Socially Acceptable Staring

It is socially acceptable to stare at a baby.  Have you noticed this?  One may, for whatever reason, stare at a baby in a restaurant or store with rabid curiosity and without fear of reproach.  Maybe it's that the baby in question is cute, ugly, loud, quiet.  Or maybe it's the baby's mode of transportation that caught your eye - it's in one of those shopping carts that doubles as a race car, or in one of those endearingly human chest slings.  Or maybe you're staring at Baby X because you've been considering getting into the reproduction game yourself and its mom has the same hair color and skin tone as you.  Whatever the reason may be, it doesn't really matter because: it's socially acceptable to stare at babies, even if these babies belong to neither you nor anyone you know.  

It's rarely even necessary to qualify your gaze with a 'how old?' or a 'your boy looks just like my nephew'.  (Well, maybe some type of justification would be called for if the starer is a priest or has a mustache, but we'll just ignore these two demographics for the time being). 


As a matter of fact...I was blatantly staring at a baby just last Sunday:

Towards the beginning of our late afternoon meal, a waiter passed by our table carrying a little pink cake with 1 candle on it.  The mother and daughter to whom this cake belongs are walking back from their trip to the ladies room.  The one year old has impressive motor skills but still wobbles a bit.  She pauses at our booth mid-wobble (probably because I had been staring at her).  I had been staring at her for a few irrelevant reasons:

• She was wearing the same little winter dress from Baby Gap that I had considered purchasing for Poppy O..
• She and Poppy are close in age.
• Her mom was thin and seemed cool.

Permissible baby staring makes it easier to scope out the baby's mother at the same time.  This reality is liberating because it allows mothers to engage in clandestine comparisons.  

I am shamelessly and endlessly curious about the lives of other mothers.  Does she seem drained and confused or confident and fulfilled?  My curiosity increases whenever a mother in my vicinity falls into any of the following subcategories:

• her baby and Poppy appear to be close in age
• her age appears to be close to my age
• she isn't wearing mom jeans

The mother I met on Sunday was fun and bouncy and stuff.  We chatted about how Europeans are more relaxed about wine consumption while breastfeeding...which may simply be a coping mechanism for high taxes.

Aspiring To Be An Inspiring Mommy

I am trying to prepare myself to be an inspiring mother-

But how does one do that?

Lucia van der Post

Isn't she lovely?
Whenever I come across a confident, intelligent,

well-put-together older women I usually consider asking
her to come home with me and teach me things. 

books are the ultimate consolation prize-

Well, I thought that I'd start by being the kind of mother who knows some of the secrets.  It seems that Lucia van der Post, the woman who wrote Things I Wish My Mother Had Told Me, knows a lot of the secrets.

This woman has an enviable amount of conviction about how to behave - from the trivial, to the logistical, to the genuinely important.  Her book offers guidance from all three of these categories.  Much (but not all) of what she wrote resonated with me, so I'll start with that which addresses the importance of family mealtime:

'Families that sit around tables enjoying evening suppers that have been properly cooked and served tend to be closer and warmer than those who sit perched in front of the television set with fast food or takeout, not talking, not communicating.  Families gathered around a table build up memories of intimacy and warmth that last throughout one's life.'

In the evening, perhaps as I'm arranging the to-go food or the dining-in meal onto proper plates, I'll ask Matt the following question:  Are we going to be civil or American tonight?

We end up choosing to be American about 65% of the time.  Yep, if you were to come over to the house on an American evening you'd find us eating dinner in bed while starring at the TV. 

Lucia van der Post says that her children still remember when the family began eating at the table together on a regular basis.   When this became her family's routine 'the end of the day was transformed as the children spent some real time with their parents.'

So the new goal is to be civilized 90% of the time by the time Poppy's cognitive skills are blooming. 

Lucia van der Postis a longtime journalist and author.  For the past 20 years or so she has been a sort of style guru for the Financial Times.

http://howtospendit.ft.com/lucia-van-der-post

Why Bad Outfits Shouldn't Happen To Good Babies

'A little girl the minute she is born is already the woman she will be.  So to empower a little girl is to empower the woman she will become.'                                            -Diane Von Furstenburg

A couple months ago while my parents were taking care of Poppy for the weekend I stumbled upon the following photo on facebook:

'there has clearly been a lapse in judgement here' said poppy.

