Gasp... a clasp

Baby went to the doctor today. The absence of a fever or runny nose made the doctor think that it's pretty mild and is even safe for her to return to daycare soon. Good, because mom's got a busy week firing people and can't take much time off and dad is out of sick days due to a dumb company policy requiring you to take all of them before you go on a paid family leave. Yeah, great, leave the dad with no sick days. Dumb policy.

Anyhow, the baby is wheezing less and coughing less, but her cry is still different, more subdued, like "I don't feel good." But when she's not crying, she's her happy self, smiling, giggling.

A few new developments presented themselves in the past few days. She's "dancing" -- I hold her in a standing position and she wiggles and waves her arms, and she's now hugging stuffed animals and tonight she was clasping her hands together -- and did it repeatedly, something Baby Center says you should look for in month six.

Last night she sent her first e-mail. We could not read it, but she would press on the keys and look at the screen. The spacebar and the m-key were here favorite keys. And today she helped with a birthday card for mom. She holds a pen in her hand and I hold the paper and she moves it around. She did that for cards to her grandparents last month, but this time I was smart and put plastic on the table first so there was less chance of pen on fabric or table. She wasn't that interested today, though, so there wasn't much in mom's card. (I was feeling funny... the 4 cats and dog also all signed another card by biting it/slobbering on it.)

Baby's First Cold (audio)

Squeaky Baby

The baby has learned "Where's the baby?" -- it is, of course, the game where you cover the baby's face with a light cloth and ask where the baby is and then pull the cloth away, or let the baby pull the cloth away. Then you say in a silly voice "There's the baby." You get giggles, laughs and outright squeals of joy.

More Baby Music (audio)

The Gas We Pass

As Rachel screams because of pressure built up in her body that she's been unable to relieve by burb or otherwise, I suddenly had a thought... we go through several phases of gas-passing.

Phase I - we cannot pass the gas regularly and it hurts. Our parents cheer when we successfully break wind.

Phase II - we can pass the gas regularly. Boys cheer other boys when they rip a good one.

Phase III - we can pass the gas regularly. But for some reason, it's no longer cool. This was decided the first day of 5th. grade when I was growing up. I don't know who decided it. When there are no girls around, it's still OK to cut the cheese.

Phase IV - we can pass the gas regularly, but there's never a good time. At work, that's just bad form. At home, you're keeping up appearances for your spouse or trying not to encourage a "bad habit" in your children. In the bathroom, the bowl just amplifies the noise. (Is that a cruel irony, or what?)

Phase V - the gas passes. Whether you want it to or not. Sometimes you're not even be aware of it, or aware that it was you who dealt it.

Ah, success. Little Rachel has kept her dignity and instead spit up.

The audio of Rachel at the keyboard took over 24 hours to arrive and sadly, it didn't turn out well. I guess we'll have to go back to the studio for another recording session, probably tomorrow. It's Rachel's 3rd. month of life today and her parent's 5th. anniversary.

Play that funky music (audio)

Play that funky music

I posted an audio blog last night, but it's gone MIA. It was the baby playing the piano. Well, it's actually a synthesizer. And I hold it up and she kicks it with her feet. She seems to know what she's doing, and she seems to really enjoy steel drums and piano type instruments, but hates the organ sounding ones, probably because she plays more flat keys and those sound like horror movies.

Countdown

We were talking about children this morning and one of my volunteers Barbara was relating something she had recently and wished she had known about when she was raising her kids. She said she's tried it with the grandkids and it's worked like a charm...

Basically, treat outtings and bedtimes like the closing of a store.

"Your Target store is closing in 15 minutes. Please make your final selections and come to the registers to make your purchases. Thank you for shopping your Target store."

That is, before it's time to leave the park, or before it's bedtime, give them a countdown. Give them an opportunity to do "the last thing they want do to before they go." That allows the children to believe they have sense of control. And helps you keep things under control, too.

It'll be nice when our little baby is old enough to understand the logic and not keep us up until 2 am. :)

The Agony of De-sleep

Or, alternatively "No sleep 'til 18." but I figured 18 wasn't close enough to "Brooklyn" to be a decent title...

The baby does not nap. Doesn't need to, doesn't want to. She got that from her daddy. Once I'm up for the day, I'm up. Naps? Pfffttttt....

I took the day off yesterday and stayed home with the family. We did a number of short trips in the car. Invariably the car causes naps, so the baby had probably three naps, two of an hour and one of three hours. And then we went walking and eventually the sway and bump of the stroller won and her little eyes stopped snapping open to see what she was missing.

So? The sleep clock was reset, she had some sleep hours banked. So we get home from the walk and start to prepare the nightly routine. But, see, she knows what's going on. The minute I step into the shower with her and water hits her, she lets out this shriek louder than any I've heard from her before. I step out of the water and recheck. Ok, it's on the chilly side, but it's reasonable. I warm it a little but to no avail. She's not having any of it. The shower is step two in the going to bed routine and she napped today, so it's not fair that it's time to go to bed.

Meanwhile, I've got visions of neighbors frantically dialing 911, police cruisers and suburbans screeching to a stop on my lawn, a full complement of fire engines and paramedics clogging the street out front and helicopters with night suns illuminating all the windows while the SWAT rips the security door off of our house and swarm the house -- Elian Gonzales-style -- looking for the baby being tortured.

So we knock on the wall, the signal to mom that the shower is complete. She comes in with the towel, takes the baby and goes for step three, the pajamas and step four, the last feeding. Nope, the screaming continues. By feeding time, it's a wimper and fussiness and no desire to eat.

So we do the checks...diaper was just changed, chilled teether is unwanted, pacifier is spit across the room, little hands won't grasp the crinkley bee... lying in the crib is torture, being held and swayed is unwanted. The bouncer is unwelcome, the car seat is not the place to be either. Only the living room sitting with mom on the couch is ok.

So she keeps up until after 2 am. And then she wants to eat at 6 am and she wants to make a "mmmm" sound with each drink.

So despite having given up coffee a few weeks ago, I'm on cup two for the day. It tastes so good and I'm all jumpy.

Hey, entry #100. Woo hoo.