Week 19 Day 1: Vamos bebé!

I neglected to mention on Friday that Gavin had his first playdate with Ben, a neighbor boy who just turned one. Gavin and I hung out with Ben and his mom Kerry at their house. The boys played very nicely together, though their play consisted mostly of trying to get whatever toy the other one had. The most coveted toy of the afternoon was a plastic gas can that came with a toy lawnmower Ben got for his birthday. Gavin was rather obsessed with it. I hope this isn't an early sign of pyromania.

My Mothers' Day went very well, thanks for asking. I came home from a concert late on Saturday night and on the counter was a tray of vegan peanut butter chocolate cookies with two notes. One read, "Breakfast for Mama D. Happy Mothers Day" and the other read, "WARNING. Not for bedtime snack. Contains caffeine. Come to bed now." I did, indeed, eat cookies for breakfast. Stacy and Gavin made me a card, too. I've scanned it and posted it below. She used an old stamp pad of mine she found in the basement to make his little footprints. She said he was only mildly cooperative, so the prints are light, especially on the scan.

In case you're having trouble reading this, the front says, "I feel safe to explore the world on my own two feet because you give me a firm place to stand..." The inside says, "...on your neck. Happy Mothers Day Mama D. Love your son Gavin."

So basically I have the cutest wife and son ever of all time Amen. I am very lucky even I did spend a good hunk of Mothers Day mowing the lawn. For my mom's MD gift Stacy and Gavin and I went out to her house where we met with Laura, Jamie, and Amanda and did yard work. She had surgery on her wrist so she can't do a lot of it right now. I mowed her back yard while Stacy and Gavin played together in the driveway, ruining his socks, mind you, but they had a lot of fun. When we got home I mowed my own lawn, front and back, for fear that someone would call the city on us.

But enough about lawn mowing! What is this, my horticulture blog?

Today Gavin and I went to get a new watch battery for Stacy so that she would stop complaining about how I hadn't done that yet. We went to a place called Watch Bands that I pass on my way to Target and that I always wondered how they stayed in business. Watch Bands is neither a compelling business name nor an exciting product. However, it turns out it isn't a store full of bands and they were really nice there. Best of all, for only $5 Stacy will now have to find something else to complain about. One of the men behind the counter told Gavin he liked his beenie (Gavin was wearing his American Apparel thug hat), which made Gavin smile really big. He really likes attention when we're out and about.

We also went to the library where we played in the kid's section. Gavin pulled himself up using the little tables and chairs and played with some puzzles. He also got acquainted with Big Bear, much to my distress. But now that Gavin is mobile and there are so many things he can get into and hurt on, Big Bear seems less of a threat. Besides, even if Gavin gets lice they'd be really easy to see. His hair is much more copious than ever before, but it is still light and sparse compared to, say, people with hair. I'd have no problem finding nits on that head. Though for the record I hope Gavin never gets lice because I fear I would have to shave my head. I have way too much hair for one of those little Rid combs to be of any use. It is possible to make it through your childhood without lice. I did it. Gavin can do it, too. Hey, Gavin and I were born at the same hospital, so there's no reason we can't have this in common, too.

Gavin has this bilingual drum toy that he got from a friend's son that he was playing with today. I have it set to Spanish because hearing the little girl's voice yell things out Tourettes-style is for some reason much less annoying that way. She frequently hollers, "Vamos bebé!" and so that is currently my favorite thing to say. No doubt this will annoy Stacy very soon, though I will have to remind her about the time right after I saw the "Dick In a Box" skit on SNL. What can I say? It's catchy.

Week 18 Day 5: Happy Mothers' Day

I went on a date with my wife tonight and let me tell you, I haven't seen so many hooters and snotty noses in a long time. No, we didn't go to a ragweed burlesque show, we went to see Babies, a movie I've been eagerly anticipating for months (I'm a sucker for documentaries and I'm a sucker for babies). So yes, Stacy and I went out (without Gavin, and at night, even) for the first time in a very long (too long) time in order to watch a documentary about other peoples' babies. It was, honestly, a perfect date movie for us. I mean, Gavin's 9-months-old, and while that sometimes seems astoundingly "old" (meaning, "Holy shit, where has the time gone?"), he's still a baby. And we are both madly in love with him. So you could say we have a personal interest in the film's subject.

