've always had an affinity for donuts. Perhaps this is why I love Fat Tuesday so much. Granted, eating donuts on Fat Tuesday is not allowed. You've got to eat pączki. And if you can't find a real one, don't bother. As my sister said, "Every time you buy pączki at Krogers, a Polish angel cries. A lot." And so Stacy, Gavin and I headed to Hamtramck where Aunt Laura and Jamie live to eat pączki from a real Polish bakery (New Palace, to be exact). I'm happy to report they were delicious. We brought along Gavin's teething biscuits so that he could also have a treat, but we forgot his banana hammock so he didn't get one. I did give him a teeny tiny bit of filling from my raspberry filled paczki, however, which horrified Stacy a little, but it was worth it. Next year he can have a whole one.

Gavin got to re-meet Emma today, Laura's 13-year-old greyhound. Emma is pretty much the sweetest dog ever in the history of the universe. Laura has had her ever since Emma was two. She's a retired racer. Gavin met her once when he was too young for it to register. But now it does and he was pretty wide-eyed. Emma is, after all, much larger than Henri or Jasper. And she looks a lot different, too. He probably thought she was a pony. Actually he doesn't know what a pony is. But he clearly thought she was pretty awesome. And she is.

While we were at Laura and Jamie's I played a little Nintendo with Laura. Old school Nintendo from the late 80s. She bought the system at a flea market or something and has been scouring flea markets and stuff on the weekends for games. It was fun, but playing video games doesn't really interest me for anything but nostalgic value. I have zero desire to play current video games. That shit is just too complex. I'm sure that Gavin will one day -- sooner than later probably -- want a video game system. I'm not opposed to him having one, but I do hope that we are able to encourage an instill in him a love of reading and going outside. As of right now he isn't allowed to watch television (except for that episode of South Park Aunt Amanda put on for the two of them when she was babysitting and part of the football game at Grandpa Gary's. The TV is a ubiquitous presence at Gary's. There's really no avoiding it). No Teletubbies, no Baby Einstein videos. He doesn't need that crap right now and as a hater of children's programming, I am in no hurry for him to beg me to let him watch Diego the Exploring Train or whatever. I still have flashbacks to the shit I was subjected to while babysitting and by my own younger brother and sisters.

I am also hoping to my son will share my dislike for Elmo, by far the most annoying Sesame Street character. I loved Sesame Street as a kid and, needless to say, Elmo didn't exist then. He's an interloper. He is not O.G. I cannot stand how he talks in third person about himself and seems to always be complaining about some need he wants other people to meet: "Elmo hungry, Elmo tired." Well then eat a fucking sandwich and go to bed, Elmo. He whines more than Oscar and that dude lives in a trash can with a worm for a friend, i.e. he's homeless and insane. And yet Oscar is far more likable than Elmo the helpless imp. Gavin's Pampers have Sesame Street characters on them and whenever I put an Elmo one on him I always say, "We don't like Elmo, do we?" This is probably the wrong attitude to be teaching him.

Week 7 Day 1: Junk grabber

This is my week off, so to speak. It's Stacy's winter break so she is home all week. It's nice, though it will make next week harder for both me and Gavin. But we're troopers. We'll make it.

I bought diapers today. On Friday I got some coupons for Huggies in the mail along with a Rite Aid circular that said Huggies were on sale. I looked at Gavin and said, "All right! We've got some reasons to celebrate."So, you know, that's my life. Thankfully Gavin still thinks I'm pretty cool. And he always will. Ha.

Gavin had a bath during the day, which is slightly unusual in that he usually bathes at night before bed (and by "at night before bed" I mean between 4 and 5 since he starts winding down for bed between 5:30 and 6 and is asleep by 7 at the latest). Stacy almost always bathes him. He grew out of his bath chair a long time ago and now he just goes in the tub with one of us. I was the first one to bathe him this way because Stacy had taken the cloth cover off of the bathing chair to wash it and I didn't realize the chair was inoperable until I already had Gavin completely naked. I could have gone to get the chair cover but I didn't know where it was. In any case, she and Gavin usually bathe together. He likes the bath for the most part. He has discovered splashing which he likes because it's something cool he making happen, but does not like because he always splashes himself in the face.

Stacy and I are big fans of our naked boy, which sounds weird maybe, but he's just so beautiful. It's hard not to just stare at him when you get him out of the tub and dry him off. He gets very animated, his chubby legs kicking and his fists pumping. He often puts his toes in his mouth when he's naked, something he can't do when he's wearing clothes and a diaper because they limit his range of motion. It's pretty adorable.

Gavin is also a fan of his naked body in that it is impossible to change his diaper now without his hands immediately clamping onto his privates (or his junk, as the male reproductive organs are colloquially called, much to Stacy's mother's horror when Stacy called it such in front of her. "It's not junk," she huffed, apparently mistaking Stacy's appropriation of the term for a declaration of man-hating lesbianism). And "clamp" is not an exaggeration. He has a vice grip. It worries me. I don't know if I've mentioned the raking scratches he is prone to giving himself on his head and face and once inside of his outer ear. The dude has some major claws. Stacy cuts them and files them religiously, but he manages to scrape the hell out of himself anyway. The way he grabs his junk I'm afraid he'll end up circumcising himself. We're doing our best to teach him the concept of "gentle touches" whether it's his penis and scrotum, the dog and cat, or his moms' hair. Although I should mention that he doesn't show any evidence of pain or discomfort when he's manhandling himself (like when my mom found my twin sister Laura screaming in her crib only to find that what was causing the crying was that Laura was pulling her own hair). A lot of times he looks pretty darn serene. While I don't mind him touching himself as long as he isn't maiming, it does make diaper changing a lot harder, especially when you're dealing with poo. I give him a toy to hang onto to keep his hands occupied, but he'll often take the toy in one hand and his junk in another. I've found that if I place the toy directly on his face he'll then grab it with both hands. But I can't expect this trick to last forever.

