Halfway to Spring

February 2nd marked the halfway point between winter and spring. Whether or not the groundhog saw his shadow, we still have six weeks of winter left. In France and in our home, the day is celebrated with crepes and candles and cidre. I like the idea of a special day to eat crepes in candlelight, particularly since we are in a rather drab season.

Where we live, we miss the typical signs of winter--we don't get snow, at least a few flowers are in bloom at any given time, and the ducks in our neighborhood lagoon are still quacking away rather than going south. Instead, our winters are marked by fewer stands at the farmers market, no avocados, and dark and chilly evenings. Our son has also noticed that the fat spider who lived on our front porch through fall has quietly disappeared, web and all. Every evening we check the mail, and he points up at her now empty corner.

With winter half over, our Chandeleur celebration reminds us to appreciate what is special about the remaining season. It is a cozy time, when we can light fires in the chimney, cuddle under layers of blankets, and look at the stars and moon before it is even bedtime. It also reminds us to look for signs of spring. We can walk home from my son's school in the evening before the sun sets. Our pear tree has one branch in bloom. At the farmers market, the flower stand has made a return with butter-yellow tulips and fuchsia anemones. Suddenly, a drab season has become more interesting.

Under the Weather

We've been home sick most of this week. It has been a long week. A sick toddler means mama has to be more patient than ever, even when she is bothered by her own sore throat, plugged up ears, and achy neck. Moms and dads don't get sick days from being parents, and so we power through.

A lot of being a parent is stepping up to the plate because there are no other batters. It is more responsibility and sacrifice than I could have imagined. When he was a newborn, I initially had a dream feeling that someone was going to come in and take over, that he couldn't possibly really be 100% our responsibility. But no one else is going to trim his nails; no one else is going to hold him down to suction the snot out of his nose with those bulbs; no one else is going to deal with that stinky diaper. And I admit to thinking to myself at times, would someone please make that baby stop crying?!

Whenever he is sick, I find myself thinking there must be someone who can magically care for him better than we can and maybe take care of me while they're at it. When we went to the doctor this week, I was weary from him not eating, not sleeping, and not being happy. I wanted the doctor to take over with confident answers about what he would eat and how long he would feel this way. But no--childhood illnesses are often all about waiting it out, and the worried waiting is another job that no one will do for us.

New Years Resolutions

2013 will bring us more teeth, more words, and more activity.

Here are some of my resolutions for 2013 as a parent:

• Sleep through the night, even if it means going to a hotel and leaving him with grandma! My reserves are tapped, and rest is necessary to patiently keep up for a year of toddlerhood.
• Watch what I say. Our little guy is listening, and tone and words can make an imprint. I aim to be less critical of myself and others when I'm speaking and follow the maxim "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." There may be some silence in 2013.
• Or, fill that silence with French. We are committed to raising our son bilingually. My husband speaks to him 100% in French, but I know that he needs to hear more French conversation. My sleep deficit makes clearly communicating even in English a challenge. But this year I aim to have at least one conversation a day en français.

Happy new year!

Best of 2012

Here are some fond memories as a parent in 2012:

• Our first wine tasting post-baby in Monterey, with our son in the front pack
• Weekend family naps
• Visiting the Orangerie at night, with Debussy playing in the background. We three walked back to the Metro with the Eiffel Tower framed by orange and purple clouds in the setting sun.
• Lying in bed in Paris with our little guy snoozing in between us, windows open and listening to a warm rain on the streets
• Visiting the Menagerie zoo and then finishing up our illegal picnic on the grass moments before the police came to shoo us away
• Traintown in Sonoma, where we blew bubbles, rode on a merry-go-round, and our little guy's foot got licked by a goat
• Family gatherings throughout the year
• Walking back from an evening “bring your baby to the movies” event, and seeing the fog rolling through the hills
• Butterflies and baby ostriches at the Academy of Sciences
• Seeing our usually light-eating son chowing down on his birthday cake
• Drinking champagne and eating ice cream cake to celebrate one year of being parents

 2012 was the year that our son went from being a little baby who couldn’t roll over or sit up to being a toddler who chats, gives kisses, plays peekaboo, walks, hugs, eats and brings us toys. I can’t wait to see what the next year brings. Fingers crossed that “sleeping through the night” will be on the list.

Last Day in Infant Room

During the past couple of weeks, my little guy has been transitioning from his infant classroom to the toddler room. Tomorrow he will officially spend the entire day with the toddlers.

Transitioning isn't just for the tots--I have some transitioning to do as well. Because the routine is set, I will need to drop him off by 9 so he can participate in the snack time. In the infant room, we showed up any time between 9 and 9:30, but I always played a bit and then left at around 9:30. I don't think I will be hanging out in the toddler classroom as much. I am a little sad about that since I really enjoyed getting to know all of the little characters in the infant room. Will I even get to know the toddlers in this room?

