Worst Parent Ever*

How can I call myself a good parent when it took me three and a half years to introduce Drew to the concept of a bubble bath? It's not that I had any health or educational or other parental excuse for not giving the kid his bubbles. It's that it never even crossed my mind. I must hang my head in shame.

The bubble bath is, of course, a huge hit. He stayed in that tub for a good half hour, doing the usual moving bubbles, hording bubbles, and painting himself with bubbles that is standard for bubble baths. But he added something to the repertoire that never ceased to make me giggle. He kept trying to sit on his bubbles and would spring back up out of the tub, squealing with glee that he had gotten bubbles on his butt.

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*OK, so it's not one of the promised posts from way back at the beginning of the month. At least I posted something, though.

Interesting Things About My Trip

Man, I'm really into this "4 Things" meme. It an excuse to be remarkably lazy in the blogging department. Not to worry, I think I might try something new here soon and keep content fresh and entertaining daily. Ha. And I'll have more about my trip later as I still chew over the bits and pieces of insights I gleaned from it.

• My MRI was, in a word, "unremarkable" but for some minor disc degeneration, which is common due to such things as gravity. The prescription: loosen the hip muscles, strengthen the abs, and improve the posture. (I've since discovered other things in the progress of my physical therapy; more on this later.)
  


• A gathering of college-scene/struggling/indie/garage bands occurred in a lovely patio setting just a stone's throw away from my room at Hotel the First. Apparently, even supposed professionals are prone to singing very bad karaoke and shouting a lot just to hear their voices echo through the valley. I could sing along even though my patio door was shut and I had my own music on full blast. My word count for that night was only 561 words. I was less than amused.
  


• Driving back home on Sunday proved to be quite an experience. A chilly wind was howling through the valley by the Chiracahuas. By the time I got to Benson and realized I need to check my oil when I gassed up as the car was riding rough (dipstick was bone dry; fun), the wind had brought with it temps in the 40s or lower. Then I hit the Tucson valley and saw a whole wall of purple gray in the sky and knew I was in for some severe rain--only to encounter marble-sized hail and snow for a fifteen-minute stretch first. The interstate was even icy for a small bit. In Tucson. On March 16th.
  


• Absence makes the sight grow sharper. Being away from Drew for nearly three days let me get some distance so I could see just how much he's grown and developed his mad toddler skillz. It's interesting that I kept thinking of him as smaller and more dependent on me without realizing it. From what I've heard, I don't think this is going to change any time soon, but at least I'm aware of it.

Baby, Remeber Drew's Name (Remember! Remember! Remember!)

Drew's big into dancing. His favorite (read: only) style is frenetic running in place while moving his arms up and down and shaking his head back and forth. Sometimes he mixes it up by running in a circle while doing the above or mimicking whatever I'm doing. This makes for a lot of fun times whenever something musical comes on in the house.

Another thing Drew likes to do is run around the house in one final pre-nocturnal hurrah after he's released from the shower or bath. The first step in this process is to run to the parent who was absent during the washing and give said person a big hug (this also helps him finish drying off as he isn't really into that whole "toweling down" thing). Then he'll hurry into his room to jump on his bed before we come at him with a diaper and PJs. (His word for jump, incidentally, is "boing.") Lately, though, he's been dancing around to whatever music is coming from the TV before we get him all trussed up for the night.

Last night, this new tradition and love of dance took a fascinating twist when I had the XM Radio 80s channel on and "Fame" started up after Drew gave me his very wet hug. Drew and I had great fun dancing to that song. He particularly enjoyed it when I did a mock balletic jump. Then he tried to do the same thing, and laughed when it always turned into a near-belly-flop on the carpet.

It feels great to be silly like this with Drew, to move just for the sake of moving, to sing and dance and not care what anyone who observed us might think about the spectacle. I wish I could bottle up this enthusiasm to experience the world without the restriction of clothing. Not because I think we should all be nudists, but because the focus is not on how the body appears but on how it functions and interacts with the world. Society tells us not just that our bodies are private but also that they are shameful or abnormal. I'd like for a moment to feel the same freedom Drew feels when he escapes the towel and throws himself into whatever activity catches his attention. I'd like to be able to dance naked in the privacy of my home without feeling exposed or horribly aware of the flabby bits and the awkward sags and the scarred skin.