I really liked Babies, as I knew I would from the moment I saw the preview. Though I am not sure that folks who don't have kids or baby fever would dig it so much. The film depends largely on the audience's reaction and emotional connection to the babies in the film. For me personally, I was very much in mama mode while watching it. When the babies did something especially cute like cooing or babbling or smiling or grabbing a baby goat by the head I would smile all over the place. And when they did things like tip their stroller over on themselves, eat toilet paper, pick animal bones off of the ground and put them in their mouths, or nearly get trampled by cows, I reacted physically, tensing my body and holding my breath. When they fell I winced. Maybe the falling hit a little too close to home, but it also was good for me to see other babies fall and trip and clunk their heads and continue to live.

Seeing the relatively sanitized and safe-guarded way the babies in the San Francisco and Tokyo lived versus the more rustic and tribal lives of the babies in Mongolia and Namibia. Gavin definitely lives a life much more akin to the Japanese and American babies. I can't even fathom a rooster strutting around newborn Gavin's bed or Gavin playing naked in the dust and the dirt. That said, I never felt that
"my way" was superior to that of the other parents. Though I admit I couldn't help but wonder how many babies choke to death on stones in Namibia. I also badly wanted to reach into the screen and wipe the babies' noses as every single one of them often really needed a Kleenex intervention, even Hattie, the American baby. I mean, I can understand the mother in Namibia not rushing to wipe her daughter's nose, but come on Hattie's parents. You take your kid to baby yoga and probably only feed her organic food. Bust out a handkerchief.

So we're headed into Mother's Day weekend and this will be my first Mother's Day as a mother. It's kind of weird, actually. But I'm getting used to the whole thinking of myself as a mom thing. I've been stressing about what to get Stacy's for Mother's Day since it's our first and all. My wife is the kind of person who thinks she is easy to shop for but really isn't. She's just not materialistic enough I suppose. While this is actually a good quality in a person it makes shopping for them hard. Thankfully Stacy offered me an out when she said that what she would really like would be flowers. Not cut flowers in a vase, but some flats of annuals she can plant on and around the deck in the backyard. I can handle this. I think. I don't know anything about flowers or plants. As far as the yard goes, that's Stacy's department. My department is maintenance (at which I am doing a terrible job. My lawn has not been cut since Jamie did it years ago. How the hell do people with kids ever find time to mow their lawns? All parents should live in condos.

Speaking of Mother's Day, my sister Laura sent me a link to Erika Milvy's "A Lesbian Mother's Complaint: I Want To be the Only Mommy on Mother's Day" on Slate. I definitely don't feel that way. I don't mind sharing Mother's Day. Maybe because I've always shared by birthday with Laura (we're twins, yo). Part of Milvy's deal is that she's the bio mom, so maybe Stacy feels differently than I do and secretly wishes she could disappear me on Sunday. But I kind of doubt it.

While Milvy seems to be asserting primacy as the biological mom, she acknowledges how easily her girlfriend's role can be dismissed by others. She writes, "Most people know better than to question [the non-bio mom's] maternal legitimacy, but once in a while someone will ask 'who gave birth?' in a way that implies, 'Which one of you is the real mom?'" Ah, yes. I can relate. But then, everybody says that Gavin looks more like me than Stacy, so maybe she's the one who needs to worry.

In any case, whether you are a mother, have a mother, will be a mother, or just frequently preface your cusses with "mother," Happy Mother's Day to you. Or if you have to -- no, get to share, Happy Mothers' Day.

Announcing Mama D Consumer Products Division

Since I'm a mom and all I obviously have a lot of free time on my hands. Combine that with popular demand (okay, one person) for a line of Mama D greeting cards and I've got myself an online store. I may only have one product right now, but at least my wish for a Mother's Day card that doesn't suck has been realized.

Week 18 Day 4: One lump or two?

Today was not a good day for Gavin's head. Falls were had, blood was shed. It was all very dramatic. Maybe more for me than for him.

