Monthly Archives: June 2011

As my baby evolves into a full fledged toddler, I am witnessing on a daily basis the development of his personality.   At some moments, I am dismayed that I no longer have complete control over his actions and that I am not always the center of his universe.  At other moments, I am happy that his development has resulted in these very things.

Some Scout traits:

Absolute focus and persistence.  When he wants to take the lid off (of anything) and then put it back on, repeatedly, there is no dissuading or distracting him.  This IS an activity and his mind is set on it.  For many minutes.  He may become frustrated and whine if the lid doesn’t go on properly, but he will likewise balk at any help I attempt to give him.  It is his project alone.

No kisses.  I read some blogs about toddlers sweetly and voluntarily giving hugs and kisses to their moms.  I am so jealous.  I have to beg, plead and bribe Scout to get a kiss.  Oh, your ball rolled under the couch and you want mommy to get it for you?  Okay….that will cost you one kiss, please.  He will whine and turn his head away, but will ultimately surrender and lean toward me to deliver the apparently unwanted kiss in exchange for his ball.  He comes to me before anyone else, he wants me to pick him up, he plays with me gleefully, but nope, no kiss, mama.  Maybe it’s a reaction to being mauled by me regularly – I kiss him at every opportunity.

Learning manners.  Scout LOVES puffs.  They are a nice distraction while preparing a meal for him.  Sit him in the high chair, sprinkle a few puffs on the tray and I’ve just bought about 2 minutes of time.  When he wants more, he will reach with both hands toward the shelf and grunt or yowl.  I look at him.  What?  What’s that you say?  You want more puffs?  I cup my hand to my ear and cock my head.  Did I hear something?  And then it comes, a sweet, soft, baby voice….”Peeeeze?”  I reply immediately with a cheery “Oh, okay” and puffs drop onto his tray.  Sometimes I can coax a “thank you” out of him as he grabs a puff.

Ball infatuation.  The kid still loves his balls.  Small sized soccer balls, basketballs, bouncy balls, beach balls – you name it, we got ’em.  He kicks them, throws them, tosses them into the backyard sprinkler and is trying to learn to dribble them.  Sort of.  Because he has two hands, he figures one ought to carry two balls at a time.  This only occasionally presents a problem when, say, he also would like to get a hold of a sippy cup or grab a graham cracker.   He is good about sharing his balls, but then again, why shouldn’t he?  There is another one just feet away that he can turn his attention to.

Rough, at times.  One problem is Scout’s penchant for throwing things.  Like wooden blocks.  At my head.  Or at the dogs.  Or at anything.  There we are, playing nice blocks, and then he raises his fist, clutching two blocks.  I blink – that squinting blink which means, “Oh God, am I going to get whacked in the eye with a block?”  I try to direct Scout to please set the blocks down gently.  He throws them.  I feel a sting on one of the knuckles of my right hand.  I say, “Please don’t throw things, Scout.  You hit mommy and it hurt.”  If I feign crying, he laughs.  After throwing blocks twice more in the subsequent 5 minutes, the blocks get put away.  He cries.  I remind him that toys which get thrown get put away.  I hope this throwing thing is just a phase.

Silly giggle shy.  Scout loves to play “Chase Me Around the House.”  When I come after him, he squeals with delight, turns as fast as he can, flinging his arms wildly in the air to help him achieve balance, and takes off giggling and running in another direction.  If he spies me, he stops, trying to anticipate which way I will go so that he can go the opposite way.  He is shy with strangers though, and often shy in front of the camera.  Amazing how the kid who babbles a mile a minute will clam up as soon as you ask him to say a particular word for another person or the camera.

Test of wills.  He knows he is not supposed to kick at the dogs.  He knows he is not supposed to touch the trash can.  He knows he is not supposed to touch electrical cords.  I know he knows because he will point a shake a finger at them while saying “uh uh uh.”  Yet he can’t help trying to reach out and touch a finger to the side of the trash can as he walks by.  Or swing a foot at a passing dog.  He is compelled.  And those boundary limits will be tested.

Funny.  One of my favorite things is Scout’s sense of humor.  One night after he’d had dinner, was in his jammies and had finished a bottle of milk, I had him next to me on the couch.  The fabric of our couch is kind of like corduroy.  Scout decided to lay down and stretched out next to me.  I dragged my fingernail on the sofa near his leg.  It make a noise that sounded like a fart.  I said, “Scout, did you toot?”  He looked quizzically at me for a moment, thinking…thinking….and then, he got it.  He got the joke.  He laughed and laughed.  When I did it again, he watched, then tried to do it himself.  I love that he has this silly sense of humor.

