Some of the feeding guides say to introduce wheat on the later side, because many kids are allergic to it. Others guides say that frozen bagels make excellent teethers. When your baby has nothing acceptable to chew on within range and the teeth are nagging, the latter advice wins. Edith's first bagel:
Edith is generally a very healthy kid. But last week, she showed us a completely different side of herself. She had been teething, and so we attributed her sleeplessness to that. We dropped her off at daycare, expecting that she would tire herself out playing with friends and we might get the benefit of her exhaustion later on. Instead, we got a phone call from the day care "principal" an hour later saying that her temp was 101 under-the-arm. When we brought her home and checked the rectal temp ("This hurts me more than it hurts you, kid...") it was 104. So we immediately called the pediatrician. The nurse who answered the phone seemed entirely unimpressed, but made an appointment for her. Now I don't get sick a lot either, but I NEVER remember having a 104 temp. At any rate, the nurse was proved right. With a dose of Tylenol, her temp was down to 99 two hours later when we got to the doctor. He called it a virus that would take about 5 days to disappear (right on the money). The only other thing he could see wrong was a slight ear infection.
There's lots I could say about the parental learning curve this week, but I think I can distill it into a few nuggets of wisdom:
1. If you're going to bring a sick kid into bed with you to comfort them, invest in a rubber sheet first. Vomit can soak into a mattress very quickly.
2. Don't assume that a virus is not strong, just because it's using a cute, cuddly infant as a host. Edith was the Trojan Horse in this case. I got nailed with tonsilitis from this one. And my medicine was a lot more expensive than hers.
3. Kids can be extremely innovative at avoiding their medicine. Did you ever see bull-riding at the rodeo? Well, imagine trying to put a syringe of fluid into the mouth of the bull. Then imagine cleaning bright pink amoxycillin off the bull and the rider and the show-ring.
4. Taking care of a baby when YOU'RE sick is much more taxing than taking care of a sick baby. In the latter case, your heart wants to break. In the former, it's the rest of you that wants to break.
Sick dad, recovered baby
An episode like that described in the last post obviously requires immediate attention to the laundry. Edith helps out.
Dad is due to post soon; he was knocked out by the same bug Edith got and is on bedrest tonight...
Meanwhile, photos have been added to the Game, Thanksgiving, and Jingle Baby posts.
Hobokener commented a couple of posts ago that he wanted to focus on appreciating his daughter at her current age rather than thinking ahead to when she'll be able to do more things. I agree this is a good way to go, but it sure is tempting to think ahead sometimes. It will be nice, for example, when Edith has the words to say, "Mom and Dad, I know it's 4am and you're trying to get me to fall back asleep by cuddling with me in your bed, but it's not going to work, because I am about to vomit the entire contents of my stomach onto your face, chest, pajamas, sheets, blankets, mattress, and carpet."
Heck, even a whimpered, "I think I'm gonna throw up" will be nice. Yeah.
Pictures to be added to The Game and Thanksgiving posts momentarily.
Silly typo edited out. Thanks, Bestemor.
We couldn't resist. But I was sorry to find that it's all about image anymore. Santa always had to look the part, but now it appears that's all he has to do. For all I know this Santa Claus was deaf and dumb. He didn't ask any children what they wanted for Christmas. He just held still and stared into the flashbulb, seeming somewhat dazed. Meanwhile the smooth-talking photographer snapped away, while the sprightly assistants tried to talk parents into buying the $34.99 package. Creating memories, or just photos?
But obviously we were suckers, too. Once Edith can talk, though, I think we'll look for a more engaged Santa. In the meantime, ho ho ho!
Whew. This was one of those weekends you need a weekend to recover from. But it was all great fun.
Friday night we headed over to Bucks County to pick up a coat Tom had left at his parents' over Thanksgiving and that his sister had ferried back to this latitude. We stayed for dinner and then to help put up the Christmas tree. Or rather, Tom helped Phil with the stress-inducing parts, while four-year-old Abigail danced attendance and Susan and I watched Edith and Matthew chew contentedly on a packing box apiece. We were counting on Susan and Phil as experienced parents to advise us on baby-proofing a Christmas tree. But this is the first time they have had a mobile baby at Christmas, too. Their only advice was not to choose a hemlock.
We intended to go find our non-hemlock on Saturday morning, but after rousing us to full wakefulness at 7 am, Edith promptly went down for a nap again at 8:45 and slept through until 12:30. Since she gets far less than her daily nap quota at daycare, we wanted to give her a full opportunity to catch up. Still, it would be nice if she could go ahead and sleep in without the two-hour wakeful period, fooling her parents into getting out of bed themselves.
By the time Edith awoke, we were due in Hoboken to meet Brian and Laura's new daughter Julia. Julia was no slouch of a newborn, weighing in at 10 lbs. 3 oz. Even so, Edith looked positively Brobdingnagian next to her:
Tom and I were both slightly awed to realize just how much time has passed since May. Edith may be the littlest angel at daycare, but she looks much more like a little girl than a baby in comparison to Julia. We got a thrill out of cuddling a newborn again and as always, enjoyed catching up with her parents. When we came home, we had to read my journal of Edith's first few weeks to verify that she had, in fact, once been that young.