Two Years Old

We have now officially entered the Terrible Twos. Some days it feels like we've been here for a while, others it seems impossible to put the word "terrible" anywhere near our son. But no matter his mood, there's no escaping the excitement of watching Drew grow and learn and change day by day. Right now he's interrupting me by demanding I cover my ears with my hands like he's doing. No, I have no idea why.

He may not speak very clearly, but he certainly has a lot to say. And it's quite clear that he understands just about everything we say these days. I wouldn't be surprised if he figures out the spelling trick long before we're ready for him to do so. Right now he's wowing us with his ability to point out animals in his favorite books on demand. We'll tell him, "Show me the yellow duck." And he'll flip through the pages of the book until he gets to the page with the yellow duck on it and will proudly crow and point to it.

A year ago, the Drew Monster's favorite toy was a mini-keyboard thingie. He quickly tried his parents' patience by pressing one button over and over that started a series of songs. Nowadays, his favorite toy is the couch in my office. He loves to take all the cushions off and walk around on the wood framework (it's an IKEA piece) and straddle the slats and otherwise contort himself around the thing or bounce on the cushions on the floor. We're getting him a tricycle for his birthday this year, so we'll see how he manages with that and how it changes his favorite toy rotation.

It's very hard to believe it's been two years, and I don't think that's a feeling that's going to go away ever. Eventually, whenever someone asks me how old my son is, I'll probably end up replying, "Older than I think."

Happy Second Birthday, Andrew Thomas.

Quick Announcement

Just wanted to let you all know before I head out to Colorado for the DDJ early tomorrow morning:

MY PRE-PREGNANCY PANTS FIT AGAIN!!!!!

That is all.

Victory!

The Drew Monster actually fell asleep in his Big Boy bed tonight! The real victory, though, will be if this is a repeatable event or not. But any night that doesn't involve him falling asleep against the door is a good thing. And here's hoping that he doesn't fall out of bed like he did last night (wasn't hurt, of course, just startled).

And let's really hope that he becomes so old hat at this that he can start napping in his bed too. And then maybe, just maybe, by sometime next week, he'll be comfortable enough with this transition (with some occasional reversions) that he doesn't cling to me throughout the day. Poor guy. All this growing up stuff can be pretty scary.

Andrew Thomas: Escape Artist

A week ago, we discovered that, given enough stuffed animals shoved against the edge of his crib, Drew could climb out of the crib and onto the attached dresser and from there let himself down onto the changing table. We removed said stuffies from the crib, and Drew did not repeat the antics, so we figured we were safe for a little while yet.

Then Friday night, I'm out for some me time and Mark is keeping an eye on the boy, who is supposed to be asleep. All of a sudden, Mark here's a door open and shut and assumes it's me, returning from my time out. Then he here's the pitter-patter of little feet on the tile and Drew comes into the living room. El Boyo Diablo managed to climb out of the crib using the iron tightness of his grip on the side rails and the brute strength of his calve muscles. And this time the height of the changing table didn't bother him as he eased himself over the side and used the shelves to climb down to the ground.

We dismantled the crib that night and brought in the play pen for a quick substitute. Then we took a trip to Ikea and scouted out beds (or a replacement for the twin bed serving as a sofa in my office, thus giving Drew a real big boy bed that wouldn't need to be replaced again in a couple of years). We found a new couch for my office and a new dresser for Drew (since the old one was a part of his crib) and then gathered the necessary accoutremonts (waterproof mattress pad, etc), so that Drew was all set to sleep in his very own Big Boy Bed for the first time last night. (Yes, this is a couple of months ahead of the 2-year-old mark during which this transition usually occurs. Thank Mark and his knack for climbing that he has passed down to our son.)

Drew liked the novelty of being able to roam after we put him down for the night. He also like the novelty of the bed, just not for falling asleep in just yet. After a few re-entries into the room to put him back in the bed and get him calmed down in the bed, we finally just let him do what made him comfortable. A half hour or so later, we went back in and found him asleep in the rocking chair, contorted in a position that, as his legs stretched out, made his head ease over the edge of the chair. Needless to say, we moved him over to the bed. He didn't stir.

This morning was nice, though, having Drew able to wake up on his own and play quietly in his room for a good thirty minutes before he decided to wander into our room and wake us up. Napping, however, is another battle entirely, and one that will be fought in interesting ways this week and next.