I looked, but could find no caption saying something to the effect of 'Poppy just put on a skit for us in which she played Molly Ringwald circa Pretty In Pink'.

When I saw that Poppy was wearing this outfit, I began to panic.  I knew that I was being irrational and yet I was still genuinely bothered.

To me, you see, this outfit is spectacularly bad.  To begin with, the hat is reminiscent of a prohibition era flapper girl.  Not a desirable look.  Secondly, I might have been okay with mixing the tulle fabric with a zebra print...that juxtaposition is kind of interesting.  But then one can't help but notice the large, anachronistic pink bow in the middle of the outfit.  I've seen pictures of myself as a little girl in the late 80s/early 90s wearing these types of bows.  Judging by my facial expressions in these pictures, it seems that I didn't find them attractive then either.  As a matter of fact, I'd say that my expressions were similar to Poppy's expression in this photo.

Why does it bother me so much when one of the grandparents dresses Poppy up in an aesthetically unappealing outfit?  (Well, to be fair, the outfit in this particular episode was a few steps beyond aesthetically appealing.)  Matt says that it's because 'I have a lot of pride wrapped up in this baby'.  I guess that's true, and it reminded me of the theme of the Diane Von Furstenburg for Gap Kids commercial that I saw in this past Spring:

DVF talking to a little girl on the set:  'Give them a little attitude....that is chic, don't you think?'

the little girl nods, pretending to know what 'chic' means

DVF talking to the camera:  'A little girl the minute she is born is already the woman she will be.  So to empower a little girl is to empower the woman she will become.'

Matt thought that this was a ridiculous statement.  Admittedly, I'm not sure that the logic here is completely sound.  But as I think about this idea again, now that I actually have a little girl, I do understand what Diane meant here.  I might even add that empowering the little girl empowers the mother as well.

By the way, I'm not sure that Baby Gap gets enough street cred*.  Here are a some of their excellent (and inexpensive) clothes that I've recently bought for Poppy.  I must say that she is looking chic this season-

this really keeps her warm-

i got her this, except with navy cables down the middle.
very wimbledon.  

i have a military sweater like this in blue.  
i try to put something pink on her when she
wears this so that she doesn't look androgynous.
it looks nike with pink pants. 

i bought this in 12-18 months so she can wear it in the Spring-

when i put this on her head, it doesn't really look right.
the only reason I bought it was so people
might stop mistaking her for a boy.  

(I would never say 'do they make this in my size?', but I will say that Baby Gap clothes are way more hip and interesting than Big Girl Gap clothes.)

http://www.gap.com/browse/category.do?cid=14249#department=165

*While I was still pregnant I decided that it would be a good idea to get Matt slightly tipsy at Shin-Sei (that excellent Asian restaurant on Lovers Lane), and then take him baby clothes shopping at the Baby Gap just across the street.  It was indeed a good idea because Poppy ended up with many outfits from the DVF for Gap Kids line.

The Pop-Tart Has A Cold, But Everything Will Be Okay

i should really buy one of these artery thermometers-

The Pop-Tart has a cold.  It was scary at first.  Yesterday (Saturday) morning, when she was coughing a lot and looking uncharacteristically bummed out, I decided to take her temperature again.  It was 96.something, but I'm never sure that I'm taking her temperature correctly.   The nurses went the armpit route when Poppy was in the NICU.  I saw these qualified ladies do the taking of the temperature many, many times.  They even let me do it a few times in an attempt to make me feel included and less helpless.  As it turns out, I could have had more faith in my temperature taking abilities on Saturday.

At 7:45am, I call Poppy's pediatrician's office.  It's called The Pediatric Associates of Dallas – these people are organized, they have a fancy website, and they have a whole heap of Pediatricians (some of whom come in on Saturdays).

ring ring, ring ring

a chipper nurse:  'Good Morning, Pediatric Associates of Dallas.'

me:  'Hello.  Um, my baby is sick.'

the chipper nurse:  'Alright.  Dr. Hubbard has an opening at 9:45 this morning.  What's your child's name?'

me:  'Perfect.  My daughter is already a patient with you guys.  Her name is Poppy Darrah.  Poppy, P-O-P-P-Y.  Darrah, D-A-R-R-A-H.'

the chipper nurse:  'Okay, see you at 9:45.'

