Tuesday, August 31, 2010: Lucky 13

Gavin is 13 months old now. And tomorrow is our 13th anniversary -- 13 as in years. Not me and Gavin, obviously, but me and Stacy. So people can say what they want about "13" being unlucky, but it's pretty lucky for me.

I got my hair cut yesterday. Gavin did not get his hair cut as he does not have hair to spare. But I hacked off 10 inches and am donating it to Locks of Love. I usually only get my hair cut every couple of years or so because I want to "help bald babies," as my boss once summed it up when I explained why I was sending my hair in a padded envelope through the mail. Actually "hacked off" really doesn't do justice to my friend Liz who is quite good at what she does and the only person I trust to cut my hair. Should she move away I will have no other choice but to grow my hair out like a Mennonite woman or like Mrs. Hess, my 7th grade home ec. teacher who may or may not have been a Mennonite but who did teach me to make peanut butter cornflake brownies, a recipe I had -- and may still have -- memorized and is quite likely the only thing I learned in 7th grade besides the humiliation and rejection standard in Jr. High curriculum. Oh, Gavin. I wish I could spare you...

Anyway, enough about my hair (you're all, "What is this, HairCareBlogDotCom.net or something? I came here to read about the cutest baby in all the land"). Today was my first day back on as full time stay-at-home Mama D since summer began. Stacy is back at work now, which means me and Gavin are once again flying solo (or, I guess, duo?). I start work next week. Gavin officially starts daycare tomorrow, but since I am home he will only be there for a few hours while I go to an appointment. Kind of easing him in, so to speak. Stacy and Gavin and I met with his main caretaker at the daycare and she seems nice. Gavin ran around and played with the toys while Stacy peppered this poor woman with sometimes very specific directions and advice re: the care-taking of our son. Granted, I want him to be well cared for, but he is one of many kids there and it is unlikely that she'll remember all that Stacy told her. But if I hadn't been wrangling Gavin during their conversation, I would have been the same way. What I took away from that meeting is that the daycare has good toys and Gavin definitely likes that. They also have a turtle in a tank. It's a small turtle and a small tank, probably too small. I don't understand the point of keeping turtles as pets, though my best friend did once buy a turtle the size of a quarter from Mexican children on a street corner in Los Angeles. I don't recall it living very long. This fact does not further my understanding of or enthusiasm for turtles as pets. In any case, I can't help but think that being in a tank at handprint level in a room full of babies and toddlers would be a terrifying existence.

So, yes. Going back to work. Exciting because "money," but sad because "Gavin." But I will still be home with him Tuesdays and Thursdays and will continue to chronicle our adventures here.

Gavin is growing and changing so much it's hard to keep up with it all. His vocabulary is growing so fast. The number of words he understands is just exploding and the words he actually says keep multiplying. "Outside" is a current favorite. He loves to play out in the yard (mostly he wants to pick up the watering can, climb up and down the deck steps, and put his hands in the dirt in Stacy's planters on the deck) and has been quite demanding about it. Today I was trying to upload a picture of me and Gavin and I was standing in the kitchen (I had the computer on the kitchen counter because Gavin and I were listing to music while I fed him brunch) and Gavin was slapping the sliding door saying, "Outside." While I wasn't ignoring him per se, I didn't want to let him outside because as soon as I was done we were leaving to go to his doctor's office to pick up paperwork for daycare. So Gavin came over to me and put his hands on my legs and started pushing me toward the door saying, "Outside." And when we didn't go outside he got mega-pissed. Mega-Pissed Gavin is the newest addition to our son's personality library. Mega-Pissed Gavin screams and cries and stomps his feet if he doesn't get what he wants. He also thrashes and arches his back if you try to pick him up. I realize that this is all part of toddlerhood, but it still throws me every time he starts to "go off" as Super Nanny would say.

Out in the yard today after Stacy came home Gavin tried to climb up into the patio chairs we have outside. He was so very determined to do this. In fact, after the first success he tried again a short time later and became really frustrated because he couldn't quite do it. Stacy guessed that his muscles were tired for the next go around and I'm inclined to agree since it literally took all of his might. He even made himself throw up a little bit (and but a little bit I mean half-dollar size) because he was exerting himself so much while simultaneously pressing his stomach against the edge of the chair rather soon after he'd eaten. But it was definitely puke and not the spit-up of his babyhood. Thankfully Gavin has never thrown up before. I have managed to remain calm and take care of messes he makes with all sorts of bodily goop, but I don't do well with vomit. I know that eventually I will be faced with this horror and that I will not be able to simply get as far away as possible because it will be my own son and thus my responsibility. All I can hope is that Stacy is with us at the time.

Speaking of Stacy, she got a taste of what it's like to get the brush off today. As I've mentioned, Gavin's been on a "Mommy only" kick for the past couple of months where he treats me like I'm just the help. Well today when Stacy came home from work I was changing Gavin's diaper in his room and his door was shut. I heard the car and the side door open and I said to Gavin, "Mommy's home." He seemed to perk up at his news but when I opened his door  to a grinning Stacy on her knees with her arms out for a hug, Gavin blew right past her in favor of a bottle of water I'd left on the living room table. It was funny, but also sad because I saw Stacy's face just fall. She'd been missing us all day and was rejected for a plastic bottle. Like I said, Gavin is already a heart breaker.

