Week 23 Day 3: Rock out with your [socks off]

My pregnant neighbor is outside smoking, absentmindedly rubbing her belly. They're having a girl. Due really soon. They must be so excited.

Speaking of excited, the best thing to happen all day was getting this photo of my son rocking out in his stroller. Brad, the man behind Baby 2 Momz, made it for us. I plan to have it blown up and framed. I'm not going to lie, I'd love it if Gavin became an ax-man. Laura wants him to be a drummer, but I'm hoping he'll pick up the guitar even if that does mean an inevitable annoying obsession with Jimi Hendrix during his adolescence.

Speaking of annoying (I'm going to try to use this segue as much as possible), one of Gavin's new party tricks is to try to pull his bib off while I'm feeding him. I am not sure what his objection is, but he is certainly quite adamant about it. Some of his bibs have snap or Velcro closures and he can tear those off Hulk Hogan style, but he also has some over the head bibs that he can't and boy does this piss him off. As you can imagine, trying to feed a child who has either flipped his bib over his face or has his hands and arms a-flailing in front of his face in a desperate attempt to escape from bib hell is next to impossible. The probability of him bumping the spoon with his hand and then rubbing said food into his eyes is very high. I try to be as patient as possible, tucking his bib back down, gently taking his hands away from his face so I can get a spoon in there. But it's hard. I've explained to him that there are some non-negotiable items in his life and that this was one of them. And I've told him that these items apply to all people in the house, not just him. It's just that he's usually the only one impacted by these items. They include, "When you have poop in your pants you have to change your pants" and "When you have food on your face and hands you have to wash your face and hands." It's only logical that people who get lots of food on their hands and faces every time they eat have to wear a bib. Someone suggested just feeding him in his diaper and I have done that before on a really hot day. Unfortunately he was eating some weird Japanese green Stacy had pureed up for him and it stained his chest green. Going bibless also exposes his high chair straps to food contact and those things aren't easy to take out and clean. I think it might be time for a painter's smock. Something that he can't tear his way out of so easily.

Gavin needs more kids his age to play with when we go to the community center. He's at that age where toys become infinitely more desirable if another child is playing with them. So Gavin did a lot of toy snatching today at Kids Zone and the kids were old enough to know that that wasn't cool and they didn't care that he was just a baby, they were playing with that T-Rex figure first and they'll be damned if some little bald boy who can't even walk yet is going to take it and put it in his mouth. Fair enough. There was one little girl there, probably about 4-years-old, who Gavin was managing to really piss off. Not only did he try to snatch her T-Rex, he then tried to use her to pull himself to a standing position, which meant grabbing onto her jacket and yanking. She did not like this, either. Mind you, I stopped him very quickly. I even nipped the T-Rex heist in the bud. But there's only so much I can do. I think it's safe to say that Gavin probably extinguished any future dating possibilities with this girl.

While we were playing a woman walked in with two kids and made a bee-line toward me with a look on her face that said, "Hey, I know you!" But I didn't recognize her at all. But then she asked if I knew her husband Steve and it all became clear to me. She is a friend of a friend and someone I haven't seen for several years. But we got to talking and she's pretty cool and now we're Facebook friends so it's official. I should mention that Gavin tried to pick pocket her, lifting her cell phone right out of her pocket, and yet she still had nothing but nice things to say about him. Her three-year-old son is so, so cute. I don't exactly want Gavin to hurry up and turn three or anything, but seeing a her son made me excited about when Gavin will be that age and how he might be.

So I have a new favorite blog now and I am sharing it with you even though you will undoubtably drop my blog like a pile of hot rocks as soon as you read it. Mimi Smartypants will be your go-to gal for funny musings about parenting and the odd ephemera of life from now on. I understand. I've been left for worse.

Week 23 Day 2: "Uncle" Jamie

Uncle Jamie came over today and joined Gavin and I for a brief foray into the yard. She also brought me some of the new cupcake flavored Fruity Pebbles, which is what I ate for lunch. I have been looking for them ever since they came out and have not been able to get my hands on a box. It was an emergency that I try them. And now I have. And now I can go on. They aren't all that, any way.