Earlier today we were at a friend's house in Ann Arbor receiving a shitload of clothes and toys her son (also named Gavin) has grown out of. While we were there Gavin tipped over and hit the back of his head on the edge of the entertainment center. It resulted in a quite a lump with a straight red line through it to mark exactly where head and furniture edge made contact. He cried very hard, but not for very long. I totally kept my cool because that is my job as a mom. Within a few minutes I had him smiling again. I tried to ice the lump, but you try applying any kind of cold pack to a 9-month-old surrounded by new toys and someone else's things to explore. Though I suppose his unwillingness to stay still really was a good sign.

On the way home he fell asleep pretty quickly and that's when I stopped keeping my cool so much. "Is he sleeping or is he dead?" I thought. I glanced back at him and saw his little socked foot twitch. A sign of life. But then he could just be in a coma. People in comas can twitch, right? Damn it, why did I stop watching Grey's Anatomy? Several times I considered pulling over so I could properly check. But I didn't. Which is good because when we got home he was totally alive and happy to see me and really needed that nap.

When Stacy came home the first thing I did was show her Gavin's lump and apologize for being a bad mom. She said I wasn't a bad mom and examined the lump. "Did he lose consciousness?" she asked. "No," I said. "Well then he's probably fine," and with that she scooped Gavin up and hugged him and neither of them fired as Gavin's mom.

I know what you're thinking: "At the beginning of this post she said there was blood. Where's the blood? We want blood!" To which I say, "Woah there, Dracula. This is my son we're talking about not some Russell Crowe Gladiator type shit. Have some respect." And anyway, Gavin did not bleed until after we got home, from a completely different injury.

As I have mentioned, Gavin is quite the crawler. He thinks so, too, and doesn't let anything get in his way, literally. He has kind of a monster truck approach to obstacles in that he just barrels through as if the object is not there, usually opting for "over." The problem is this approach really messes with his balance. This evening, after he was all dressed for bed in his puppy PJs he came crawling out of his room and into the living room where I had, alas, haphazardly left my shoes in the middle of the floor. While attempting to crawl over one of my shoes he tipped face-first into the floor. Instant tears and wailing. Understandably. Granted the space between his face and the floor was only a few inches, but he had his full body weight propelling his face as he stumbled. Stacy scooped him up and swayed with him as he cried. I kissed his head each time they swayed toward me telling Gavin he was okay. Seeing as this was the second time he'd whacked his head right in front of me I felt terrible. If you're a parent of any worth then you really, really, really don't want your kid to get hurt in any way and feeling like you were party to their injuries, however unintentional, is a really shitty feeling. After he'd settled down a little bit I asked Stacy if I could hold him for a little while since I really wanted to hug my son. When I took him he buried his face in my shoulder and continued to cry, albeit much softer. Stacy had a large dark swath on her shoulder where his face had been. Most of it was drool, but... "Is that blood?" I asked. Sure enough, Bear had chomped his bottom lip when his face hit the floor. We had a frozen washcloth in the freezer for teething emergencies so we busted that out. Then he got a frozen cherry in his Baby Safe Feeder (which we call his banana hammock or, I guess, his cherry hammock in this case). This helped make him, and us, feel better.

After Gavin went to bed I showed Gavin my loot from today. Clothes and toys galore. I think I had five garbage bags full of clothes. Gavin won't ever have a reason to be naked now. He and his mama are lucky to know nice people with good taste in clothes. My how I love dressing up my son. I never liked dolls or anything like that when I was a kid, but I adore putting different outfits on my son. Sadly he is not as wild about this and does not take kindly to costume changes. But for now I am bigger and stronger than him. Though judging from the rate he's growing my size and strength advantage will be gone by the time he's four.