So yeah, he's a Grabby McGraberton. No matter what it is, he wants to touch it and hold it. And yesterday he pulled himself to a standing position for the first time. He's done this in his crib once before, but this was in the living room where the stakes were higher. It was pretty amazing. He was pretty proud of himself. As for me, I am proud of him, but also know that I am in deep trouble as soon as he becomes ambulatory. Gavin the Destroyer is not far away. As Laura said the other day when she was over, "Pretty soon he'll be tearing around the house with no regard for his safety or his health." I think I'll get him a helmet. Hell, I'll get one, too.

Week 6 Day 5: Gavin the kid

Today we were supposed to go to my dad's house so Gavin could hang with his Grandpa Mike and Aunt Amanda. Unfortunately, my dad had to bail on us. And so we went nowhere instead. And I guess you could say we went nowhere fast because today really did seem to go by quickly. At first. The last half hour was long. Pacing around the house with my giant child in my arms, both of us wanting Stacy to be home very badly. Sometimes it's like that. Shift's over, your turn, I'm going to go to the titty bar. Just kidding. Gavin is obviously the only one headed there. As for me, I don't even know that I've spelled "titty" correctly because who even writes that? That's a word for saying. And not actually a word I say. I prefer the much more respectable "hooters." "Hoots" for short.

I watched Billy the Kid today (while Gavin took his nap. I wasn't ignoring my son. I only do that to play Farmville), a documentary about a 15-year-old kid. He has aspergers but the film never mentions it. It's really obvious though. In any case, I got it from the library because I knew it had played at either the Detroit Film Theater or the Main/Maple Art and that it was about a teenage boy. Seeing as I will have me one of those in, oh, less than 13 years, I figured it couldn't hurt to watch it. I didn't know anything about the subject of the film, Billy, besides that he was 15 and didn't fit in. Anyway, I really loved the movie. And I think being a mom is a really big part of that. Before I had a son of my own I would have liked this movie, too. But watching it while my son slept in the next room definitely shaped how it impacted me. I felt very maternal towards Billy. And the relationship between Billy and his mom was really touching. She clearly loved her son so much and wanted so badly to protect him but to also trust him to be his own person and to grow up. I cried. More than once. Thinking about it now I'm getting choked up. The trailer gives you a good idea about the film. But you should really just see it.

Teenage boys have always been a mystery to me. Aside from the handful that I had as friends in high school, most teenage boys seemed like big dogs who could talk and drive cars. And some of those dogs were mean. Since I didn't exactly have "feminine wiles" to use in my favor I always felt uneasy around them. They weren't boyfriends and they were seldom friends. I didn't want to kiss them, but I also didn't have a lot in common with them. So. It wasn't until I started teaching, really, that I started to like teenage boys. Teaching freshman comp my first year I found myself getting mom crushes on some of my male students. And by mom crushes I don't mean anything cougar related. This was strictly maternal. Like I wanted to give them a ride to practice and make them a sandwich. This rapidly accelerated when I knew that I had a son on the way. In any case, teenage boys as subjects is very interesting to me. One of the best books I've read has been 10th Grade by Joseph Weisberg. In fact, I wish I owned it so I could read it right now. I'm going to seek it out and read it again.

It's hard to believe that Gavin will one day be a big dog who can talk and drive a car. Or a hoverboard. Or whatever he'll have in his crazy future. Right now he is a little bear with two teeth who doesn't like to eat peas. And I am madly in love with him. Which means eventually, for the first time in my life, I'll be madly in love with a teenage boy. Weird.

So it's been six weeks of Baby Bear Care and Amanda recommended a report card. The first two categories and grades are hers. The rest are mine.

Six Week Report Card
Keeping the Kid Alive: A++
Feeding the Baby Bear Peas: C
Leaving the House: C+
Putting him down for naps: B
Patience: B-
Hugs and Kisses: A
Making Baby Laugh: A
Dance Routines and Singing: B+
Getting Showered and Dressed: C+
Photo and Video Documentation*: A
Keeping Baby Occupied and Happy: B
Keeping Self Occupied and Happy: B

I'm a hard grader, I think. But it's hard to grade yourself. I'm probably being too hard on myself in some areas (Dance Routines and Singing) and too easy in others (Patience). And I'm sure there are a zillion more categories I could come up with, but I need to go to bed. This full time mom stuff is exhausting.

*I'm talking about photos and videos of Gavin, not of me getting showered and dressed, lest the order of the list cause any confusion. No photos or videos of me getting showered and dressed exist and that is for the best.