This morning we awoke to Edith's first snow! I don't think it registered with her at all, but Bismarck was thrilled to have his favorite ground cover back. After church, Edith and I defied the weather and headed off to Philadelphia for another friend's baby shower brunch. Edith got to chew on all her little friend Sam's toys (his teething toys appear vastly superior to ours) and giggle at cute Sam himself. Then back to Princeton and church for Advent Night. We made several Christmas tree ornaments, ate up heartily at the potluck, and sang Christmas carols. Afterwards Tom taught an adult ed class while Edith crawled laps around the church library for two hours. Finally, back home to another romp with Biz and bedtime. We're pooped!
...is my two front teeth."
Edith rarely lets us see inside her mouth. This morning, however, she was crying on the changing table, and the angle of the morning sun through the window illluminated two white lumps just below the gums at the center top. So it's finally official: We can stop arbitrarily attributing every health or behavior quirk to teething, as we have for four months, and now confidently attribute every such quirk to teething. (Never mind that Dr. Spock says, "Teething doesn't really cause anything except teeth.") We hope for her sake that they break through pretty soon, the better to manage things like this pickle:
And I think now is probably a good time to stop letting her gnaw on our faces.
If your band has booked a gig and is looking for an opening act, consider the one and only Jingle Baby.
Truly the one and only. As the narrator for this evening's holiday concert of the Dupree Center for Children announced the opening number, she said, "This song will be performed by the littlest--and certainly the bravest--angel."
"Angel" singular?
Yep.
The other three members of Edith's class didn't show up, so she took the stage alone. Well, except for her backup band, of course. Or rather, her backup carriers.
Ms. B carried her to center stage, while Ms. C followed closely. Edith had bells around her wrists and ankles. And as "Jingle Bells" began to play, Ms. B began to shake Edith (gently) in time to the song.
She stared out at the audience confidently. She did not squirm. She did not cry. And mercifully--considering the physical demands of the number--she did not spit up.
Jingle Baby will be taking her show on the road. Book now.
This isn't the side of the family with which Edith spent Thanksgiving, but our film developing is a bit behind, so I'm posting this picture of Edith playing with her Bestemor a couple of weeks ago here. We feel very thankful for an abundance of loving family on both sides these days, reminded that it isn't a given and is ever a gift.
Thanksgiving weekend wore Edith out, judging by the double three-hour naps she was taking each day. Believe it or not, that left her plenty of waking hours to try to take in about 40 new faces--roughly half her dad's family. The easiest ones for her to focus on were those of her cousins. Edith is 6.5 months old, her cousin Matthew is 8.5 months, and her brand-new-to-the-family cousin Santiago, who made his debut at Thanksgiving, is 9.5 months. The three babies are roughly the same size and doing the same things these days. So we just put them on the living room floor with a bunch of their parents' old toys and let them go to town. It was great fun. What a cohort they're going to be. There were also toddler cousins and school-aged cousins and pre-teen cousins and teenaged cousins...and even a newborn cousin just barely cognizant of the wider world yet. It's quite a family.
After eating heartily on Thursday, the family traditionally plays golf on Friday. Ever since Tom's grandfather sold his farmland to become a golf course, the family has held the Annual Endangered Fox Squirrel Golf Tournament the day after Thanksgiving. This year the day after Thanksgiving proved to be 23 degrees with a stiff wind. But no one wanted to be the first one to chicken out. So nuts that we were, we all played. I wish I could blame my performance on the weather, but with a 53 handicap, I don't think I'd be fooling anyone. I'm grateful to have the world's most patient father-in-law and to have been on his team for the third time (maybe it's not a random draw...). Though neither Tom nor I came home with a trophy this year, Tom's dad started compiling some cumulative stats later that evening and discovered that Tom is tied for the best overall performance over the life of the tournament.
Edith meanwhile was thriving in the company of her lively, non-golfing Lank cousins, Kim, Keri, and Katie, and their mother, Aunt Sharon. Aunt Sharon evidently was able to do something we've never managed: put Edith in her crib awake and let her fall asleep. We wish they lived closer!
On Saturday it was a bit warmer for yet another family tradition, the hayride around Pop-pop Hopkins' farm. Pop-pop hitches the John Deere to a long flatbed truk piled with bales of hay from the hayloft, and everyone climbs on. The teenagers pretend not to notice the adults singing Christmas carols, while the smaller children stare at the cows. It's a big farm, and the whole tour takes about an hour. I feel so grateful that Edith has been born into families rich with tradition.
We'll try to continue to make space for those traditions as we hit the Christmas treadmill at full speed. Tomorrow Edith will be performing in her first school holiday concert. I know her class's role, but Tom is waiting to be surprised. I would have enjoyed being surprised, too, but Edith's teacher told me before I could stop her. Then again, considering that we're talking about four infants, we'll probably all be surprised...
Edith with her new cousin, Santiago
Edith and Dad climb aboard for the hayride
Edith and Mom on the hayride
From yesterday's daycare pink slip: "...Edith fingerpainted with cranberry sauce this morning. She had a great time, diving right in to squish the sauce between her fingers and put it up her nose."
Fastidious she ain't.
Well, we learned our lesson.