Just to clarify things for everyone, "Uncle" Jamie is a girl. Well, she's probably too old to be considered a girl, but calling her a woman sounds way too 5th grade "our changing bodies" filmstrip (sorry, Jamie). We call her "Uncle Jamie" because my sister Laura signed their Christmas card to us "Aunt Laura and Uncle Jamie" as a joke and that has just kind of stuck. Since Jamie is Laura's girlfriend her relationship to Gavin isn't as immediately clear as Laura's, so calling her "Aunt Jamie" felt premature and yet Uncle Jamie works fine for us. My best friend's mother saw a photo of Gavin posing with Jamie and Laura on Facebook and was very confused by the whole Uncle Jamie thing. She even went so far as to ask my friend if Laura's girlfriend was a tranny (she didn't use those words. She was much more reserved and tasteful, but that's not my style). It had not occurred to me that anyone would come to that conclusion, but Jamie is a unisex name (kind of) and Jamie doesn't exactly dress in pink taffeta and sequins. Neither do I for that matter. Not that there would be anything wrong with that. With Jamie wearing taffeta, I mean. Or if Jamie was a trans-boi or whatever kids are calling it these days.

I neglected to mention yesterday that on our walk yesterday - you know, the one where we saw camels - Stacy and I had a pretty in depth discussion about whether or not we want to have a second baby. Her answer is unequivocally yes. Mine is a barely equivocal no. Probably this means that Stacy is a real woman and I am not since women are supposed to want babies, babies, babies. Stacy and I aren't necessarily in direct opposition, however. If I'm not 100% on board then she wouldn't want to do it. Having Gavin was a must for her. If I would have said that I didn't want any children she would have left me and found someone who did. But having a sibling for Gavin is not a deal breaker for her. So. That's where we're at. There's a possibility I could change my mind (not a huge one, but it's there). There is really no possibility that Stacy will change her mind. You know how women are. Once they get their heart set on something... To be continued for sure.

Week 23 Day 1: Two mommies, yes

Gavin took and a half steps on Saturday. This is a new record. He did them in little bursts. Four quick steps. Pause. Four more. Pause. Like in the middle of walking three feet toward me he was all, "Hmm, where was I going again?" Then one and a half as he fell into me. It was very exciting. And terrifying, of course. But as the song goes, "Baby, he was born to walk."

Speaking of steps, we've fallen a few steps back when it comes to putting Gavin to bed, and so we're going through sleep training hell again, albeit on a much smaller level. There's just been a lot of crying at bed time. He doesn't like it when we stop rocking him and put him in his bed. He'd rather us just hold him, thank you very much. But he's a giant dude, and our backs can only take so much. So we're having to let him cry it out a bit each time he goes to sleep. Thankfully it's tapering off. Each time there is less crying. I am not worried (Stacy is a little bit).

I've been sent several links today to stories about a studying finding that kids of lesbian parents are better off than the sad offspring of heteros. According to CNN, "Children from lesbian families rated higher in social, academic and total competence. They also showed lower rates in social, rule-breaking, aggressive problem behavior." Now why would that be? Well, some of the theories are that lesbians don't typically have kids by accident and since their pregnancies are planned they are typically older and more prepared mentally, emotionally, and financially to have a kid.

It's interesting, too, that this particular study started in 1986, which means it tracked lesbian parents for the past 24 years. Things may not be where we want them, but 24 years is an eon in terms of the gay rights movement. And yet this study found that discrimination or other kids being assholes about the whole two mom thing didn't really negatively impacted them. The kids of lesbian parents still come out ahead of their hetero-raised peers. Considering that's what I've been most worried about -- how Gavin will weather the assholism of other kids as he gets older -- this makes me hopeful that over the next 24 years kids won't care or notice so much because having two moms won't be so unusual or taboo any more.