Week 6 Day 4: Living la vida boca

It was, as Stacy dubbed it, an 8 Tooth Day for poor Henri. Dude lost 8 teeth during his dentistry today. Most of them are in the front so it's basically like he's lost his smile. And goddamn this makes me sad. The vet said it's not really a big deal and assured me it wasn't my fault, but his crooked toothy grin is gone for good. Stacy pointed out that as Henri is losing teeth Gavin is gaining them, but Gavin has a lot of catching up to do if his mouth is going to any way compensate for Henri's in some kind of parallel tooth universe. Oh, and they gave me Henri's teeth. While the vet tech was giving me instructions about his medicine and food and such, she asked if I'd like to have his teeth "for the tooth fairy" as she held up a tiny blood-spattered zip lock bag. I said sure, because I didn't know what I was supposed to do, and she made the tooth fairy comment with a completely straight face like this was the most normal thing in the world to save your dog's excavated chompers and only a monster would refuse such an opportunity.

I think the tooth fairy ritual is weird for humans, let alone dogs. I never really bought the whole "there's a lady in a tutu who sneaks into your room at night and takes your tooth out from under your pillow and leaves you a dollar" thing. I mean, Santa: check. Fat guy, red suit, hauls toys into your house through your chimney and puts them under the tree in your living room. Likes cookies. That made sense to me (especially the eating nothing but cookies thing). But the tooth fairy? That was too weird. I mean, what was in it for her? And also, Santa didn't get all up in your personal space while you slept to nab a former part of your skeletal system. That's, like, Jeffrey Dahmer territory. In any case, there will be no leaving Henri's former teeth under his pillow as he sleeps. Besides, he'd probably just eat them. So for now Henri's ex-teeth are in my purse, a little bag of sadness for the gal on the go.

After Gavin and I dropped Henri off at the vet we headed over to the library for Baby Time. We were actually early this week so after getting Gavin out of his Winter garb we sat at the little kids' table and read a book called That's Not My Mermaid. Gavin has That's Not My Monkey at home. (And he's getting That's Not My Bear for Valentine's Day. Shhh. Don't spoil it). They're the kind of books with different things to touch and feel on each page. For example, on one page the mermaid has a shiny scaly tail and on another page another mermaid has fuzzy blonde hair. Gavin hasn't quite caught on to the concept of these books yet. Although he's very interested in textures right now (he loves to scratch his fingernails on different surfaces: the arm of the couch, the rug, his head, my face, etc.) books still evoke a "I can put it in my mouth" response. Turning pages, focusing on specific parts of those pages, not flinging the book across the room: these things are beyond him yet. But we'll get there.

While we were waiting for Baby Time to start some of the other moms and kids starting coming in. A couple of girls who have clearly aged out of Baby Time came with their mom and baby sister. The older of the two girls made a bee line for Gavin. He was sitting on my lap and I was sitting in the little dwarf chair, so she actually kind of towered over us. Or at least that's how I remember it. She had this look on her face that said, "Aww, cute baby," but I have to be honest that the closer she got the more apprehensive I got. Because I could tell she was unclean. And I feared she'd touch my child and I would have to spray him down with Lysol. Other peoples' kids gross me out. Having a child of my own has not made me more tolerant of child-related filth. His filth I can deal with -- precisely because I can deal with it. Other children's filth: no. This girl's nose was running and her pink shirt was visibly dirty. I mean, come on, it's not even 9:15 in the morning and your clothes are dirt streaked like you've been playing outside during the summer? And aren't you old enough to wipe your own nose instead of using your tongue like a windshield wiper? She was 4, by the way. I know this because I said something to Gavin about "the little kids" playing next to us, meaning this particular girl and a boy named Henry from the Baby Time group, and she looked at me like I was a retard and said, "I'm four." Thankfully she didn't try to touch Gavin.

On the library kids' table there are lots of wooden puzzles. The last time we were there Gavin was sucking on one of the pieces while I was talking to another mom and I believe he did damage unto that poor duck or swan or whatever it was. And so today I wouldn't let him put the pieces in his mouth. As soon as it headed there I'd gently redirect it and say, "Not for mouths," which I stole from Rosemary. It's becoming more and more necessary to say "no" to him lately. Not that he's ever really been able to do whatever he wants whenever he wants. He's always been a willful dude, but as he gets older he can actually use his physical power and new skills to exert his will, whereas before he was completely dependent upon Stacy and I to meet his needs and was powerless to stop us from, say, putting on his coat (something he really, really doesn't like) or changing his diaper. Now when something is happening that he doesn't like he fights back. Like when I was trying to snap the top of his pajamas closed the other day and he was pushing my hands away and screaming like a crazy man. What he wanted was a boob in his mouth. What I was doing was ruining his life. It's pretty black and white for six month old. There's really no reasoning with him: Bear, if you'd stop flailing and batting at my hands, snapping you up would take a seconds, but because you're acting feral, this is taking minutes, and these minutes feel like hours for both of us.

In any case, working on refusal is the new game around here. This is necessary as I feed him -- he wants to "hold" the container (really "hold" means yank it out of my hands, put his mouth on it and throw it on the floor) or the spoon and I have to say, "Nope, that's not how it works right now." And then I wait for him to open his mouth like a very chubby baby bird and shovel another helping in. Or I wait for him to scrunch up his face and clamp his lips shut to tell me he is so over this shit.

I also had to tell him "no" today about the ribbon attached to the new balloon I bought him at the dollar store. (I know, I know. Wasn't Henri traumatized enough for one day? But I've put the balloon in the bathroom and Henri's okay right now.) We stopped there after getting a new spindle of blank CDs from Staples. That is not exciting, I know, but what makes this worth mentioning is that this was our second outting of the day. We got home from Baby Time, Gavin napped for almost two hours, we ate lunch and then we went out. Unfortunately he fell asleep in the car on the way home and then missed his second nap of the day which is not ideal. But leaving the house IS ideal. So hooray for us.