The lesson was not that driving the length of the greater New York metropolitan area during rush hour the Friday before Thanksgiving is inadvisable. Traffic was heavy and we got to our destination late, but it wasn't more horrific than that drive ever is.
The lesson was not that it's too tiring to do a 24-hour trip with a baby. Edith handled the tight turnaround (i.e. much driving in a short span) just fine. And it is a lot of gear to haul, but the only thing we forgot was the tray for her booster seat.
The lesson was not that a whole day outside in November is too much for an infant. Edith had on five layers--including her first Yale sweatshirt, presented by Fairy Godmother Rebecca--and she was toasty all afternoon.
The lesson was not that football is too boring for a six month old. Expecting to take turns pacing the concourse, Tom and I were pleasantly surprised to be able to sit with our friends throughout The Game, while Edith studied the family in the row behind us and listened intently to the grandfather explaining strategy to his young grandson. She handled eating, nursing, and having her diaper changed in the bleacher seats just fine, too.
No: The lesson was that if your child is just fine, is enjoying the sights, is not chilled, is dry and fed...DO NOT take this little good-luck charm to the car with five minutes left in The Game and your team up by 8 in the hopes of getting a jump on the post-game traffic. Even though everything has been going great until then, by the time you reach your car the score will be tied, and as you speed through the Connecticut countryside toward the setting sun and the New York border (because no one else is exiting the stadium at this critical juncture and you can pull right out), you will listen to the announcers describe three overtimes, a record in Ivy League football, in which there are three turnovers, which also has to be a record. And then to your utter disbelief, you will hear that yet another record has been set and that in the 122-year history of The Game, this is the first time one school has won five years in a row. And that school will be harvard.
As they put on layers in preparation for a day outdoors, Edith and Jenn practice their cheers.
Edith and Rebecca tailgate
The Game
We've started exposing Edith to subliminal messaging, like that found on her mother's sweatshirt and hat here, in preparation for the big weekend. On Saturday Edith will experience The Game for the first time. Tom will be along for his third such, while I will maintain the perfect attendance record I've managed since my freshman year in 1994. We're going to bundle her up tight and introduce her to tailgating, the Yale Bowl, and a handful of good friends.
We were going to offer her a sneak preview of the team at last weekend's Yale-Princeton game. (And had we known how exciting the ending was going to be, we might have tried harder to get there.) As it was, Edith had a cold, and her Bestemor was in town to see her, so we opted for other, fun, indoor ways to spend the day. To be sure, I don't know exactly all that happened with Bestemor. As you might gather from the comments on the previous post, there was talk of a wild party while Tom and I went out for a date Saturday night. They cleaned up all evidence of the jello wrestling pit before we got home, so I can't be positive exactly what went on, but let's just say that our visit to a coffeehouse to hear a friend play guitar may well have been the calmer of the two evening options.
Actually, I'm afraid it was the calmer. Edith evidently displayed her Mr. Hyde side for poor Mom. At least we'd remembered to mention the magic spell of the month: "I've Been Working on the Railroad." Edith apparently remained calm as long as Mom sang that song but howled when she stopped or switched to anything else. It's unfortunate that the song only has four verses. You can cycle through a lot of repetitions with a four-verse song.
It seems like Edith has picked up a whole range of new skills in the past few days. And while it's thrilling to see her do new things, it's quickly becoming clear that we've entered the dicey and exhausting period in which babies' attempts to perfect their physical coordination means hazards--or at the least, disorder--at every turn. So much for carrying her around in a bucket seat and dangling some toys in front of her hands:
In the past day or two, Edith has gone from crawling to pulling up on things. So far, with one exception, she hasn't picked anything tall enough that she can get to her full height--not the side of the crib or the bookshelves, for example. So she gets about halfway up and then stands there bent over, trying to decide what to do. We'd been told that babies find this a very frustrating period, because they've figured out how to get up but know they don't know how to get down. Edith doesn't seem to suffer from this problem: She has no idea she doesn't know how to get down and is liable to let go any second, tumbling over. Given our hardwood floors, this is a challenging development.
She's getting much quicker. The one time she did pull up to full height, it was on the rack in the open dishwasher I was loading. Having gotten up, she promptly leaned over to grab the nearest object--a knife in the utensil holder. (I got to her first.)
She's also getting much stronger. She was examining the base of her floor lamp today and succeeded in rocking the whole lamp back and forth. She also has started twisting and pulling up the squares in her floor mat, wrenching them loose.
Having learned to grab at the spoon or bottle, she also is grabbing at the mom. Her pinch and clench are both getting good. Ouch.
In the exhausting-if-not-dangerous category: This past weekend Edith at last figured out that when she lets go of an object, it falls to the ground and continues to exist there. At this point she's peering over the side of her high chair expectantly to see how the object will get back to her. But I imagine it's only a few days before she starts making her feelings known if it's not returned to her promptly.
Presented with a toy, Edith focuses on the beer.
I've been asked to point out that we've retroactively added some photos to the Halloween and wedding posts. Meanwhile, here are a few more recent shots, plus one not-so-recent.
In a moment of weakness, I bought Edith some trendy little shoes. On the plus side, we haven't lost a single sock since she got them: those things stay on.
Edith's name means happy. I think we chose accurately.