I didn't like the new layout of his room initially, and I think it's because having that normal bed in there is more a shock to my system than how the new furniture fits together. Drew's not the only one who needs to adjust to this.

Mister Independent

The Drew Man is trying to prove he's all grown up--or at least demonstrate that "anything you can do I can do better." I've already talked about how he helps us throw away and take out the trash. Mark's got great video of Drewbie all but disappearing into the washing machine (we have a front loader) and dryer as he helps out with the laundry. The Drewbinator has started trying to open the car door when we get ready to go out and happily crawls into the car and into his car seat all on his own. He tries to buckle himself in but can't quite it the mechanics down. (His booster chair, on the other hand, poses no such buckling problems.)

The independent streak carries over into his night-time rituals. He decides when he takes a bath (usually every night) by patting his chest with his hands. We're not sure how that symbol came to mean "bath," but it's quite clear that it does. Once in the tub, Drew has figured out how the faucet and drain works and will get the water filling the tub. This is a bit detrimental when it's time to end the bath. Lately he knows the whole lotion routine and will present an arm or a leg as the limb to lotionify first or next.

His sense of independence has been causing problems lately when we go to the grocery store. Drew refuses to sit in the cart and be content to help us cross off items from our list as he had before. Now he wants to be out and about, helping us by selecting items to put into the cart. This wouldn't be so bad if he detested holding one of our hands so much. We may have to make grocery shopping an evening outing by only one of the parental units if El Boyo Diablo continues to resist control in the supermarket. But it's still very cute to see him running down an aisle and stopping to select something (usually random and never something we would put on our list) and then trying to toss it into the cart. The times we can guide and direct him in his assistance, it makes for great entertainment.

I'm sure a desire to be independent is normal at this age (well, hell; it's normal from now until the kids actually achieve independence, isn't it?), but watching him take on the world at not even three feet makes my heart twist. It's not going to get an easier, is it?

Feminism and Writing

I read this first thing this morning and have been letting it percolate, trying to come up with coherent thoughts. Actually, I had coherent thoughts immediately upon reading it. I spent the day trying to string them together into a coherent response. It seems I'm not up to the task. So here are the thoughts:

I'm very grateful that, when I decided to take reading seriously (more than just as fluffy break from all that Serious Stuff I had to read for school), I started with Anne McCaffery and Melanie Rawn.

I'm very grateful that, when I decided to take writing seriously, I was taking a non-fiction writing course taught by a woman who directed me to a writer's organization and encouraged me.

I'm very grateful that my first interactions with professionally published authors involved Holly Lisle, S.L. Viehl, and Carol Berg.

I'm very grateful that my first experience with a professional editor was with Teresa Nielsen Hayden.

I'm very grateful that my first experience with an agent was with Kristen Nelson.

I'm very grateful that it wasn't until I was four years into my journey of taking writing seriously that I first comprehended negative gender issues in my genre when Harlan Ellison groped Connie Willis at the Hugos.

I'm very grateful that I was raised in a family and an environment that I more often felt I was treated differently because I was smart, not because I was female and that it never occurred to me that my gender alone might cause issues.

I'm very grateful that it wasn't until I was a sophomore in college that I began to understand the more insidious ways our society perceives and enforces gender differences; it means I'm less likely to unconsciously enable the perceptions and enforcements, and that becoming aware of it when I did I felt more empowered to Do Something.

That being said, I probably wasn't nearly as removed from sexism as the above indicates seeing as how I am an Air Force brat (and the military ain't exactly known as a feminist beacon) and, out of a class of 24 biochemistry majors, I was one of five women. Mostly, I never quite processed myself as Other (not Other because I'm a girl; I processed myself as Other because I was a military brat, or because I spent nine years in a foreign country) or allowed society's labeling of me as such to stick or get in my way. The times it reared its head, I would more often than not personalize the encounter to make it more about my personality vs the personality causing the problem and found a way around it.

No matter how I managed to get through life without really letting gender issues bug me, it's not helping me deal with how I'm categorized now that I'm a mother who works from home part-time. My professional life is hidden compared to when I worked full-time out of the home. No one asks me "So what do you do?" anymore when I meet new people. They ask about Andrew. They ask about domestic things. They may ask if I still work or perhaps they'll ask what I do in my free time or what my hobbies are. I wasn't quite prepared for this subtle shift in how I'm perceived. (Nor was I prepared to deal with interacting with other mothers only in context of being mothers; one of the most uncomfortable conversations I had was at the mall's play area with a mother who had sat down next to me and whose child was interacting with Drew in some way; I could feel her hunger for adult conversation, and her absolute frustration that, when presented with the opportunity, she could only talk about her child; I could feel that hunger and frustration because it mirrored my own.)