Week 6 Day 3: Holy snowly

Today was a snow day, which means Stacy was home with us all day. And a mighty fine day it was. I still had cramps so it was nice to have Stacy on baby patrol. I did shovel the driveway and walk and stuff, which made my back hurt. I am seriously out of shape. Laura and Jamie came over and we all went to Trader Joe's together where Gavin was so cute I could hardly stop looking at him. He wore his puppy dog winter hat the whole time in the store because he is bald and it is cold in Trader Joe's. He digs sitting in grocery carts. I want to get him one of those cart cover things because the carts are germ festivals. In fact, as soon as we put him in the cart at TJ's he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around the bar. Very cliche.

Today was Gavin's first taste of real bananas. He's had the baby food banana goo and he's had the oat-nana cereal, but today he had fresh banana. We didn't just give him a chunk of fruit, of course, he ate it through a banana hammock. At least that's what we call his little Baby Safe Feeder (I know. The Web site design doesn't exactly instill confidence in a company that manufactures something intended to go in your baby's mouth. The rotating apple .gifs are a bit much. Also the punctuation and grammar is problematic. For example, this sentence, which is a very good example of the site's overall tone: "Being conscientious and observing your child is and always will be extremely important so that if your loved one does choke, hopefully, you will know how to react fast enough to prevent a terrible tragedy." The comma after "hopefully" doesn't need to be there. In fact, putting a comma there kind of makes the sentence seen like it means, "If you're lucky your kid will choke so you can test out your choke-death prevention skills." Still, there is something very charming about the site's sincerity. It's clearly written by someone who cares a lot about this product, even if he could use a good copy editor). In any case, I can't remember who recommended these things to us, but we registered for them and some kind person whose identity has been lost to history gave them to us at our shower and they were only recently unearthed from the bottom of a drawer while Stacy was looking for something else. So when Stacy said we should give him some banana this evening, he got to have real banana sucked through a little mesh pocket. It sounds weird, but he loved it. I don't think he's enjoyed eating anything this much besides breast milk on tap. Lisa's son also loves his banana hammocks and, according to her, he will eat anything you put in there (bananas are his favorite, though also the hardest to clean out of the contraption she says). So we'll definitely be busting out the banana hammock again tomorrow.

I can't help but wish that we'll get another couple of feet of snow tonight so that Stacy is home with us tomorrow, too. Then she could go to Baby Time with us. And help us take Henri to the vet. He's getting his teeth cleaned tomorrow. Poor dude's mouth smells like a sewer. I admit that I haven't been the best canine dental hygiene mama since Gavin was born. For a while there I even thought he was missing a tooth in the bottom front, but now I can't decide if it's just a gap that has always been there or  what. He's definitely got some teeth that are loose. Poor dude.

And to think that the night before his surgery he's spent the bulk of the day spooked by the balloon Gavin got at Trader Joe's. Henri doesn't like helium balloons and all day today he was creeping around, hiding in the bedroom and under the crib instead of out in the living room where he usually sleeps all day like a drunk, wearing pajamas and curled under a down-filled blanket in his pet bed. I could not figure out why he was acting so weird. It even crossed my mind that maybe he sensed that tomorrow he was going to have to go to the vet. When Stacy put Gavin to bed tonight Henri was still in there under the crib (we have a pet bed in there, actually, because the cat spent so much time under the crib he was leaving massive amounts of cat hair and snot on top of whatever was being stored there that we wanted him to have a concentrated place to be). As soon as she realized Henri was still in the baby's room she looked up at the ceiling. "The balloon," she said. And, indeed, that's just what it was. We moved the balloon into the bedroom and I got Henri out of the nursery and he has stopped acting like a total weirdo. Problem solved.

Wow. Fun story. You're welcome, dear readers.

Week 6 Day 2: Release from pea-jail

I had terrible cramps all day today. I know that's too much information, but it directly impacted my responsibilities and duties as a parent and is, thus, relevant. I gobbled a lot of ibuprofen today. No idea how much, really, which is, I suppose, a problem. But I'll let my liver worry about that. I had a baby to watch/feed/change/put to bed/entertain/keep alive.

It also snowed a hell of a lot today. During one of Gavin's naps I donned a hooded sweatshirt, Stacy's horribly ugly black leather mittens, and snow clogs (yes, they're clogs, but they're warm for snow. My guess is someone who lives in a sunny climate designed them) and shoveled the driveway, sidewalk, walkway, porch and steps. My guess is that by morning it will have made no difference that I even bothered. In any case, we're hoping that Stacy gets a snow day tomorrow and gets to stay home with us.

Also, did I ever mention how cute my son is? Stacy and I often gaze at him dreamily and toss around words like "handsome" and "he's a looker" and "beautiful." It really is amazing how good looking this kid is. We are in love.