Friday, Aug. 27, 2010: ABC gum

We bid farewell to Granny Marilyn today. She was very sad to go. Gavin is a heartbreaker like that. I predict a lifelong pattern.

The highlight of today was when Amanda gave Gavin her gum. I mean, it was an accident, but a 13 month old really shouldn't have chewing gum. I think that to get the full experience you really need to have more than eight teeth and at least some of your teeth should be molars. I'm just saying. Gavin isn't exactly Wrigley's target audience. Also there's the whole choking hazard thing, which looms a little larger than chewing satisfaction when it comes to the baby demographic. Thankfully Gavin did not choke. Nor did he chew the gum. In fact, I'm not sure he ever knew it was in his mouth at all. Its tenure there was brief. Not because I, in a mom-of-the-year moment, swept the offending glob out with a hooked index finger -- though I certainly did try. But there was nothing to be swept, so quickly did he swallow it.

So how did Gavin end up with his Aunt Amanda's ABC gum (that's "already been chewed" for anyone who has never gone through elementary school)? Well, Amanda came over today to see Gavin and take the dogs for a walk (her two dogs, Lily and Charlie, and my dog, Henri). After the walk Amanda was hanging out and playing with Gavin in the living room and she lifted him upside down and kind of swung him back and forth a little -- he loves this kind of thing. So from his upside down hanging position she put him on the couch where she proceeded to put her face close to his. Both of them were laughing quite hard, because of how being Upside Down Baby (Gavin's official title while in this position) is hilarious, and Amanda's gum fell out of her mouth and into Gavin's. She sat him up and said something like, "D'Anne, my gum fell into Gavin's mouth," and I, who was sitting right next to Gavin but did not see the gum exchange, hooked my finger and went spelunking for foreign objects just like I learned in CPR training (the rest of the training, however, is very fuzzy, so thank god he wasn't choking). But there was nothing but the slippery insides of his cheeks and his fat tongue. No gum. He was relatively unfazed besides seeming a little confused about why I was poking around in his mouth.

Amanda is laughing hysterically at this point and not because she thinks it's funny so much as she's totally freaked out. "Oh my god, I thought I just killed your baby," she said. But thankfully she didn't. He's fine as far as I can tell. My theory is that because Amanda dropped her gum from her laughing mouth it was probably covered in saliva, which means it was well lubricated as it fell into Gavin's also laughing and frequently drool-filled mouth and thus he swallowed it without even realizing it had happened. And no, gum doesn't sit undigested in your stomach for seven years or tie your intestines together or whatever dumb thing you learned in grade school. Yes, it's true that the human body can't digest gum, but it can take gum along on an exciting trip of the digestive system. In other words, gum should be appearing in Gavin's diaper in a couple of days. And then I can return it to Amanda.

Speaking of diapers, have you ever seen a horse take a dump? Gavin, Stacy, and I went to the zoo today and got to see it happening up close and personal (we were about four feet away from the horse). It's not something I've ever wanted to see, but I now cannot unsee it. Decorum doesn't allow me to describe it further, but I'm sure there's probably a video on YouTube or something if you look. Or you could go to a farm. I mean, if you're dying to see it and all.

We also saw prairie dogs, which Gavin was not very interested in. He calls all of the animals at the zoo "dog" but he didn't bother with these little guys. He did call the pigs "dog" though. We also walked through the Outback Adventure, which in theory could mean live interaction with kangaroos, but really was just walking down a dusty dirt path while peering at kangaroos sacked out in the shade at the outskirts of their enclosure. We did get to see what I think was a wallaby hop on by, but that was the extent of our Outback excitement. That and the hi-larious doofy dad in line behind us making Outback Steakhouse jokes. Every time we go to the zoo it makes me happy that Gavin is a vegetarian.

Thursday, Aug. 26, 2010: Cuts like a knife

As someone who did not circumcise her son and who thought about and agonized over this decision well before we were even pregnant let alone aware of our baby's sex, I am fascinated by other people's stories about why they did or did not circumcise their boys. So I was quite interested in "The strange story of my son's circumcision" by Taffy Brodesser-Akner on Salon.com. She writes, "I believe cutting a boy's foreskin is mutilation. So why am I standing here at my child's bris?"

Good question. The quick answer is for religious reasons. But she complicates that answer and I like that. Still, as someone who is not religious and someone who doesn't believe in God, cutting off part of your son's penis because Abraham and his son did is kind of weird. I mean, what if Abraham and son had cut off one of their ears? Fingers? Arms? Would we be doing this today? I kind of doubt it. Brodesser-Akner even admits that it's magical thinking. That by circumcising her son she's asking God to keep him safe. Now if she thought that she could keep her son safe by, say, only wearing orange or never letting water touch her son's body or clapping five times before and after she touched a doorknob we'd call that obsessive compulsive disorder or something. Religion is like a socially accepted psychosis in a way. But psychosis is not always bad. I mean, people with mild OCD can use it to their benefit. I know this from experience. I can pack a mean suitcase, for example. I can fit a ton of stuff in there. Ever since the airlines started charging for extra luggage I've thought about setting up a booth at the airport to repack suitcases for folks who can't fit all of their shit. I could make a killing. But then I'd have to handle the underwear of strangers. And money is only worth so much.

