Squidbits
Okay, so I've been thinking a lot of this new generation of children (mainly white, middleupperclass children) who are growing up documented publicly. I'm not sure how I feel about it. I'm glad nobody documented my childhood, you know? It's neat that there are some photos, but I'm glad the immediacy of it all is gone. Then again, I burned all my old journals in college and don't keep correspondence; I like the Vaseline lens effect memory gives the past. YMMV. So I've been wondering, where does the line between my right to talk about my kid and his right to privacy lie?
I think when it comes down to it, this is not so much about the Squid as it is about my experience of the Squid. These "Squidbits" updates are as much "Squidmama" updates as anything, my effort to explain what is happening as it happens, the only baby book I will ever keep, the sound of my own voice echoing back, letting me see in text a solidified form of the chaos that is this whole process. As he grows older, this will be less and less about Squid qua Squid - he'll have his own life, create his own memories, keep his own secrets - and more and more about me. What?! I never said this wasn't a vanity project.
See all four of his fangs? We're getting two more in this week.
He's eleven months old. I'm solo parenting this week, for the first time since he became mobile, and it's a shocking difference. Last time I did this, I kept the house clean and was on top of my obligations and, aside from being tired, felt more or less like life-as-usual. With a mobile Squid, my things are scattered over countertops haphazardly, where he can't reach them. His toys and clothes are in piles on the living room and bathroom floors. I spend every morning and evening just feeding/bathing/entertaining/chasing after the little guy, and I don't have time to tidy after us much! Of course, I am also in the middle of a work spike and a job search, so that compounds things - I had a really nice interview on Monday (didn't get the job, but it was a fit issue rather than anything under my control) that took all day, as I commuted into Berkeley and back, and then yesterday I had a doctor's appointment (Wellbutrin continueth, and my energy level is back up, even if my moodswings remain). We were out of baby food, so there was the grocery store in there somewhere, the dog had to go to the groomer's, my secretary's sick, which is throwing off our editing schedule even more, and it takes me a full hour every time I re-vamp my resume, write a cover letter, and send it off. Woo!
You remember that crawling movie from last month? He's three times as fast as that now, and the house echoes with the thwap-thwap-thwap of his paws as he patrols his domain. I think he lives for danger. Sharp things! Stairs! The grumpy blind spaniel! The dog food! The toilet! The rough stone mantelpiece! The chairs that are light enough to tip over! Gross things found on the floor despite parental vigilance! Electrical sockets! He keeps busy, you know? Though I should say that we have lucked out - I understand that this is totally atypical, but he actually plays by himself for up to 15 minutes at a time. His personality's really coming out these past few months, and it's a lot like his daddy's - serious, focused, self-contained and determined, with a strong side of playful. He's very intent on the things he does. I'm sure this will be a parenting challenge when he is older, but right now, it's kind of nice. This is a family where we all very much do our own things, so he fits right in. Maybe the next one will be a flighty dilettante like me.
The next one. God, there's a terrifying thought. I feel like I'm hanging on by my fingernails, like I haven't really recovered from his birth yet, though it was almost a year ago. I keep being surprised by the way my hips hurt when I stand too long, the way my hormones are jerking me in and out of depression. My skin fits differently, I think I've shrunk a bra size since he weaned himself, and I'm light years more irritable than I've ever been before. I cry easily and have trouble stopping. I'm anxious all the time. I love having him, but I love how I'm coping with it less. I wish I were a better mother. I wish I were more stable.
Speaking of my tits, I had an interesting thought in the shower the other day. They say breastfeeding lowers your risk of breast cancer, but I wonder if that's partially because it changes the texture of the breast. Before the baby, my tits were firmer; when I did a self-check in the shower, there were existing "lumps" of firm tissue (unused milk ducts?) already there. I used to wonder how you'd ever catch a new lump - how you'd know. Well, without veering too much into overshare, let me say; I'd catch a pea-sized lump right away if it showed up now. Early detection just became a hell of a lot easier.
I was talking about this with my friend R the other day. "Really?" she said. "They feel different?"
"Yeah, wanna feel?" I asked her.
"Oh my God," said Himself. "At least wait until I leave the room."
