A Gym Truce

There has been a bit of rivalry between me and the homosexual anesthesiologist in my building.  This began around September of 2010 when I let Mr. Kili into the pool at The Rienzi.  I had just returned to Texas after a 4 month stint with an NGO in Ghana that ended with a powerfully parasitic illness.  I was happily playing with Kili in the pool of our apartment when a conservatively flamboyant and well exercised short man came outside in a huffy rage.

gay anesthesiologist: 'You're not allowed to have dogs in the pool here.'

me: 'Ummm.'

gay anesthesiologist: 'You don't get special privileges.  I have dogs too and I don't let them in the pool!'

'i didn't do it,' says Kili.

I paused to ponder the fact that this man had seen me from his window/balcony.  He found the rules governing the pool to be so compelling, so sacred, that he was unable to passively observe them being violated.  No sir.

me: 'Umm, okay.'

I then brought Kili over to a pool chair to sit next to me.  This man continued to stare at me, his hips cocked to the side with an air of impatient frustration.

gay anesthesiologist: 'He's not allowed to be in the pool area at all.'

I ignored him at that point and took Kili upstairs 10 minutes later.


This past January I was working out in our lovely little apartment gym.  Being 5 months pregnant, my workout was reduced to walking with purpose on the treadmill.  The huffy short man walks in at around 4pm wearing bright blue scrubs.  I know that he recognizes me, so I attempt to make friendly conversation.

me: 'Do you work out here often?'

gay anesthesiologist: 'Just right after work so that I can have some quiet time to myself.'

I decide not to take the hint.  I am determined to alleviate the tension in this small gym.

me: 'Oh, are you a Doctor?'

gay anesthesiologist: 'An anesthesiologist.  I graduated first in my class from Harvard med.'

I don't really know how to respond to this.  I think it's very lame of him to lay his credentials out so quickly.  I hadn't asked him where he went to medical school, and I certainly hadn't asked to hear about his report card.

me: 'Oh, that's really cool.  I'm pregnant.'

I thought that maybe this would inspire him to say something like 'Oh, I have done epidurals before,' or 'My partner is an OBGYN' or something.  Anything.

....Nothing...

I finish my workout (in the midst of opaque tension) while skeptically pondering the validity of his alleged achievement at Harvard.  If someone has finished first in their class at Harvard Medical School, would they feel the need to tell anyone who will listen?  I would think that this kind of achievement would elevate their self-esteem to a point where they wouldn't need to get recognition from relative strangers.  Perhaps he simply wanted to assert his superiority over me.

Since these little episodes, I have seen the gay anesthesiologist around the building and in the gym.  We have dutifully and purposefully ignored one another while trying to seem cool.  I have thought about trying to make small talk again, but have repeatedly decided against it once I remember that he is a rude poser with no life.

Until yesterday.  I park Poppy's bugaboo next to my treadmill in our little gym, mute the TV, and put on the Olympics.  It's that event where girls are dancing around gymnastically while throwing balls to one another.  It's impressive.  I begin my fast walk at an incline while quizzing myself with French flashcards.

I see that someone is coming into the gym and instinctively do a little wave before realizing who this person is.  I realize that it's the gay anesthesiologist, but decide to follow through with the wave that is already in motion.  I smile.  He gives me an obligatory wave back.  I mean, does he really have a choice?  If he hadn't waved back, the tension in the gym would be at code red and one of us would have had to leave.  And who wants to leave without getting a workout in if they've already conquered inertia and arrived at the gym?

I have 20 minutes left in my 60 minute workout.  I run half of it and walk half of it.  Once I've finished, I gently begin to load my stuff onto Poppy's bugaboo.  As I'm getting off the treadmill the gay anesthesiologist says:

'You have the quietest baby ever.'