AND...
Edith's first Halloween, 2005
Gretchen's first Halloween, 1976
Well, we've kept this kiddo alive for six months today. To boost our odds of continuing the streak, Edith received yet three more vaccinations plus a flu shot yesterday, and this morning I took a pediatric CPR course at the hospital where she was born. Now that she's starting solid foods, I want to be a little more prepared should she start to choke on something.
The 1/4 of the time spent on actual training in CPR was good--it recalled things I learned in college CPR courses, with variations for small people. But the 3/4 of the time spent on paranoid warnings about the myriad ways a child can die I could have done without. I'm not sure what makes Americans so hyper-anxious about child safety, but both Tom and I have been amazed by the collective worry out there. Maybe it has something to do with Western cognitive patterns: I'm currently reading a book called The Geography of Thought that suggests that Westerners focus on discrete objects, their characteristics, and the rules that govern them in an attempt to control outcomes. Apparently that makes us very different from most East Asian thinkers.
Even so, Australians are culturally Westerners, and I can't imagine that they impress on parents such a sense of constant fear. No doubt they offer lessons in child safety, but I imagine they're more like "Be sure to teach your toddler how to splint his own femur with an umbrella and a sweater in case he winds up at the bottom of the baby rugby pile."
Six months into this parenting thing I already had heard many of the warnings offered at the class this morning, but there were still some new ones on me. I wrote down the gems:
-For as long as you have an infant or toddler, don't answer the phone. Taking your attention away from the child to talk and tying up one of your hands holding the phone set is dangerous. Instead, install a speaker phone in each of the rooms in your house that a child will enter. That way you will be able to speak to anyone while maintaining full focus on your child.
-Cheerios are a favorite finger food, but they're dangerous. Cut each of your child's Cheerios in half before serving.
-I had heard the toilet paper tube standard: any toy that can fit through a toilet paper tube presents a choking hazard for an infant or toddler. But today's video specified that not only toys but also all food should be larger than a toilet paper tube. Except those half-Cheerios, I guess. I'm still puzzling over how this one works.
Paranoia aside, we celebrated the rest of the half-birthday very nicely. The weather was an incredible 75 degrees, so we took Edith out to the playground behind our building and, after a good round of swinging, had a picnic lunch out in the grass. Then this evening we took her to a gospel and spirituals choir concert at PTS. They were already halfway into the first hand-clapping, foot-stomping number when we entered, and I think Edith's mouth stayed open in astonishment for a good five minutes.
And now that Edith appears to be catching up on the sleep she missed in her stimulating first few days of school, I had better catch up on the work I missed in completing her homework assignments for her in the stimulating first few days of school. Yes, that's right: I'm already doing my child's homework for her. The information packet for Edith's daycare came with a "Magnificent Me" poster to be completed with pictures cut out and pasted in from magazines. I figured it was an assignment for the older classes, but it turns out they want posters for the infants, too. So since we're trying to keep Edith from finding out how yummy glue is for awhile longer yet, I had way more fun than I should have had looking for pictures of Edith's favorite foods and activities to cut out.
A little less fun is the labeling mania. I now own a laundry pen, and a roll of 300 iron-on labels is on its way. We found out that when they say "Label everything," they mean not only each sock and jar of baby food, but even each individual diaper! It sounded crazy at first, but it does make some sense: they keep a small handful of supplies for each baby in the classroom and a larger stash in cubbies near the front door. If a teacher goes to get diapers for four babies to restock the classroom bins, she wants to know which are which by the time she gets back to the room.
Given what they're calling Edith, I hope they recognize diapers with "EL" on them as hers. There was only one baby in the infant class for many weeks, and so the young toddlers in the next room up got to know Michael pretty well because he'd be brought along on their activities. When Edith showed up this week, apparently a handful of the young toddlers were thrilled to have "another Michael!" They continued to call her Michael all day. It just goes to show: You go to lengths to give your child a name that not everyone in the class will have, and she still winds up as "Michael L."
Edith has officially started school. At least that's what Gretchen and I call it. We even got the requisite "first day of school picture," albeit without the yellow school bus in the background or the Trapper Keeper in hand. I'm sure that's some sort of projection of our own excitement about school. Yet I don't think our excitement was totally unwarranted. First of all, it's not as though we were just abandoning her with a strange babysitter all day, to be ignored while one harried teacher attempts to feed and diaper ten kids. There are only two other kids in Edith's class at the moment, so she gets a LOT of personal attention. But day care also has a lot in common with school. It's certainly hard to distinguish the objectives of day care from the objectives of a pre-school or kindergarten. They each structure the day around age-appropriate learning activities; it's just that the older kids don't have to stop as often to eat and don't have to have their diapers changed (I hope).
For example, when we dropped her off for her first day of "school" on Wednesday, we happened to have left her food for the day at home in the freezer by accident. By the time we came back an hour later to drop it off, she had already produced her first work of art! Sure, it was veggie art (where you take vegetables, dip them in non-toxic paint, and stamp their imprints on construction paper), but it's more than I would have exposed her to on my own. We're definitely more likely to read a book to her or sing to her or stimulate her with toys than to try art projects. It makes you remember how valuable it is for your child to have other influences than just her parents.
