Week 8 Day 5: Holy snowly

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

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

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

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

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

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

Week 8 Day 4: Pointing south

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

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

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

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

Week 8 Day 3: Cart pimpin'

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

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

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

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

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

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

Week 8 Day 2: Funky hematoma

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

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

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

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

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

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

Week 8 Day 1: We are in love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Week 7 Day 5: Carrots are full of win

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

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

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

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

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

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

Week 7 Day 4: Baby fun jail

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

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

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