just a spoonful of sugar

I guess the cereal went down okay. Six hours after eating it Jake projectile vomited everywhere, but I think that had more to do with rolling over from back to belly at warp speed, and then freaking out and trying to move closer to his toys from which he rolled away. There is a strong correlation with tummy time and puking with this kid, and it is hard to keep him on his back these days. Throwing up was bad enough when he used to eat four ounces at a time. He is up to nine now and it is much, much worse.

Last night was a marathon fussy baby night, but lucky for me Dave took care of him after I fell asleep. I don't know if it had to do with the new food or if it was something else entirely. His teeth are pushing up on the gums a little bit more, so maybe that was bothering him. Hopefully. I put a little Orajel on his bottom gums just in case. And a little on my tongue because I like to bite it and not feel anything. The last thing I want to deal with in the upcoming heat wave is a sick child.

Anyway. I thought I'd mention in passing that I have officially risen to a whole new level of horrible. Have you ever had a dream that you wake up, shower, get dressed, eat, brush the teeth, and leave for work? Yeah, well, I have been having those about Jake. It started about two weeks ago and they just won't stop. Poor baby is in his crib crying and I hear him on the monitor (in real life) so I get up, feed him, and change his diaper (in dream life). Bad mix. And I get furious when I hear him the second time (in real life) since I already took care of him and just got comfortable again to catch a few more minutes of sleep before getting ready for work (in dream life). Last night I dreamt that I went in his room and turned off the air conditioner as I usually do in real life, but no. I went in his room at about 5:30 to wake and feed him and he was all curled up in the corner of his crib, air conditioner on full blast. He didn't seem to mind too much based on the smiles I got when I touched his face to wake him up. He is, after all, the world's sweatiest baby and absolutely hates life if subjected to temperatures over 75 degrees. So, will you call children's services or shall I just go ahead and do that for you?

***

I thought I was fully recovered from pregnancy and delivery and everything was back to normal until I grew a healthy moustache over the weekend. It may have been there longer, who knows, I barely look in the mirror most days. Of course I rushed right out to put a few more dollars in Sally Hansen's pockets as soon as I noticed, and waxed that sucker right off my face. The next morning I noticed a faint shadow under the nose, and wouldn't you know it, it wasn't just hair that was making me look like my seventh grade math teacher (minus the butterfly collar) it was actual skin discoloration. Turns out that is a "side effect" of childbirth. Darkening of the skin around the mouth. Dammit. I am quite sure no one else has noticed it, but I feel like I am about to be mistaken for Tom Selleck any minute now.

Because I am a girl, I immediately decided to go shopping to make myself feel better. It was high time that I buy a new pair of jeans, all my old ones are either way to low now that I'm a mom (lord help the woman who's C-section scar is visible over her jeans) or ridiculously stretched out because I refused to wear maternity jeans until I was about five months pregnant. I finally decided on a pair at my all-time favorite jeans store, and the sales girl had the gall to ask me, and I quote, "are you all done losing weight or are you going to try to lose those last few pounds?". Ouch. Ouch. I know she only meant that because I told her my pre-pregnancy size when she asked what size I need now, but wow. A drag queen near the tank tops gasped and squealed. Another new mom brought the stroller to a grinding halt. I came here to feel better about my hair lip, and now this. She looked mortified when she said it, and I am not one to get offended, but it was really not the right thing to say. I actually laughed as it came out of her mouth, because I could see the comment going nowhere fast. She was trying to suggest that I buy the next size down, but that is way too much pressure for me. And here I thought I was doing well because I was one size and five pounds down from those raggety old pre-preg jeans...

I'm going to go buy a Hershey bar. Have a great afternoon.

against my better judgement

I gave Jake a bit of cereal this afternoon. I wanted to wait for a couple weeks, and even swore up and down this morning that I would hold off. But, after watching Jake devour two nine ounce bottles in just a couple hours, I decided to bring out the big guns. I really thought that Jake wouldn't go for it, given his lackadaisical attitude about meal time, but he loved it. I am posting pictures, but posting them small just in case seeing a baby with food on its face makes you ill. I get totally nauseous when I see it, and I don't even think that I will be able to eat lunch this afternoon due to the fact that I just spent a half an hour staring at a rice-faced baby. Eww. So, if you are into seeing a mucked up baby wearing a papertowel like a barbershop cape, just double click and the pictures will get bigger.

