So we were sitting down to lunch today and Raina, no doubt inspired by the food on her plate, came up with the following poem:
"Pee and poop are good for you
They tend to come when they want to."
Amen to that.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Happy Six Months, Rohan!
It's been topsy and turvy, crazy and funny, but I can hardly believe our little boy is 6 months old already! He laughs loudly, grins broadly, with the biggest, largest smiles gifted to his big sister. He loves the silly nonsense she talks to him, grabs her hair and grins when she winces.
Other 6-month notes:
He can roll back -- sometimes -- but not roll over yet, in direct contrast to Raina, who learned to roll over, then cried because she couldn't figure out how to roll back. He can sit if propped up. No signs of crawling yet.
At 14 lbs. 6 oz, he's getting close to the weight Raina was at 4 months, so although he's as tall as she was, he's wayyyyy thinner. In fact, his weight has caused us some anxiety, as he was 14 lbs. for at least a month. We tried upping it by introducing rice cereal -- a disaster so far. Rice seems to constipate him incredibly. Then I tried holding off on solids and beginning the process of weaning him. He took one 2 oz. bottle twice, and that was it. The poor thing got super gassy and bloated. Thinking the type of bottle I was using was making him gassy (Avent), I tried the Playtex nurser with drop-in liners. He wasn't having any. It might be that he's lactose intolerant, so I've stopped eating dairy for now. And of course, given up weaning.
So net net, it's been a bumpy journey foodwise. In honor of his six month birthday, I gave him some sweet potatoes today and am keeping my fingers and toes crossed.
Oh yeah, he's teething too. Everything within reach is grabbed and inserted into that drooly mouth, where it's chewed to satisfaction. He's trying to get his toes into his mouth these days. Should make for a fun meal.
Also after months of crying during baths, he giggles and coos in his baby bath tub and tries to hold on to the water spouting off the shower head. He laughs when I sing, "Row, row, row your boat" to him.
When outdoors, the world is stared at by a pair of big intent brown eyes. But no one can talk to him or deign to touch him. Not unless they want to be treated to a downturned mouth followed by loud bawling. The man has stranger anxiety already.
And finally, though he's on a more or less regular nap schedule now, he's not sleeping through the night yet. I've read message boards where moms proudly claim their babies sleep through the night at 5 weeks. I'm still waiting. Maybe in the next six months? Pretty please? Mommy would so love to sleep for longer than 4 hours at a time.
This evening, Rohan's going to his first beach party. Happy partying, sweetie, with many more to come!
Other 6-month notes:
He can roll back -- sometimes -- but not roll over yet, in direct contrast to Raina, who learned to roll over, then cried because she couldn't figure out how to roll back. He can sit if propped up. No signs of crawling yet.
At 14 lbs. 6 oz, he's getting close to the weight Raina was at 4 months, so although he's as tall as she was, he's wayyyyy thinner. In fact, his weight has caused us some anxiety, as he was 14 lbs. for at least a month. We tried upping it by introducing rice cereal -- a disaster so far. Rice seems to constipate him incredibly. Then I tried holding off on solids and beginning the process of weaning him. He took one 2 oz. bottle twice, and that was it. The poor thing got super gassy and bloated. Thinking the type of bottle I was using was making him gassy (Avent), I tried the Playtex nurser with drop-in liners. He wasn't having any. It might be that he's lactose intolerant, so I've stopped eating dairy for now. And of course, given up weaning.
So net net, it's been a bumpy journey foodwise. In honor of his six month birthday, I gave him some sweet potatoes today and am keeping my fingers and toes crossed.
Oh yeah, he's teething too. Everything within reach is grabbed and inserted into that drooly mouth, where it's chewed to satisfaction. He's trying to get his toes into his mouth these days. Should make for a fun meal.
Also after months of crying during baths, he giggles and coos in his baby bath tub and tries to hold on to the water spouting off the shower head. He laughs when I sing, "Row, row, row your boat" to him.
When outdoors, the world is stared at by a pair of big intent brown eyes. But no one can talk to him or deign to touch him. Not unless they want to be treated to a downturned mouth followed by loud bawling. The man has stranger anxiety already.
And finally, though he's on a more or less regular nap schedule now, he's not sleeping through the night yet. I've read message boards where moms proudly claim their babies sleep through the night at 5 weeks. I'm still waiting. Maybe in the next six months? Pretty please? Mommy would so love to sleep for longer than 4 hours at a time.
This evening, Rohan's going to his first beach party. Happy partying, sweetie, with many more to come!
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Exercising Restraint
"Mommy, you want to see how I put lipstick?" asked my almost-4-going-on-almost-14-year-old, brandishing a tube of plastic lipstick in a lurid shade of red her best friend had generously gifted her.