Not delicate.  Not gentle.  Playful.  Happy.  And I am smitten with the boy.

It is 11:35 pm on a Monday and I am posting.  A short while ago I was commenting on others’ blogs and my husband looked over at me (each of us sitting on a separate couch in the living room) and asked, “You blogging?”  “Yes,” I replied flatly.  He always asks that if he thinks I’m blogging, and I always feel…..I don’t know….guilty or like he’s spying on me or something.  Blogging is personal for me, like a chat with a close girlfriend.  It’s not like I’m confessing to crimes or indiscretions.  But I feel like my blogging habit – limited as it is these days – is my personal activity for which I like to have some personal space. 

So I began wondering how others feel about their blogs.  Does your spouse know about/read your blog?  Do your closest friends and family members know you have a blog?  How do you view your blog and what purpose does it serve in your life today?

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Well, I really stuck my foot in it, didn’t I?  Sorry to scare anyone with my sick-baby-small-airway discussion.  Most babies who get sick recover without any serious problem.  I just always feared the worst would happen to me.

And now, I’m afriad, I need to vent a little frustration. Because…well…I’m frustrated.  Periodically I get all wound up with anger at my husband.  I did some internet research and learned that approximately 2/3 of marriages struggle when a child is born.  One article I read said that the state of the marriage prior to the birth of children is important:  what was good in the marriage will get better, what was not so good will get worse .  Oh boy.  

I have to admit that in some ways, my husband has really improved.  Often when I come home from work he has the baby bathed, in pajamas and in the high chair ready for dinner, as hubby makes the final baby-meal preparations.  Husband is fine with changing poopy diapers.  And he is willing to help when I ask. 

But frankly, why do I have to ask?  He is the parent, not the hired babysitter.  So why do I have to ask him to do things that as a parent, he should simply do?  I mean, seriously.  Like, as I have my hands wrist-deep in hamburger I say, “Uh, I smell poo.  Mr. Bwub, please check Scout’s diaper….oh, it smells pooey?….Well could you go change it?”    Really.  Did that need asking?  Oh, sorry, did I interrupt the basketball game you were watching?

I think my bigger issue though, is Mr. Bwub’s continued sense of self prioritization.  As in, his selfishness.  He makes very sure he gets out to the gym several times a week.  Which is usually either as I am putting Scout to bed, or sometime in the middle of the day on the weekends.  And I don’t have a problem with that.   But he has no concern whatsoever for the fact that I haven’t had a moment’s exercise in months.  Or time for myself in any way.  In his mind, my trips to Target for toilet paper and baby wipes (while he watches Scout at home)  are the equivalent of a big relaxing day at the spa for me. (!)  Um no.  It’s a chore.  That somebody has to do. 

You may say, “Demand the time!”  Well, I try.  Sort of.  When I raise the issue he says that I should just ask when I want the time…except that any free moment is occupied by him taking the time for himself.  Or, I kid you not, I think that when he suspects I am about to ask him for a moment of time for myself, he suddenly gets very “busy” around the house, emptying trash or needing to mow the lawn.  This, you see, keeps him from having to take over baby duty. 

God, it would be amazing if one day he balled up and said, “Hey, why don’t I get Scout up in the morning so you can get an extra 30 minutes of sleep?”   I can hardly even imagine the possibility.  When I do in fact ask for something for myself, I get cold resistance.  Recently I told him that some upcoming weekend day, I’d like for him to take care of Scout so I can take my mom to San Francisco for the day.  She loves S.F. and she does so much for us, I know she would really enjoy it.  Just she and I.  She only moved here a year ago and spends all her time babysitting Scout.  So she has no one else to go with except us, and we’re always busy with the baby/house/dogs/work.  I have never taken a full day “off” since Scout was born.  Mr. Bwub responded to my suggestion by not looking at me, giving a little snort and mumbling, “Whatever.”  Gee, thanks.  Is he that selfish?  Is he that unwilling to spend a day with his son?  Twice he has gone on 24-hour overnight trips to visit his mom.  And when I ask for some lesser amount of time away I get….”whatever?”

Grrrr.

