Squidbits
Well, it's only a few weeks since the last time, and I was sick like a zombie for half of that, totally out of it, and I've started my new job, which means I'm a little more scattered than usual. But here's an abbreviated Squidbits for month fifteen, and I'll try to keep to my regular schedule after this.
Even though it's only been a few weeks, we had adventures and excitement aplenty. He played with other people's pets, went out to restaurants, banged on pianos, stopped crawling entirely, learned to clap hands on cue, danced to anything I cared to put on the stereo (I caught him in the middle of a Mexican restaurant once when he had wandered off, clutching a broom he had found and dancing to the mariachi Muzak), went to L.A. and saw Grammy and various aunts and uncles both biological and honorary, and explored everything anew from his vertical vantage point. He also ate dirt, spilled tea all over the dog beds, stayed up until 11 p.m., howled his way out of the YMCA childwatch, threw food on the floor to watch it fall, and emptied everything out of every cabinet he could open and redistributed the contents throughout the house. Such a toddler now, though we are still clinging to the last of the innocence, and have not yet seen even the leading edge of the tantrums, so thank God for that.
Squid in suds
Himself and I keep saying to each other, "We should cut his hair," because it's getting long enough that it can get in his eyes occasionally. And yet we don't do it, because the crazy Einstein bedhead look is totally irresistible to both of us. I brushed it out this morning and he ran around with an enormous 'fro that looked kind of like a halo to my adoring maternal eyes. Strangers now call him "she" more than "he," which pleases me (in a fucking-with-gender-preconceptions way, not a creepy Rilke's mother way) and part of me says maybe some barrettes would take care of the hair-in-the-eyes problem. I think his daddy, who is much less invested in gender neutrality than I am, may object to that approach, though.
And here's an old anecdote I didn't share at the time, because I was trying to be, you know, appropriate. But talk about lost causes, right?
Scene: The living room floor, strewn with toys.
Two adults recline exhaustedly on a yoga mat as an energetic one-year-old plays.
...anyway. He still doesn't have real words, but he'll say "yah" and "nuh" if you say something to him in an interrogative tone - not with any real distinction of meaning between the two, just mimicry of what he hears us do, but it's a step. I'm waiting for language, which is my primary way of relating to other people and which will be totally amazing to me when it comes, but he'll get there in his own time. I'm not worried. Of course, once it gets here, I'll have to start working on watching my language, which, considering that I am one foul-mouthed sonofabitch, is going to be a real challenge. I remember a few years ago stepping outside our then-condo to yell the dogs back in in my usual trailer-park style, ("Goddamn mutts! Get the fuck inside!") and having Himself look at me in mingled pity and dismay. "You're going to make a great mother," he said. Uh, yeah. People tell me we should institute a cuss jar - a quarter a word - but I'm not sure I make enough to support my habit at this point. Maybe I should just switch languages; I probably have enough filthy words in Chinese and Spanish to get by. Until the Squid goes to school and all his little bilingual classmates die of shock the first time he opens his mouth, that is.
Squid wearing my swim goggles. Death by cute.
All borrowing of trouble aside, there's really not a great deal to tell since last time. All three of us are adjusting to my working in an office again, which is a little difficult; before, I could take him to daycare and pick him up, or work flexibly from L.A. if we wanted to stay past the weekend, or take care of household chores on little breaks in writing or editing something. Now, not so much, and added to my new efforts to exercise daily (which, Jesus, I always said I didn't do it because I didn't have time, but I don't think I realized how much time it really takes) the house has been a little chaotic and I've spent less time with both Squid and Himself than previously. But I love working outside the house. I love being able to focus on work at work, and to leave work there when I come home. I'll do a retrospective analysis in November - did working in an office environment make all the difference I had hoped it would, six months in? - but so far, so good. Still, it means Himself has to do half the daycare shuttling, and since he works longer hours, that means it's been harder for him to get to the gym and have any downtime, and between having to do all the chores in what used to be pure Squidtime, it's been harder for me to feel like I'm spending quality time with the little guy, as opposed to getting frustrated because he's clinging to my pants legs and whining while I'm trying to cook us all dinner or get his lunch ready for daycare or whatever. I've been kind of enlarging my sleep debt to make it all work and still get some time to relax, but that's not a viable long-term solution.
Still, like I said a while back, I'm feeling good. Maybe it's the Wellbutrin, or the sunshine, or the endorphins, or the awesome stage that the Squid is in right now, or having an office job again (seriously, I know working from home is a lot of people's dream setup, but you can have it) or all of that or something else entirely, but whatever it is, I'll take it. This too shall pass - I've been fighting the brain-chemical bogeymen for more than a decade now, and this kind of happiness is something I know better than to trust will stick - but God, it's been a long time. I deserve it, just for a little while. Even if it is just a breather before the next round on the roller coaster.