I mentioned the food saga yesterday. Today things went rather smoothly. He ate his bananas very well, almost like he liked them. I made him oatmeal today with bananas in the mix, a bequest from Rosemary since he daughter won't eat the stuff. Ordinarily I wouldn't consider "my daughter hates this, want it for your kid?" a very encouraging, but I know that her child is particularly picky and trust the source (meaning Rosemary, the giver of the cereal, not Gerber, the maker of the cereal. I have no real reason to trust Gerber). In any case, Gavin seemed to like it well enough. He opened his mouth for more instead of turning his head away and gazing out the window at the yard as if he wished he was ambulatory so he could run away. This is progress in our house. I admit that I knew before I even poured the banana oatmeal flakes into his bowl that Stacy would no approve of this choice. And I, too, had a moment of conflict about it. After all, this oat-nana cereal had more than just one simple ingredient -- more than just two, in fact, including additives and such, most of which were vitamin fortifications I do believe. But I also was encouraged by Gavin's progress yesterday and wanted to keep the whole "look, this solid food in your high chair thing doesn't completely suck" thing going. And it went really well today, too. Until the peas.

Now, I know I said he hated the peas. But I also know that peas are good for him. And I thought maybe, just maybe, he would be less adverse to them this time. I was very, very wrong. Oh, and did I mention that both Stacy and I tried the peas and agreed they were disgusting? Not disgusting as in rancid of unfit for human consumption, but disgusting as in no one would like the way this tastes. But hey, a lot of babies drink formula and that smells absolutely foul to me and I remember some pretty nasty baby food being fed to my younger brother and sisters back in the day. So. After I'd fed him some cereal, I gave him a spoonful of peas. The reaction was swift and terrible. He made the "I don't like this face," which I expected. But then he made a noise. A noise of strong disapproval and betrayal. You, too, can make this noise or a close approximation. Pretend that you have a spoonful of mashed peas in your mouth that you are trying desperately to not let touch your tongue. Frown, but keep your mouth open. Now, in your lowest register, make an "ahh" sound. Squint your eyes. Now let torrents of green drool forth from your mouth because you a) refuse to swallow and b) refuse to shut your mouth. Keep this up until all of the peas have been expelled or your mom swabs them out herself with your bib.

After the pea incident he didn't quite trust me and became very resistant to the oatmeal. I kept telling him, "I get it. You don't like the peas. No more peas, I promise. This is oatmeal. You like oatmeal. With bananas! You like bananas." Eventually he acquiesced and finished the oatmeal. And then we finished off the tiny jar of banana goo. I rinsed the remaining pea slop down the drain, but I know Stacy has more in the freezer. I will definitely not be the one busting it out.

Week 6 Day 1: Food fight

We had a really good day today, all things considered. (Then again, I'm really not considering all things. That's just really beyond my scope here.) Did I get a little crabby? Yes. Impatient? Yes. But not terribly. Having a baby has really forced me to work on cultivating patience. It's a never-ending process.

But naps were good today. Moods were, with small exceptions, good. It was even sunny outside. Eating was good. Gavin is trucking away at solid foods. It's an uphill battle, but I think I helped lower the incline a bit today. Stacy and I both want Gavin to eat healthy foods. We are on the same page with that. We were, for example, both very excited when a friend of Stacy's mother gave us a baby food grinder as a shower present. I believe Stacy's mother's husband said I would probably put Twinkies in it, but this is not true. For one thing, I don't even eat Twinkies, for another I want my son to eat foods that are good for him. As I said, Stacy does, too. However, Stacy's idea of "good for him" doesn't coincide with what most people would also consider good. Per what we've read in the baby books, we started him out on rice cereal. I got him a box of Earth's Best powdered rice cereal because it has less shit in it ("shit" meaning perservatives, additives, ingredients we can't pronounce, etc.) than, say, Gerber. After he'd had rice cereal a few times and didn't break into hives or start projectile vomiting, we gave him oatmeal. Then Stacy was hell bent on his next solid food being barley. We couldn't find a ready-made barley baby cereal in the store, so Stacy bought some barley, cooked it up, and put it through the baby food grinder. It was, by far, the least popular menu choice so far in Baby Food Cafe. Stacy even ate some herself and agreed that it wasn't very good. Next up: sweet potato. Again, Stacy cooked up a sweet potato and into the grinder it went. It was better received than the barley, but not by much. Then came peas. Dried split peas from the health food store that Stacy cooked up, mashed up and presented to Gavin as if to say, "If you thought eating solid foods was unpleasant before, you haven't tasted anything yet). To say he didn't like them is an understatement. Oh, the faces he made. I took a little video of him eating it that I need to upload to YouTube still. He starts gagging at the end. Not choking, mind you, but gagging like, "WTF is this horrible sludge in my mouth?"

Meanwhile, I got him these little jars of Earth's Best bananas and apples (not mixed, but jars of each). But Stacy wanted to wait on the fruits until she'd shoveled more vegetables into his face. Because, she argued, fruits are sweet and practically dessert and if we give him desert first then he'll never want dinner.

Now, I come from a long line of people who do not consider fruit "dessert." Fruit is a health food and something you work into your diet so that you don't get colon cancer and die. It's not, like, punishment or anything, but present any Witkowski kid with a banana and say, "Here's your dessert" and we'll look at you like you're from another planet. A planet where people live longer and have better skin, probably, but another planet just the same. I'm not saying this is a good thing. I want Gavin to have a much better relationship with food than I do and I want him to enjoy eating food that's good for him. But I also want him to want to eat. As we've discussed, he's a boob man. If it was up to him he'd nurse until he was through college or at least high school. Getting him to drink breast milk from a bottle was a struggle, but now he's a champ. And when you're a champ you don't always want to jump into a new game. Stick with what you know, what you're famous for (Gavin isn't famous. This analogy makes no sense). In any case, when I put Gavin into his high chair today he was very unenthusiastic about it. He knew what was coming: terrible garbage on a spoon. He knew what he wanted: boobs. Enter disconnect. Sadness. Frustration.

