Crazy

Just a quick story I had to share...

I had just finished nursing Henry and I put him in the exersaucer hoping to run into the kitchen and make myself a sandwich (mom is always the last to eat!). A minute later, I heard Henry yelling, so I raced back into the living room and Max had climbed into the exersaucer WITH HENRY! They were both wedged so tightly in the seat that I could barely get Max out. I consoled Henry, put him on his mat on the floor and put Max in time out. Then, I went back to work on my sandwich. Another second later, Henry was crying again, so I raced back in and found that Max had left timeout and "shaved" Henry's face with the stick part of Scott's razor (but not the blade, thankfully). I put Max back in timeout and went upstairs to put poor Henry to sleep for his nap. When I got back downstairs, Max had climbed to the top of a bookshelf and pulled down the IPhoto album that had recently arrived in the mail. I yelled something along the lines of "No, no, Max! That book is very fragile. You can't look at that by yourself." Max looked at me calmly and said, "Max driving Mama crazy."

Ha! You can say that again! That response certainly stopped me in my tracks. Apparently Max hears and takes in more than I thought he did. Good to know.

I think I'll go work on that sandwich now...

Summer Fun

I don't have a long post today. I just wanted to express how nice it is to spend a summer's day playing outside with friends. Kids really help you reconnect with the simple pleasures in life. Remember when splashing in a wading pool or riding your tricycle was the best time you could ever imagine having? Max and Amelia live in the moment, and at the age of two, every moment is exciting and full of intensity. It's so easy for adults to get caught up in worrying about the future or mythologizing or regretting the past. Our children teach us just as much as we teach them, and one skill I would love to learn from Max is the ability to fully and unselfconsciously immerse myself in the here and now.

Rocknocerous

Today we went to the Rocknocerous concert at our local public library (http://www.rocknoceros.com/ ). What's that you say? You've never heard of Rocknocerous? Well then you're clearly not affiliated with the 5 and under crowd in the D.C. metropolitan area. For that demographic, this was like Cold Play or U2 showing up to play for free at the library. There's been serious buzz about this thing for weeks!

People started lining up in the children's section an hour before the show. 30 minutes before the show, you could sign in and get your hand stamped for entry. Only 75 lucky children gained admittance, and everyone else had to watch from outside of the performance room with their faces pressed against the glass. There were kids there that would qualify as groupies. They wore the band t-shirt; they knew all of the songs. Max, I'm afraid, would not qualify as a groupie. He did not sing along with old standards like "We go Potty" or newer works like "Wash Your Hands" from the album The Dark Side of the Moonbounce. He stood back against a brick pillar and eyed the whole proceeding with suspicion and some level of disdain. This may have been, in part, related to an unfortunate incident that took place before the concert. Max had a fit when the kindly children's librarian tried to stamp his hand. Perhaps the whole experience was too reminiscent of our recent trip to the pediatrician. At this point, when strange people approach his arm with foreign objects, his default response is hysterical panic.

Henry seemed more enthusiastic about the whole thing. He perched on my front, snug in his Moby wrap, drooling and waving his arms and legs around-- "infantese" for "You guys rock my world! When are you going to play 'Mama's Boy'?!" Our friends Amelia, Susannah, and Baby Isaac also seemed to have a good time. Amelia has got some mean dance moves. Miley Cyrus watch out!

As for Max, I don't think he'll be attending any other rock concerts anytime soon. Stringent entry rules and raucous crowds are apparently not his scene. Give him ten or fifteen years, however, and he may be singing a different tune (though I doubt it will be the lyrics to Rocknocerous's "Col. Purple Turtle").

Playgroup

Today we met with Max's playgroup at Alcova Heights Park. The kids played, the moms chatted and everyone enjoyed lunch together on a blanket underneath the trees. I can't begin to explain how lucky I feel to have found this group. The hardest thing about having a first child two years ago was not the pregnancy, not the childbirth, not even the infant. It was the total transformation of my life. Scott will tell you that having children "ruins everything" and although I would not choose that terminology, I know what he means. Everything about your life changes. All of your anchors, your routines, are destroyed. Your very sense of who you are as a person is forever altered. Your primary responsibility is no longer your job, your relationship with your spouse or even yourself; it's your baby. This sort of seismic life shift is unsettling under the best of circumstances, and the adjustment is even more pronounced if you also quit your job, put your career on hold, and decide to stay home with this little creature that you hardly know but whom you love completely in an almost terrifying way.