Mind you, I haven't read the study or anything, so I don't know how well designed it was or how accurate its measures, but I still find the whole thing very heartening. There are plenty of folks out there who think that homos need to stay as far away from children as possible and that two women raising children together is an affront to God or whatever. This kind of thinking is in large part why I can't be a legal parent to my own son in the state of Michigan (and in many other states). In the CNN story about the study they quote Wendy Wright, president of the Concerned Women for America, a group that is very far-right and outspokenly anti-gay. She trots out the whole "a kid needs a mother and a father or he/she will be fucked up for life" line. This isn't necessarily true, of course. I mean, sure, there are kids out there with great opposite sex parents who love each other and love their kids. But there are plenty of kids out there with a mother and a father who are assholes. What a kid needs is loving parents who are doing their best. Gavin is lucky because he has that. So what if one of us doesn't have a penis?

I have to admit, though, before we had Gavin there was a little doubt in my mind about having a boy. Granted, there was doubt in my mind about having a girl, too. But at least with a girl we didn't have to make day-one decisions about her genitals. Before we knew we were having a boy -- hell, before we were even pregnant -- I became obsessed with penises. Specifically my potential unborn son's penis. I asked everyone I could think of about their opinions, especially guys I knew. No surprise, people have very strong opinions about this subject. I was always leaning toward not circumcising, but I agonized over whether or not that was the right decision. But the more research I did, the more confident I became that not cutting his little baby penis was the right one. But I definitely had nightmares of my teenage son lamenting that his lesbian moms (read: opposite of penis experts) ruined his life by making the wrong decision about his junk. I am not so worried about this now, though. I'm sure he'll find other, better reasons to claim we ruined his life. Just like any other teenager with any other parents, gay or no.

Week 22 Day 5: Funeral arrangements

Gavin did not end up going to the funeral service. He used up his morning nap time crying and by the time we would have needed to leave for the funeral he and Stacy were both quite frazzled. Needless to say, the idea of trying to get Gavin to sit quietly through an Episcopal church service had seemed challenging enough before he pulled his no-nap baby stunt. Not that I can blame him. When I was a kid I hated going to church and would do just about anything to get out of it. Still, it would have been nice to have Stacy there next to me.

In the program (is that what it's called?) there was a bio of my grandpa that listed his hobbies and worklife and info about his family. The second to last sentence was, "He recently was blessed with a great grandson, Gavin." I like this very much.

Stacy and Gavin did come to the luncheon afterward, which was also at the church. After the service everyone was so sad and lot of people were crying and though I didn't cry very much it was still sad times all around. So when I saw Gavin and Stacy I really lit up. I was actually in another part of the church trying to call her because I didn't think she'd come and when I finally gave up and went over to where I'd left my family there they were. A miracle, indeed.

Gavin was adorable and served to make people smile just like he did at the viewing. Stacy had him dressed in his navy blue dress pants and a navy blue plaid button down shirt. He looked very sharp. Unfortunately, while I was eating lunch with him on my lap he peed his pants. This shouldn't have been a problem since he pees his pants all day long, but for some reason there was a wardrobe malfunction that resulted in damp pants on his part. I didn't notice at first and at one point I handed him over to Stacy and a couple minutes later felt like the front of my pants were a little damp. Sure enough there was pee on my pants and it wasn't mine. Pee that wasn't mine was also now on Stacy's skirt. Thankfully Stacy and I did not have sartorial casualties as a result, but Gavin needed a costume and a diaper change stat. Unfortunately, the only auxiliary pants we had for him to change into was a pair of grey sweatpants. Classy. Totally the look we were going for. Later my mom was showing him off to friends and relatives and I totally wanted to butt in and say, "We did not dress him in sweatpants for a funeral. He peed through his slacks. These are his emergency pants." I somehow managed to refrain.