Stacy said we can't give him a new food until 3 days after he's tried his last new food. This meant two more days on pea-ward lock down. But I remembered Rosemary saying something about how the three day rule was being questioned by some pediatricians or something like that. And I talked to Lisa on the phone and she said that she started her son out on fruits and things that taste good (i.e. sweet) because breast milk is sweet (it is, I tried it. One drop. Enough for me, thanks, but I can attest to the fact that it's sweet) and that's what babies are used to. Plus she wanted Brenden to have a positive association with solid foods so that now he'll eat anything you put in front of him because he thinks eating in his high chair is hella fun.

This is the opposite of how we'd been setting up Gavin's solid food experience. So instead of the dreaded peas I opened up the little jar of bananas and gave Gavin a tablespoon or so. He didn't love them, but he did open his mouth of his own free will when presented with the spoon fulls, and I think this is progress. I was worried that Stacy would be mad. I told Lisa I was going to blame it all on her. Luckily I didn't have to. Stacy wasn't mad and she agreed that Gavin needed to dig eating more than just breast milk because she can barely keep up with his supply what with the pumping and all. And so it is. And so it shall remain.

Week 5 Day 5: Sugar monkey to the Maxx

It's 10:30 at night and one of my neighbors is pumping the booming bass music from the car speakers. My friend Rosemary's mother says that listening to booming bass like that will make you sterile. Not that she believes that's what does happen, but what she believes should happen. My wife and son are asleep, so the noise is particularly unwelcome by me right now. If Stacy and Gavin were awake I'd just go out and turn up the volume in my own booty bass mobile. But I have a thing called common decency. And a futile wish that common decency will prevail.

Futile, also: teeth. As in mine. Laura (my twin sister) just found out she has to have a root canal tomorrow. I already know that I have several (maybe even six?) cavities unfilled and festering in my own mouth and I have no dental insurance. Not while I'm laid off. So I'm worried about my teeth. I almost just wrote that I hope Gavin got Stacy's very good teeth instead of my very bad teeth. Obviously he has no chance of inheriting my teeth. Instead he has my eyes and skin tone. And two teeth thus far. Oh, and for all of my worry about my teeth, I am eating Frosted Flakes right out of the box right now. Because I make sense.

Gavin has Stacy's cold. Or at least he did yesterday, last night, and most of today. His mood today was predominantly cranky and needy. Not wanting to sleep, not even happy when I fed him. It was very frustrating for both of us. I was more frustrated with him today than I think I've ever been. The question of the day was, "What? What do you want? What the fuck do you want?" I feed bad that I got so exasperated with him, but I still love him and he still loves me. After his last nap of the day and after I got a bottle of booby milk in him he was like a new man. By the time Stacy came home it was like, "Crabby? What crabby? Cold? What cold? I love life and life is good." Thank God. He cranked his adorability up to 11. I guess he'd been saving it up all day.

Still, by the time Stacy came home I had to get the hell out of the house. I took back library books and checked out a DVD they had on hold for me called Toddler University, or something like that. It's a documentary about parents who try to get their kids into really prestigious pre-schools and stuff. This is obviously something Stacy and I are going to do, so we hope this video is instructional. Okay, that's not true. But I think it will be interesting. And if it sucks, hey, it was free, from the library. Or free as long as I remember to return it on time.

I went to TJ Maxxx, a store I used to hate shopping at (there was a time in my life where I had a policy about not shopping at places where part of the shopping experience was sifting through piles of merchandise on the floor). But having a baby changes you and not always for the better. Still, I love deals and I love to shop for kids stuff. Plus, Stacy and I have two showers coming up in March and my friend Danielle registered for a lot of organic stuff for her daughter a-comin' and that shit is expensive. You have to pay premium if you want baby clothes that aren't made of polyester soaked in gasoline these days. Anyway, they have a really nice organic line of stuff that turns up there now and then if you're willing to look. And I am. I also go to TJ Maxx when I'm feeling depressed and as I said, today just wasn't a very good day.

I also went to Border's hoping to be able to get a new book of poetry with my exciting Buy One Get One %50 off books coupon. But their selection sucked. So I ended up getting That's Not My Bear for Gavin for Valentine's Day. Because he's our bear. I always thought he'd be our monkey, but no, he's our bear. And that's okay.

So. Yeah. Booming bass has ceased. My ability to type is quickly heading the same way. I'm a tired monkey. Or bear. But I guess I can be a monkey and Stacy and Gavin can be bears because of the whole I'm-not-blood-related thing.

Week 5 Day 4: Uno, dos, sicko

Stacy's cold is easing up a bit, but Gavin's is just starting up. Poor little dude. Stacy called into work today since she and Gavin were up so much last night. She only took the morning off, though, so she was out of the house at noon. Needless to say Baby Time didn't happen, which was a bummer because I think it's good for us, plus I wanted to get the name and email/number of the mom I met there last week who has a daughter named Clementine who is the same age as Gavin. She lives nearby and also has an MFA - in non-fiction writing. Hopefully she'll be there next week.