First he didn't know what to make of it. We have practiced with the spoon and some milk, but this was different. It was slightly chunky milk.


Then he got totally excited. Totally.


Then really happy.


So happy he started spitting. There is that weird left eye thing that he inherited from me. If there is one thing this kid loves to do, it's ppbbtthh all over the place, and ppbbtthhing rice is the most thrilling ppbbtthh of them all so far.


He did really well for awhile



About three-quarters of the way through, in true Jake fashion, he decided there was no sense in me holding the spoon because he could do it himself. He didn't get his way, but I let him think he was in charge for a few bites.


I will probably hold off until Tuesday to give him another bowl. Maybe we'll try a stronger dose- this was a pretty weak 5:1 mixture. We might go nuts and up it to 4.5:1.5 next time if he does well with the digestion. Keep your fingers crossed.

living in the present

I have been so wrapped up in my job, the never-ending heat waves, and trying to get over the fact that Jake has been in existence for over a year now that I completely forgot to post that he is sleeping in his own room.

As I promised to myself, his first night in the crib was on the 17th, his four month birthday. He did great- he went down around 9 or 10 after a bottle, bath, and story and stayed that way until 5 or 6 the next morning. I did great too- mostly because I slept on the floor next to the crib.

In all fairness, it was 85 degrees outside that night and Jake has air conditioning. My room was a baby-less oven, his room was a haven. I swear I only checked on him every ten minutes. That's good, right? He was way up in his crib and I was way down on the floor. We have never slept more than three feet away from each other except when my mother stole him from my room at her house or Jake was vacationing at the grandparent's.

I slept in Jake's room for three or four nights. On the fifth night I slept in my big girl bed, and Jake stayed in his room. I was so excited to have my bedroom back, and felt confident camped out about six inches from the baby monitor. Dave agreed to sleep in bed instead of his usual spot in the air conditioned living room. Oh boy! He came upstairs, looked in our bed, looked in the bassinet, asked where the baby was, and promptly took his pillow into the nursery leaving me all alone with the cats. Oh boy. Fast forward one week, and we all sleep where we are supposed to, save for Friday nights when Jake and I do some serious nighttime cuddling.

Saturday is play day. It is amazing how much Jake changes from week to week, and I don't really notice it until the weekend. My week nights are spent trying to balance housework, feeding everyone, and resting a bit. Jake usually naps in the evenings, and when he is awake he isn't very playful. I hate to admit how much time he spends in his swing and his playmat during the week, but he seems happiest there. Poor baby has to unwind from watching and learning from the big kids all day.

This week Jake is really struggling to sit up. When he is on his back he holds on to whatever he can grab to pull himself up. It works well with our fingers, not so much with his toys. He is balancing himself pretty well in his activity center, and reaches for all the different toys. The new obsession is holding something different in each hand, and I almost melted when Jake was rubbing Dave's beard with one hand and playing with my glasses with the other when we first woke up this morning. He did baby push-ups and sit-ups all day, and he seems to really enjoy being on his belly now. What a change from last week when he couldn't stand it for more than a minute or two. Jake tries to touch everything he sees, and is starting to get very frustrated when he can't do whatever it is that he is trying to accomplish. The latest torture is to put a toy in front of him while he is on his belly. He rocks and wiggles and does the little baby swim dance to try to move himself toward the prize. He usually works so hard that he throws up a little, and then he rubs his face in it and laughs.

Babies are so cute.

i think we all saw where this was going

One year ago today I was getting a little freaked out because I was still late, and despite what the test results showed I was beginning to fear that I kinda might have sort of accidently gotten a little bit pregnant. Maybe.

I bought yet another test, and this time instead of tearing it out of the package first thing in the morning and peeing on the stick I actually read the directions, which stated (and I quote from the website, italics added for emphasis) "Holding the test stick by the Thumb Grip with the Absorbent Tip pointing downward and the Result Window facing away from your body...". What? I was supposed to hold this thing upside down and backwards? That matters? That sounds slightly reminiscent of how I got in this mess in the first place. No way.

Way.

Within seconds that second line appeared confirming my worst nightmare. Cool Lora had instantly become Mom Lora. No more fun. Learn to sew. Pull up your jeans. Bake a casserole. In bed by ten. Now you're a mom.

These things weren't supposed to happen to nice girls like me. I had made a firm decision about children and there was no way that the test was right. Open the second test, pee, line, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, anger, depression, anger, acceptance.