I get fanfiction in that it's a response to art. It's the context of that response where I falter. For me, I get a response from art and I almost immediately remove it from the context that generated the response and put it in my own creative context. I may have to think on this further.

Andrew's Blue Period

The Drew Monster has a favorite color. It is blue. Not light blue. Not sky blue. Just straight primary color blue. He loves to color with his blue crayon. Unfortunately, Momma was so happy to see her little boy excited about coloring that she let him color while she was working and thus not able to monitor him. This led to Drew deciding that the walls were blank canvases. Then Mark painted over them with the right color paint but the wrong bin, so we have these great matte walls with random patches of glossy finish. It's not as noticeable as the blue crayon, which is why Mark hasn't gotten around to repainting the patches with the flat paint.

Meanwhile, I learned my lesson and have had to take a hard line on where Drew can and can't bring his crayons. If he's coloring, he has to do so on the coffee table in the living room. He can't bring his crayons when he goes running off to play somewhere else. He's usually very good at putting down his crayons when he's ready to do something other than color. We'll see how long that lasts. And, of course, he doesn't get to color unless I'm right there to watch. This means he can't indulge in his artistic urges while I'm working.

That's OK, though, as he tends to want me to color with him. And he'll keep giving me new crayons to use so that I get about five or ten strokes in with one color when I have to switch to a different one.

However, he has found an alternative to coloring. One of his books has become a new favorite. It's Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? and the artwork is in bright colors with brushstrokes that are clearly visible and thus look a little like Drew's own coloring. He asks us to read that book to him repeatedly.

Our little Drewbie's quite the well-rounded guy. He has an innate sense of order when it comes to how things should be done, where things should go, but he has no problem dumping his toy basket out all over the floor and sitting in the middle of it. He climbs over anything that gets in his way, but he's also at times content just to sit in my lap and watch me work or sit next to me on the couch when I'm drained from chasing him all over the house. He loves his puzzles and figuring out how things work, but he also enjoys randomly opening up a coloring book and scribbling all over it in blue crayon. He also cuts a mean rug whenever a show with music comes on the TV.

This kid is having a great time exploring his world and figuring out this thing called Life. I hope that, no matter how he changes or what he decides to do, that he keeps that enjoyment. Because then, no matter what obstacles get tossed his way, no matter what I screw up as a parent, no matter what, he'll be OK.

Drewbie See, Drewbie Do

Andrew has been quite the copy cat lately. It really started three or four months ago when he learned that trash goes in the trash can by watching Momma and Daddy throw things away. So he thought he'd help keep things clean. Now he even helps by throwing stuff away in our garbage bin, taking an item such as a small bag of dirty diapers and carrying it from his room, to the garage door, through the garage to the garbage bin. Even this morning taking it to the curb before the garbage truck came by.

Yes, it's very cute, and quite helpful. Most of the time. Drew now refuses to eat unless he's sitting in a big boy chair at the table. This wouldn't be too much of a problem except our kitchen table is a tight fit for just Mark and me and we have no booster seat. Hopefully this weekend we can fix this, assuming all continues to go well with Mark's job.

One way in which the mimicry will be beneficial in the future is in the bathroom. Drew got a training potty when a friend's kid nixed the concept. Everytime Momma goes to the bathroom in the boy's bathroom, Drew sits on his training potty. He even lifts the potty's lid. He even bends over a little, imitating the way Momma has to contort herself so as to empty her bladder.

Drew the Impersonator is also wildly entertaining when it comes to sitting on the couch. He'll pull the afghan into his lap (shunning his own blanket for this occasion) and fold his hands and sigh. Not sure if Momma or Daddy does this often enough for him to pick up on it, but it just seems so adult that he has to have learned it from us. Same way with resting his chin or cheek in his hand.

But the most frustrating aspect of this toddler trait is when we cook. Drew can't stand that he isn't able to do what we do when it comes to making dinner. He has to be held by one of us, usually the one who's cooking. We'll probably buy one of those stepping stools so he can get up to our level (well away from the knives and the stove), see if that helps.