Anyway, while Brodesser-Akner and I obviously have our differences about circumcision, we share a lot of common ground. She writes,

"Becoming a parent is hard. When you glimpse how every piece of you is invested in your children, it is shocking and overwhelming. When I gave birth to my first son, I was struck by the fact that I had spent nine months worried about how he would come out — whether he'd be healthy, whether he'd survive the trip. As I held him in my arms, I realized that though he was born healthy, there were no guarantees. In fact, now that he was outside my body, he was less safe than before. I realized, suddenly and in a cold sweat, that I wouldn't know if this experiment — parenthood, child-rearing, child loving — would work out till I was on my deathbed and I could be assured my children were outliving me. Sure, there are other things that quantify success as a parent, and I hope to meet those goals, too. But I can't help but think that making sure they live long after I've passed is at the top of that list. While I do know that I am not in control of certain things in my sons' future — peer pressure, meningitis, drunken drivers, Justin Bieber's effect on tweens, school shootings, cancer — I do know that I am sometimes overwhelmed, nearly driven mad, when I realize how much is out of my control, how much of their safety is not determined by my actions."

Amen.

Monday, Aug. 23, 2010: Donor party

I just watched this animation of a Story Corp interview between a mother and her son. Do I need to say that it made me cry? No, no I don't need to say that. Though truth be told I watched the Danny and Annie story and video first and that really made me cry so maybe I was just primed for crying when I watched this one. Though I don't think that was it. I remember hearing this interview on NPR one morning and I'm pretty sure I got at least choked up then. The relationship between this little boy and his mom is really awesome and so sweet. Her son has Asperger's, which accounts, in large part, for his frankness, but the way his mother responds to him is very honest and straight forward and her love for her son is so evident.

No doubt Gavin will one day ask me questions that make me uncomfortable and are difficult to answer and I'll be able to respond like this woman does. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm going to say, "Go ask your mother."

Gavin will touch his feet and toes when asked the whereabouts of each. Same with his penis. He's making new connections so quickly now. Every day it's something new. Usually somethings. I realize that I am biased and that if I didn't think this I'd be a jerk, but I really think I have a very intelligent son. I mean, yeah he still tries to eat wood chips and dog food, but all in all he's a pretty advanced dude. His donor seems smart enough and Stacy is super smart. She got a 32 on the ACT, for example. I think I got a 21. Maybe a 23. It was the math that killed me. I like to think that I'm proof that you can still be smart even if you're not smart at everything. Either that or "fake it 'til you make it" is really working out for me. I realize that ACT scores aren't a measure of intelligence, I'm just saying that Gavin has the genes of a smart lady and a good test taker.

Gavin's Granny Marilyn is in town visiting currently. That's Stacy's mom. She is very sweet on him and it's pretty adorable. I can't say I mind people who get all swoony around my son. Actually, I take that back. I can definitely come up with some scenarios where I would mind. My point is that Gavin's granny loves her grandson and that's a good thing. And our friends Anne and Angus came over today. Angus is two days older than Gavin. The boys are too young to actually play with each other, but they do occasionally want the same toy. They are both big dudes. Angus isn't walking yet, though he does love to jump. Gavin is, of course, walking everywhere, even into and onto things. But while Angus was here he did take a few steps on his own much to everyone's surprise and delight. Hopefully we can make another play date with them soon.

A week ago I was listening to Tell Me More on NPR while I folded laundry or something and there was a segment about kids who were conceived via donor sperm. The guests included three women, only one of them with anything positive to say about the issue. That would be Wendy Kramer, founder DonorSiblingRegistry.com where donor offspring can connect with each other and donors can connect with their offspring. Stacy and I are not members of DonorSiblingRegistry.org, though a while back we did look at that site and a few others and found that Gavin technically has half brothers and half sisters out there. And while that's kind of strange in a way, they don't feel like lost siblings. Not to us, anyway. Gavin may feel differently about that when he gets older.

Oh, and we also looked at our sperm bank's Facebook page, which we could become "fans" of, but that seems kind of weird. There people have posted photos of their kids, sometimes with captions like, "Thanks #9986 for your great DNA." I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, I'd love to post Gavin's photo because he is beautiful and I am thankful that our sperm bank exists and that our donor ended up there. And while I do post lots of photos of Gavin on Facebook, I don't feel comfortable exposing him in this way. Not yet, anyway. Who knows, maybe I never will. Of course, I've looked at all of the photos that parents have posted to the page and loved seeing them, eagerly looking to see if anyone gave a shout out to our donor (they didn't). But I'm not there myself. I'm not itching to find out who else has our donor's DNA. For one thing, I'm afraid the number will be really large and freak me out. For another thing, like I said, other kids born with the help of our particular donor don't feel like lost kin or something.

Anyway, back to the Tell Me More story. So Wendy Kramer is on there representing the positive side of donor insemination. She had her son Ryan using donor sperm and is pretty darn happy with him. Then there was Elizabeth Marquardt, author of the study “My Daddy's Name is Donor" who basically said that donor kids are more depressed and have crappy lives than their peers (I am grossly over simplifying an exaggerating her position and I haven't read her study yet. However, on the radio she seemed really anti donor sperm). Then there was a young woman named Alana Stewart who is on a quest to find her donor that has alienated her from her mother and step-father and who is angry and hurt about the whole donor thing. So altogether not a very uplifting show, though I don't think it was very balanced, either. Like I said, I need to read the study. Then I'll get back to you.