And it's not just the curriculum that we appreciate. The social interaction seems to be the most exciting thing for Edith. When we went to pick her up on Wednesday, the infant-room teacher was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Edith in her lap, and two of the other children had come over to play with her. Every time we've carried her through the building, she gazes raptly at the older children, too.
Most people, when we tell them that Edith has started day care, ask how we're doing. Gretchen was a little verklempt that first day, but no tears. We're mostly very excited about the whole process. We only wish Edith were able to talk to us about her day when we pick her up.
We're not completely in the dark, of course. We get a written report from the teacher every day, telling us how she did. It resembles a baseball box score, oddly enough. "She struggled through a short nap in the third inning, and crawled through the fifth. A diaper change in the seventh resulted in a save. Safe at home in the ninth." Well, no, not exactly like that. But it does show you in grid form the time and duration of every nap, feeding, wet diaper, and dirty diaper. In the comments section they even tell you what songs they sang that day and whether or not she had a runny nose. Gretchen and I have so far been parsing these reports closely, even obsessively, though I'm sure they'll be scrap paper soon enough.
The only cause for any concern at this point is that Edith's appetite seems to have increased dramatically. We're not sure if the new environment is so stimulating that she's burning more calories, or if the day care teachers are responding to every sign of distress by feeding her. But at this rate, Gretchen won't be able to pump enough milk to keep up. During a normal day when I have her at home, Edith eats about 12 ounces of milk and perhaps half a jar of baby food. In her first day at school, she ate 20 ounces and a whole jar of baby food! On her second day, I picked her up early to get to her 6 month pediatrician appointment and she had already eaten 12 ounces and a full jar of peas. There's always formula as a last resort, but I know Gretchen would prefer to stick to breastmilk if at all possible. My guess is that once she's comfortable enough to take longer naps in the new environment, she'll eat less.
All in all, we're pleased with the school and the teachers. I remain confident that this will be a great experience for Edith.
Early in the morning on November 3, 2004, we were learning that George W. Bush had won the presidential election. The rest of that day was a weepy, angry, disbelieving, despondent one for many of us. I co-hosted a panel discussion about the election results in the history department, to which most of the faculty and graduate student population came. I went to choir practice and started crying during the sharing of joys and concerns (I still don't know what anyone there thought about that). And like many others who had thrown themselves into supporting the Kerry campaign, after several days I decided that I would take some time off from following the news and trying to be politically active.
A year later, that time should be up. I returned to following the news quite awhile ago--at least, the major stories. I haven't returned to any real effort on the issues that mean something to me, though. As always, I struggle to figure out what I should do--where to jump in, what constitutes an appropriate effort.
And of course, now I'm a parent. It's easy to feel that there's no time for anything more. And that the work I'm doing now in raising my daughter is important enough on its own. But there is much I don't like about the world we're offering Edith and her peers. And focusing all my energies on choosing new foods for her, worrying about what she's wearing on her feet, and providing her with a loving home isn't going to be enough to shield her from that outside world.
I never quite liked the line, "Well, now it's your generation's responsibility to fix it." As if generating offspring gave people the right to give up. I am more appreciative now of just how considerable is the work of raising children. But raising them ought to be done on multiple scales. So we can research which shoes will be best for Edith and plan which vegetable to introduce next. We can expose her to new people and places and songs. But we also better continue to keep a hand in the issues swirling outside our apartment. That's part of being a parent--and a citizen and a human being--that we can't afford to ignore.
I promise an update on the first day of school soon. In the meantime, a moment of silence for Edith's winter hat. I no sooner finished making it than it seems to have disappeared. We had it on a research trip to Yale, and when we got home, we didn't have it. Sigh. It's bad enough to lose winter clothing, but when you stayed up nights making it yourself, it feels much worse.
Hopefully it has found its way onto the head of a cold New Haven baby.
I'm reading over the materials from Edith's school in preparation for her first day tomorrow. It's a shame she was too young to attend the first two months: According to the curriculum, they studied the letter "E" last week. It's too bad she missed that one.
And she missed Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah (I guess at a seminary daycare you don't get those days off, but you do study them). And United Nations Day, too, which her father will particularly regret.
On the other hand, it looks like they'll be learning about Election Day, which is good. They'll also be learning about pressing on and off buttons, which of course could have wider applications with all kinds of buttons. I wonder, for example, if they'll combine the two lessons and have the babies crawling into simulated voting booths to cast their ballots. The real question is whether Edith will vote for Corzine or Forrester...
Looking ahead, I see that in addition to celebrating the birthdays of Martin Luther King, Jr., Abraham Lincoln, and George Washington, they also fete A.A. Milne, Dr. Seuss, and Mother Goose. When you think how many states there are in the union still not enlightened enough to give people the day off for Winnie-the-Pooh, you realize what a progressive school this is.