It's a bittersweet thing to watch Drew learn by imitating. On the one hand, I'm proud of his abilities to understand our actions and replicate them discriminately. On the other, I never know what he's going to pick up on next and what sort of headache it might cause.

Initiation to Motherhood Complete

I am now officially a mother. I have called Poison Control over something Drew put into his mouth. Rest assured: he's fine. He had managed to get his grubby little hands on a tube of diaper rash cream, which he then opened and squeezed some of the cream out. When next I saw him, he had cream on his hands and face and all around his mouth, but very little seemed to have actually gotten inside his mouth.

I got him cleaned up and consulted the back of the tube for what to do if the stuff was ingested. It said to call Poison Control. So I did, and they said that the worst that could happen was he would vomit, and then only if he had eaten a lot. For the next hour, they told me to make sure he never laid down on his back (so he wouldn't choke on any vomit) and to give him some water.

Check and check. No vomitting, no strange behavior. Our first and hopefully only brush with Poison Control turned out to be completely preventative.

I feel like I've passed some sort of milestone.

The Drewbinator

Drew is so physical, so kinetic. I don't know if all kids this age are, but he always has to be moving, doing. He'll slow down and settle for a book or a puzzle, but usually he's all about spatial exploration and frenetic energy. The downside to this is that he's discovering the world of throwing things, hitting things, and using his head as a blunt weapon. We're trying to give him more appropriate things to throw than blocks and other toys, and that does seem to have curbed the need to throw other things that don't bounce as well because, well, they weren't meant to be thrown. As for the hitting things and head-ramming...we're working on variations of the "time out" strategy because it seems very odd to spank a kid while you saying, "No hitting!"

Honestly, with the head-ramming, we're figuring one day he'll clock himself good by ramming something he shouldn't and that will take care of that. But that boy's head has proved particularly hard.

And the Hits? Well, They Just Keep On Comin'

Andrew was fussy and feaverish all night long, and this morning he progressed to pukey. I'm trying to see if he'll nap in his crib at the moment, but I think I'll end up taking him back out so he can nap on me instead. Ah, the glamour of motherhood.

From the Good News Department: they are towing our car back to the shop for free and will most likely complete the repairs for free since it's quite clear they royally Fucked Up yesterday.

Curious Drew

Drew gets into everything these days. And he's always on the lookout for new things to be gotten into. The most amusing "thing" he's taken to exploring are belly-buttons. I think he finds Momma's and Daddy's belly-buttons fascinating because they are innies and he has an outie. This doesn't make Momma feel particularly nice, however, because her belly-button is more of an innie than it has been in the past due to the persistance of about 10 lbs of baby fat. (Well, baby fat and holiday fat. I'll be honest.) Just today Drew wanted to see if one of his little fruit puffs would fit in my belly-button. The whole exercise became even more enjoyable when he would put the puff in my belly-button, then pull my shirt hem down over it and do this kind of peek-a-boo game with the fruit puff.

There are the usual exploration spots: kitchen cabinets (ooooh, tupperware!), coffee tables, book shelves, boxes, purses, and your basic nooks and crannies. This has led to the Drew Monster reaching for things he has discovered in his explorations when he sees them elsewhere. My mother's kitchen table (in plain sight from his high chair during meals) is a veritable smorgasboard of stuff he thinks are toys simply because he found a similar item in his curiosity wanderings. Pens are a big hit. Mail--both opened and unopened. Kleenexes--both used and unused. Books (though we're rather proud of this one; he once came up to me with one of his night-time books and demanded in his 14-month-old way that I read to him; I did, and he promptly went down for a nap afterward).

In addition to all the reaching and finding of toys both appropriate and inappropriate, he's very good at discovering all the spots in a house that you thought were clean or the items you were certain you had tossed or put well out of reach. Case in point: when we went to the new house this weekend, we were happy to see both our tile and our carpet in place and let El Boyo Diablo loose for some toddler running and wandering. We forgot that the house was still under construction, though, and the floor anything but babyproof. Items Drew found and either tried to play with or eat: rubber band, assorted bits of construction material, dirt, and a razor blade (yeah, Momma and Daddy rushed to beat him to that one, but the little sucker was too fast; luckily he only touched the dull and covered edges before we snatched it from him; we promptly did an eagle-eye sweep of the floor for any other such nasties).