Baby aside, I was worried about the most important thing in my life- me. I was just about to undergo some pretty serious oncology appointments to try to discover where the lady cancer was coming from. Was it spreading from another part of my body? Spreading to somewhere else? They didn't want to cut it out just in case I decided to have kids later, but I didn't want them to keep it in there so I could live to make that decision. Total drama. I wasn't afraid I was going to die, I just didn't want to deal with it for the rest of my life.

I told Dave that I think I might be pregnant, and we sat and said nothing for a good half hour. Then we discussed whether or not to go ahead with this, what it meant for my health, and what to eat for dinner. I called the doctor the next morning and scheduled something for the first week of August. By the time the appointment rolled around I was certain that I would do what it takes to keep the pregnancy, and was surprised to hear from the doc that sometimes the cell regeneration and turnover during pregnancy is so rapid that the traces of cancer can actually be shed from your body, provided it is in the right place at the right time and hasn't spread elsewhere.

And if there was ever a time and place for the big C, I found it, because I just got news that the biopsies and swabs and pinches and pokes and prods that I underwent in June came back perfect. Not a trace of a mutated cell anywhere,and since it wasn't still there it is likely that it hasn't spread anywhere else. Hooray for that! The RN I spoke with said that I don't have to come back for a full year, and I can rest assured that I probably won't have any problems for a few years- if ever. I am SO looking forward to not having to go to the GYN for an entire year.

This is going to be great.

only the cheapest for my baby

I am the self-proclaimed Queen of Generics. As a favor to the world I buy brand name deodorant (I am a Mitchum Man), Johnson&Johnson's soap for the tyke, and Heinz ketchup. I find that store brand laundry and dish soaps just don't cut it, so we splurge there too. Beyond that, you won't find so much as a trademark stamp in my house. The cabinets are stocked with CVS pill bottles, and little Jake wears Target diapers, his bubbly tummy is soothed by RiteAid gas drops, and we wipe him down with the cheapy-yet-hypoallergenic wipes. Today we took it a step further and went with the Target brand baby milk. One out of one babies in our house gives it two thumbs up, and I like it because it doesn't stink like Enfamil and it is half the price. I explained to Jake that he needs to make sacrifices so Mommy can have things like expensive jeans and designer handbags. And of course Daddy has a penchant for season tickets and poker games. That Jake is so selfless. It is darling, really.

I know I have been a horrible blogger this week, my only excuse is that they are working me like a dog at the job. Only one more day left of supervising social workers, then I am off and running to do program evaluations of children's social service agencies in Philadelphia. I have spent the days for the last two weeks reading and editing and re-reading and re-editing case files. By the time I get a free minute, the last thing I want to do is writing and editing, re-writing and re-editing blog posts.

I have been searching my home and office for the job description of the new position, but I have yet to find it anywhere. In a nutshell, I am working for a company within the company- excuse me, non-profit corporation- where I have been working for almost five years. I know my new boss and I was more than pleased when she offered me the position without the hassle of an interview. Remember what I say about being a schmoozer- it works. Do it. It sounds like I will be traveling to the different agencies and building relationships with program directors and staff, looking into their objectives and practices, and writing reports regarding how well they are meeting their goals. It is a field job, so I will be out of the office a good amount of the time, but not traipsing through the ghetto as in field jobs past. I am looking forward to beginning an administrative position. I feel almost, dare I say, corporate. Almost. I'll still be sure to wear capri pants and flip flops 82% of the time. Oh, and don't think that having a baby has made me gone soft and want to work with kids. Au contrair, mon frere. Sister needed a job and she took it because she would be working with employed adults, not brats and their troubled mothers.

When I began working at my company five years ago, I swore that I would be out of there by the time I was 30. In the off chance I was still there, I promised that I would open a 403b and start considering my future. I only said this because 30 was eons away and I had plenty of time to forget the vows. So here I am, twenty days shy of my thirtieth birthday and planning to take the mini-raise I am getting with the new job and (gasp) investing it. Ouch. That hurt to type. Let's move on to something fun to talk about.