Her little eyes are red, and the phlegm in her chest is audible.  Very audible – I can hear it doing activities in her lungs.  She looks drowsy and sick.  It's maybe 8:15am now, and she is laying on her back in my bed and dozing off.  I am watching her little chest more intently than I would a new episode of Mad Men.  For some reason, I think that she may quit breathing.  I call The Pediatric Associates of Dallas again.

ring ring, ring ring

the chipper nurse:  'Good Morning, Pediatric Associates of Dallas.'

me:  'Hi, um, I already have an appointment for 9:45, but is there anything any earlier?  You see, my baby has never been sick before and she is coughing a lot and breathing heavily...'

the chipper nurse, who has clearly heard the neurotic mommy racket before, replies with a courteous:  'The doctors don't normally get in until 9:00, or 9:30, but you can go ahead and come on in.'

me, sounding relieved:  'Great.  Thanks.'

I then herd Matt, Poppy to the car.  I drive very quickly to the pediatricians' office.  Matt is making smallish talk that I ignore because all I'm thinking is:
'Must get Poppy to doctor.  Must get Poppy to doctor.  No talk.  Doctor.'

I'm driving fast because I want answers, I want medicine, and I want them now now.

We find the office, and I sign in with the nurse at 8:55am.  I choose to park our little posse in the alternative waiting room.  You know the one I mean – the smaller waiting room reserved for contagious babies who have fevers and tropical diseases.

We've waited for about 10 minutes when I decide that it's a good idea to go loiter around the partition whilst holding Poppy.  Maybe nurses will see how sick my baby is and get the ball rolling here.  This plan doesn't seem to be working, so I switch to a more direct strategy.

me:  'Hi, could someone go ahead and take my baby's temperature?'

one of the other chipper nurses:  'Sure!  Let's go ahead and get you into a room.'

The three of us shuffle into a tiny but brightly decorated examination room that seems even smaller once my crew and my anxiety are in there.  The nurse takes Poppy's temperature and oxygen levels, both of which are normal.

We then wait in this room for about 20 minutes.  I am nervous and listening through the thin walls, trying to determine if any doctors have arrived yet.

Dr. Hubbard opens the door.  I had never met Dr. Hubbard before.  She's an attractive, energetic lady who is perhaps in her late fifties.  She is wearing leopard print flats and skinny jeans under her white lab coat.  I assume that the getup is part of this casual Saturday protocol.

Dr. Hubbard:  'Hello there!'

She swiftly begins examining Poppy while she is still in Matt's arms.  She checks out Poppy's ears, which are of course, perfect.  She then puts Poppy on the crinkly paper and puts the wooden stick in her mouth.  Poppy likes this wooden stick and is allowed to keep it.

During the time Dr. Hubbard is examining Poppy she is also talking.  Her speech is delivered with the informality you'd expect from an old college roommate – approachable and charming.  She tells us to wash our hands and Poppy's hands diligently, and that we should watch Poppy's chest because that's how we can tell if she needs to come in.  If it's going up and down in a easy, rhythmic fashion (as it was while Dr. Hubbard was giving us this information), and if she doesn't have a fever - then Poppy is fine.

me:  'So what's wrong with her?  She really is sick, she seemed sicker at home...'

Dr. Hubbard:  'She just has a cold.  Every kid has a cold right now.  I would say that it'd be weird if she didn't have a cold.  She'll probably have a cold until May.  Here, take my card.'

She hands Matt her bright orange card:  Sue Hubbard, MD.  The Kid's Doctor Extraordinaire*.


Dr. Hubbard:  'I have a website and a radio show.....'

She says some other things but I am confused at this point, so it's a bit of a blur.

me:  'So she doesn't need any medicine?'

Dr. Hubbard:  'Nope, no medicine.  Get a humidifier and wash her hands a lot.'

And then she whisks away in her leopard print flats.


It turns out that I was taking Poppy's temperature correctly – she just didn't have a fever.  So this story circles back to what I always say yet only occasionally believe, which is:  The kid will be fine.




http://kidsdr.com/
http://paddallas.com/


* I added the 'extraordinaire' part.