It's also a bummer that I didn't take Gavin anywhere today because we finally got Gavin's new carseat installed. It's a Britax Marathon, which is supposed to be top of the line and all. And has a price tag to match. We found ours for almost $100 cheaper because ours is a big ass purple seat. We did a good amount of research re: our car seat purchase and one of the things that we liked about this is that customer reviews said it was easy to install. This was, to say the least, not our experience. It took several rounds of sitting outside in the freezing car to get the seat installed properly. Or at least what we hope is proper. Supposedly you can get your car seat installation checked by a professional, but we tried to do that with our infant car seat and found it was easier said than done. Stacy talked to someone at the Ferndale Police Department who said the guy who does it works midnight shifts now so Stacy would have to try to get ahold of him between midnight and 6 a.m. or some crazy shit. I think she left him a message at one point but he never called back. And we asked at Babies R Us if they did car seat checks and the clerks we talked to said they thought BBRU did something like that once but didn't know if they were ever doing it again. So, you know, helpful. And then Gavin grew out of that car seat and here we are. Dude's got the Big Purple Captain's Chair of Love and hasn't even been able to go cruising yet. I have no doubt it'll be a chick magnet.

While Stacy was here this morning I took advantage of her presence to vacuum. As I mentioned, Gavin cries when I vacuum when he's awake and vacuuming while he's asleep isn't going to work, either. If it wasn't so cold I'd just strap him into his new car seat and leave him in the car while I did it. I'm kidding. I would never do that. Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall. Though that makes me think of this really horrifying Washington Post article I read last year about parents who leave their kids in the car. Like, they go to work and forget to drop their son or daughter off at day care and just leave them in the car. I know most people automatically think such parents must be monsters but the article did a really good job of humanizing these people. Everybody makes dumb mistakes. These people made deadly dumb mistakes. It's the kind of thing that torments parents: what if I ever did something to hurt or kill my child? I worry about this. I think all parents do. My best friend was just telling me today that her seven month old son has never had a cold or been sick or anything and that she wishes she could prevent him from ever getting sick. I have always worried about losing people I love or terrible things happening to them, but nothing compares to the kind of sickening fear and dread of picturing my son dead in his crib or drowned in the tub or, as I did one night, with his fingers chopped off. It's literally sickening. You think you've reached the limit of what you could live without and then you have a child. And then you realize how completely replaceable every person place or thing that came before him was.

Jesus. Why am I writing about this? Thankfully Gavin is seeping in his crib alive and well aside from his cold. I have the urge to go scoop him up and hold him to bask in his aliveness. But this would make him very cranky. And it would make Stacy cranky, too. And in the long run I, too, would be made cranky as I would have to soothe him back to sleep, probably multiple times. He's probably going to be up a lot tonight as it is. That's the way it was last time he as sick. Christmas. It's all Stacy's fault that he's sick and part of me is irritated by this, as if the woman who feeds him from her very breasts should have somehow managed not to swap germs with him. She works in an elementary school (teaching Spanish, hence the post title) which is basically a germ farm with crayons and worksheets. So it's really not a surprise and it isn't even her fault. But there's this instinct to keep Gavin safe and protected above all else, which can sometimes transform the co-parent into the enemy. The trick is knowing how to hold your friendly fire.

Week 5 Day 3: Sicko

Stacy has a cold. Has had it for a few days now. And today Gavin had the beginnings of a runny nose. Alas. I hope I don't get sick. Not that I want Gavin to get sick, but I think that's a lost cause now. And it's a lot easier to take care of a sick baby if you, yourself, aren't also sick. We learned this as a family at Christmas when the three of us jetted down to Florida to see Stacy's family. Traveling when you've got a raging cold is the best. Traveling with an infant who also has said cold is even betterest. But even with his plugged up self Gavin was a remarkably good traveler. We are lucky for this.

I fed Gavin in his high chair today and it did make for a more parent-friendly feeding experience. I made him way too much cereal, though. These little baby insta-cereals are tricky. They absorb so much liquid! Baby oatmeal is nothing like grown up oatmeal. I am fairly certain that if you were to eat the dry mix by itself it would soak up all of your internal fluids and you would die. There should be a warning on the box. So I'm trying to find a balance between feeding him milk from a bottle and mixing milk with his cereal. So far he far prefers the bottle, second only to the actual hoot itself. Or, I guess I mean themselves, since Stacy has two. Oatmeal is far preferred over rice cereal. The rice cereal feeding did not go over well. To express his displeasure Gavin kept making raspberries with his mouth full of food showering both of us. So I am giving up on the rice cereal for now. Lisa says she uses it sometimes to thicken baby food that is too runny. I think it could also be used to stop leaks in our basement crawl space. Either way, it won't go to waste.

Gavin is a very wiggly guy. He's figured out that when I put him on the floor of his bed room to play he can roll over to the dresser and grab the handle and pull. And voila! The drawer opens. This is a fun game for him, and while I support his need and desire to learn cause and effect, there are too many stories of my twin sister and I pulling dressers down on ourselves when we were little for me to be down with his new game. Granted, he doesn't have a tall dresser in his room, so he chances of him pulling the dresser down are slim, but he could work the drawer out. Maybe not right now while he's prone on the floor, but eventually he'll be able to pull himself up to a standing position. He can already pull himself up to his knees in his crib and peek out over the railing. It won't be long before we have to lower the crib mattress yet again.