So I just Googled our donor's ID# and came across a blog by a woman who is currently trying to get pregnant. She wrote last month that she was using our donor though she didn't know what he looked like (she apparently didn't dish out the extra dough to get his photo. Perhaps she is just not shallow like me. I HAD to know) but she hoped he made cute babies (he does). Then in the next day's post she writes that the clinic called her and said they were out of her first, second, and third donor choices. And I have to admit, my heart missed a beat for a minute there at the thought of our donor being all gone. Even though I really don't feel like I want any more kids, if we did have more, I would want to use the same donor. I checked our sperm bank's website and it says that they have vials of our guy available. But who knows? Calling them might get a different answer. The question is, do I want that answer?

Thursday Aug. 19, 2010: Holy molar

Gavin took his first dump in the yard the other day. I did not witness this event because I was inside, so I am relying on Stacy, who was outside with him during his evening balls out time, for an eye witness account. My first question was, "Did he, like, notice or acknowledge that this was going on?" Nope, according to Stacy. He was just standing at his water table, splashing about when all of a sudden he was soiling our lawn (which hardly deserves to be called a lawn, but it's all we've got). Stacy immediately brought him inside for a bath and then left for dance class.

The question I should have asked, it turns out, was, "Did you clean it up?" Which would have gotten the same response as the first question: Nope. But I did not ask this question. For one thing, it didn't occur to me. I guess I'd just taken it as a given. So when we all headed out to the backyard again the next evening I was momentarily confused by the unknown object on the ground next to Gavin's water table. From afar I thought it might be a pine cone, though we have no pine trees in or near our yard. Upon closer inspection it appeared that a dog considerably larger than our 13 lb. poodle had relieved himself in our yard. But that thought was but a flicker as I soon realized what I was looking at: my son's poop. "Honey, you didn't pick this up?!" I yelled, slightly hysterically but not angrily as Stacy and Gavin emerged from the house. To which, of course, she responded, "I thought you were going to do that." To which I could only respond with complete bewilderment. I mean, it's not that I would have been opposed to be the HazMat team on this one, but
I simply didn't know it was still there. And I'm not sure how or why Stacy thought I would or could know. Clearly there was a communication breakdown somewhere in there. But worry not, it's gone now.

Gavin's molars are coming in and he is super crab-faced about it. Not that I blame him. Poor dude's mouth hurts. But there has definitely been an uptick in the shares of Crabster stock around here for the past few days. We're giving him Tylenol and teething tablets and cold/cool things to chew on (though he totally popped his water-filled foot-shaped teether this afternoon, so that's now trash), and that's really all we can do. You can see the angry little land mines in his gums where teeth will soon explode from. It looks very painful.

Marilyn, Gavin's granny, Stacy's mom, and my mother-in-law (really mother-if-there-was-a-law) is in town from Florida. She'll be staying with us for the next two weeks or so. She is super excited to play with Gavin. I think they'll have a lot of fun together. And hopefully Stacy and I will be able to take advantage of her time here and go on some dates. Tonight we actually do have a date in that there's an orientation meeting for Gavin's day care. Which he starts the 31st. Which is just too, too close. I am in denial. I hope he does okay (in day care, not at the meeting. He isn't invited to the meeting. Sorry, Gavin, grown-ups only. Get used to it for the next 18 years). He hasn't been in day care for so long. He's been home all summer with me and Stacy and is still in major Koala bear clingy mode with Stacy. So I can see the adjustment period maybe being a little rocky. Before he went to day care for the very first time, which was a couple months before I got laid off and started staying home with him full time, I was a nervous wreck. But the orientation meeting helped set my mind at ease. I am hoping that tonight's meeting will have a similar effect. Especially since last night I dreamed there was a terrible shooting at my old elementary school/junior high. Did I mention that his day care is inside an elementary school? Anxiety dream, you think?

Sunday, August 15, 2010: Leaps and bounds

I keep forgetting to mention that Gavin's birthday raised at least $125 for the North American Bear Center. That's three $25 donations from people we know and at least two $25 donations in Gavin's name from folks who are otherwise anonymous. So thanks, everyone, for making our Bear's birthday good for bears.

On Saturday our parent club had a group birthday party for all of the babies since they were all born around the same time (one of the babies, for example, is two days older than Gavin, while there's another who is one hour older than Gavin). Stacy and I are the only same-sex parents in the bunch. This hasn't been an issue at all. In fact, everyone's been nothing but kind and gracious to us. But at the party when the babies were all splashing around in kiddie pools in the backyard (we forgot Gavin's swim trunks but one of the parents was kind enough to give us an extra swim diaper) Stacy went inside to get something leaving me as Gavin's only parent outside. Of course he started crying as if he'd been abandoned. I tried to comfort him by assuring him that Mommy was coming right back, but it didn't really help. It was kind of embarrassing, actually, and made me really self-conscious. As if Gavin was making sure everyone knew I wasn't his real mom. I know this isn't true and that it's totally developmentally appropriate for a one-year-old to prefer one parent over the other and that eventually this will change. But it stings a little, I won't lie.