Teenage Bedrooms

Our apartment is clean, and clutter-free.  While growing up, my room was only clean some of the time.  It was clean maybe 20% of the time.  I remember saying things like 'why do you care if my room is clean if door is shut?'

I came across the following article NY Times this week:

Teenage Bedroom as Battleground:
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/11/01/garden/teenage-bedroom-as-battleground.html?pagewanted=all

The NY Times article says that one of the reasons that parents nag their kids keep their rooms clean is because they are 'embarrassed...they wonder whether it represents their lack of parenting control.'  Does a messy room mean that the parents have poorly prepared their children to care for themselves?

The article goes through several examples of teenagers who have epically messy rooms, and whose parents simply try to ignore it.  These parents deal with the fore-mentioned parental anxieties by reminding themselves that their kid makes straight As and is heavily active in one activities circuit or another.  

I wish that my parents had taken a more hands-off approach regarding my bedroom's level of cleanliness.  Instead, it was a perpetually angsty battle with no clear winner.

At the moment, Poppy's room is pristine and beautiful (this can be attributed to my uninterrupted saga of apartment tidying).  When she is older, will I resort to threats and bribery to get her to keep her room clean?  Frankly, I can't imagine that I will ever care that much.


So, after some reflexion on this topic, I have come to the following conclusion:  Poppy will probably keep her room clean and neat all on her own.  She will probably have this innate desire to impress Matt and I with her domestic organizational skills.

In the event that she does have a messy bedroom, I have no intention of nagging her.  Personally, I've never enjoyed being nagged; nor do I enjoy doing the nagging.  This is a pre-emptive boycott of the nagging.  Poppy will be allowed to keep her room in whichever state of cleanliness she finds appealing, as long as she picks up after herself in the rest of the house.

'poppy, will your room been in a state of anarchy when you're a teenager?  
will i let it go, or will i nag you about it for years?'

People enjoy peeking into others peoples' lives.  Especially when these other people are like them in some big or important way.

When I saw D Moms at Whole Foods, I thought: 'Perfect.  Dallas mothers and Dallas' soon-to-be mothers will eat this up.'

Admittedly, some of the content was cliché.  Exposés of wealthy philanthropy moms and their closets full of Chanel purses have never been of much interest to me.  However, there were a few pieces that I found compelling.  Among them were the following:

1)  An interesting exposé on a Vietnamese fashion blogger by the name of Hanh Merriman.  Here are a few tidbits:

-'Buy only what you really love, don't settle for something you just like, no matter the price.'

-She plans learning trips for her family.  She sees 'vacations as a time for the girls to get excited about new things.'  Her examples were:

• making pasta in Venice
• acting lessons in NYC
• whale watching in Vancouver

This makes me want to plan some learning trips for Poppy O.!

2)  There was another mommy exposé that impressed me: Confessions of a Selfish Mom - We decided that our children would live in our world, not we in theirs. 

Christine Allison uses this forum to reflect back on her Disney Worldless parenting strategy.  Her kids didn't have a lot of toys, and their family didn't go to places that were specifically tailored to children.  She and her husband raised their four daughters in an adult world.

-'We agreed that being subsumed by children is in no one's best interest...We were afraid that somehow we would lose ourselves.'

-'Not having a lot of toys and gadgets made space for writing plays, riding bikes, and making worlds out of cardboard boxes.  We had a country house in upstate New York and on weekends big Allisons and tiny Allisons spent every moment together, in a multipurpose room, reading books, cooking, listening to public radio.  It wasn't the Magic Kingdom, but it was magical.'

Public radio?  Upstate New York?  Books instead of toys?  I'm glad to see that D Magazine's spin-off can step outside of their prescribed realm every now and again.

Now, who's ready to watch some football?

http://www.life-in-travel.com/

http://www.dmagazine.com/Home/D_Magazine/2012/D_Moms/Confessions_of_a_Selfish_Mom.aspx

Cinque Cento

This is a new segment we're calling: no mini-van....ever.

Matt's ultra-ghetto 2004 Chrysler '500 M' took its final breath a few weeks ago.  So, as previously discussed, he took my Honda Element (read: the 'toaster') and I got a new vehicle.

you can put a baby in here

vroom

Yep.  I have a 6 month old baby and I bought a very small (even by European standards) car.  Maverick!