And Edith's Bestemor (a.k.a. grandmother) will be delighted to know that there are not one but two School Spirit Days later this year, so we'll be sure to send Edith prepared to share the school fight song Bestemor wrote. To be sung when up against the P.U. daycare kids:
Well, she couldn't quite make it to Grandmother's house: one lives about 150 miles away and the other, more like 350 miles. But Little Red Riding Hood and her Big Bad Wolf (who suffered the indignity of meeting his most macho dog friend dressed in a nightgown) did make their way around town for their first Halloween outing tonight. If the Halloween marketers have successfully drawn adults into the celebration of this holiday in the last decade or so, they also have extended their reach in the other direction and enticed parents to dress up infants. The babies may have no idea what's going on, but create a handful of cozy, adorable, full-body suits for $20 a pop, and parents can't resist.
Edith's costume was homemade, though. Halloween was a big deal in our household growing up, but as with Valentines, costumes had to be made at home to be legit. Not that we kids made them (at least, not until we were eleven or twelve). Whatever the virtue to be learned from homemade costumes, it was not self-reliance or humility. Peter and I were spoiled to have two wonderfully creative designers and seamstresses in my mother and grandmother, and so we always headed out in style.
I was a bit panicked this year to realize that the onus was now on my shoulders: somehow, like those who buy a home and suddenly are supposed to be handy with a paint roller or extension ladder, I suddenly had to be the creative costume designer. Luckily, I had a couple of fairy godmothers. Edith's Grandmother Jennifer supplied the idea, and her Aunt Janet made her the red cape. The rest we were able to piece together.
We hit three neighborhoods. First, we waited at home in our new seminary neighborhood to hand out candy to other kids. But the scene was dead, so we headed off to our old university neighborhood to visit specific friends. Along the way Little Red Riding Hood made her call on the sickly lady: our friend Lori had surgery on a broken foot today, so we dropped off some soup and bread. Lori is Senora Hartshorn in her day job, and she sang Edith a song about Caparucita Roja before sending her along her way.
We had a good time in the old 'hood before returning home to discover that the trick-or-treating scene starts later over here. The place was hopping. There looked like a good number of homemade costumes. And we were impressed that having left a bowl of candy and raisins on the stoop when we went out, it still had candy in it when we returned--but no raisins.
Even so, the trick-or-treaters weren't good enough kids for our next-door neighbors. They are the only people in our building we haven't really met; they seem scared of Bismarck and tend to keep to themselves anyway. As we came up the stairs to our apartment, a crowd of kids was knocking at the neighbors' door. The woman opened the door and proceeded to hand out candy, but she delivered it with a lecture: "You shouldn't be doing this. Halloween is not a Christian holiday. You should not celebrate it. Go home." I'm not sure how effective that message is if you deliver it along with the goods.
Personally, I was relieved to find that a seminary neighborhood today is still a lively Halloween scene: that we haven't become so censorious of some of the roots of the occasion that we have to keep children from donning costumes, visiting their neighbors, and enjoying getting a bit scared. It's possible to object to elements of all holidays. The university daycare center actually makes a policy of celebrating no holidays, because people have objected to some aspect of each one. I'm glad that Edith will be attending the seminary daycare instead, which held their annual Halloween parade last Friday: childhood would be a far less colorful place without each season's peculiar festivities.
Edith has been dressed in a lavendar dress embroidered with flowers and strangers have assumed she was a boy. I really don't mind when people guess wrong about her sex--who can tell at this age?--but they usually seem so embarrassed by their error. But if they're going to be oblivious to even the most blatant sartorial clues, I figure I might as well go ahead and put her in what I like. Here's our hungry caterpillar.
Her latest favorite is chasing objects around the floor that roll away from her. She's determined to catch up!
We've been enjoying all of Edith's firsts so far--first laugh, first plane ride, first Halloween costume, first haircut, first solid food, first hike, and so on. But today came one we could have done without: her first cold. She has been the picture of health until now, for which we are deeply thankful. Last night, she woke up sniffly and found it hard to return to sleep comfortably. We all were up for the better part of the night as a result.
I thought the sniffles had gone away this morning, but by late afternoon they were back full force, and it now appears she is definitely sick. Poor thing. Much as I hate having a cold, it's harder to watch a baby struggle with one, not knowing what has happened to her or what to expect.
We've got a humidifer going in her room and have her sleeping on her stomach (we tried putting her to sleep in her carseat for the more upright angle, but she couldn't roll and so woke up). Beyond that, we're not sure there's much we can do...except hope that it runs its course quickly and that the rest of us avoid catching it. Baby germs can't be as big and virulent as grownup germs, right?
Experienced caregivers feel free to enlighten us on this and all matters related to tending a sniffly infant. Thanks.
Tom and I attended our twentieth wedding together this weekend, while Edith was along for her second such. There are few things that make me happier than attending weddings. With our friends scattered all over the country these days, an exchange of vows is almost the only occasion that prompts the people we care about to reconvene from hither and yon. Edith's arrival drew lots of visitors to our home, which was marvelous, but they didn't all come at once.
In a wedding, everyone is there together. They are dressed in their best and feeling festive. They reflect the joy of the couple in their dancing, song (especially my friends, who make it a habit to sing each other into matrimony), loving tributes, gustatory pleasure, and time catching up.
I guess that's why I was so struck by a comment the priest made at the wedding this weekend. He noted that the Bible repeatedly compares the kingdom of heaven to a wedding feast. I had never thought about it, but once he pointed it out, I realized it was the perfect metaphor for me. The kingdom of heaven: singing, dancing, reunion with loved ones from far and near, celebrating the best in others, basking in communal joy. I could get excited about such a kingdom.