If you follow the picture blog, you see that Dave and I took Jake to the beach for the first time on Sunday. We packed up the car and got there at five-ish, so we wouldn't have to work on finding the delicate balance of sunshine for us and shade for Jake. We paraded Jake up and down the Atlantic City Boardwalk and stuck his feet in the water. He hated it and shrieked the first time, cringed and let out an "ack" the second time, and gave into the torture and humored me the third time. We got some great pictures and I had them cropped and enlarged so we can prove to the world that Team M is full of fun and adventure.
It was Dave's first time pushing the stroller in a very public place, and he was subjected to all the strangers gawking and commenting and trying to grab the baby. Flattering at first, then frustrating when you are trying to get to a buffet to stuff yourself silly. Of course we got the requisite half-dozen "she is so cute! What is her name?"'s and seventeen or so "look at all that hair!"'s.

Jake got a special treat when he was allowed to lick my pear, but he could not have cared less. He had people watching to do and who wants food when you have New Jerseyites to marvel at?

picture it, philadelphia, 2005

Two more days go by, four days late and getting later by the minute. My friend Samantha and I were at the South Philly Tap Room enjoying a few pints and sharing some nachos when I complained that my mouth tasted like metal. Pregnant?, she asks. No way, not me and there is a stick in the trash that proves it. But, because she is a smart girl I stopped at the neighborhood apothecary on the way home and shelled out another $12.50 for another test. I waited until the next morning, since that is when the hormones are the strongest. Another negative. Another happy hour. I assumed I was late and metallic due to a delicate mix of rampant cancer (which was due to be attacked about two weeks later), Philadelphia tap water (which I was drinking by the gallon), and perhaps a little bit because I was at the tavern every day that week.

flashback 2005

One year ago today I took my first pregnancy test. I was two days late and although I didn't feel any different I took the test because I remembered a night a few weeks prior when all caution was thrown to the wind in a whiskey-induced lapse of judgment. Results negative, I jumped on the subway and hit happy hour to rejoice.

And a fascinating lady fact, my cycle runs on the exact same days this year as it did last. I'm utterly amazed at the consistency of nature. Sorry boy readers, I should have given you the girl-talk heads up. Motorcycles, football, barbecue, beer, horsepower, sledgehammer. Feel better?

healthy as an ox

Back from the doctor, and Jake is 25 inches long and 13 pounds. He is doing everything he should be, and I was happy to hear that the American Pediatrics Association just put out a report that says that generic baby formula is exactly the same as the brand name. That should save at least $50 a month, which will go right into an account. Probably. Maybe. I hope.

The doc said to hold off on cereal and food for as long as Jake will allow or until he is six months old, which is good for me; you all know how I feel about feeding a baby this early- the wonderful world of social work and human services shows a girl so much... She said that Jake's teeth are trying to push through, but they could take anywhere from two weeks to six months to break the gums but I should stick my fingers or a baby toothbrush in his mouth everyday so he gets used to something poking around in there. She was surprised at how vocal he was, and said that Jake's legs are pretty strong for his age. His eyes look and his ears listen, which is exactly what I wanted to see and hear. He was good about his shots, and only cried for a couple minutes.

Because it was too hot to pack up the stroller and walk, Jake had his first taxi ride this afternoon, and I was forced to make the choice to ride with the windows open, allowing the 108 degree heat-indexed day and the dust from 13th Street construction in or shut ourselves in with the air conditioning, the smoke, the stench, and the mysterious wet spot on the floor. We chose to bake, and got a half English/half Jibberjabber lecture from the cab driver for four blocks about how it is too hot for the baby to have the windows down. Okay, funkadocious, just drive thank you. I thought myself lucky to get a cab with working seatbelts so I could strap the carseat in there. Dave was back in the city with the car by the time we got out, so we didn't have to take our chances with a second cab.

I shot some Tylenol down Jake's trap as soon as we got home, and he seems to be holding up pretty well. He can be cranky all he wants, but I don't want to deal with a fever on a day like this. He ate his lunch and is fighting a nap in his swing now.

I do want to post about my new job, but I think that I will take this afternoon and get the downstairs straightened up. There is no air conditioning upstairs, so that filth will live to see another day. So, stay tuned for updates and try to stay cool.

America is burning.

33.33333%

One-third of the way through his first year, Jake is growing and changing and babying right on schedule. At least I assume he is right on schedule, I try to avoid all "Your baby should be..." literature just so I don't freak out if Jake isn't doing something that he should be. He'll get it eventually. After all, I don't know any adults who haven't figured out head control or rolling over, or have never stuck their toes in their mouth or stopped poking themselves in the eye.
That said, here is a run down from head to toe with what Jake can do today...