After the lunch Stacy took Gavin home and I went with my sisters to the cemetery where there was a military honors service for both my grandpa and my grandma. She died in 2004 and for whatever reason there wasn't a military service then even though she was in the Navy. Grandpa was a marine. Even though I am a peacenik, the whole thing was very moving. And thankfully the marines and the naval officers present only had to fold their flags once. At my Grandpa Mitch's funeral years ago the two officers folded the flag and unfolded it and folded it again so many times that it took awhile before I realized that they weren't enacting some kind of OCD military ritual, they were messing it up. In fact, while they did finally present the flag to my aunt, they went up to her after the funeral and asked if they could please fold it again because they did not feel it had yet been done right. For all I know they ended up being there all night.

After the funeral we went to my grandpa's house where the family gathered and many people drank. Gavin and Stacy joined me once again and Gavin repeated his one-man cuteness show. He is a consummate professional. Granted, he has an early bedtime so we couldn't stay late, but by then I was exhausted myself. And I expect to be exhausted for quite some time.

Week 22 Day 4: Good Bear ambassador

Today was Gavin's first ever funeral. Or part one of a funeral, I guess. My grandpa's actual funeral is tomorrow. Today was the viewing. Gavin was a very good boy. I think the informal nature of a viewing helped a lot since we could let him crawl around a little bit -- not near the casket or anything, of course. But in the basement of the funeral home there is a little lounge area where we played ball with him and hung out with my sisters. The picture of Gavin and Grandpa that I took last month was blown up to an 8x10 and put among the other photos of Grandpa. I am glad there were so many pictures of him there because the body in the casket didn't look like him at all. I realize that once I'm dead I don't have any control over the situation, but I really, really, really do not want to have a viewing. I do not want to be embalmed, slathered in face-putty, and put on display. So Gavin, if you're reading this years down the line, please take note.

The fact that I have a baby is a little weird to some of my extended family, I think. The gay thing is not their favorite either, though, so this just compounds that. But no one was rude or hostile or anything. Gavin is really cute no matter what you think of his two-mommy family so he's a pretty good ambassador for the homosexual lifestyle. Ha. I kid. But seriously, he is an ambassador of good will that crosses ideological lines. Having him there was a good tension breaker, too, because he's just so full of life and so happy. It helped my mom and my Aunt Bunny to get some Gavin hugs. And my sisters, too. He was ooohed and ahhhed over by a lot of old ladies, as well. At one point my mom was holding him and one woman asked how old he was. I said, "Ten months," and she said, "Are you the mother?" and I pointed at Stacy who was standing on the other side of my mom and said, "We both are." She said, "Oh, okay," in a that-is-slightly-surprising-but-not-at-all-shocking-I'm-totally-hip-to-these-things-it-is-the-90's-after-all kind of way.

There are insane monkey sounds coming from Gavin's playpen right now. Mind you, Gavin is asleep in his room and his playpen is out here in the living room. He has this zoo animals sound puzzle that is, I do believe, possessed. When you take a piece out and put it back in you hear the sound of the animal. The elephant makes an elephant sound, the lion roars, etc. The monkey makes the most insane screeching sound I have ever heard, as does the zebra for that matter. The problem with the puzzle is that you don't have to put the pieces back in place for it to emit animal sounds. If the pieces are left out of the puzzle, which they often are since Gavin's not really great about cleaning up after himself unlike most 10-month-olds, the sounds fire randomly seemingly triggered by nothing. I've noticed that sometimes I'll hear a crazy zebra hoot when I turn off the lights, for example, or parrot sounds when I walk by the puzzle on the floor. At times you don't have to do anything at all. Like right now, all I'm doing is sitting here. But that doesn't stop the animals from randomly yammering. Definitely not a toy you want to keep in your kid's room at night.

Tomorrow is the funeral, at a church then the cemetary. I am not looking forward to it. Hopefully Gavin will make everything more bearable once again.