Edith seemed to understand some of the joy of weddings already, for she was at her best. She didn't fuss too much about much car travel--not only to the wedding but back and forth from music rehearsals at the church to the hotel for changing to the ceremony to the reception and back to our hosts' home. Hopefully she is slowly growing out of her aversion to the carseat. She also listened patiently to the rehearsal of the wedding choir; I hope she is getting used to the idea of making music with friends.
She had smiles for everyone and plenty to spare. She greeted the bride with an enthusiastic grab at her bouquet. All our friends there were meeting her for the first time and were full of hugs and tickles. She responded with giggles. She let the bride's grandmother pinch her cheeks. She posed willingly for the wedding photographer (I suspect that after the bride, groom, and wedding party, she was the most photographed person at the wedding, since there were no other young children). She sat at our table and ate heartily of bananas while the rest of the company dined on salmon and risotto. She enjoyed the dance music without getting overwhelmed. And when it was time to fall asleep, she snuggled up on the shoulder of Dr. Steve, my old friend turned pediatrician, while Tom and I danced the final number.
To be fair, I do have to record that she found the full mass a bit long. By the time the bride and groom were kneeling to receive communion, she thought she had better put in her two cents. Maybe she was offering a blessing. But Tom took her out. He ducked into what he thought was a cry room at the back of the sanctuary and afterwards commented, "I'm sure glad that room was soundproof." Er, it wasn't. People were nice about it, but we were rather sheepish.
The only other complaint was at our table at the reception, where someone took it into their head to calculate the total number of years of education and total resulting student loan indebtedness of the table. It was observed that Edith wasn't holding up her end. But she's starting daycare next week, so she should be rapidly catching up.
Pictures to follow once they're developed. Oh, and Dr. Steve's professional opinion was that Edith's current mode of locomotion is officially Crawling.
Cavorting with Steve 
Edith, five months old
"Will this meeting please come to order?"
Choose your caption:
(a) Edith sings for her supper
(b) A rockin' air guitar
(c) "I gotta unbutton these jeans--I'm stuffed!"
In September Edith finally visited New York! We're going to try make a city-savvy kid of her despite her suburban childhood.
She took her first trip on the New York subway.
And she learned the first lesson of the big city: New York wears you out.
Well, the rains finally let up in New Jersey this weekend. We sent out a dove, and it came back with an olive branch--or rather, a pumpkin. After seven days of slogging through downpours while walking the dog (during which Edith became a pro at helping to hold the umbrella) we jumped at the opportunity to enjoy some proper fall-like activties. So yesterday we took Edith to Terhune Orchards to pick a pumpkin. We knew of Terhune Orchards by reputation as the local place to pick berries, apples, and pumpkins in season. What we didn't know was that they were fully outfitted to cater to a harvest-season family crowd. The barn had been filled with elaborate scenes featuring figures made out of straw: the Headless Horseman, Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater and his wife, the original Jack for whom the devil made the lantern. There was a corn maze (which looked like it was still a mud pit, so we skipped it). There were painted scenes of Halloween figures and barnyard animals into which children could insert their heads from behind and have their pictures taken. There were sheep, goats, and a pony to pet. There was a wooden cow with a rubber udder to practice milking. There were miniature pumpkins to paint. There was a Celtic band keeping toes tapping. And of course, there were pumpkins and apples and cider doughnuts and pies and squash and all kinds of goodies. And except for the food, everything was free. So we had a great time. Because we still live in the film age, pictures will be available several weeks from now. (We've added some photos retroactively to past posts, too.)
Today Edith and I did the CROP walk. It was windy, but she was a trooper. And she had her stroller pushed part of the way by a Masai man in full native dress. He works for CROP's national headquarters in New York but lives near Princeton, so he decided to join our walk. His baby son was going to participate, too, but was asleep when they arrived. So his wife stayed with the baby at the starting point, and he adopted Edith as his substitute baby. He was a warm, gracious person and took great interest in whomever walked near him. He talked about his own work, too, and about his family. At one point he mentioned that his son was 25" when he was born. A true Masai...
We're starting to play with "solid" foods. Edith has tried applesauce, bananas, sweet potatoes, and rice cereal. She likes to try to hold the spoon herself. She hasn't figured out it has a handle, though; she goes straight for the bowl.
Eating solid foods usually results in a bath:
Edith got her first haircut at an early age. But judge for yourself whether it was necessary:
BEFORE
AFTER
A mothers' group I'm a part of has gone through a rough patch over the past few days. Several members who had been rubbed the wrong way by one member in the past lashed out at her publicly. They were surprised when they didn't receive much support. It seemed they couldn't believe that other community members weren't offended by this woman's style, too, and they accused us of having encouraged this woman in poor behavior by having been kind to her in the past. So then the bystanders grew angry at the handful who were lashing out, for holding a cruel public referendum on one member and for creating much bad feeling in the community.
The whole thing was disagreeable and made me want to take some time away from the group. But in stewing about it over the course of the weekend, I found a positive side emerging for me. It made me think harder about some of the principles I try to live by and that I hope to teach to Edith.