This past week or so has been full-speed-ahead learning for Gavin. For one thing, Gavin said "diaper" two mornings in a row this week. I was changing him and I said, "We have to change your diaper," and he responded with something that sounded an awful lot like, "Die-pah" that matched the inflection I'd just used. He also said what Stacy thinks is "glasses," because every morning after he nurses she lets him play with her glasses case, which he always takes from the nightstand next to the bed. I am sad to report that the glasses case broke this morning. It no longer stays shut and just flops open at the hinges. Perhaps it was just hanging on long enough to hear Gavin say its name. Or part of its name, anyway. "Dog" is still, by far, his favorite word.

Today I handed Gavin a postcard for some business that was on the couch and I said, "Can you give this to Mommy?" Stacy was sitting on the other side of the living room (this room is really small, so saying "other side of the room" is really misleading as far as distance goes, but he did have to walk 5 steps or so). I pointed at her and for the first time he just turned around and walked over holding the card out to her. I had him do it again this evening with a tiny twig he'd snapped off of a clematis in the back yard. I didn't want him to have it so I suggested he give it to Stacy. And sure enough he went trucking over to her with a big smile on his face presenting his gift.

I also learned tonight that he knows the word "penis" because he was having more balls-out playtime in the yard and, with the help of the garden hose (from which he drinks and practically water boards himself), he'd made a bit of a muddy mess on the patio. That muddy mess inevitably transferred to various parts of his body, including his penis. I looked at him and said, "You have dirt everywhere! Even your penis," and he looked at me and then grabbed himself and looked down. I thought that might have been a coincidence since, truth be told, he's a hands-on kind of guy, so I said it again a short time later and got the same result. The same is true for his toes. Over the past two days in the car I've said something to him about his toes. Often I can see his feet in the baby rearview mirror. He's often shoeless in the car so I'll say something like, "I see toes," and the last few times I did this he grabbed at his toes.

Also today he fished one of his sandals out of his diaper bag, brought it over to Stacy and, while seated, lifted his foot like he wanted her to put it on. Aunt Laura retrieved his other sandal out of the diaper bag and he took that one to Stacy, too, trying to lift one leg off the ground while he was still standing. Less steady than the previous method, but he got the point across.

Speaking of Aunt Laura, she came over the morning right as he was getting up from his morning nap. Stacy brought him into the hallway in his teddy bear sleep sack and when he saw Laura he smiled, then he reached for her. She lifted him from Stacy's arms and Gavin wrapped his arms around Laura's neck and nuzzled his head in for a hug. It was adorable. He's still in the (developmentally appropriate, I know) stage where he prefers Stacy, but here he was giving his aunt a very deliberate hug, which required physical removal from Stacy. Maybe Laura's hair gel, which left Gavin smelling faintly of patchouli (it was actually, I believe, Aveda), contains some kind of baby pheromones. And if so, I should start using it.

If you give him a comb or brush he attempts to comb or brush his hair. He really likes the little orange and white baby brush and comb that came with one of his grooming kits, but he'll use mine, too. Sometimes he holds the brush from the bristle end or uses it backwards so that the back of the brush or comb is sliding along his head instead of actually combing/brushing his hair. But he has the right idea.

Sippy cups are no longer a problem. He has two different kinds. One you have to tip up to get water and one you have to not tip up to get water since it has a straw. He now has the hang of both kinds and when he isn't flinging them off of his highchair tray (one of Henri's least favorite Gavin predilections), he drinks like an H2Oholic.

The hose in the backyard is another favorite drinking water source. This evening he drank so much water from the hose I'm surprised his diaper didn't explode in the middle of the night. It is not his most graceful hydration method. Most of the time it's pretty much like he's waterboarding himself.

If you tell Gavin to go get a book of of his bookshelf he does and then he'll bring it to you to read to him. He's also started putting books back on his shelf on his own accord and toys back in his toy bins. This is not consistent, however, and he's still very adept at trashing our house (today Laura tripped over the salad spinner bowl, which was in the middle of the living room because obviously Stacy and I keep it there). But this picking up thing is definitely a good start.

Stacy and I tried to make a list of words we're sure he knows even if he doesn't say most of them yet. We've come up with: dog, cat (he imitates the cat's meow. He also is the cat's meow, obviously), mama, Mommy, Mama D, diaper, penis, toes, glasses, milk, book, monkey, kiss, Henri, meow, bucket (he loves buckets. Seriously loves them), no (though he doesn't always heed this directive you can tell he understands because he looks at you and gets this certain facial expression that's a cross between shy and smirking. And then he'll usually go ahead and do whatever it is he was going to do in the first place unless he's physically removed from the situation), come here, Gavin, drink, and more that I can't think of right now.

Oh, and this is super depressing.

Thursday Aug. 12, 2010: Parenting sucks

A friend of mine sent me this article from New York magazine called "All Joy and No Fun: Why parents hate parenting" by Jennifer Senior. She said that she especially liked the quote from "an unnamed male psychologist" who said, "[Children are] a huge source of joy, but they turn every other source of joy to shit.” While this might seem to be terribly cynical thing to say, it is, to a certain extent, true.

I should mention that the friend who sent the article is one of the best mothers I know. Whenever I visit her and her kids I take notes and I am a better parent for it.

