The storks

It's a Jacket, Stupid.

Scene: Bedtime.

Iggy:  Elijah, it's time to go upstairs.
Elijah: Waaaaaah!  Noooooooo!

Iggy: Well, do you want to sleep down here?
Elijah: Yes.
Iggy: Get ready for bed then.  Where are you going to sleep?
Elijah: (points to a spot on our rug)
Iggy: Where is your pillow?
Elijah: (goes and grabs a small pillow; plops it on the spot on the rug)
Iggy: What about a blanket?
Elijah: (looks all around the room to find a blanket.  There are no blankets to be seen.)

Elijah heads upstairs.

Iggy: Are you going upstairs to get a blanket?
Elijah: Yes.
Iggy: No, no, you can't; you said you want to sleep here so you have to stay here.  If you can't find a blanket, then I guess you can't sleep here and we'll sleep upstairs.
Elijah (after a very, very brief pause): Daddy go get a blanket upstairs!


Iggy and I both silently applaud the kid for running circles around us and figuring out the logical puzzle we are trying to trap him in.  Iggy refuses to go get a blanket for Elijah. Frustrated and upset, Elijah collapses on his chosen spot on the rug.

Iggy (soothingly, grabbing a sweatshirt from a chair and draping it over Elijah): Here, Elijah; here is a blanket.
Elijah (takes a look at what has been draped over him): No! NO NO NO! (Throws sweatshirt off himself, gets up to his full height, holds the jacket like a piece of evidence at a crime scene and says, loudly, with a look of frustration, disbelief and a condescending voice).  THIS! IS! A! JACKET!!!!
Iggy: Let's play pretend that it is a blanket?
Elijah: NO! NO! NO, DADDY, THIS IS A JACKET!!

Iggy and I try not to crack up.  Iggy points at the sleeping bag in the corner.

Iggy: Ok, well, what about this? Is this a blanket?
Elijah: NO!
Iggy: Then what is it?
Elijah: (discovers he has no words to describe a sleeping bag.  But he is sure as anything that the word is not 'blanket'.  Getting more and more frustrated by the minute):  Aaargh... Ummm... YOU SLEEP ON IT!!!

Iggy and I redouble our efforts not to crack up.  Wombat is clearly really frustrated and cannot believe that we can't even tell the difference between jackets, sleeping bags and blankets.  Trying to diffuse him, I give him an actual blanket I just spotted on the couch.

Me: Here, Elijah, a blanket.
Elijah: (takes it with a sigh and goes to lie down with it over him.  Halfway to his chosen spot on the rug, changes his mind and runs back to Iggy): Look, Daddy!  Look! This! This is a blanket!! This.  This is.

Elijah shakes the blanket in front of Iggy demonstratively, until he is satisfied that Daddy had adequate time to memorize what blankets are.  And what they are not.

If he knew that nursing homes exist, I am sure he would be dialing the numbers to get Iggy and I into a facility for the mentally weak right now.  Thanks goodness we don't let him watch TV.

Nobody sleeps alone

When we brought him home from the hospital, Wallaby slept really well. He would lay in the bassinet and nap for hours at a time. We could not believe our eyes. (Elijah did not sleep in the bassinet or any other stationary object longer than 15 minutes.) But, alas, by week 3 Wallaby has figured out that we are total suckers and started to treat us accordingly.

He will now only sleep when held, and screams as soon as you try to put him in a bassinet. And he wants to sleep ALL DAY. While held. I think his ideal schedule looks like this:

7:30am - 7:35am: Mom gets up.
7:35am - 7:30pm: Mom sits on couch and feeds me while I sleep.
7:30pm - 7:35pm: Mom gets up and swaddles me.
7:35pm - 7:35am: Mom sits on couch and feeds me while I sleep.