Badly wanting to say, "Er, no," I sighed instead and said, "Sure." Raina carefully applied the plastic on her lips and smacked them. "Well, you can do it this way or the other way," she explained, now exhibiting a plastic lip brush, which she rubbed on the lipstick and then applied to her lips. Followed the action with that resounding smack.
"Mmmmm," I murmured, instead of the WTF? that was trembling on my lips.
This must be what those in the know refer to as a generation or cultural gap. More like a yawning chasm, I think, remembering my own childhood.
My earliest memory of makeup application is charged with tension and elation. I was 8 years old, standing before my mom's vanity mirror, applying her very real lipstick, terrified of the hand I know I would feel on my cheek were she to walk in unserendipitously, yet sharply conscious of the zing of doing something forbidden. I would dust some talcum powder to whiten my face, spritz on a little French perfume. Then I would scrub my face shiny and be back to being 8, dreaming of being 18 and allowed unimaginable freedoms.
The first time I was permitted to wear nailpolish was when I was 14. It was such a big deal because we were actually allowed to wear our grown and polished nails TO SCHOOL!
Fast forward to now, my daughter's already asking if she may have a pedicure like her best friend recently did. At my definite negative, she follows hopefully, "Maybe when I am 8?"
Oh my dear god.
P tells me that it's better this way: she can do the makeup thing earlier than me -- and put it behind her faster than I did. Maybe he's right, but I think my fear runs deeper than the idea that she may become one of those girly-girls who can't look beyond her powdered nose and perfectly manicured nails to think about an education, a career.
Maybe I'm just scared she's growing up too fast. As her experience widens, she learns things I can't control. She does things I don't like. It's scary as heck to see her test her wings. It's too soon, I want to yell. I want to put blinders on her so she can only see the good monsters like Ernie. And I want to hold on to her tight, so tight. I want to throw away that plastic lipstick and lip brush, so I don't see her use the real thing.
And with that, I suddenly realize. I'm becoming like my mother. My mother who still calls me "gudiya" (doll), who still talks to me like I'm a tiny tot instead of a mother of two tots, who just can't grasp her mind around the fact that I'm a grown woman.
Dang it.
As the one thing I promised myself since time immemorial was to not become like my mom, this nonsense has gotta stop. So I guess I'll continue to mutter sotto voce when my daughter dabs lip gloss that she received as a party favor. (A party favor for a 2-year-old girl's birthday!) Maybe my lack of enthusiasm will have a more beneficial effect on R than outright criticism. I can always hope.
Badly wanting to say, "Er, no," I sighed instead and said, "Sure." Raina carefully applied the plastic on her lips and smacked them. "Well, you can do it this way or the other way," she explained, now exhibiting a plastic lip brush, which she rubbed on the lipstick and then applied to her lips. Followed the action with that resounding smack.
"Mmmmm," I murmured, instead of the WTF? that was trembling on my lips.
This must be what those in the know refer to as a generation or cultural gap. More like a yawning chasm, I think, remembering my own childhood.
My earliest memory of makeup application is charged with tension and elation. I was 8 years old, standing before my mom's vanity mirror, applying her very real lipstick, terrified of the hand I know I would feel on my cheek were she to walk in unserendipitously, yet sharply conscious of the zing of doing something forbidden. I would dust some talcum powder to whiten my face, spritz on a little French perfume. Then I would scrub my face shiny and be back to being 8, dreaming of being 18 and allowed unimaginable freedoms.
The first time I was permitted to wear nailpolish was when I was 14. It was such a big deal because we were actually allowed to wear our grown and polished nails TO SCHOOL!
Fast forward to now, my daughter's already asking if she may have a pedicure like her best friend recently did. At my definite negative, she follows hopefully, "Maybe when I am 8?"
Oh my dear god.
P tells me that it's better this way: she can do the makeup thing earlier than me -- and put it behind her faster than I did. Maybe he's right, but I think my fear runs deeper than the idea that she may become one of those girly-girls who can't look beyond her powdered nose and perfectly manicured nails to think about an education, a career.
Maybe I'm just scared she's growing up too fast. As her experience widens, she learns things I can't control. She does things I don't like. It's scary as heck to see her test her wings. It's too soon, I want to yell. I want to put blinders on her so she can only see the good monsters like Ernie. And I want to hold on to her tight, so tight. I want to throw away that plastic lipstick and lip brush, so I don't see her use the real thing.
And with that, I suddenly realize. I'm becoming like my mother. My mother who still calls me "gudiya" (doll), who still talks to me like I'm a tiny tot instead of a mother of two tots, who just can't grasp her mind around the fact that I'm a grown woman.
Dang it.
As the one thing I promised myself since time immemorial was to not become like my mom, this nonsense has gotta stop. So I guess I'll continue to mutter sotto voce when my daughter dabs lip gloss that she received as a party favor. (A party favor for a 2-year-old girl's birthday!) Maybe my lack of enthusiasm will have a more beneficial effect on R than outright criticism. I can always hope.
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