So, does parenting suck? Well, yes. And no. I mean, sometimes it's wonderful. Other times it makes you want to start drinking. Heavily. One of the things the article focuses on is the myth that having children makes you happy. It does not. In fact, there are apparently a lot of studies out there showing that people with kids are actually less happy than people without kids. Of course, "happy" is a relative term and much depends on how it's defined. But parents typically report being more stressed and anxious than non-parents.

In other words, “The broad message is not that children make you less happy; it’s just that children don’t make you more happy,” economist Andrew Oswald says. And having more than one? “Then the studies show a more negative impact,” he says. Yikes. Certainly helps bolster my argument for having only one.

If your life sucks before you have kids, then your life will suck after you have kids. Only it'll suck more because now, well, you have kids. And kids take a tremendous amount of time, attention, energy (physical and emotional), patience, love, etc. Things that sucky lives are probably in short supply of.

So having a baby in order to "revive" or "save" a crappy marriage is a really, really bad idea. "This is the brutal reality about children," Senior writes, "they’re such powerful stressors that small perforations in relationships can turn into deep fault lines." Even good marriages have problems, and having kids completely exacerbates whatever issues exist. Each person needs so much more from their partners when they have kids. It's easy to feel overwhelmed and resentful that the other parent isn't "doing enough." I am extremely fortunate to have Stacy as my wife and co-parent and am grateful for all that she does. I am also thankful that we have the kind of relationship where we actually talk to each other and are honest. Having Gavin, as much as we love him (and we love him so), has definitely put stress on our relationship. For one thing, adding a third person to the mix -- and an extremely needy person at that -- automatically means we have less time for each other. Marriage is a full time job. As is keeping a house. And, well, having a full time job. When you add the full time job of having a baby to the list, it's pretty much a given that you'll be phoning it in at your other jobs for a while. Babies are all consuming like that.

Senior also mentions a Danish study that found people with kids to be happier. The researcher who did the study noticed "that countries with stronger welfare systems produce more children -- and happier parents." It doesn't take a genius to figure out why that is. Senior writes, "If you are no longer fretting about spending too little time with your children after they’re born (because you have a year of paid maternity leave), if you’re no longer anxious about finding affordable child care once you go back to work (because the state subsidizes it), if you’re no longer wondering how to pay for your children’s education and health care (because they’re free) -- well, it stands to reason that your own mental health would improve." Why, yes. Yes it would. But that's Socialism and Socialism is evil because... um, why exactly? Because of how everyone loves this country's for-profit daycare system -- where you pay a lot of money to have your kids cared for by people who typically make shit wages -- so much?

After reading this I pretty much feel like we need a parent revolution in this country. “We’ve put all this energy into being perfect parents,” says Judith Warner, “instead of political change that would make family life better.” Parenting can be pretty insular -- it's hard to see outside of your own experience with your own child. Which is why so many parents beat themselves up for not being "perfect" even though the system is set up to not only prevent perfection, but to increase anxiety and worry and exhaustion. The very things that make parents unhappy.

Speaking of insular, I took Gavin to the grocery store today with his Aunt Laura. That was our big outing. I bought more corn on the cob not knowing that we already had corn on the cob at home. I thought we'd eaten it all. But since I was with Gavin when we passed by the corn I thought about how much he loves it and how adorable it is to see him eating corn on the cob just like a regular person. So my intentions were good. Though I think we're all going to get sick of corn pretty soon.

This evening Gavin had more "balls out" time in the back yard. It was really hot today so we had the sprinkler set up and I got out this little play tent I had originally bought for his birthday party, but since it rained I didn't bust it out. And "bust it out" is definitely the right term because once I'd unfolded the damn thing there was no going back. It comes with instructions on how to fold it up again, but they are pictorial with a line drawing of a perfectly calm man folding the tent without hassle or problem. Arrows are also included, presumably for direction, though they really should be aimed at the man's head or, better, shot through his heart. Still, Gavin had fun in his tent, especially when I played peek-a-boo with him, popping my head up in front of the windows or from the opening in the top (it's a play tent, not a camping tent, after all). I got an adorable photo of him standing in the tent, only his little bare butt visible through the door. Thankfully he didn't pee in the tent. And Henri didn't pee on it. So that's a win at least.

Wednesday Aug. 11, 2010: The guy is crying

Gavin is crying. He's been asleep for over two hours and now, for some reason, he is crying. It's a sad, sleepy cry, low in register but high in anxiety provocation. For me, anyway. And for Stacy. She just went in to soothe him, but not before asking me what we should do. Usually we'd let him cry much longer in hopes that he would put himself back to bed. Maybe it's because this cry sounds especially sad and because he hasn't woken up crying at night in a long time, but both of us had the desire to go to him and make all better whatever it is that is ailing him. Which is, of course, the trick of the whole thing. I don't know why he's crying, so it's hard to fix it. If he had a bad dream or something a little soothing is probably all he needs. But it could be teething. Or a full diaper. Or he could be too cold. Or too hot. Or he could've heard something loud outside his window. Or he could have woken himself up by jerking in his sleep, which is something I do. I don't know if he does. But that's the point: I don't know what the problem is. If only he could talk. Or if only the problem had something to do with a dog since "dog" is his favorite word. It's really the only one he says right now. He's said "mama" in the past but "dog" is the end all be all in words right now. The most likely scenario is that he's simply having trouble sleeping. He woke up and he doesn't want to be awake. But instead of tossing and turning, or moving to the couch, or taking a Seconal, or turning on the TV to be lulled by ShamWow ads, he cries. Because it's the only trick he's got in his sleeping arsenal. That and thumbsucking. Not exactly a stacked defense. Sometimes a guy just needs a little help.