I usually manage my frustration by thinking about Scout.  I love him more than anything and would rather spend time with him than anyone else in the world.  I guess to some extent, I play the martyr card: I am Scout’s mother and I will willingly sacrifice anything for him.  But Mr. Bwub’s selfish, thoughtless, non-invested ways have cost him many, many points with me.  Points he may never earn back.

In 2 days Scout will be 15 months old.  We managed, until now, to keep him from getting sick.  I will admit that as a former pediatric nurse, I was  hypervigilant about taking precautions to protect Scout from colds/flu/viruses when he was an infant.  You know how it is  hard to breathe when you have a cold/flu?  It’s caused by inflammation to your airways.  Imagine how difficult it is for a baby whose airway is only the diameter of a dime or nickel when they are healthy.  A little bit of inflammation and their airway might be only the diameter of a pencil.  NOT GOOD.

About 3 weeks ago we started Scout at a gym for babies.  It was time.  He needs peer social interaction and some new activity.  I find the gym totally fun.  There are balls to play with, swings to ride on, a “gymnastics” portion of the class, story time, independent time (from the parents), circle time with songs, dancing , musical instruments and other activities.  All packed into 45-minute classes.  Scout does great for the most part.

And now he has a mild case of conjunctivitis.  Two days ago he awoke with a goopy left eye.  We got a doctor’s appointment and eye drops were prescribed.  This is Scout’s first illness.  Thank goodness it is a mild illness becuase it is helping ME cope with the concept of my baby being ill.  I think it is harder for me than him.  He hates the eye drops and I hate making him cry.  To add insult to injury, the kid is fiercely teething.  So between the eye and the teeth, he is having some cranky moments.  I am allowing him extra use of the pacifier to both comfort him and give him something to chew on to soothe his gums.

All in all, it’s a tiny bump in the road.  But, oh, how a mom’s heart wants nothing less than her child’s life to be nothing but happy days, tulips and lollipops.

Two weeks ago I noticed on the office calendar that a colleague of mine was frequently out of the office on “personal appointments.”   She and I are very friendly.  She is one of the few people who know about Scout’s embryo adoption history.  I told her about it sometime after Scout was born.  She is a tiny, slim gal, very upbeat and kind to everyone.  So I popped into her office, shut the door, sat  myself down and said how I’d noticed she had been acting….differently.  I told her I was having a “moment of intuition” and asked if  something was going on.

She knew very well what I meant.  She smiled and confided in me that she is pregnant.  I hugged her and told her how very happy I am for her.  She said she was 10 weeks and no one knows yet, not our boss, not even her mom.  No one but her husband.  She wanted to wait for the end of the 1st trimester to tell even family, and for her NT scan (which was this past Friday).

Today I went in to her office to find out how the NT scan went (I’m a nosy beeeotch, aren’t I?  Well, yeah, I guess, but I think she’s happy to have someone to share with).  Anyway, scan went great.  She’s beaming and happy.  I’m glad for her.

Then she told me.  The baby is the result of IVF.  IVF with icsi.  They used my dreaded Outside Monitoring Clinic (I spared her my stories of hate, although we did both agree that Dr. Creepy was in fact quite creepy).  They don’t plan to tell anyone about the IVF – not even their families.

They did IVF?!  Wow.  I had no idea.  She had two eggs retrieved and only one fertilized.  One embryo.  She opened up and began to openly cry about the loneliness of infertility.  How she and her husband had been trying for years.   The pressure and pain of family questions (“When are you going to have kids?”).  The pain of seeing pregnant women and babies in public.  The deep sadness of not knowing whether “it” would ever happen for them. 

I encouraged.  I supported.  I consoled.  We laughed.  We teared up.  We shared.  We even talked about the fear of dropping progesterone suppositories on the office’s bathroom floor!  I have an infertility sister right here in my office and never knew it.

She is now 12 weeks and about to enter the 2nd tri.  She is still very worried.  Trying to enjoy the pregnancy, but feeling robbed of the joy she knows others feel but she just can’t seem to muster yet.  How well I remember.

And of course I reflect back to my own baby shower here in the office.  How painful it must have been for her.  I was the pregnant bi*/tch.   Well, I told her that I get dibs on throwing her shower for her.

I’m again blown away at the frequency of this terrible, silent, painful disease, and how those around us may be affected without our slightest inkling.  I’m happy and honored that she shared her secret with me and I look forward to cheering her on all throughout her pregnancy, knowing just how precious it is to her.