He wanted to go on the business trip with his daddy.
Anyway, baby. Right. Well, he stands up by himself now. He can do it without even pulling up on anything, and once he's up, he can eat, play, and make some limited upper-body movement without falling down. He can even go into a controlled sit from verticality, which is also new. He's "cruising" the furniture; crabwise walking and cautious supported steps take him along the couch and from coffee table to chair to mama's pants legs. He's much more vocal - "banana" (nanadada uh uh uh!) and "clock" (gat!) and "mama" (mamamama uh uh uh) and "dada" (dadadada uh uh uh) are duking it out for "first word," which I'm guessing will happen sometime next month. He focuses, as I said, and short-term memory is getting longer, so that he can't be as easily distracted. If I hide things, he can find them even minutes later, and when he knows his bottle is being heated, he will orient toward it no matter where he is in the room. Peek-a-boo and "find mama" are now favorite games, and he is starting to tune into the books I read him, particularly Moo, Baa, LaLaLa and Goodnight Moon. He is completely off "spoon food" as of this week, scorning all things that come in mush form and deigning only to eat that which he can hold in his own grabby schmutzy paws. Sweet potatoes, chicken sausage, dry cereal, fruit, bagels, carrots, and asparagus are all big hits, though we gave him pizza crust last week and he broke out in hives all over, so he's off dairy again on the pediatrician's recommendation, the poor poppet.
Oh, the life of a baby. The Squid's a giggly, squirrely guy, and a delight to be with. He sleeps through the night almost every night, pursues his baby ends with his astonishing baby focus, and makes friends wherever he goes. His whole fan club (Lola, Apupa, Grammy, and Grandpa) came to visit at various points this month, and he had a great time with all of them. He went to the East Bay to meet his great uncle and aunt (on my father's side) and was the life of the party. He even napped in his stroller during a weekend expedition to the deYoung in San Francisco, letting me see the whole museum with my friend M, out from London on a world tour for her gap year. What a patient and accomodating fellow he is!
In case you were wondering, no, not all of our baby photos are these solo portraits, but I don't want to post images of others without their permission, and I'm too lazy to get it, so that's all you'll see here. This month we didn't take too very many, mostly me and my point-n-shoot. Maybe next month...when the Squid turns ONE! YEAR! OLD! Christ, I can hardly believe it.
I think when it comes down to it, this is not so much about the Squid as it is about my experience of the Squid. These "Squidbits" updates are as much "Squidmama" updates as anything, my effort to explain what is happening as it happens, the only baby book I will ever keep, the sound of my own voice echoing back, letting me see in text a solidified form of the chaos that is this whole process. As he grows older, this will be less and less about Squid qua Squid - he'll have his own life, create his own memories, keep his own secrets - and more and more about me. What?! I never said this wasn't a vanity project.
See all four of his fangs? We're getting two more in this week.
He's eleven months old. I'm solo parenting this week, for the first time since he became mobile, and it's a shocking difference. Last time I did this, I kept the house clean and was on top of my obligations and, aside from being tired, felt more or less like life-as-usual. With a mobile Squid, my things are scattered over countertops haphazardly, where he can't reach them. His toys and clothes are in piles on the living room and bathroom floors. I spend every morning and evening just feeding/bathing/entertaining/chasing after the little guy, and I don't have time to tidy after us much! Of course, I am also in the middle of a work spike and a job search, so that compounds things - I had a really nice interview on Monday (didn't get the job, but it was a fit issue rather than anything under my control) that took all day, as I commuted into Berkeley and back, and then yesterday I had a doctor's appointment (Wellbutrin continueth, and my energy level is back up, even if my moodswings remain). We were out of baby food, so there was the grocery store in there somewhere, the dog had to go to the groomer's, my secretary's sick, which is throwing off our editing schedule even more, and it takes me a full hour every time I re-vamp my resume, write a cover letter, and send it off. Woo!