The fact of the matter is, Poppy is a very small person, so it's actually no problem at all to fit her into a small car.  Small person, small car - see?  In my case, I put her into her rear-facing car seat via the hatchback door.  It takes less time to get her situated because I don't have to actually get into the car in order to put her into the car.  I recently learned that the Fiat 500 is considered to be a 3-door automobile (the hatchback door is considered to be the 3rd door.  This actually does make sense because, at least for us, it functions as a baby door.)

So if any of you mommies want to walk hand-in-hand with me into the 21st century, where the cars have excellent fuel economy, know that you aren't alone.  Maverick!


I love this car, it's very euro-chic.  Others love it as well:
http://500blog.blogspot.com/2008/07/new-fiat-500-black-by-night-iv.html

'Will You Take Care Of This Baby?'

It's a beautiful, cool, crisp morning.  Fall is here, and the transition is just as exciting as it is every year.  I rise at 8:00am, get dressed, and dress Poppy in her new Fall outfit that we bought at Ralph Lauren this weekend.  She is looking lovely in her first Fall outfit.  The car was loaded up last night with my school things as well as with Poppy's little green backpack.  We hit the road at 8:45.  The sun is shining.  We go through the McDonald's drive-through to pick up my two bottles of Dasani water and a medium Diet Dr. Pepper.  As we pull into the church parking lot, I notice that there is only one other car.  That's strange.

I park, pull Poppy out of her car seat, bonk her head a little, apologize to her for bonking her head a little, realize that she didn't even notice the bonk, and then I grab her green backpack.  We approach a locked door.  Everything is dark inside of Claire's Christian Day school.  I linger for a minute, peering into the building.  As we turn to head back to the car, a portly woman appears.


portly woman: 'They're not here today.  It's Fair Day.'

me: 'Fair Day?'

portly woman: 'Yes, they're on the Highland Park school system schedule and today is Fair Day.'

me: 'Oh, I didn't know that public schools had a designated Fair Day.'

portly woman: 'Well in Texas they do.'

me: 'Oh.  Well, then.  Will you take care of this baby for me?'

Poppy, who is still looking cute and well put together, smiles at the portly church administrator woman.

portly woman: 'I've been in your situation before.'



We return to the car in the nearly vacant parking lot where I give Poppy some of her bottle and think for a minute.  It is Columbus Day, but the market is still open ('the market' = the stock market).  Is it politically incorrect these days to call a school holiday Columbus Day?  Columbus seems like a fairly benign historical character.

I guess this means I'm not going to class today.

It's okay to take your baby into the liquor store as long as it's a reasonably nice liquor store, and as long as your just getting wine.

I love wine, which is just one of the great many reasons that I love not being pregnant anymore.  There is a Goody Goody liquor store just around the corner from our apartment that carries Whispering Angel, an excellent French rosé.  The sweet guys who run the place usually have some hidden in the back of the refrigerator for me. 

another excellent reason to continue my current state of non-pregnancy

I have a baby, and I've heard that you can't leave babies in the car.  (We all know this and yet there's always some woman leaving her kid in the car in the middle of summer.  My theory is that she's just not that into her kid anymore.)  So, this means that Poppy is coming into the liquor store with me.  The first couple of times we did this, I did feel a little weird about it.  But I want my vino, and I'm Poppy's primary caregiver, so she's going in there too.  Sometimes people make funny little comments as I'm carrying her in.  Comments like: 

liquor store patrons:  'She like vodka or scotch?' or 'Let's get that baby a beer!'.  

To which I reply (somewhat defensively) with the following justification : 'Oh, we're just getting wine'.   

I've had some time to think about it and I have arrived at the following conclusion: It's okay to take your baby into the liquor store if you are just buying wine.    

Dilemma

Here's a new concern that I've had lately:

How much longer will I be physically able to carry Poppy?

She weighed 16 pounds at her 4 month checkup, putting her in the 95th percentile for weight.  This didn't bother me, because she is in the 85th percentile for height.  We'll find out at her 6 month pedi visit on October 25th, but I'm guessing that she weighs 21 pounds or so now.  Or maybe even 25 pounds.  