I once asked friends, if they could wish for their child any three characteristics, what would those be? For some reason, three came quickly to me. I wanted my then-hypothetical child to be curious and self-reliant. I imagined a child playing in meadows and woods, near a stream. She would be examining frogs and bugs, sighting birds, collecting leaves. She would build miniature villages out of sticks and inhabit them with imaginary residents. I'm not sure why this was the fantasy of a mother who spent much more of her own childhood curled up with a book than romping through the woods, but the image was vivid.
But the most important characteristic was, and is, very different. Above all, I hope that my child will be compassionate. The ability to imagine the world from someone else's vantage point, and to feel life from within their skin, holds the only hope for our healing the many brokennesses in this world. I think my child will contribute most to the communities she becomes a part of not with brilliant inventions or strong leadership or warm gatherings--though those all are valuable--but by trying to find common ground with those who baffle her and sympathy for those who anger her.
I don't know just how to teach her this. I can't do it like Rabbi Saunders in Chaim Potok's The Chosen, who deliberately taught his son a capacity for suffering by not talking to him throughout his adolescence.
The only thing I think I know is that love begets more love, and understanding goes farther than you can predict in making others comfortable enough to extend understanding to others. That's why I disagree with members of my mothers' group that a person who is difficult (but not unkind) needs to be publicly shamed for being difficult. It's why I hope to find the best in such a person and respond to that, while simply ignoring the less pleasant or worthy behaviors. I don't always do very well at this. Certain character traits irritate me more than others--we all have our particular triggers. But I think it's critical, and it's a capacity I pray Edith may have.
Three different sayings along these lines came to me this weekend in one way or another.
First, I recalled what was always my favorite quote among the wise and witty sayings that covered the walls of my eleventh-grade English teacher's classroom. I don't remember the author, but the quote was
Be kind. Almost everyone you meet is fighting a battle.
The second was a line in a hymn that I was singing to Edith at bedtime last night:
Teach us to love [others] as we find them, or as they may become.
And the third was a Swedish proverb our minister shared in his sermon this morning:
In every man there is a king. In every woman there is a queen. Speak to their majesties, and their majesties will come out.
This is what I hope for Edith. She doesn't even have to play with the frogs if she doesn't want to.
Edith will be walking--er, strolling--in her first CROP walk next weekend. CROP walks are run by Church World Service as fundraisers for hunger relief, both nationally and internationally. I participated with the rest of the children in my church when I was young. We all donned T-shirts and set out to circle town. There were refreshment stations along the way, but we had our own personal roving refreshment station: a couple of times during the walk, Kathleen Conroy's father, Chris, would pull up by the curb next to us in his car and deliver juice and crackers.
If anyone wants to sponsor Edith, you can email her through her parents. She greatly appreciates your helping to feed other hungry babies in the world.
Alternatively, you're welcome to come to Princeton and be a roving refreshment provider. But only if you stock milk...
Having posted the previous picture, we thought it was only fair to include one of Brian's more typical shots of Edith. Along with Granddad Jack, Brian is Edith's preferred photographer. Brian and Laura's own little Julia is going to be one beautifully photographed baby once she arrives.
Finding Edith in a resting pose like this is relatively rare these days. At five months old, this girl is itching to crawl. When you put her down for "tummy time," she immediately gets up on her hands and knees. Then she rocks back and forth, often cheering herself on with little grunts and babbles. But instead of moving one hand and the opposite knee forward, which she hasn't figured out, she instead gets up on her toes. I read in an all-too-typical Princeton flyer last spring, advertising a mother-baby exercise class, that "yoga comes naturally to babies." At the time I thought that yoga for babies was ridiculous. And I still mostly do, but I admit that it does seem to come naturally: Edith's pose is a near-perfect downward-facing dog. Although she has the pose, however, she doesn't have the inner harmony. Rather than hold the position, she starts to inch her feet forward toward her hands...until, off balance, she pitches forward onto her belly. Untangling her limbs, she begins again. It's not orthodox, but it's the best she's got.
I'm impressed with her bravery in adopting this body-hurtling technique considering the paucity of padded surfaces in our apartment. We've got parquet floors everywhere, so until tonight, Edith's only protected surfaces were her Gymini mat and a crib quilt we put down on the floor, both just a few feet square. Edith was off them in a minute tops, risking bruised knees and a mouth full of dog hair.
But tonight a package arrived that should change everything. Remember those interlocking, thin foam squares that often served as the surface below the playground equipment? They have them now in rainbow colors, and this particular set features the letters of the alphabet, one letter per square. We put them together in Edith's room as her new floor covering. The colors and letters were a hit. She immediately started squealing and threw herself into crawling practice with renewed vigor. And the mat was interesting enough that when she reached an edge (which took a good five minutes), she turned around and started back in a different direction. I expect great things of this relationship.
Edith is busy these days conducting a scientific survey. She is systematically analyzing every new object she encounters to determine its viability as a teething biscuit. Our friend Brian's camera wasn't so promising, but it did capture the study in progress.
Unfortunately, the teething ring we got Edith doesn't seem to be satisfactory either. Her current preferred teething palliative is adult-sized knuckles. Which is fine, until the hand to which the knuckles are attached needs to do something else.