So Mom is getting nothing done during the day. Not even a nap, because I try to set him down when he falls asleep, then I fail, then I have to feed him again just to appease him. This is totally a Wombastic technique. Did they talk or something? Where did our good napper go?! Well at least he still sleeps ok at night: feeds around midnight, then around 3 and then sleeps to 7 or so, in the bassinet and all. Let's hope he keeps that up.

But, oh, every time I get up and shift him and sneak away, I feel SO guilty. It's so hard to let go of a sleeping baby!

Wallaby Birth Story

He was born on December 10, at 7:28am.  Made it in the nick of time.

I showed up at the hospital the day before, about an hour late for my induction, properly stressed about the whole thing.  Inductions are dangerous.  They increase the risk of ending up with a C-section.  They can be rushed and cause distress in the baby.  And they really suck in terms of pain.  Wombat was induced, and being hooked up to pitocin machine felt like someone knocked the wind out of you and then kept punching you repeatedly.  I was hoping to avoid induction with Wallaby, but there we were, week 42 rapidly closing and no sign of labor, and therefore, no choice.  With Wombat, I was at my wits end for how to delay induction another couple of days, and was very upset to have to go to the hospital and be messed with.  This time I didn't stress out as much as the first time: I kind of came to terms with it, and also I was just busy.  I ran out of the house an hour late after setting everything up for my parents to stay with Wombat and finishing up last-minute work items.  My Mom laughed and said that I was talking about giving birth the way you'd talk about going to a store "OK, I'll just run out and deliver the baby real quick, and then I'll be back and we can think of what to buy to cook next week...."

So I got to the hospital an hour late, got checked in, and after a while a midwife came by and offered some words of encouragement.  I didn't get my hopes up much, thinking that I've played this game before.  With Wombat, the induction started off on Cervidil, which did get contractions started.  Unfortunately, the contractions were not coming fast enough - they just started early labor, and they were getting more intense but not very quickly.  The midwife with me at the time suggested to try walking around to get them to pick up.  Determined to avoid pitocin at all costs, I made a big lap in and around the hospital, running all over the place, and got myself really tired just to get back and find out that contractions still have not become productive.  Midwife insisted on pitocin.  Pitocin was very ouchy.  I was already exhausted.  (No one tells you that to make it through pain you have to be well rested.  It takes a lot of energy and mental focus to deal with pain, it turns out.  If you are tired, your focus will be the first to go, and as soon as it leaves, you are done for).  After a few hours of feeling like drowning under pain, midwife said things still were not moving as fast as she'd like and told me we needed to break my water.  I asked for an epidural at that point.  Wombat was born soon after that.

So this time around, I was determined to not get myself tired out because, I told myself, let's face it - chances were pitocin was coming.  I was going to go through the whole Cervidil thing, have it (probably) start mild contractions again, then buck up and try to ride out the pitocin as long as I could.  It was important to go into it rested.  Midwife said "Sometimes with the second child, Cervidil does wonderful things, you never know".  That would be nice.

I got checked in, went to the birthing room, and on the first check, the midwife declared that I was at 4 centimeters.  This meant that I must have been having some contractions of my own and not feeling them!  This also meant that Cervidil had no point.  4 cm is as far as it will get you, and if you are already there, it will do nothing.  We decided to wait until morning; if nothing would happen, we'd start Pitocin then.  The monitor showed contractions.  I stared at it in disbelief.  The midwife suggested to strip the membranes to try to hurry things up.  We did.  I really still didn't think this was labor.

And then contractions came! They were very mild at first.  I walked around a little to try to get them to intensify, or at least to stay; I was really careful to not get tired out.  But they stayed! They became regular!  They came every 6 minutes and lasted 1-2 minutes each!  "Look at you!" said the nurse. By 11pm, I decided that I should go to sleep - I needed to be rested to handle labor, natural or pitocined.  So I fell asleep.