That's why, to return to my initial point, I feel so lucky to have found this group of moms. We got to know each other when our babies were four or five months old. We've been through sleep training, solid foods, illnesses galore, first birthdays, second birthdays, arguments with spouses and big life decisions. We would probably never have come together as friends if it had not been for the single overwhelming commonality of our shared experience of first-time motherhood. Just to give you a sense, our group encompasses a lawyer, a Hill appropriations person, an editor, a physician's assistant, an English teacher, and a forensic scientist (CSI!). We also represent a variety of religious (and non religious) backgrounds and some starkly opposing political viewpoints (though we do a good job of not getting into this!). All of this is interesting, but it's really just background. What we are now are mothers -- women putting our children first, struggling with loneliness and uncertainty, and an endless stream of unsettling new experiences as we try to define our own place in the world and to help our children find theirs as well.

Thanks, Ladies, for being here in the trenches with me.

Doctor's Office Hell

Note to self--Scheduling joint check-up appointments for one's 2-year-old and 4-month-old is an astonishingly bad idea.

We love our doctor, Christine Baldrate of Northern Virginia Pediatric Associates. She's young, empathetic, stylish and pretty. Generally the boys are happy to see her (though less happy to see the nurse who comes in afterwards with the shots). Today, however, was an appointment of a different sort. Max, now firmly established in the world known as the "terrible twos," is suspicious of new experiences and new people and he has a stubborn streak more pronounced, even, than his mother's. Today's badness started right off the bat when the nurse walked in and tried to take Max's height and weight. As a newly mature 2-year-old, Max didn't have to take off his clothes and I figured that he would be excited about using the big boy scale and measuring tape out in the hall. Oh how woefully mistaken I was! Max threw an epic screaming tantrum as I tried time and again to hoist him onto the scale. I also had to use all of my strength to pin him up against the wall so that he could be measured. Meanwhile, Max's hysteria had thrown Henry into a fit of crying, and nurses and patients walking by us in the hallway were looking at me like I was some kind of abusive parent.

The nurse left us in the exam room, and I was glad to shut the door behind her because I figured it would dampen the sound of the screaming just a bit. I was able to interest Max in a box of raisins and to soothe Henry with some bouncing and for a brief moment, things quieted down. Then Dr. Baldrate walked in. The second he saw her, Max lept behind me and afixed his face to the back of my thigh. He refused to answer any of her friendly questions--"Did you just have a birthday?" , "How old are you?" -- and I felt a bit embarassed assuring her that, yes, Max was speaking and yes, in fact, he could form simple sentences (beyond that, he can sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and "The Alphabet Song" even if he came across like a deaf mute to his doctor!). Things went downhill from there as Dr. Baldrate tried to look in Max's eyes, nose, and ears. I had to physically hold him down and he was screaming like he was being tortured. This, of course, set Henry off again and really the crying didn't stop for the duration of the appointment.

In the end, Max was deemed to be in perfect health and Henry was as well. Both boys were the happy recipients of shots and purple bandaids:


As I led my squalling babies out of the exam room and down the hall toward the exit ("Don't like it! Don't like it!" screamed Max), we managed to terrify several children waiting for their own appointments. I tried to joke with the receptionist at the exit desk about how she would be glad to get a little quiet after the G. family left the office, and she looked at me without even cracking a smile and said that I owed a twenty dollar co-pay. Nice.

The boys quieted down once we were in the car and I even stopped to get Max a smoothie as a special treat on the way home. Sadly, most of the smoothie ended up all over his belly and his carseat. Another note to self-- 2-year-olds are not old enough to coordinate their own plastic cup and straw frozen beverages while in a moving vehicle.

For those who are interested in the statistical breakdown of the appointment, Max weighed 30lbs, 8 ounces (75th percentile) and was 35 1/4 inches tall (75th percentile). Henry, a.k.a Hank the Hulk, was 15 lbs, 7 ounces (75th percentile) and 26 inches (90th percentile).

I can't wait for our next appointment in two months when both boys are scheduled for the flu shot...