The otherwise dependable method of putting Poppy in the Baby Bjorn sling carrier on my chest is already on its way out (it's beginning to hurt my back since she is getting so heavy).  This bums me out because the chest carrier has been an easy and quick way to carry her around while at the Whole Foods or while sitting in a restaurant.  She just hangs out in there while I'm eating brunch, and it's pleasant for everyone.  

My concern is regarding how much she will weigh before she becomes a full-time walker.  It's becoming increasingly difficult to hold her and carry her around.  The day will come when I won't be able to carry her at all.  For example, I don't think that I am strong enough to lift a 40 pound person.  Do I need to start weight lifting/strength training?  I would really rather not.

    

poppy in a communal stroller at 'mommy's day out'

notice how Poppy is the only baby who's bag gets a seat as well. 

Are We In A Strip Club?

Oh boy!  The Book of Mormon!  I'd been wanting to see this one for two years.

This is not a play for children. This is not a play for closed-minded adults. This is not a play for broke people (but then again, I suppose that applies to broadway in general).  Those Southpark guys are really chargin' ya for this musical.

There are these two geeky mormons in their late teens or early twenties who are sentenced to a two-year companionship as missionaries in Uganda.  Only one of these guys has actually heard of Uganda.  

One of the many unforeseen problems for these two young missionaries is that the Ugandans are more concerned with AIDS and pesky warlords than with religion shopping.  


The soundtrack is excellent.  Some of the songs have hopeful, upbeat punctuations that remind me of the songs in The Little Mermaid.  But the lyrics are nothing like The Little Mermaid.  One example is the song 'I Believe' sung by Andrew Rannells (Elder Price).  

elder price

Some of the funny lyrics of this song include bits like:

I believe......that in 1978 God Changed his mind about black people.....

I believe......that God lives on a planet called Kola.....

and I believe.......that The Garden of Eden was in Jackson County Missouriiii.......

I am a mormon, and mormons just belieeeeve!!!!


During the intermission Matt and I are the first people in line at the bar.

the barman: 'What'll ya have?'

me: 'We'll have a vodka soda and a jack and diet please.'

the barman: 'Doubles?'

me: 'Sure!'

The barman makes the drinks.

the barman: 'Here you go.  That'll be $61 please.'

Matt hands the barman a $20 bill.

the barman: '$61.'

me: 'Wow, $61 dollars, are we in a strip club or something?'

I was in an elated and awnery mood.  Seeing Matt Parker and Trey Stone (or is it Matt Stone and Trey Parker?) exercising the freedom allowed by the first amendment to this great extreme is very exciting.  I also had a confidence boost from my new black 7 skinny jeans.  They are truly excellent.  

Also, I think that Rogers and Hammerstein would balk at these drink prices.


A woman who was standing behind me in the drink line came up to me as we were headed back to our seats.

woman: 'Wow, as soon as I heard how much you guys were paying for your drinks I decided to get a soda instead.'

me: 'I know, crazy huh?

The Scrappy Irishman

this guy is scrappy.  he's ready to defend himself and his stamps.

There is this stamp guy in the East Village. His stamp shop is nothing like the sober rubber stamp aisles in Michaels. This is a raw stamp situation. I saw the store while walking around the east village waiting to meet Matt at Momofuku (a very loud noodle bar) around the corner.  His window display has hundreds of obscure stamps.

casey rubber stamps: they're 'open late' and 'most sundays'.
these guys are serious about their arts and crafts.  

This isn't just any stamp store.  As I'm browsing, two dodgy fellas come down into the small shop. I take notice of these guys straight way for two reasons: the shop is too small not to notice the comings and goings of anyone, and also because they look as if or as though they are packing heat. I hate to stereotype like that, but (at least in this case) it turned out not to be without merit.


The Irish ,Santa Clause-esc proprietor comes up to the front of his shop while remaining seated in his swivel chair.  

Irishman: 'Can I help you guys?'

Drug Dealers: 'Yea, hey, uh you can make customized stamps right?'

Irishman: 'That's right.'

Drug Dealers: 'Can you make some of this?'

Drug Dealers show something to the Irishman.

Irishman: 'No, I don't do that kind of thing.'

Drug Dealers: 'What kind of thing?'

Irishman: 'I don't make stamps for the bags.'