Other than the razor blade, the worst thing he's investigated to date was a piece of doggie-doo that was dessicated just enough to look like a rock to his eyes, but still, um, moist enough that his hands got covered in shit. I'm happy to have an inquisitive child because it means he's constantly observing and learning and engaging with the world, but there definitely is a down side.

Dinner and a Show!

Not sure what changed for the Drew Monster in the past two months, but getting him to eat has been quite the enterprise. If we don't shovel the food into his cake-hole fast enough, he screams. If we don't shovel the right food into his cake-hole fast enough, he screams. Sometimes he screams because he's bored with the whole process. Sometimes he just wants to hear his high-pitched yell bounce of the walls. So, we've had to get creative at the high chair.

We've done variety, both in the jars-of-mush and finger foods categories. This works when he has the patience for it, which isn't often enough to make Momma and Daddy happy. When is this kid going to be able to feed himself? I need to do some research and figure out some other tips and average timelines, just so I know if we've managed to ignore some big milestone or great trick.

We've tried to get him to stop screaming. This is next to impossible since his toddler mind can barely wrap itself around the concept of No as in "Don't touch that!" No as in "Will you please shut up" seems to be a bit too much for him to comprehend. And this tactic often results in getting Momma and Daddy worked up as well, so we've put it aside for the moment.

In the past two weeks, we've tried entertaining El Boyo Diablo. This works phenomenally well because when Drewbie is distracted and not paying attention to the whole feeding process, his mouth automatically opens when a spoonful of something or other gets near it. We give him empty food containers to play with. Momma and Daddy make all sorts of funny noises and faces. We let the boy amuse himself by stuffing the fruit puffs in our mouths for a change (I've gotten a lot of fiber and iron and zinc this way).

While it's nice to have found something that works more often than not at getting food down Drew's gullet, I know it's a temporary fix. Mainly because it doesn't seem to be teaching the little guy how to feed himself, and I'm not going to keep this up until he's 5.

Feeding the Drew Monster

Drew's taste in food is evolving, as are his abilities and temperament at the dinner table. He's been eating finger foods for a while now, mostly of the Cheerios variety. But it seems he's ready to broaden his palette and feed himself.

I suppose this really started when he learned to beg by watching my mother's dog. That and my mother indulged Drew when he did beg. This is how he learned that he really, really likes frozen fruit pops. And egg salad. We already knew that the little guy enjoyed fries and was fond of a good juice box (if we were holding it; we made the mistake of letting Drew hold the juice box while he drank...he squeezed the box and sent a stream of juice splurting out). Now Mark and I are in the habit of giving him bits and pieces of our own meal that can be mushed up easily with his gums and seven teeth (one of his molars came in). This is how we figured out that he likes fish, much to his father's dismay.

While we are excited to see Drew eager and willing to take on new tastes and textures, we are less than thrilled that our darling son has taken to throwing hissy fits at the table. We have no idea why he gets so worked up every now and then, but if we don't settle him down quick enough (and there's never any rhyme or reason as to what sets him off, so figuring out how to make it all better is not very easy), then he ramps up to full scream mode and we have to call it quits. I think I would feel less frustrated and helpless if he was just a picky eater.

On the liquid diet front, we realized that switching straight to whole milk wasn't going to work, so we've been mixing some milk in with his formula. The little guy's up to a cocktail of half formula, half milk now and should be on to straight milk within a couple of weeks. The next step after that will be to get him to feed himself his milk from a sippy cup in a timely fashion. He's been a wee bit spoiled in that department because Momma and Daddy are still feeding him his bottles, allowing him to drain 8 ounces in less than five minutes. Feeding himself is going to slow him down.

There are times I wish I could wave a wand and he'll be magically able to feed himself anything and eat anything and never fuss. But then he does something cute like picking up a piece of dried apple and feeding it to me (he reaches out and shoves it in my mouth when I get close enough). Or, even better, he'll offer me a piece of his food, I'll move close enough that he can feed it to me--only to have him get this wicked grin on his face as he pulls the food away and puts it in his own mouth. Cruel little trickster. Those fun moments are worth the strange screaming episodes. I think.

One Year Ago Today...

The Drew Monster will be 365 days old at 5:00 PM today. It's amazing to think of all that has happened in this past year and how much the little guy has grown in all senses.