I realize that I seem to bitch quite a bit about things here and I would like to state for the record that not a day goes by that I don't marvel about how beautiful my son is. He's really amazing and this whole thing is going by so fast. He'll be seven months in a week. I can't even remember what it felt like to hold him when he weighed less than 10 pounds. We have photo evidence, but that's not the same thing. I'm not saying I want another baby (this is part of the great debate in our house: should we or shouldn't we? Needless to say, an answer has not been reached. More on that later). But he's less and less baby like every day.

Week 5 Day 2: Toothy

Gavin is getting another tooth. I may have neglected to report the first one. I can't remember. That one cropped up about a week ago. But now he's got two chompers poking through is bottom gums right there in the middle. I found the second tooth today while I was changing his diaper. Wait. I just made it sound like I found a tooth in his diaper. No. Thank God. It's just that when he's up on the changing table I can get a good look in his mouth and sure enough there were two little flashes of white cropping up in his gummy smile. Stacy said tonight that she can feel them when he nurses. That he's not biting her, she can just tell they're there.

Naps were imperfect today, to say the least. A lot of time soothing and re-soothing. Getting down for his first nap an hour late pushed the entire day back.

I'd like to give a shout out to Pampers today for containing the vast majority of my son's vast waste output last night. While it did leak some (there was pee up the back of his onesie, considering he emptied his bowels and bladder (the later several times I'm sure) it could have been so much worse. Keep in mind I actually prefer to use disposable diapers that are as earth friendly as possible, but the Nature Baby Care ones we have now do not cut it for night time. That diaper's biodegradable and sustainable materials would have exploded all over the nursery walls.

Gavin had his first meal in his highchair today. Stacy fed it to him. She'd taken the straps out of the chair to wash them (because it's secondhand and highchairs see a lot of graphic messes) and she put them back all clean (except for the crotch strap, which does not come out. I plan to bleach that sucker tomorrow). Gavin looked very regal in his chair, if not a little confused. But Stacy had a really easy time with feeding. No dogs and cats lurking at spoon level, fewer distractions for the babe, plus the babe is strapped in and stationary and if you've ever tried to feed a child in his exersaucer, you'll especially appreciate this. So I'm actually excited to feed him cereal tomorrow. By this weekend we might even give him some banana or something crazy.

Week 5 Day 1: Sunrise, sunset

I was on Gavin duty all day today since Stacy didn't get home from work until after his bedtime. She had some meeting or something to go to. Usually she puts him to bed and lately it has been going super smooth, so I was a little worried about doing it myself. But he went to sleep with no problems. No tears, no fuss. He saves that up for nap times and for going back to sleep after his night feeding (or feedings, as he still sometimes does).

My sister Amanda stopped over today on her way to school. I took full advantage of her visit and had her feed Gavin so I could take a shower. Showers are the awesomest.

This weekend was my mom's birthday so Grandma Kathy is now 56. I realize that that isn't old when regular people are 56, but it seems old for my mom. I didn't really realize she was creeping into the late 50s, you know? For years I thought she was 54. I know it might seem callous no to know exactly how old my mother is, but it's really her fault for having so many kids. I'm the oldest of five (five! And my parents weren't even Catholic) and I can't keep track of how old my siblings are, either. My brother is four years younger than me, Amanda is 12 years younger, and Christine is in between there somewhere. As long as I remember how old I am (and that's sometimes a struggle in itself) I know how old my twin sister Laura is and I can figure out the rest of their ages using math. But I hate math.

Gavin smelled suspiciously like puke today but I couldn't find it. I mean, I know that sometimes it gets into their neck folds and stuff, but I wiped down his hands and face several times today. Also he had a bath last night. I think maybe it was just breast milk, pre-digested. Breast milk really grosses me out. I mean, I love my wife and nursing is beautiful etc. etc. but I wish babies subsisted on something more sterile and less prone to spoilage. Like Twinkies. But, you know, healthy Twinkies. I can't help but associate the smell of breast milk with the smell of puke. Both are pretty gross to me. And because I don't taste test his meals before I give them to him, I always worry that somehow one of the bottles in the fridge is going to be rancid or something and I'll try to make him guzzle it anyway. And then he'll get sick and it will be all my fault.

Speaking of getting sick, feeding him oatmeal today was a real challenge. His high chair (a new-to-us item given to us by my friend Susie who is now also my aunt's girlfriend. It's a small and weird world) is not ready for prime-time yet so I fed him while he was in his exersaucer, which you might imagine was semi-disasterous. I got cereal all over my pants and all over his face and on the floor and on his hands. Ugh.

And speaking of cereal (I am the segue master. Not to be confused with the Segway Master), over the weekend Stacy whipped up some homemade barley cereal for Gavin, which he hated. I am not sure why, but Stacy was hellbent on Gavin eating barley before he moved on to other solid foods. Making the cereal was a tremendous pain in the ass and she worked very hard. Sadly Gavin has not yet learned that sometimes faking gratitude is the polite thing to do.

I did not leave the house today. We are gearing up for a trip to Susie's in Ann Arbor where she'll let us shop at her house since she has a bunch of baby stuff she doesn't need. Not sure when we're going to do this, though. Maybe Wednesday? I'm going to try to time it around his naps with the hope that he will sleep in the car. I haven't really taken him anywhere myself for any duration of time besides Rosemary's. We've taken more substation trips to Stacy's dad's and my mom's, but Stacy was with us. There's something very reassuring knowing that his food source is right nearby. Let's face it, there are a lot of problems that can be solved with boobs.