As you saw last week, his baby hair is still intact, although becoming sparse and replaced with his boy hair. I don't think there is a chance at this kid being blonde, but his hair is definitely lighter than the jet black crop he was born with. He loves to twist his hair in his fingers while he is falling asleep or listening to a story and he has thankfully learned that if it hurts, just let go. Jake's eyes seem to have settled on a dark hazel brown, with a touch of yellow in there. Dave's eyes are almost black, and mine are hazel green, brown, and yellow, with a tiny streak of turquoise in each one. I also have freckles on my iris and can do that crazy thing with my left eye, both which Jake has inherited.

Daycare is building this kid's vocabulary exponentially. When he is excited, he makes a screechy sound reminiscent of those old metal New Years Eve noisemakers that you spin at midnight. We still get an occasional "ah-loo" and hear many "who-whooo"s. Cranky time brings some "aack"s, and his crinkly book and caterpillar elicit a "eye-eyye". I can get him to coo and laugh, Dave can get a big long giggle. Smiles come a dime a dozen, and would be a bargain at twice the price.

Head control is on point until Jake gets sleepy, and it is especially good if he is watching television. I try to point him away from the tube, but he contorts his entire body so he can get a glimpse. I don't mind a little bit especially since he sits up straight and is very alert when it is on, but he isn't allowed to watch as much as he would like.

We are working on unassisted sitting. If Jake is wide awake, he can sit with very little help, sometimes just a good grasp on his shirt is all he needs. Because he is uber-obsessed with his toes he tends to fall forward easily when he checks them out. Jake can roll over from his back to his right side, and sometimes make it all the way around to his stomach where he gets stuck and panics. I have never seen a baby hate being on its belly so much, making tummy time nearly impossible. He is getting a little bit better at it, slowly but surely.

All signs point to Jake being a hand talker. He flails his arms all over the place and babbles at anything that appears to be listening. I'm impressed by his hand-eye coordination, he can usually grab things on the first try and has no trouble turning toys around and upside-down. For fun, Jake chews on his tongue just like his father does, and if I say "where did you get the gummMMMmmmmm?" Jake sticks his tongue out and sometimes rolls it up- he also inherited my wacky tongue. He sucks on his hands and toys, and has two bottom teeth and two top teeth right at the surface of his gums, which are resistant to let them through despite the chewing and rubbing they endure. If you stick your finger in there, Jake clamps down hard, looks at you with his big eyes, and gives you a huge smile. Sadistic little brat.

I'll have Jake weighed and measured officially tomorrow at the doctor's, but I think he is about 25 inches long and 13 or 14 pounds. He drinks 6 or 7 ounces every four hours or so, and sleeps soundly from 10pm until 5am. He can drink out of a (non-sports capped) water bottle and has demonstrated some skills with his bathwater and the cup that I use to rinse him off in there (incidentally, my tommee tippee) so starting today we will be practicing with Jake's very own big-boy sippy cup that I bought him for his birthday.

I have no intentions of starting Jake on baby food for another month or two although I have a box of cereal, an arsenal of vegetables, and a dozen jars of fruit in Jake's cupboard. I have put a few drops of milk on his spoon to get him used to the feel of that in his mouth, and he seems to be okay with it. Unlike some moms, I am not looking forward to feeding this child. With it comes a lot of trial and error, watching for food allergies, being patient during feedings, and dealing with dirtier diapers and a plethora of digestion issues. I prefer to wait until Jake can sit by himself before I start ramming peas and carrots down his hole. It makes it much easier to have that free hand, and his swallowing reflex and digestive system will be more developed then. Some people do feed their babies at four months, but it is more for parental entertainment than child nourishment. All the stuff he needs to grow is in the milk.

To get him used to different things, I make Jake smell everything that I eat, and he sniffs it like a dog. His nose wrinkles at onions and tuna, smells that make me want to barf. But that's nothing- Jake is such a victim when it comes to bad smells. I put my face right near his in the morning and he has no choice but to inhale dragon breath and when he gets tired he likes to ram his face into my armpits, which are pretty ripe by the day's end this time of year. I also take him for walks through the Italian Market and Chinatown, and both have have quite the palate for the schnoz.

I think that about covers it. Plus, I have to get some real work done, seeing as this was written between tasks on company time. I have secured a new position, and will post about it later this week when I have officially given notice to all involved at the office. Okay- work. Here I go. Right after I do a spell check.

i want it...

long, straight, curly, fuzzy, snaggy, shaggy, ratty, matty, oily, greasy, fleecy, shining, gleaming, steaming, flaxen, waxen, knotted, polka-dotted, twisted, beaded, braided, powdered, flowered, and confettied, bangled, tangled, spangled and spaghettied!