You remember that crawling movie from last month? He's three times as fast as that now, and the house echoes with the thwap-thwap-thwap of his paws as he patrols his domain. I think he lives for danger. Sharp things! Stairs! The grumpy blind spaniel! The dog food! The toilet! The rough stone mantelpiece! The chairs that are light enough to tip over! Gross things found on the floor despite parental vigilance! Electrical sockets! He keeps busy, you know? Though I should say that we have lucked out - I understand that this is totally atypical, but he actually plays by himself for up to 15 minutes at a time. His personality's really coming out these past few months, and it's a lot like his daddy's - serious, focused, self-contained and determined, with a strong side of playful. He's very intent on the things he does. I'm sure this will be a parenting challenge when he is older, but right now, it's kind of nice. This is a family where we all very much do our own things, so he fits right in. Maybe the next one will be a flighty dilettante like me.
The next one. God, there's a terrifying thought. I feel like I'm hanging on by my fingernails, like I haven't really recovered from his birth yet, though it was almost a year ago. I keep being surprised by the way my hips hurt when I stand too long, the way my hormones are jerking me in and out of depression. My skin fits differently, I think I've shrunk a bra size since he weaned himself, and I'm light years more irritable than I've ever been before. I cry easily and have trouble stopping. I'm anxious all the time. I love having him, but I love how I'm coping with it less. I wish I were a better mother. I wish I were more stable.
Speaking of my tits, I had an interesting thought in the shower the other day. They say breastfeeding lowers your risk of breast cancer, but I wonder if that's partially because it changes the texture of the breast. Before the baby, my tits were firmer; when I did a self-check in the shower, there were existing "lumps" of firm tissue (unused milk ducts?) already there. I used to wonder how you'd ever catch a new lump - how you'd know. Well, without veering too much into overshare, let me say; I'd catch a pea-sized lump right away if it showed up now. Early detection just became a hell of a lot easier.
I was talking about this with my friend R the other day. "Really?" she said. "They feel different?"
"Yeah, wanna feel?" I asked her.
"Oh my God," said Himself. "At least wait until I leave the room."
He wanted to go on the business trip with his daddy.
Anyway, baby. Right. Well, he stands up by himself now. He can do it without even pulling up on anything, and once he's up, he can eat, play, and make some limited upper-body movement without falling down. He can even go into a controlled sit from verticality, which is also new. He's "cruising" the furniture; crabwise walking and cautious supported steps take him along the couch and from coffee table to chair to mama's pants legs. He's much more vocal - "banana" (nanadada uh uh uh!) and "clock" (gat!) and "mama" (mamamama uh uh uh) and "dada" (dadadada uh uh uh) are duking it out for "first word," which I'm guessing will happen sometime next month. He focuses, as I said, and short-term memory is getting longer, so that he can't be as easily distracted. If I hide things, he can find them even minutes later, and when he knows his bottle is being heated, he will orient toward it no matter where he is in the room. Peek-a-boo and "find mama" are now favorite games, and he is starting to tune into the books I read him, particularly Moo, Baa, LaLaLa and Goodnight Moon. He is completely off "spoon food" as of this week, scorning all things that come in mush form and deigning only to eat that which he can hold in his own grabby schmutzy paws. Sweet potatoes, chicken sausage, dry cereal, fruit, bagels, carrots, and asparagus are all big hits, though we gave him pizza crust last week and he broke out in hives all over, so he's off dairy again on the pediatrician's recommendation, the poor poppet.
Oh, the life of a baby. The Squid's a giggly, squirrely guy, and a delight to be with. He sleeps through the night almost every night, pursues his baby ends with his astonishing baby focus, and makes friends wherever he goes. His whole fan club (Lola, Apupa, Grammy, and Grandpa) came to visit at various points this month, and he had a great time with all of them. He went to the East Bay to meet his great uncle and aunt (on my father's side) and was the life of the party. He even napped in his stroller during a weekend expedition to the deYoung in San Francisco, letting me see the whole museum with my friend M, out from London on a world tour for her gap year. What a patient and accomodating fellow he is!
In case you were wondering, no, not all of our baby photos are these solo portraits, but I don't want to post images of others without their permission, and I'm too lazy to get it, so that's all you'll see here. This month we didn't take too very many, mostly me and my point-n-shoot. Maybe next month...when the Squid turns ONE! YEAR! OLD! Christ, I can hardly believe it.
posted by The Stute Fish at 21:21
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