He is just sitting there, blinking innocently on the workout bench.  I'm truly shocked by this friendly compliment, so I ask him to repeat it just to make sure.

gay anesthesiologist : 'You have the quietest baby ever.'  

me: 'Oh, yea.  She's amazing.  She's been sleeping thought the night since like 5 or 6 weeks old.  Mommy's gotta work out, so she comes with me.'  

gay anesthesiologist: 'The noise is probably very soothing to her since you worked out while you were pregnant.  It's likely that she remembers the sounds.'  

me: 'I hadn't thought of that.  That makes a lot of sense.  Hm.'

gay anesthesiologist: 'Have a good day.'  

As Poppy and I leave I'm satisfied that there need no longer be tension in the gym due to my nearly involuntary southern friendliness.  I was also happy to discover yet another reason to workout (read: walk quickly on the treadmill) whilst one is preggers.  I knew that this guy had some interesting medical tidbits to share with a pregnant woman-

the rienzi gym

i work out

Tales of Supervised Tummy Time

poppy looks a bit sad here because she just discovered that she has a double-chin

ything that eThis word 'fussy' is perhaps the most popular euphemism in American parenting vernacular.   Fussy is a lovely word to use because we aren't admitting that the baby is crying or wailing or misbehaving in any way.  Fussy could mean that the baby is making quiet, polite or similarly unoffensive noises.  It could also mean that the baby is making big noises with an impressive symphonic range.  'Fussy' is safe and fuzzy.

I get weekly emails from The Bump that include baby development tidbits based on how many weeks old Poppy is.  One of these emails recently brought up something that I dread: supervised tummy time. 

During tummy time, roll a small, soft ball in front of baby. Simply reaching and grabbing for it will help develop him hand-eye coordination.

Tummy time must be supervised for the same reasons that prohibit you from placing your baby on his stomach in the crib.  This practice encourages babies to lift their heads, strengthening their neck and back muscles that they will need for sitting and crawling. 

Unfortunately, neither Poppy nor I are fans of supervised tummy time.  Whenever we do a session of STT I lay her face-down on the carpet, watch her squirm around like a fish out of water for about 2.5 minutes (which feels very mean).  At which point she gets very fussy.  I cave and pick her up by minute 4 or 5 because her fussyness has escalated to a level that gives me lots of anxiety (which is why I avoid doing STT). 

Dr. Dreiling is constantly lobbying for supervised tummy time:

Dr. Dreiling: 'So, how's the supervised tummy time coming along?'


me, smiling and nodding: 'Uh-huh, tummy time.  Yes.  All the time.'

here is Sophie La Giraffe; a toy that poppy has shown little interest in.

http://pregnant.thebump.com/new-mom-new-dad/newborn-basics/articles/your-baby-week-13.aspx

The Gluten Diaries

Poppy and I were at Whole Foods this afternoon.  She is as good as she usually is in my black baby björn chest carrier sling thing.  I put some organic strawberries that are on sale for $2.99 in my basket.  I take 4 of the sample cherries and feel a little bad about taking more than a reasonable allotment but then decide that I should be allotted more since I shop there three times per week.  I put some Fage (pronounced Fa-yeh!) yogurts in my basket.  While en route to the chilly wine section I pause at The Good Bean Fruit & No-Nut Bar sample stand and am greeted by The Good Bean Fruit & No-Nut Bar peddler lady who is short, 40ish, thin, and wearing an athletic white baseball hat.  If I had to guess, I'd say that she does a lot of yoga.

sample lady: 'Would you like to try The Good Bean Fruit & No-Nut Bar?  It has chickpeas instead of nuts so it's packed with protein without all the calories.'

The sample lady looks down at her printed cheat sheet, then returns her gaze to me.

sample lady: 'And it's gluten free!'

me: 'But I like the gluten.  Gluten is the best part.'

The sample lady looks down at her cheat sheet.  Then she looks back up at me again, appearing confused and a bit sad.

me: 'I'm messing with you.'