It honestly feels like both a lifetime and a second have passed since they wheeled me into my antepartum room, and I got to hold my son for the first time. He had been fussing for a bit before I arrived, but as soon as I propped him up on a pillow next to me and started stroking his cheek, he sighed and fell asleep. I think I stayed up a long time just looking at him sleeping beside me. I remember the nurses checking on me several times that night and scolding me for still being awake.

The day I was discharged, Andrew had fallen asleep pretty much in the crook of my neck. I had to sign all the release papers in a strange position to keep from waking him. I remember feeling his warmth and small weight all but burrowing into me and thinking how I would treasure that moment for a long time.

This morning I reflected back on that moment as Drew sat in my lap and rested his head on my chest while cuddling his blanket. He does that upon waking up in the morning or from naps for a minute or so before he's shaken off the sleep and is ready to run wild. His warmth is bigger as is his weight, but the best change is that he's just the right size that I can easily plant tiny kisses on his little blonde head as he rests on me.

During his first few days, Drew really only moved his hands and arms. He hated having them bundled at his sides and always managed to free them from every blanket swaddled around him. This translated into him always having his hands up over his head while he slept.

Nowadays, Drew is all about moving everything. Changing him is a two-person, full body contact process. Who needs a gym when I have to change his diapers? And, the biggest movement of all, he took his first steps yesterday (which I'll talk more about on Monday). It happened at daycare, of course, so Momma and Daddy missed the big "first step" milestone, but I'm sure he'll be toddling around very often very soon to make up for it.

They say that it all happens so fast, and they're right. I've tried very hard to appreciate moments and give them the extra weight in my memory that comes with reflection so I can flip through the images and feelings of all that Andrew has given us this year. I'm excited what he'll have added over the course of this next year.

Happy First Birthday, Andrew Thomas.

Don't Feed the Drew Monster

Drew's starting to eat Big Boy Food. He's moving slowly into this world as he seems to have problems with certain textures other than the mashed and pureed consistencies he's used to. We weren't pushing him on this too much--until Momma had a blonde in distress moment after pulling him out of his old daycare. The new daycare provider had to experiment with food since I had neglected to provide her with his usual fare. He's now exploring the world of cookies and apples and cereal and crackers. Slowly but surely.

It's funny: a lot of folks mentioned how in the last round of Drew pics that he doesn't look like a baby anymore, how he looks like a toddler. I've noticed the changes as they've happened (usually by seeing how much more hair he has than he did before and how the appearance of teeth changes his looks), but they didn't give me a "my baby's growing up" pang. No, I got that when I went to pick him up from daycare one day and found him dwarfed in a high chair, gripping a regular-sized cookie that was bigger than his hand, and nibbling at it while kicking his legs. Damn near fell to the floor in tears at how old and independent he looked. I was tickled and proud and excited--and sad and terrified. It all moves so fast.

As I told my aunt (whose little one is about three months younger than Drew) before the daycare shuffle, I wasn't feeling the bittersweetness of Drew growing up as long as I could still hold him and comfort him after waking up from a nap or a bad dream or after getting an owwee. Now I cherish those moments when he needs them more than I ever did before. It won't be long before he doesn't need me in that way, before he's too big anyway. That's a good thing, and very necessary and natural and I'm honestly looking forward to watching Drew grow into the man he'll become. But watching Drew eat that cookie made me realize just how precious this past year has been despite all the missed sleep and spit-up stains and house rearranging and free time shuffling.

I never thought watching Andrew eat a cookie at eleven months old would generate this motherhood epiphany.

"...in Whose Character We Were Most Unhappily Deceived"

I had considered titling this post "How to Lose a Customer in 10 Days" but I like the Pride & Prejudice understatement here. What follows, dear reader, is a faithful narrative of my dealings with Ms. X------, my former daycare provider.

Transitions are a tricky thing. Management transitions, especially those in which contracts or explicit agreements are not used, are particularly tricky. This is where my blame in all of this lies. I didn't ask enough questions. I gave everybody the benefit of the doubt and decided not to be a bother during a transition period, hoping everything would settle out into the assumption of normal and routine that I had.