When Jake was born he was covered in a downy black fuzz that fell out within a few weeks' time, most likely because I couldn't stop licking it. Now it's back and blonde with a vengeance. He has ear hair, cheek hair, chin hair, unibrow hair, leg hair, arm hair, and back hair. I can't quite capture it on film, as it is super fine and hardly noticeable, but it is definitely there. Thirteen year old boys are jealous of his moustache, I'm sure.

The crazy jungle growth on his head is starting to thin out, and is being replaced by manageable looking brown hairs. You've seen the thinning hair from the front on the picture blog. It looks pretty normal there, but what I don't treat you to is a bird's eye view which looks like this when it is wet. Kind of a middle-aged man/ the boys at the Jersey shore look. All Jake needs is a gold chain, a track suit, a hot chick half his age, and a Corvette and he would be set.
I wonder if the Hair Club for Men is looking for any before shots.

right back in the rut

I think I may finally be fully recovered from my baby-free respite. Going from life with baby to life without for a few days is disturbingly easy, especially after experiencing the beauty of dinner out and a great night's sleep.

Looks like Philadelphia has been moving right along while I have been stuck at home. There are new bars, new stores, brand new cool kids in brand new cool kid clothes. New drink specials and new fusion food spots(Cubano-Italiano? Papaya lasagna? No thanks) keep on keeping people happy. But lucky for me, my goofball friends are still doing the same goofball stuff and we had a ton of fun doing it. We hit some old spots and told some old stories, especially old Lora stories which are particularly funny now that I'm a mom. Remind me to tell you the one about the port-a-potty and the cowbell. That will be a great one for the kids some day.

I only really missed Jake for about fifteen minutes when I was watching the news and the reporter spoke of a baby who went missing in Delaware. Then they got to a human interest story about seeing eye dogs and I totally got over it.

I hate to admit it, but I find myself aging out of my pre-baby scene, and the scene finds me aging too. Friday night the bouncer called me ma'am for godsakes. I need to stop going to bars where I need a handstamp. Especially now that they don't ask me for ID.
Right before that, three girls in the subway hid their new weed pipe when they saw me coming. "Here comes some lady- hide that." "Whatever, she probably doesn't even know what it is." "So what, just put it away I think I see the cops coming." Oh, please, your mother knows what that is. I'm sure she must be really old. Like in her mid-to-late thirties old. And lay off the pot, it is SO 1972 and you're getting paranoid.
Earlier that day when I couldn't get my bus pass to work the bus driver said "Can I help you Missus?". Please note that I don't wear a wedding ring which might, might warrant the title.
I have been so wrapped up in watching Jake get bigger for the past year that I forgot about time passing. Instead of following the calendar I have been tracking pregnancy weeks and baby milestones. July of 2006 snuck right up on me. I can hardly remember to write the correct year on my checks.

Jake seems to be recovering from his long weekend too. He looked huge when I saw him on Saturday after three days away from him. That kid can grow, and his legs now hang out of his swing at the knees. He had some sleeping and eating issues for the first two days back but he slept through last night and is almost back on his eating schedule. He isn't good with time shake-ups, so I guess that is what happened. I just can't go back to the night feedings. I'll die. And I don't know what he got a taste of over there, but it didn't bode well with the old digestion, which becomes my problem as much as it becomes Jake's. I still can't get used to the diaper changes, especially when they are bad. And these were Bad. I'm gagging right now just thinking about it. Ack. But it was totally worth the few days off. So who gets him next? Any takers?

cat's away

Jake is on vacation at the grandparent's, so Dave and I have been pretending to be normal people for the past 24 hours. Last night was great, no lugging baby and bottles and binkies and blankets upstairs at nine. No Goodnight Moon. No Itsy Bitsy Spiders, except the one in the corner that I think may be either dead or catatonic. No diapers. No wipes. No jammies. No lights out before ten. No fist sucking to break the night silence. No breathing checks. No bug chew toys to soothe the pain of the four little teeth that are rearing themselves in the poor babe's mouth. After driving home from Jersey I simply brushed my teeth, washed my face, took off the work clothes, and enjoyed the post-Phillies game fireworks from the bay window. I read from a book with big words, and I tried to stay up to watch the news. I crapped out around half past ten and didn't wake up until ten after seven. Oh sweet bliss.