Stacy just emerged from Gavin's room and instead of a sad, low cry, we now have a screaming, hysterical baby. Awesome. "I just made it worse," she said. "I was afraid of that," I told her. "Me, too," she said. "Then why did you do it?" I asked. "Because it might have made things better," she said. Such is our thought process. Poor, unhappy dude. I am willing to bet that had I gone in there he'd now be sleeping like a baby. Not because I'm better than Stacy at soothing. It's just that he would not have been devastated to see me go. He's still Mommy all the time. Sure, I get some love, but usually only when Stacy's not around. She's his first choice. I comfort myself by saying that it's all about the boobs. That it's not personal, it's just that if given a choice he wants to stick close by the mom with the open bar. Who wouldn't?

He's been crying for over 15 minutes now, and I want to go in there and soothe him but Stacy says I shouldn't because he's winding down. And while it's true there are intermittent periods of silence, there's an awful sad racket in between.

We've been giving Gavin what we call "balls out time" in the yard after dinner. He gets to run around nekkid in the back yard and play in the sprinkler or with his water table or drink from the hose or pee on things. Anything goes. Watching him pee outside is fascinating. For one thing, he doesn't ever see himself pee since he's always in a diaper. So the first couple of times it has happened outside he's looked down at his penis with this look like, "Woah, what's happening?" It's pretty much the most adorable thing ever. The first time he did it my sister and her dog Charlie were over and both Henri and Charlie inspected Gavin's puddle and proceeded to make their own on top of it. So I guess that's Gavin's first pissing contest. We're very proud.

We took him to Kiddie Klub again today. Our second time there. We met up with our friends Anne and Angus there. Angus is two days older than Gavin. Both are on the big side, tall strong dudes, which means they are suited wrestling partners. It was Angus and Gavin's first play date and I hope we get to do more. It's nice for Gavin to have another one-year-old to play with that I don't have to worry about him crushing Hulk-style. Both boys had a good time, I think, though Gavin is walking more than Angus and kept rudely running off leaving Angus to play with his mom. I don't think that Angus minded much, though. I'm sure he prefers his mom to Gavin anyway. As it should be. Though chances are that Gavin prefers Angus to me. Alas. I'm kidding. Gavin loves me. Although I am rebuffed at times I am not quite that insecure. Yet.

Right now I do not hear a baby crying. Could it be? Could he have gone back to sleep? Can I actually go to sleep now myself? For some reason I can't sleep when Gavin's crying. Go figure. But I am tired. And it is quiet. For now, any way.

Sunday, August 8, 2010: Gimmie an I, gimmie a V, gimmie an F!

Our friend Beth from Washington D.C. left today after an all too brief weekend visit. Another new person for Gavin to meet. She bravely slept on our couch even though we warned her that Gavin gets up very early. My mom liked to say, "Children get up before God," whatever that means. But Gavin is an early riser and, from what I can tell, Beth is not. But she was a good sport about it and having her here was really nice because we don't get to see her nearly often enough and we miss her.

We took Gavin to the Detroit Zoo yesterday where he saw camel dogs, pig dogs, horse dogs, and donkey dogs. Everything is a dog to him right now. It's his favorite word. In fact, the other day when I went to get him up from his nap, Henri followed me into his room and Gavin, who is usually super happy to see one of his moms upon waking up, looked right past me and said, "Dog!" Now, when he says dog it is a very deep, throaty drawn out kind of utterance that is really not reproducible here but communicates to the world that he really, really likes dogs. It actually makes him sound a little bit insane. Adorable, but insane.

Laura and Jamie went to the zoo with us. Gavin is pretty much in love with Jamie. I don't think there's anyone else he gets so happy and excited to see besides me and Stacy. It's pretty adorable, especially since Jamie really didn't know what to make of him when he was a little baby. Not that she didn't like him or anything, just that she's not used to being around baby babies. But now that Gavin's more rough and tumble I think she's more comfortable, which is good, otherwise Gavin's affection might come across as harassment.

So Elizabeth Comeau, the very first baby born in the U.S. via in vitro fertilization, now has a baby of her own. So, like, hooray, her uterus works and stuff.

It's so weird to think that IVF used to be illegal and that the first IVF baby born in the U.S. happened in 1981. That is so not long ago. I was around three years old at the time, so the hype over "test-tube babies" was lost one me. I certainly have heard this term over the years but I never really knew what it meant. I pictured a baby being grown in a petri dish on a counter in a stark white laboratory just like cultivated bacteria samples or whatever. All I knew was that "test tube baby" was clearly a pejorative term (Comeau says she "hates" the term herself).