Drug Dealers: 'That's not what this is.'

Irishman: 'Well I don't make those kind of stamps.'

Agitation ensues.

Drug Dealers: 'That's discrimination man!'

Irishman: 'I don't make those.'

At this point I begin to think that the Drug Dealers might pull a gun on the Irishman.  But the Irishman eventually shoos these guys out the door.  

me: 'I thought they were going to shoot you.'

Irishman: 'Did you notice that I kept my scissors in my hand?  I don't want them in here again.'

He then explains to me that Drug Dealers come into the shop sometimes who want him to make stamps to label their drug baggies.  This particular design said 'Don't Worry, Be Happy'.  We both agree that he doesn't have to accept their business.  Then I buy these two stamps from the scrappy Irishman.

This is why I love New York, there's never a dull moment when your walking around the city.  Irish artisans, entrepreneurial drug dealers, just another day-

I started stamping Matt 's business documents in an effort to be more quirky. Maybe I'll buy a record player, a typewriter, and a guide to crocheting as a tribute to Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen and Zoey Deschanel.  



http://www.caseyrubberstamps.com/
http://momofuku.com/

5 Months = More Noise

Welcome back to the Poppy-O Show.  The protagonist (and sometimes the antagonist), Poppy, is 5 months old!!(?)

While we were in New York last week, Poppy learned how to roll herself over.  Once she gets herself rolled over, being face downward seems to stress her out.  Matt thinks that she's stressed because she wants to crawl but can't do it yet.  This new rolling over skill has bumped up the amount of effort required to be her caregiver.  Until last week, she'd sit still in her lavender Nap Nanny for large chunks of the day.  We'd put this Nap Nanny on the table, on the bed, etc..  Now she might sit still in the Nap Nanny for a little while but sooner or later she begins to squirm and push her legs down like she's trying to stand up.  So then I'll put her on the floor in the Baby Einstein play gym thing.  It's this colorful blanket with two bended sticks connected to it.  There are lots of toys hanging from the sticks for her to grab onto, most notably a blue octopus.  After I have placed her on the floor in the play gym it's not long until she starts grabbing the sticks to help her roll herself on over.  The thing is though that once she is rolled over on her stomach she begins to make lots of noises.  These noises are loud and annoying.  These noises are somewhere in-between cries for help and sounds of exertion (and I have trouble telling the difference).  Suffice it to say that there is a lot of noise, a lot of the time.

It's possible that some of this noise is a reaction to her teefers comin' in.  I can feel their ridges along her bottom gums.  I'm going to go get her some baby oragel gum numbing gel stuff.  Yesterday at the gym I asked the Homosexual Anesthesiologist whether or not it was okay to use some type of numbing gel on her gums:

'Oh yea, it's totally safe.  It doesn't last for very long but it may calm her down some when she's hurting.'



The thing about the rolling over skill is that she now rolls over onto her stomach while she is in her crib.  This caused me some anxiety for a day or two.  Beginning when I was pregnant I was told that you should put NOTHING in the crib, and that your baby needs to sleep on her back.  If not, she'll probably die of SIDS.  It even says 'Back Is Best' on her sleep sacks (which we call her sacks'o'sleep).  When we got back from New York on Sunday and put her in her crib for bed, she rolled over.  Sometimes she rolls over and gets kind-of lodged in the corner.  This freaked me out at first.  I kept checking on her and putting her back on her back throughout the night for a couple of nights.  Now it's clear that she wants to sleep on her stomach, and she is going to get back on her stomach, one way or another.  She'll either sleep on her stomach while I get a good night's rest, or she'll sleep on her stomach with me waking up to put her back on her back at dark:thirty all night.

'i can roll over now'

'this is my purple throne'

Tippy Tales

You'd think that, being such a well evolved species, that our babies would be a bit more self-reliant.  A horse that's  fresh out of the chute can stand up and walk around and do all sorts of impressive things.  When a baby is fresh out of the chute, well, it can't do much of anything really.

If you sit Poppy on a flat, even surface with her legs placed neatly in front of her, she'll just tip right over.  Every time...she tips over.  She's nearly 5 months old, and I'm happy to report that this persistent lack of coordination doesn't seem to bother her.  Her facial expression conveys something like:

'I'm really doing all I can here.  Let's try this again later.'