The day was perfect, no rushing home to pick up the baby or worrying how much he ate. I went to the gym after work, walked home, and carted Dave off to the new Mexican restaurante on Passyunk Avenue. We took a walk, checked out the new vinyl shop looking for some good Tijuana Brass, and came home to another night of no baby or bottles or binkies or blankets or books or bedtimes or bugs.

But booties? Oh, yes. There will be booties. And not those cute little blue ones that keep Jakey's toes warm.

pc baby

Most of the unsolicited advise I receive about childcare comes from people who have not had a baby in their home for over twenty years. It comes at work, at home, at the store, and on the street from those would not dare drive the same cars as they did then, eat the same foods, wear the same clothes, smoke the same smoke, or drink the same drink, but they think my baby should be raised exactly the same way they raised theirs. Okay crazies, go ahead and talk but retro child rearing isn't the order of the day. Those little things that we happened to survive are gone by the way of Ford Pinto's, Pall Malls, whole milk, hashish, and platform shoes with goldfish in them. You can still buy them but they come with a Surgeon General warning taped firmly to the side.

I realized yesterday that I may be guilty of a slightly lesser offense- I was singing Ten Little Indians to Jake and just as I got to that sixth little Injun I thought to myself that kids just might not sing this song any more. My son will never know the thrill of making a head dress and vest out of a brown paper bag and following the teacher around the classroom, skipping and whooping and hi-ya hi-yaing like savages to the beat of what used to be an educational counting song. He will be sitting "pretzel style" instead of "Indian style". Chinese Checkers are being sold as Stern-Halma sets. Jake won't sing Chinka Chinka Chinaman sittin' on a fenceat the top of his lungs while running in circles around the girls playing hopscotch unless he wants to be punished. He may not ever watch the Song of the South on the last day of first grade or hear those tales of Brer Rabbit and Mr. Fox at bedtime. All probably good things, but this PC crap has been taken to an extreme.

As he gets older he might not discover he is actually a normal teenager thanks to Judy Blume and Lois Lowry. He may not learn How to Eat Fried Worms or see The Light in the Attic, meet James and the Giant Peach or find A Wrinkle in Time, cross the Bridge to Terabithia or share in the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. He may never see the world through The Bluest Eye or feel what it is like to be one of The Outsiders. He may never get To Kill a Mockingbird or learn that there is a Brave New World out there. All are in danger of being censored by the time Jake is old enough to read them.

These books are a part of my childhood, an integral piece of my upbringing thanks to my librarian grandmother. We read these books together and talked about the death, the drugs, the racism, the paganism, the adolescent angst associated with puberty. It was how I learned about these things before I encountered them in the real world. In high school I was lucky enough to take advanced standing English courses, where we only read nearly-banned books and discussed why they are so controversial. We were allowed to think for ourselves as we were made aware of the issues that effect poor minorities and rich socialites, displaced persons, transients, and kings. We understood the ways of Mice and Men, and Why the Caged Bird Sings. We giggled at the Canterbury Tales and were grossed out at the end of The Grapes of Wrath. We read these and we didn't kill ourselves, we didn't get pregnant, stick needles in our arms, or kill the local pawn broker. We sang our songs and we didn't eat that peanut we found, squish up a baby bumblebee, or believe that the old lady finally died after eating a horse, of course. We listened to heavy metal and punk and alternative rock and we didn't worship Satan or stab our mothers. We tore our jeans and wore long johns under our shorts. And maybe a little too much eyeliner and hair product.

A lot has changed since the 70s. I won't give my baby table food for quite some time, I won't put him on his belly to sleep, or forgo the LeapFrog toys for two spoons, a pot, and an empty spool of thread. I won't put him directly in the sun or let him stand up in the back seat or sleep in the wheel-well as I drive him around town, or make him wear three layers of clothing because the mercury has dipped below 70. It won't be cute if he swears or gets in a fist fight. Fries (are we allowed to call them French again?) aren't a vegetable and Hi-C isn't fruit juice.

But I'll be sure Jake will be reading the same books that we read so many years ago, even if I have to drive to Canada to buy them. And I'll remember to stick to songs that I won't have to explain at Parent's Night in five years. It is likely that the teacher will only be about 22 years old, and she probably never had the chance to hear about Miss Mary Mack nor Miss Suzy and their unfortunate asses and trips to Hell...