It wasn't until Stacy and I were staring down the very real possibility of IVF after a good number of unsuccessful IUIs that I really connected IVF with "test-tube babies." Still, I don't think of Gavin as a "test-tube baby." In fact, I vaguely remember Stacy making a comment about how we were going to have a test-tube baby and I was all, "No we're not, don't say that," no doubt trying to distance myself from the pejorative nature of the term while at the same time trying to not totally freak out about this space-age baby making journey we were about to embark on. I mean, conceiving a baby the "normal" way is mystifying enough. But when it involves surgical masks, needles, paper shoe covers, blastocysts, and out-patient surgery it certainly can feel like science fiction. Which is why the fact that the first IVF baby has had her own baby (conceived penis-vagina style) is kind of blowing people's minds. I mean, really, the "story" is that a lady had a baby. Not exactly news. It happens all of the time. But IVF was controversial in 1981 and in some circles it still is (Hi, Pope! Hi, stem-cell research). And it certainly seems like doubt persists about whether or not Comeau is actually a normal human being capable of doing normal human being things like getting knocked up and birthing babies. Of course we know now that IVF babies are real and normal but this story wouldn't be a story unless there was some lingering doubt about that.

August 4, 2010: Sap Mama

I just finished watching City of God with Stacy and I'd like to say, first of all, that this is duh and obviously the best cuddle up on the couch and have some popcorn with your wife movie ever. Super romantic. That is, if you think kids shooting each other in the slums of Rio de Janeiro in the 80s is romantic. Different strokes for different folks and all.

In all seriousness, City of God was really disturbing, super violent, and well done. But the scene where the kid has to choose which one to kill between two smaller kids was especially hard to watch. The youngest kid looked a lot like Gavin. Actually, he didn't look anything like Gavin, but he reminded me of Gavin. He was essentially a baby. With a gun aimed at his head. Jesus. I am going to have nightmares for sure.

On the way home this evening I stopped at Whole Foods today and bought baby cereal (hey! Great segue. Very smooth. Good use of transitions. #1 college writing teacher ever, thank you very much) and on the way home I realized it was later than I thought and I had this sudden panicked feeling that Stacy was going to put Gavin to bed before I would get to see him and kiss him goodnight. I thought about what it feels like to kiss his baby cheeks (soft, smooth, padded. Basically made for kissing) and it suddenly dawned on me that he is growing so fast and changing so fast. Not that I didn't realize that before (and "suddenly dawned on me" is cliché and lazy writing, but I'm tired). It's just that I'd never really thought of it in terms of what you don't get back, if that makes sense. It's the first time that I can recall mourning his babyhood. Not that I subconsciously his babyhood or anything, but I'd never really thought about Gavin growing up in terms of loss. I did say to my sister the other day that I was kissing Gavin's ear and thought, "There will come a day when I will never kiss these earlobes again." She more or less said, "Um, hopefully there will come a day when you don't want to" and looked at me in a way that implied, "You sicko."

And no, none of this makes me want another baby. It's not about babies in general. It's about Gavin. Even if we had another baby that wouldn't stop these feelings about Gavin. Though I might be too busy to notice them. Which would be sad.

Today's adventure involved driving Aunt Laura to work, and since she works at the Detroit Science Center and since Gavin and I were in search of something to do together today while Stacy was at work, guess where we went? Okay, don't strain yourself. We went to the DSC. Kids Town, specifically. It was a lot of fun. The first thing he did when we got there was make a beeline to a wooden push-em-ride-em fire truck that, in fact, was already being used by another Kids Town patron. Her name was Piper and it was her first birthday today. She was very tiny compared to Gavin. Her mom (I'm assuming it was her mom) was filming her every move and since many of those moves included Gavin (she stuck her fingers in his mouth at one point), my son is on film and years from now when her parents show her this video she'll say, "Who is that giant boy trying to commandeer the firetruck?" And they'll say, "We don't know, Honey. That was so long ago." And then hopefully they'll remark about how indescribably handsome he was then and how handsome he probably is now (and by "now" I obviously mean the future. Keep up).

Gavin is really into reality based playing right now. He is very interested in how things fit together. How you can put one object inside another (like this evening in the bathtub when he figured out that you could fill the cup with the wet washcloth). He wants to climb on top of stuff. He wants to pull everything out of the cupboards and drawers. He wants to move things around the room. If he can push it like a lawnmower then even better. Yesterday we went to the community center with his Aunt Amanda and in the play area there's a pretend Dirt Devil vacuum. Gavin loved it. He pushed the thing all over that place. If it actually picked up dirt I would buy him one in a heart beat. Why shouldn't he multitask playing with light chores? At Kids Town there's a room with apple trees painted on the walls and wooden apples attached with magnets that kids can pick and put in baskets. Gavin spent most of his time taking apples off the wall and putting them into one of the baskets and then transferring the apples from that bucket to the other bucket. If you don't have kids this might sounds like something really boring to watch, but I was totally enthralled. Sure, it sounds simple, but this is but one example of how he's learning to manipulate his world. You could almost hear the gears turning in his brain. So many things that we take for granted today, like walking and talking, were things that we had to learn and that we worked so hard on with all of our baby might. And there was Gavin doing just that, learning before my eyes. I didn't interact or intrude, just sat back and watched. It was a definite Gavin the Earth Scientist moment. And after awhile when he was done playing he walked toward me and wrapped his arms around my neck. It was so sweet. Maybe that's why this evening I felt like everything depended on me getting home to see him, to not waste this time that's going by so fast.

Woah, Ms. Serious Pants. Where are the jokes about poo and Elmo (not necessarily together, though certainly not far removed from each other in terms of awfulness)? Sorry. Here. Stacy stumbled upon this the other night. It would be much better titled "The Toddler Manifesto."