Week 18 Day 3: Distractionator fail

Today I discovered that Gavin does not like to be sprayed in the face with water while he's sitting on Stacy's lap getting his nails cut. Granted, most people don't like to be sprayed with water, but Gavin's reaction was very, well, strongly opposed to it. To be clear, I did not squirt him in the face -- more specifically, directly in the eye -- on purpose. I meant only to spritz him. Mist him, even. See, it's my job to distract Gavin while he gets his nails cut so that he stops trying to grab the clippers and doesn't yank his hands away. Stacy is the resident nail clipper and I am the resident distractionator. Usually all I have to do is grab Henri and hold him up and Gavin forgets all about his manicure. But today Henri was not nearby and so I grabbed a giant Costco-sized bottle of ibuprofen off of the end table and began to shake it like a rattle. Gavin was mesmerized but it quickly occurred to me that I should not be presenting as fun something that is totally off limits to him. And so I ditched the pain killers and grabbed the spray bottle I use to occasionally spray the cat in order to discourage said cat from engaging in activities such as furniture clawing and meowing outside Gavin's bedroom door at night. Now this little spray bottle, probably purchased from a dollar store, has a little nozzle that can be tightened or loosened in order to change the spray from a steady stream to a kind of mist. Unfortunately I turned it the wrong way and instead of "misting" Gavin I sprayed him directly in the eye. He did not like this, but aside from some grumbles and eye rubbing, he seemed largely unfazed. And so while Stacy proceeded to trim his other hand I turned the nozzle the correct way and said, "Look, Gavin!" and pulled the sprayer trigger ever so lightly and a little bit of water came out getting several drops on his arm. He then lost his mind. He cried, he wailed, he shuddered, he frowned. If I was someone on the outside looking in who saw only his reaction and not the cause of it I would have said, "Now there's a baby that's been punched in the face. Or burned. Or at the very least pinched. Very hard." And I felt awful as if I had, indeed, done something terrible to my son. It took a long time to calm him down after that but Stacy and I finally succeeded by doing a little dance and singing this little tune we made up on the fly. We even managed to get a smile out of him. But as soon as we'd stop he'd apparently remember the sprayer incident and his little face would crumble once more. Between this and the water boarding incident, I've probably set the stage for some kind of water phobia that will manifest itself once Gavin hits puberty and starts refusing to shower.

Other than that little incident we had a good day. Good naps were taken (by Gavin. Not by me, sadly. I could have really used a nap today, too). Meals were eaten. Toys were played with. We even made it to Borders and back without a meltdown. We tried to go yesterday but it was not a success. For one thing, Gavin does not like the elevator at Borders which we must use since I put Gavin in his stroller while we are there and lugging him and his stroller up and down the stairs is not an option. In order to distract/entertain him in the elevator today I grabbed the bear toy he was holding in my teeth, shook my head and made growling sounds. Though he still doesn't like elevators, he liked this and it was enough to get us through the ride, up and down. I sure hope they have security cameras in there.

I don't know what it was, but today went by very quickly. While yesterday dragged on and on and on today was over before I realized it. Being able to function on significantly less ibuprofen today probably helped.

Today while Stacy was feeding Gavin dinner I overheard her say, "Papaya's not my favorite fruit. But I like it as a change, you know?" She was, needless to say, feeding him papaya. Not exactly a rousing endorsement, but the other day I took a small taste to test the temperature of the collard greens mixed with tofu I was about to feed him, grimaced visibly, said something along the lines of, "Jesus, yuck," and then offered Gavin a spoonful with a smile saying, "Mmm. Good stuff. You're going to like it."

I finally found semi-decent Mother's Day cards. Not great ones, mind you. But passable. Which is good since I'm running out of time. I'm totally going to make my own line of Mother's Day cards. Like one that says, "Dear Mom, I'm glad that [sender's age] years ago you had a vagina and weren't afraid to use it. I presume you still have a vagina but I do not want to talk or think about it." That's just off the top of my head, people. I am a natural.

Week 18 Day 2: The world is poison

Gavin woke up with crib paint all over his face today. Well, I mean, he didn't wake up that way. The crib paint transfer didn't happen while he was sleeping. It happened  either right before or right after his nap while he was standing in his crib crying (this would be before) or hollering (this would be after) for me.

So that's awesome. Sure hope it's lead-based. (This is sarcasm).

Our big outting today was to Babies R Us to buy a teething rail for his crib. Not that his crib lacks a teething rail. It just doesn't have one that's up for the challenge of my gnaw-happy son. Gavin managed to chew right under the rail using his two bottom row center chompers. So hopefully this gummy rail thing will work.