Week 22 Day 3: Cat scratch fever

I just went in to Gavin's room to check on him and soothe him back to sleep because he woke up crying several hours after his 7 p.m. bed time. He was standing up, holding onto the crib railing and wailing, which is not unusual, except he was holding on to the railing on the wrong side of the crib, facing the wall rather than facing out into his room. According to Stacy he has done this before, but I have never seen it. He's just so tired and so disorientated and unhappy he doesn't know which way is up. He just wants a mom to come help him fix it. And it made my heart break a little bit seeing him like that. Poor dude. He is sleeping again and hopefully will sleep through until morning. And by morning I have my fingers crossed for 6 a.m. or later. These 5 a.m. mornings are killing me.

Today was a bloody day for Bear, I'm afraid. The cat and I are to blame for two separate incidents. Although I had an elephant as my accomplice (isn't that always the case?).

Jota (a.k.a. Jasper) is a really good cat as far as cats go. People are always telling us how good natured and mellow he is. And it's true. (He's also rotund, but that's beside the point here.) The problem is that even though he's a nice cat, he also has all of his claws. We trim them often (he's very good about this, even purring as we do it), but they're still claws. Gavin and Jota get along well. Gavin is obsessed with Jota and Jota tolerates Gavin's over-exuberant attention and even invites it. But sometimes you don't want your ears pulled or two little doughy fists grabbing hold of your furry stomach pudge and squeezing with all of their 10-month-old might (and that's actually a lot of might. Gavin is strong. Bear is a very apt nickname). And since Jota can't say, "Knock it off," most of the time he just removes himself from the situation, but he sometimes resorts to his claws or jaws, though even in the case I am currently reporting, never in eviscerate mode.

Today Jota was especially comfortable curled up on the make-out chair in the living room (called the "make-out chair" because Henri, who has issues of his own, is not allowed on the couch when people are sitting on it, but he is allowed to share the chair with a person, though it should be noted that no one makes out with the dog in this house, unless you count Henri tongue-kissing Gavin). So this morning when Gavin crawled over to the chair and pulled himself up and proceeded to pull fur or tug ears or whatever it is he did, Jota chose the "fight" side of the fight or flight quandary and pulled a total Freddy Krueger, scratching Gavin on both sides of his head from behind his ears to his temples.

Now I was sitting right there in the living room, but it all happened so fast and was partially obscured by the playpen. So I heard Gavin start to cry and whisked him away from the cat thinking that Jota had scratched his hand. Jota has scratched Gavin's hands multiple times because Gavin's hands are small, fast-moving objects. Jota's favorite. It was early morning and rainy to boot, so it was pretty dark in the living room, so I took Gavin into the bathroom to inspect him and get his scratches disinfected and washed. But the only wound I saw on Gavin's hand was on his thumb, and it didn't look like a cat scratch (it is, I strongly suspect, actually caused by thumb-sucking with teeth). Puzzled, I turned Gavin toward me and said, "Where are you wounded, Child Bear?" And I saw it right away. Jota didn't break the skin exactly (a wee bit of blood in a small portion of the deepest scratches), but Gavin is allergic to Jota (as am I. As is Stacy. But we are crazy) so the scratches all puffed up pretty good making it look worse than it was. I got him cleaned up and chances are good they'll fade really quickly, but needless to say, Jota and I are not on speaking terms right now. Jota is also off the babysitting list, making the chances of Stacy and I going on a date any time soon even slimmer.