There are also different expectations about the food. Before, I packed a mix of finger foods and foods to be spoonfed. Now, finger foods are preferred. Before, he had a little spot in the class refrigerator for his food. Now, I will need to provide a lunch box. Before, all his milk was in two bottles. Now, he will come to school with only one bottle, and the rest will be poured from his thermos.

So far the transition for our son has been going great! He's been sleeping and eating more, and the stories that he "tells" during dinner seem pretty entertaining. Now let's see how I will do with the transition.

I am Thankful for Health Care

I am thankful and privileged to have comprehensive health care benefits. My entire pregnancy was free, and it was filled with check-ups, ultrasounds, and classes. My unplanned C-Section and the unexpected few days in the hospital were free. My labor did not go well, and if it weren't for our health care provider, who knows what would have happened. Follow-up appointments with a lactation nurse to make sure we had mastered the all-important latch--that was free, too.

All of my son's doctors appointments and vaccines have also thankfully been without cost to us. When he had an abscess on his bum, we were able to email our doctor, take him in for care, get antibiotics, and then call again when we had questions. When he had a 104 degree fever, we were given clear directions and were reassured that we could take care of him at home. Sometimes I grumble that they create too much anxiety in the name of prevention, but I am so grateful for our doctors whose expertise and information is available to us for little to no cost.

As with childcare, it is truly unfortunate that we can't all have equitable access to the same level of high quality health services. I am certainly not any more worthy of comprehensive healthcare than other women whose jobs do not cover maternity and pediatric care. When I reflect upon what I'm thankful for, it is impossible not to imagine the alternative reality that exists for so many.

I am Thankful for Early Childhood Educators

I am thankful that we are able to bring my son to a high quality childcare center that is two blocks from our home and filled with toys, activities, and friends. Even if I didn't work, I know that he would do well in this environment.

I am especially thankful for his teachers. Besides changing diapers, wiping noses, and warming bottles, my son's teachers do the following: create a safe environment that can be explored freely; model how to treat each other gently and with patience; observe each child to learn individual signs for hunger, sleepiness, and boredom; determine how to react and care for a child who has fallen or bumped his head (in a class of infants learning to walk, this probably happens 100 times a day); plan developmentally appropriate activities for the babies to learn about the world around them; talk with anxious and stressed out first-time parents; monitor babies for constipation, allergic reactions, and illness; and of course, they make sure each child is loved.

I used to work at a childcare, so I know that the work is difficult and often underpaid. And while it is rewarding work, it is often thankless and undervalued work. The best way to show thanks? I believe that it makes a difference when teachers are paid a fair wage and have access to the same types of benefits and time-off that I have. After all, what they do from 9 to 5 is far more important than what I do--or what many of us do--during that time.

He's a Boy

Guessing gender of stranger babies is a tricky task, which is why I usually say things like, "Aw! What's your baby's name?" en lieu of playing he/she roulette. Clothes are basically the only clues we get, and those are not always clear indications. I live in Berkeley where ideas about what is "gender appropriate" are flexible, yet I don't try to make anything difficult for anyone--a lot of my son's clothes are blue or "boyish"--plaid shirts, rugby stripes, cargo pants, etc.

For some reason, about 75% of the time, a stranger will assume that my son is a girl, even when he is decked out in blue from head to toe. It happens almost daily, sometimes more than once a day. "Oh she's a pretty baby!" "How old is she?" and so on. After a year of this, I don't tend to correct them but will just say thank you or answer questions with the correct pronoun. This gender assumption happens from people with same-aged children, older people, 5-year-olds, all from a variety of national and cultural backgrounds. In one humorous instance, a break relief teacher at his school had been working there for a week before she changed his diaper and went "aye!" She had thought that he was a girl that whole time!

I know it doesn't matter at this young age, but I am wondering what people are seeing when they see a toddler wearing a blue and think pink. Is it because he has curls? It is because he is sociable? Is this how parents get on the ultra-gendered track and dress their girls in pink tutus and boys in monster truck t-shirts? At any rate, yesterday he burped really loudly, laughed at himself and then tried to make himself burp again until he gagged a little. I'm pretty sure it's a boy I've got on my hands.

Backyard Picnic

Today we had a spontaneous backyard picnic.

Mealtimes have not been so leisurely lately. We watch over our son to make sure he doesn't choke and that he eats enough food. He often eats a bit and then throws a lot of it on the floor. Then he complains about being in the high chair. When he is free to wander about, he squats down to pick up and eat what he has thrown on the floor. I know, I know--this is all setting him up for poor table time behavior, but we really want him to eat and we also want to eat in peace. Finally, we clean up the baby, wipe the tray, gather crumbs from seat, scrub the floor.