We also opened Babies R Us today. If that's the right term. Gate crashed, maybe? What I mean is that they open at 10 a.m. and we were there at 9:53 a.m. And there was a line. At least a half dozen other cars were there before us and there were two ladies standing in front of the door. Most of the grown-ups there had kids, which isn't surprising. After all, as my mom used to say, "Kids get up before God." When you've been up since a quarter to six, 10 a.m. feels like noon.

Our next mission was to find Mother's Day cards. This was a bust. I don't know what's wrong with the card makers of the world, but I can't find a Mother's Day card that isn't either super sappy (you're the most precious mother and the day I was pulled out of your vagina/Cesarean incision was a day I was blessed by God), completely inane (Mom, you're great. Here's a picture of a giraffe), or sexist (all moms want are shoes and someone else to do the laundry for a day). I know, I know, I could just make my own. But is it really too much to ask to have Mother's Day cards available for purchase that I would not be ashamed to give even to my Grandma Helen who uses the free Easter cards she gets from soliciting religious charities for any and all occasions?

I keep marveling at the fact that Gavin will turn a year old in July. That just doesn't seem possible. I was just looking at photos a friend posted of her new baby girl on Facebook and thinking, "That was Gavin over 9 months ago." He was so spindly then compared to now. I mean, he was always a very healthy baby size-wise. But looking back at old pictures of him he looks so tiny. Like in this picture where he's showing off his skinny monkey feet, which have become chunky bear feet. Over the weekend Stacy and I visited other friends who have a three-week-old girl. She made some of the same little cooing sounds Gavin used to make. He made a lot of owl sounds. And trumpet sounds. Sounds he is unlikely to ever make again. He also used to fall asleep on my chest. His little body splayed out on top of me with me on my back. We'd both fall asleep this way sometimes, especially if he was having a hard time getting to sleep. Another thing that will never happen again.

And yet unlike some of my friends who reported a strong desire for another baby baby after theirs transitioned from baby to toddler, I have no such desire. I loved, loved, loved Wee Gavin just as much as I love Little Gavin and as much as I am sure I'll love Big Gavin and Mega Gavin and Lumberjack Gavin to come. I recognize that this baby feeling isn't the only reason people have second (or third, or fourth, or, if insane like my parents, fifth) child. Most people do it for tax purposes. I get that. Still, the prospect of having another baby while Gavin is so young -- in other words, turning around and doing it all over again before the first is even out of diapers -- does not appeal to me.

I just finished this book called Beyond One: Growing a Family and Getting a Life by Jennifer Bingham Hull. Basically she makes it sound like having two kids is hell on earth, but she also implies throughout that it is also maybe a love fest in ways. But mostly hell (is what I got out of it, though she never says she wishes her youngest was gone or anything and definitely seems to love both of her girls very much). Hull also mentions that having two kids under the age of four is one of the biggest stresses on a couple's marriage. The one sentence in the entire book that most stood out for me was, "God, no wonder Sylvia Plath committed suicide: her kids were one and three." So, yeah.

Gavin deserves a World's Best Baby Award for today. I had cramps all day long and by the time we made it home from our big outting I was one sad Mama bastard. I plopped Gavin into his Baby Fun Jail and collapsed on the couch. He just played quietly by himself. Occasionally I'd look up to see him peering at me over the rail of his pen like, "Are you going to die, Mommy?" But I didn't die. And Gavin's patience held off long enough for pain meds to kick in so that I could be a mom again.

I forgot to mention this yesterday: Fuck you, Tylenol. Assholes. I love that we have some of the infant drops on the recall list that we've been giving to Gavin since he was born. It's almost empty, thank God, because I'd hate for defective/contaminated/fucked up medicine to go to waste. Looks like I'm going to have to start making my own Tylenol now. Whiskey and a wash cloth. Great for easing teething pain. (Note to Social Services: that is just a joke.)

Is it too much to ask that products made for babies are made specifically not to kill babies? Not that I want stronger consumer product protection in this country or anything. I mean, that would be totally socialist. The free market will kill babies correct itself. For a good time check out CPSC's recall list. Always good for a laugh. Remember, death and dismemberment is around every corner. Now go to sleep.