Even though it's only been a few weeks, we had adventures and excitement aplenty. He played with other people's pets, went out to restaurants, banged on pianos, stopped crawling entirely, learned to clap hands on cue, danced to anything I cared to put on the stereo (I caught him in the middle of a Mexican restaurant once when he had wandered off, clutching a broom he had found and dancing to the mariachi Muzak), went to L.A. and saw Grammy and various aunts and uncles both biological and honorary, and explored everything anew from his vertical vantage point. He also ate dirt, spilled tea all over the dog beds, stayed up until 11 p.m., howled his way out of the YMCA childwatch, threw food on the floor to watch it fall, and emptied everything out of every cabinet he could open and redistributed the contents throughout the house. Such a toddler now, though we are still clinging to the last of the innocence, and have not yet seen even the leading edge of the tantrums, so thank God for that.
Squid in suds
Himself and I keep saying to each other, "We should cut his hair," because it's getting long enough that it can get in his eyes occasionally. And yet we don't do it, because the crazy Einstein bedhead look is totally irresistible to both of us. I brushed it out this morning and he ran around with an enormous 'fro that looked kind of like a halo to my adoring maternal eyes. Strangers now call him "she" more than "he," which pleases me (in a fucking-with-gender-preconceptions way, not a creepy Rilke's mother way) and part of me says maybe some barrettes would take care of the hair-in-the-eyes problem. I think his daddy, who is much less invested in gender neutrality than I am, may object to that approach, though.
And here's an old anecdote I didn't share at the time, because I was trying to be, you know, appropriate. But talk about lost causes, right?
Scene: The living room floor, strewn with toys.
Two adults recline exhaustedly on a yoga mat as an energetic one-year-old plays.
Squid: *plays with set of nesting boxes - this involves putting other toys into them, taking other toys out of them, chewing on them, and carrying them around*God, it's a good thing I'm self-entertaining.
Himself and Yours Truly: *loll on floor*
Squid: *offers Yours Truly a small box, presumably for consumption, as it is being held up to her mouth*
Himself: "Hey, Squid, does Mama eat boxes?"
Yours Truly: "I used to, until I married you!"
Himself: ...
Squid: ...
Yours Truly: *helpless laughter*
...anyway. He still doesn't have real words, but he'll say "yah" and "nuh" if you say something to him in an interrogative tone - not with any real distinction of meaning between the two, just mimicry of what he hears us do, but it's a step. I'm waiting for language, which is my primary way of relating to other people and which will be totally amazing to me when it comes, but he'll get there in his own time. I'm not worried. Of course, once it gets here, I'll have to start working on watching my language, which, considering that I am one foul-mouthed sonofabitch, is going to be a real challenge. I remember a few years ago stepping outside our then-condo to yell the dogs back in in my usual trailer-park style, ("Goddamn mutts! Get the fuck inside!") and having Himself look at me in mingled pity and dismay. "You're going to make a great mother," he said. Uh, yeah. People tell me we should institute a cuss jar - a quarter a word - but I'm not sure I make enough to support my habit at this point. Maybe I should just switch languages; I probably have enough filthy words in Chinese and Spanish to get by. Until the Squid goes to school and all his little bilingual classmates die of shock the first time he opens his mouth, that is.
Squid wearing my swim goggles. Death by cute.
All borrowing of trouble aside, there's really not a great deal to tell since last time. All three of us are adjusting to my working in an office again, which is a little difficult; before, I could take him to daycare and pick him up, or work flexibly from L.A. if we wanted to stay past the weekend, or take care of household chores on little breaks in writing or editing something. Now, not so much, and added to my new efforts to exercise daily (which, Jesus, I always said I didn't do it because I didn't have time, but I don't think I realized how much time it really takes) the house has been a little chaotic and I've spent less time with both Squid and Himself than previously. But I love working outside the house. I love being able to focus on work at work, and to leave work there when I come home. I'll do a retrospective analysis in November - did working in an office environment make all the difference I had hoped it would, six months in? - but so far, so good. Still, it means Himself has to do half the daycare shuttling, and since he works longer hours, that means it's been harder for him to get to the gym and have any downtime, and between having to do all the chores in what used to be pure Squidtime, it's been harder for me to feel like I'm spending quality time with the little guy, as opposed to getting frustrated because he's clinging to my pants legs and whining while I'm trying to cook us all dinner or get his lunch ready for daycare or whatever. I've been kind of enlarging my sleep debt to make it all work and still get some time to relax, but that's not a viable long-term solution.
Still, like I said a while back, I'm feeling good. Maybe it's the Wellbutrin, or the sunshine, or the endorphins, or the awesome stage that the Squid is in right now, or having an office job again (seriously, I know working from home is a lot of people's dream setup, but you can have it) or all of that or something else entirely, but whatever it is, I'll take it. This too shall pass - I've been fighting the brain-chemical bogeymen for more than a decade now, and this kind of happiness is something I know better than to trust will stick - but God, it's been a long time. I deserve it, just for a little while. Even if it is just a breather before the next round on the roller coaster.
posted by The Stute Fish at 22:12
1 Comments:
Let me know if you would like some selected words in Russian.
--Anonemuus
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