The sample lady is visibly relieved, nervously smiling and chuckling.  A sample lady sidekick arrives wearing a blue top and khakis and stands next to the sample lady.  The sidekick is amused.

sample lady: 'Oh, good.  No one has messed with me today.'

me: 'But yea, I'm a gluten enthusiast.  I don't eat anything that doesn't have gluten.'

sample lady: 'A lot of people are allergic to gluten.'

me: 'Yea, I'm not sure that they actually are.  Are they all really allergic to gluten?  I'm not sure.'

It is clear that the athletic sample lady finds this comment to be blasphemous and has no idea what to say.  The idea that 20% of America's population may not actually be allergic to gluten had never occurred to her.  Poppy is squirming so I put her green binky in her mouth while putting a Good Bean Fruit & No-Nut Bar sample in my mouth.

sample lady: 'Oh.'

They watch me walk way, smiling and chewing.

http://www.wholefoodsmarket.com/products/1021

Agenda Pushing Onesies

why does matt want her to go to school in california?  

My in-laws purchased some Oklahoma University onesies for Poppy, onesies that pay tribute to the ‘Sooners’ of Oklahoma University.  The thing is though, I'm not sure that Poppy is going to like football.  I've never understood the game; all I know is that there are a series of 'downs' and that the first one is the best one.

Matt makes frequent trips to California to do business deals.  He has become quite fond of the people and ideas hovering around there, so he bought Poppy a Stanford onesie.  I think that Poppy should go to Princeton or Oxford as opposed to going to school in a state where the only cultural advantage is being able to turn right at a red light.  Well, I guess that's not fair.  They also have a lot of frozen yogurt stores. 

When you browse the aisles or websites of baby clothing retailers, you’re likely to be bombarded with onesies trumpeting a diverse variety of propaganda:

‘I love my aunt’

‘I love my grandma’

‘I'm a daddy's girl’

‘Mormons Rock!’

etc...

Onesies that project from their little bodies that which we hope they will embody.  

Is it okay for us parents/grandparents/other interested parties to exploit our baby's current state of illiteracy to push our own agenda? 

YES!!!  I vote yes. 

i chose this one because i am convinced that poppy will love new york

does poppy have a mustache?

this one is for Mitt's grandbabies

Biddy Biddy bum bum

Matt asked some of his colleagues which 'Mommy and Me' type class would be the best one for Poppy and I to take.  They said that Music Together, the 'research-based early childhood music and movement program', is the best.  So now Poppy and I are taking a Music Together class.

Poppy and I have been to 3 classes so far.  We all meet on Wednesdays at 12:30 at Tiferet Israel.  Yep, you are correct, it's a synagogue.  Neither Poppy nor I had ever been inside a synagogue.  I think that Music Together was created by Jewish people.  The class hasn't presented any non-secular ideas or songs, so I'm almost certain that Music Together is not a religious activity.  Perhaps Music Together is simply a non-religious educational program created by religious people who do not use it as a forum for recruitment/advertising.  I've never met any Jews who were actively recruiting, and this experience has been no different.

After Poppy and I had signed up but before the class had begun, I said to Matt:

'I hope that they don't make me sing'.  I've always been very bad at the singing.

They do make you sing.  Most of the songs that we sing in class are originals with catchy titles like: Hello Song, Playin' in the Kitchen, Wiggle!, and Biddy Biddy.  Yes sir.  They even give you the CD for you to make music together with your baby at home and in the car.  These songs are so happy and innocent and energetic that they become a bit addictive.  I couldn't sleep the other night because the lyrics to Biddy Biddy proved to be too compelling to avoid repeating them in my head:

you receive sheet music to go along with your cd

Bid-dy bid-dy, bum bum    bum bum bum bum,     Bid-dy bid-dy, bum bum.