Week 18 Day 1: Need for speed

In case you were wondering, my throat still hurts, though it's much better, thank you. I appreciate your concern.

Gavin's crawling is increasing in speed. His rapidly growing mobility, while exciting and amazing and normal, is making him increasingly more difficult to take places. While he hasn't outright rejected the stroller or the shopping cart yet, I can feel it coming. Once he's able to walk it'll be all he'll want to do and it'll take us two hours to go down one grocery store aisle. Not that it isn't adorable to see Gavin master new skills and look at you like, "Did you see that? Did you freakin' see that?"

Although I have never done drugs, I can't help but imagine that in order to experience the world like Gavin does I'd have to be high. I mean, this is a kid who reaches out to touch the cheap polyester upholstery on the seats in our mini van (yeah, you heard me. I said mini van. Want to make something of it?), opens and closes his fingers to scratch and feel the fabric then turns to you with a look that says, "This is, like, totally blowing my mind. Far out."

When Stacy came home this afternoon she caught Gavin and I in the middle of feeding time. I suppose "caught" isn't the right word since it implies we were doing something wrong. We were not. It's just that most of the time Stacy's arrival completely derails the process when I've got him in his highchair and am feeding him his afternoon solid foods. For one thing, he's happy to see her so he gets very distracted, and for another thing as soon as she walks in the only thing he can think about are boobs (or "hooters" to substitute a more refined and polite term. "Hoots" for short). Today, however, he kept on trucking with the solids after recovering from the initial excitement of Stacy's homecoming. Granted, I was feeding him plain tofu at the time so it's kind of miraculous he kept opening his mouth. When Stacy saw me carve a little baby spoonful out of a tofu hunk in his blue plastic bowl she said, "You didn't mix it with anything?" I had not. Nor had I put it through the baby food grinder. I was not left with these instructions. This would explain why Gavin then coughed out a wad of tofu, which I proceeded to scoop off of his high chair tray and plop into the dog bowl on the floor beside us. Henri was very happy.

After mixing in some applesauce and crumbling the tofu with a fork Gavin seemed to find it more palatable. Stacy took over feeding so I could go get a package that had come for her in the mail. I really love to get things in the mail and cannot stand not knowing what's arrived at the house. Conversely I also do not open my wife's mail, thus my eagerness for her to open it when she got home. (It was a book she'd ordered for school, in case you're curious. The Hungry Caterpillar in Spanish.)

While she was feeding him Stacy started to marvel at his teeth. He still only has four on the surface, though his eyeteeth are coming in. But it does seem like the four he has are getting bigger and bigger while the rest of his mouth stays vacant. "Your mouth is like Detroit. There are just vast spaces where there's nothing," Stacy said to him. He didn't seem to get the reference, even though we took him to Mexican town yesterday so that Stacy could buy some piñatas at Honey Bee Market (she's a Spanish teacher and Cinco de Mayo is just around the corner) and we drove right past the abandoned train station and everything. (Sigh). Babies. So self-centered.

Also this weekend Gavin and I went to Detroit Comics for Free Comic Book Day. Gavin was quite the hit there. When we walked in the door Aunt Laura and Uncle Jamie (who was helping out and who works there respectively) and Brian, the owner, all yelled, "Hooray!" or something to that effect and there were balloons everywhere. I'm pretty sure Gavin thought it was his birthday. That is, if he had any concept of what a birthday party would be like. Gavin was super chill while we were there, fooling everyone into believing he was always that way. Brian's wife Lori held Gavin and after she'd walked around the store with him for awhile she said that I could have two additional free comic books if she got to keep him. I knew such a trade would probably make Stacy pretty mad so I made sure to choose two she would really like. So if you want to meet my son, stop by Detroit Comics to say Hi! I'm kidding. I did not trade Gavin for comic books. I would never do that. But you still should stop by Detroit Comics because it's a pretty cool place where you can buy stuffed bacon for your child, just like I did. Whether or not you tell him it is soy bacon is up to you.