When the provider who cared for Andrew up until the end of August left, I was under the impression (from both the old management and the new management) that things would proceed in pretty much the same manner at my daycare. Sure, personalities and the basic tenor of the services provided would be different, but the basic setup was to remain the same. The situation changed upon the first day of new management, but without clear explanations as to what exactly the changes meant. I walked into the daycare to see a new face (we'll call her Y), and was informed that this new person would be "staying here all the time" instead of the person I had expected would be doing so (we'll call her X). I took this to mean that now Andrew would have two full-time daycare providers, one living at the house, the other living elsewhere. For the next four days, I saw the original person twice. Nothing was communicated to me on that person's absence. I learned later (from other sources) that there had been an emergency, and that's fine. I understand that those things happen, and if I had been informed of all changes and urgent circumstances (not the details of their lives, but the details of how that emergency would impact my son's care), I would've been fine. The situation deteriorated until last Friday, Mark and I arrived to pick up Andrew and found that both the original person AND the new person weren't there, instead it was Y's husband. Again, that sort of thing for a brief period of time in an emergency is OK, I just need to be informed. Oh, yeah, and Andrew wasn't eating or sleeping as he normally did. Granted, that could have been due to the stress of new people in his life, but it didn't do anything to make the situation better.

Mark and I struggled with what we should do about all of this last weekend. It was clear we needed to talk to them and find a way to get Drew back on his regular schedule for his well being and our sanity. We decided to call our previous provider who had moved and get some advice and suggestions on how to handle the situation--and to confirm that our assumptions had been accurate. Seemed like a good plan.

When I picked up Andrew on Monday, I was told that that Y (and her husband) would be going out of town for several days and that we had to bring Andrew to another daycare on one of those days and that "someone qualified" would be at their daycare for the other days. There was no mention of where X, the person who was supposed to be the primary care provider under this new management, would be during this time. As I took all of this in, they then shared with me that Drew hadn't eaten since noon and it was five o'clock. It was also clear to me by this time that their idea of day care was to keep all the kids in the TV room all day long.

I called my old provider as soon as I got home and learned that I was not the only one having problems with the new management. In sharing my concerns with my old provider, I managed to uncover a bigger contractual problem between the old and new management. I didn't realize it at the time, though, as I was not--nor should I have been--privy to the specifics of the how management changed hands. However, because of this issue, my old provider called X later and must've let her have it. But I knew nothing of that, either, until the next day.

On Tuesday, I went to drop off Andrew with a plan in hand. We were going to take notes on Drew's eating and sleeping habits each day and try to get him to his regular schedule, the daycare folks were to do the same. I was prepared to pull X aside and let her know my concerns and try to establish a better line of communication and explain my expectations. So when I showed up to find both X and Y (and even Y's husband) standing outside to greet me when I arrived, I started to get a bad feeling. Still, I soldiered on and laid out the plan to get Drew back to his regular schedule. Even though X agreed to the idea, she was immediately confrontational. I wasn't quite sure why until she mentioned that--and, yes, the quotes are damn near verbatim--"that's why you need to be calling us and not [the old management]."

Ah. Things were getting clearer and grimmer in my mind. Still, I tried to salvage the situation by explaining (very calmly and not at all attacking, I might add) why I had called the old provider. Things just went to hell in a handbasket after that. X remained belligerent and defensive, as if waiting for me to apologize for calling someone I had trusted with my son's care for nine months and, I surmised later, ratting them out. This, of course, assumes I had any idea that they weren't holding up their end of the agreement and that they were not wanting the old provider to know this.

When X started in on the attacks against the old provider (and somehow managed to mix in with them the statement, "We love Andrew"--yeah, sure, uh-huh), I stopped her by saying (again, very calmly), "Thank you very much for taking care of Andrew last week, but we're going to find another option." As I was turning to leave (I was still holding Drew; we had never managed to actually get inside the daycare), she said, "Well, honey, you do what you have to do."

Finally we had hit upon an agreement.

I think I started shaking once I got back home, but I still held everything at bay. After all, I had to get to work and figure out where to put Andrew for the rest of the time we're going to be here. My old provider had recommended someone, and she was able to take Drew right away. I was so discombobulated by the entire exchange that I gave her a diaper bag without diapers or food for her to use that day.

Everything's much better now. Drew adapted like a pro to the new situation in just two days (which makes me wonder just how unhappy he was last week), and I'm set up to work at home two days during the week. I had my first day of that today, and it was such a comfort to be with Drew all day. He was in such a good mood.

So that's why things got crazy on Tuesday. And the drama is still unfolding for those parents still trying to work with the new management. I think they've lost two more clients already. I'm not sure how many more they have to lose. After the way I was treated, I'm really not surprised. Such unprofessional behavior isn't exactly geared toward customer retention.