The Music Together teacher, Ms. Gila, is a fantastically charismatic South African.  She has no inhibitions when singing and talking to babies.  During class, she sings advice to the parents (and by 'parents', I of course mean 'moms'.  Their husbands are presumably working at 12:30 on Wednesdays).  She always wears floor-length skirts, t-shirts with words like love and peace on them, and a gold star of David necklace.  Ms. Gila explains to us that the best time to introduce our children to music is within the first 6 months of life, otherwise the musical synapses in their brains fizzle and die off from lack of use.  Poppy is only 2.75 months old, so she made the cut to be a musical little girl.  During all the singing and drum banging and maraca shaking Poppy is definitely entertained; she smiles and takes it all in.

I'm still a bit unclear about the goal of this class, but the idea of not doing some class of this sort reminds me of that park scene in that 80s movie with Diane Keaton called Baby Boom:


overzealous park mom A:  'What kind of classes do you have your daughter in now?'

Diane Keaton: 'Oh, uh, none.'

overzealous park mom B:  'Not even a Mommy and Me?!'

Diane Keaton:  'No.'

overzealous park mom A:  'Not Gymboree?'

Diane Keaton:  'No.'

overzealous park mom A:  'Not Reading Readiness?'

Diane Keaton:  'Nothing; the child can't even hold a cup.'

overzealous park mom B whispering loudly to overzealous park mom A:  'Oooh, the other babies are way ahead of her.'

overzealous park mom A:  'I thought I had problems.'


Diane Keaton then feels compelled to enroll her baby in an institution called The Center for Brighter Babies.

i need one of those 'College Begins at Birth' signs for Poppy's room

hehehe

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E6dH9Mqum08

http://www.musictogetherdallas.com/vlt25920.htm

Poppy is already fighting off the boys.  All she had to do was show
this one her belly button and he backed off straight away.  

I am concerned about Poppy's belly button.  The umbilical cord fell off pretty quickly after her birth, and that was certainly fine and according to plan.  But now her belly button is this strange convex mass that looks like a tiny mesa emerging from her stomach.  When I touch it, it feels like there's something in there.

Dr. Dreiling said that it is an 'Umbilical Hernia'.  Freaky.

Unfortunately, Poppy was crying very loudly when he was talking about it so I didn't quite catch the details....but I think that he said that it would go away eventually.  Luckily I am the proud owner of an 892 page book entitled The Complete and Authoritative Guide: Caring For Your Baby and Young Child.  Brought to you by the American Academy of Pediatrics.  They present the following prognosis for the Umbilical Hernia: '...-a small hole in the muscular part of the abdominal wall that allows tissue to bulge out when there's pressure inside the abdomen.  This is not a serious condition, and it usually heals by itself in the first 12 to 18 months.  In the unlikely event that it doesn't heal, the hole may need to be surgically closed.'

When people see it they immediately proclaim that she will be/is and outie.  I certainly hope not.

the questionable belly button

The 2 Month Checkup

Anthropologie sells a few French versions of  classic Dr.Seuss books

I was inclined to ask Dr. Dreiling when I should really be reading to Poppy, like reading to her for real.  We have of course been reading her some of the short classics, Goodnight Moon and so-forth.  (Well, in reality I think that it has only been read to her two times).  But my question to Dr. Dreiling was:

'When should we really begin to read to her?  When will her cognitive skills be such that a 25 minute reading session won't be solely for my pleasure.'

It's not that I don't want to read to her, I do.  It's just that, you see, I'm an American who needs clear set goals with at least some hope of impending results.  I'm not expecting her to be able to ask me questions about the interpreted message in The Giving Tree,  I just want to know that my effort might be helping to move her toward the goal of speaking, and also toward the goal of her getting into an Ivy league University.

Dr. Dreiling responded as exactly as one might have predicted.  'Any time she hears the English language, she stands to benefit from it.'

'How much did you read to your children when they were 2 months old?'  It was obvious that this probing was slightly annoying to Dr. Dreiling, but it's always telling to hear what the pediatricians put into practice with their kiddos.

'I read to them at night, played Radiohead to them, and I didn't let them watch TV.'

There you go.  Now Matt reads her the notes of financial statements and Bloomberg articles.