Today was an unseasonably warm November day, and the sun was perfectly shining on our backyard at lunchtime. We decided to bring out a big blanket and eat al fresco. What fun! The best part was that our son was already on the ground. He didn't have to protest the high chair, and I didn't have to feel guilty that I was letting him eat off of the blanket. It was the most he has eaten for lunch in a while, and we were all in jolly spirits. After lunch, there was no table, tray, seat, or floor to scrub. We just shook the crumbs off of the blanket and played in the grass.

Transitions

Our infant is now a toddler.

Just today I received a note at his school letting me know that there is a space in the toddler class and that he would be transitioning over the last two weeks of November and officially starting in December. Aw, I thought, I love his teachers. And besides, he's not walking quite yet.

Well, tonight I noticed that he was standing in one spot, very steadily for a long time. So long that I had time to hand my husband his phone to capture the moment. Soon the moment became an event; the photo became a video. Our baby walked several steps toward my husband.

It is funny that even when transitions are expected, they can still catch you by surprise. On Monday this week, I dropped my son off at school and realized that I never got around to nursing him that morning, and he never "asked." A few weeks ago he had a toothless smile, and now there are four white teeth in there. I don't even remember when the fourth one appeared. His shoes that we got six weeks ago already need to be replaced this weekend. And everything will be different again in a month from now when I look back.

An object in motion stays in motion. The same goes for children, constantly in transit, growing and developing and moving from one stage to the next, passing milestones in a blur. This life of transition is an exciting ride, but not one that is easy to capture on camera.

Babies Don't Wear Watches

Babies don't wear watches, or at least mine doesn't. So the time change in our household has been more of a transition over days rather than something that happened at 2am Sunday morning.

Yesterday evening the sun was setting as we were strolling home from school. While I was rushing to get dinner together, my son was rubbing his eyes, whining, and resting his forehead on the floor. He fell asleep before dinner was even ready, and we didn't get a chance to cuddle or hang out all day. We usually have a couple of hours of reading and playing before the bedtime routine kicks in, so not having quality baby time was a bummer.

This morning when my son woke up earlier than he should have, I muffled my grumbles and seized my opportunity. We had a lovely time reading books together between breakfast and changing out of pajamas.  Routines are vital, but squeezing in spontaneous quality time injects joy into the day.

Our Nest is Losing its Fluff

As my baby's birthday is approaching, I can't help but think of how things were a year ago, and even in the weeks after his birth. Our house was clean. I was on maternity leave already, taking turns between knitting a hot air balloon with size 2 needles, reading novels, and cooking for the freezer. And yes, our freezer and pantry was filled with enough meals to last us for at least a month of low-effort cooking. It was nesting at its finest, and how easy things seemed. We are so organized, I thought smugly.


Now, even after cleaning, the house still feels messy. Instead of knitting, I find myself zoning out, playing games on my husband's phone while I nurse. I still read novels, but it takes about 6 weeks to finish one. Books on weaning and how to sleep the whole night through seem to have more urgency, yet they are also scattered about. We do manage to eat meals made from scratch, but they create more dirty dishes than we have time or energy to wash at the end of the day. It would be nice to grab something in the freezer on evenings when the baby needs more attention; currently there is only a box of chocolate croissants and a jar of beans. Our nest is losing its fluff.


With the one year milestone on Friday, I have taken the day off. I am resolved to get our nest in order so I can feel organized again. That way, I can let go on evenings when our active little guy wants me chasing him instead of chopping; I can relax on evenings when I'd rather lie on the couch with some wine and chocolate instead of feeling surrounded by unfinished business.

Seasons Change

The Japanese maples and municipal trees that line our neighborhood streets are changing colors. All seasons are a time of change, but fall seems especially so. Sometimes a wistful feeling blows with the wind. Dry leaves scatter, orb spiders set up their morbid webs, and summer is ushered out in increasingly vivid sunsets.

Change is on my mind lately—today was the first day I did not go to my son’s school to nurse him. Our first big goodbye was when I returned to work. That was preceded by minor goodbyes—our first date away from him, my first quick coffee or lunch with a friend; it will be followed by other goodbyes and firsts—first sleep over, first weekend away. All of these farewell milestones build up to bigger ones—traveling without us, moving out, going to college.

Instead of feeling wistful, though, I am trying to think of how exciting it is that he is becoming less dependent on me as we wean. Because we have a good foundation of complicity and secure attachment, he can trust that our goodbyes are not permanent, and I can trust that in the future when he moves on into adulthood, his goodbyes will not be permanent. Change cannot be stopped, but it is reassuring that we can rely on spring cycling back to us.

In the meantime, I celebrate having a free lunch hour. What to do with my time? Eat lunch with friends, read a book by myself in the sun, squeeze in some shopping, and ease back into a routine that is more balanced.