As for his other injury, that was my fault. And the elephant's. See, we have this elephant funnel that Gavin really likes to play with, though it's not a toy. We never give it to him unsupervised or anything, but sometimes he likes to hold it when he's in his high chair before he starts eating the first course (no toys allowed while eating, though I make an exception for the puffs appetizer course since the whole point of the puffs is to keep him busy and distracted while I prepare the rest of his grub). So today I put him in his hair chair and he was holding the funnel, no big deal. I strap him in and then go to slide on the tray, being careful that his hands are out of the way so I don't pinch his fingers. Unfortunately I do not make sure the elephant funnel is out of the way. Indeed, it was not. The tip of the trunk was in his mouth so when I slid the tray on, "Wham!" I forced the funnel into the roof of his mouth. Before he even started crying, and it only took a second, I knew that must have hurt. And boy did he cry. In fact, cry isn't even the right word for the wounded animal sounds that came out of my little boy. He was, quite plainly, hysterical. I put a baby washcloth under cool water and placed it in his mouth. Sure enough, when I took it out there was blood. Not much blood, mind you. About as much as you might find when you nick yourself shaving. But still, he was bleeding and it was all my fault. The bleeding stopped relatively quickly and he was soon eating his lunch like nothing happened (although he did have those little cry hiccups intermittently throughout the meal). But I felt awful. And now the cat isn't speaking to me. At least he can't kick me off the babysitting list.

Week 22 Day 2: Rest in peace Great Grandpa Chuck

My grandpa died last night. It was both expected and unexpected. If that makes sense. Probably it doesn't. He had a stroke at his house last weekend and was taken to the hospital where things looked okay at first. He was stable, at least. But then he had another stroke during the night. The first time Gavin and I went to see him he looked really terrible. I did not think he would live long. But by the next time we went to see him he'd rebounded a bit and seemed like he might be able to recover some speech and movement. And then last night we heard from my mom that he wasn't doing well. Several hours later he was dead.

In his obituary it says, "Cherished Grandfather of 10 and great grandfather of one." That one, obviously, is Gavin. I'm really glad that Grandpa got to meet Gavin and that I have this picture to show Gavin when he is older. I don't think I ever met any of my great grandparents with the exception of my mom's Grandma Charbonneau who may have held me when I was a baby as I have a fuzzy memory of a picture that might not actually exist.

Obviously this is a very sad time and to top it off I now need to figure out what to do with a 10-month-old at a funeral. Thank goodness Stacy will be there, too. I reckon she'll be doing a lot of wrangling.

Funerals really aren't good places for kids because dead people are boring. I say that not to be disrespectful. It's just that funerals are largely about reflecting and saying goodbye and comforting others. Not exactly strong suits for a kid in his or her kid-centered world. I remember at my Grandma Lucy's funeral being up near the casket (it was the first dead body I had ever seen. I think I was probably 10 or 11 but can't really remember) with my dad and my brother Brian, who is four years younger than me. My Grandpa Mitch, who has been dead for many years now, came up to the casket, looked at his wife and said as he choked up, "Doesn't she look beautiful?" And Brian, without missing a beat, said, "Yeah, too bad she's dead." He meant no harm. To him it was just a statement of fact. And yeah, he was old enough that he probably should've known better, but this is my family we're talking about.

Gavin had crap naps today. His first nap was too short and tumultuous for both of our own good. And his second nap he woke up less than an hour into it screaming. I went in and soothed him and he fell back asleep, but no more than 20 minutes later he was up and screaming again. Stacy had a staff meeting after school today so I knew she would be home not at her usual 4:15 but more like 6:15 and I feared that Gavin's nap may well be a loss at only 2:45. I didn't know what I was going to do with a crabby baby for three hours. but when I went in to get him it was clear he wasn't done sleeping. I rocked with him a bit and he nestled his head into my shoulder and began sucking his thumb. And because he's heavy and there's only so much rocking I can do while standing up and because I was desperate for him to sleep I sat in the rocking chair in his room (and by "sat" I mean put my butt on the edge of the seat and leaned back so that I could be as prone as possible since there is no headrest) and he fell asleep with his head on my chest. I managed to get another full hour of sleep out of him this way. I dozed a bit myself, in fact. Because he's a pretty sweaty kid and I'm a sweaty lady, the spot where his head met the crook of my arm was literally soaked by the time he woke up. His hair was all matted like he'd just gotten out of the tub. But while he was asleep his head was turned to the side with his face pointed just a little bit up at me and I got to watch his sleeping face, which is so beautiful and something I hardly ever get to see any more. Best part of my day. Best part of my life, even.