Cinderella's Intermission

Someday Poppy O. will want to watch the Disney film Cinderella.  I will say:

'Sure thing lil' Poppy...let's watch it together.'

We will sit down to watch Cinderella.  We'll be watching Cinderella, watching, watching.  The prince's Grand Duke will be looking for the one girl in the Kingdom whose foot fits into the glass slipper.  The Evil Stepmother will trip the Grand Duke, he will fall and the glass slipper with shatter exactly as it has been shattering since 1950.  Cinderella will shock her Stepmother by pulling the other glass slipper out of her weathered pocket.  It will slip onto Cinderella's foot with an effortless and sparkly magnetism.

This is when I will press stop and turn off the TV.

Poppy: 'Then Cinderella and the Prince get married don't they?'

Me: 'No darling.  Then she gets her masters degree.'

Poppy: 'And then they get married?'

Me: 'Yes.  And then they get married.'

'you see Poppy, after this scene the kingdom awards cinderella a full scholarship for graduate school.  yep, when she's done with that she and the prince get married.  isn't that lovely?'

4 Month Pedi Visit

The Pop-Tart is 4 months old.  At this point we are having pediatric visits every two months.

Dr. Dreiling examined her on the crinkly paper.  He began by putting Poppy on her tum-tum to see if she can hold up her upper body.  It turns out that she is able to hold herself up.  I was nervous about this test as we are certainly negligent with the supervised tummy time sessions.  It stresses me out to see her all squirmy on the floor.  Dr. Dreiling showed me how to help her by holding her bum down to sort of anchor her body.

Poppy came in at 25.5 inches tall (or 'long' in her case since she is generally a horizontal being), which puts her in the 85th percentile.  This is good, tall is good.

She is 16 pounds and 9 ounces, which puts her in the 95th percentile for weight.  Oh boy.  Chunk'a'monk.  Dr. Dreiling said that it's fine and that she will slim down once she begins crawling and walking.  Meanwhile, I think that we'll have to get her some Baby Spanx.

'i'd never spank a baby, but I'd sure Spanx one,' -snl.  

'do you have a fat baby?'

Dr. Dreiling was impressed with the progress that Poppy's belly button has made.  It's becoming less and less herniated and soon it won't be herniated at all.

Dr. Dreiling: 'How's everything going?'

Me: 'Great.  She's great.  She's been consistently sleeping through the night since 6 weeks.'

Dr. Dreiling: 'Wow.  I wouldn't tell a whole lot of people that.  I get some babies in here that are 10 months old and still not sleeping through the night.'


Having recently experienced a victorious and peaceful first plane ride with Poppy, I was eager to tell Dr. Dreiling.

Dr. Dreiling: 'Flying with infants is easy.  In planes, you are effectively flying at 8,000 feet when the equilized air pressure is taken into account.  This makes babies feel drowsy.  Flying with toddlers is difficult; they aren't able to pay attention to a full movie yet.  So they want to run and play in the aisle.  It's for that reason that I say if you don't have to fly with a toddler, then don't.'

It seems that whenever I have a little success story about Poppy's relatively docile comportment, people proceed to tell me about how it won't last for long.  A big bucket of misery is lurking just around the corner.  Coincidently, it was these same people who told me how difficult it was to have an infant: I won't get any sleep for months and months, it will be really taxing on my marriage, I will lose all interest in things like going to the gym and reading the New York Times which will be convenient since I will never have time to read it anyway.  It will take a full 9 months to lose the baby weight (I read that in Vicki Iovine's The Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy).  When I was pregnant, I began to get scared that 'when the baby comes', it will be all over.  Youth, hobbies, travel...nope.  All gone.

I know that we are lucky to have a baby who can focus on things and is generally content to do so.  I also know that I am very lucky to have the option to take care of Poppy O. instead of having to work.  Having said that, Poppy lays quietly in bed next to me while I'm reading The Times (I read one article aloud to her), she stares at me from her Bugaboo while I'm on the treadmill, and I'm sure that she'll do fine at Mommy's Day Out a few hours a week while I'm in class.  My point here is this: when you have a baby, it's the baby who is moving in with you.  It's okay to expect to be able to continue your own life alongside your baby's life.