Contractions woke me up at 3am.  I've never been so happy to have something hurt in my life. I walked around my room to try and make them stay, or get more intense faster.  I was afraid that just like the last time, the contractions will be pronounced "not good enough".  By 5am they definitely became good enough for me; they took all of my concentration to get through. At 5am, I asked the nurse to call my midwife.  The contractions would come fast and really hard, and I was starting to feel the urge to push.  The nurse checked me and said we were at 6cm.  I remember saying that with contractions coming this fast, I really hope the midwife is not driving from Olney.

The contracitons on pitocin are very different from contractions you get on your own.  I know there are medical professionals who say that pain in natural labor and pain during induction are comparable.  I would like to punch those professionals in the face.  I don't know how to explain it, but contractions you get on your own do not cause you to go into panic.  They really hurt, but they somehow feel right at the same time.  It's possible to relax into them if you focus.  It's a lot of pain, but it doesn't cause you to tense up or get stressed out by it.  On Pitocin, relaxation was impossible and I felt panicked.  (This made me wonder if somehow natural oxytocin can cross the blood-brain barrier and shut off your fight-or-flight reaction, and synthetic oxytocin (pitocin) can not?) I would moan and grunt my way through contractions with Wallaby, and in my mind be perfectly calm.  I could hear myself make noise and sometimes it sounded like a song I'd sing to Elijah at bedtime; like a sad slow lullaby for the baby. 

 It did get bad enough a couple of times that I thought of getting an epidural.  What stopped me was remembering how, with Elijah, epidural made me loose all feeling of the baby moving (duh, I know).  It really freaked me out at the time; after 9 months of having the kid tumble around, suddenly you feel nothing.  All you have is the baby heart monitor, and you can no longer help the baby get through contractions by moving to be more comfortable yourself.  I hated that feeling.  So this time, when I thought of getting the epidural, I told myself "You won't feel the baby anymore if you do.  You won't be able to walk around with him if you do. "  So I didn't.  If the contractions took longer though, I probably would have caved.  

I don't know how much time passed between calling the midwife and the midwife arriving, but when the midwife got there she said we were at 9cm and it was pretty much time to push.  When she said that, I said "Really?"  She said "We are going to have this baby".  They started warming the bassinet, unwrapping the blanket, getting the lights, the whole thing, and in my head I just kept thinking  "Really? No, really?"

Really.  I'm not sure how long I had to push, but it didn't feel like very long.  It's weird: when it's time to push, if you try to hold it, the pain is really bad.  But if you do actually push, then it doesn't hurt!!  Crazy, but true.  It was a bit of pushing, and changing positions, and the baby was almost out (according to eyewitnesses at my rear end), but not out.  The midwife and nurse suddenly looked worried and, with no explanation and in very strict voices commanded to me that the baby has to come out.  Now. Then they shoved an oxygen mask on my face.  This breathed a lot of new energy into me in addition to oxygen, and I seriously started to push, contractions or no contractions.  And he came out.  And made a lot of noise immediately.  Poor kid. It turned out that he was facing the wrong way: toward my back, not toward my front.  I didn't have back labor, but apparently him facing the wrong way makes it hard, and sometimes impossible, to push him out.  The narrowest side of the head is the forehead, and when the baby faces your back, you have to get a wider side of the head out first.  Sometimes that's not possible, and when that's the case, they have to C-section the kid out.  They can't wait very long, because the umbilical cord is compressed in the birth canal, and the baby will become oxygen-deprived if he doesn't emerge quickly.  That was why my midwife and nurse had the very worried looks on their faces.  Thank lord Wallaby was able to come out.

After that bit of a trip down the birth canal, Wallaby was letting everyone have a piece of his mind, and I wanted to feed him.  They put him on my chest for a little bit, but then the midwife declared that she needed to do the stitches.  I couldn't feed the little one because I was twitching as she was doing it, so he ended up having to shriek for food for what felt like an eternity while she was doing her needlework.  As soon as she was done and Wallaby could eat, he fell asleep and slept the sleep of the just.  And I was so, so happy.  Happy that my baby was ok.  Happy that I delivered a kid all on my own, with no drugs messing with my baby and me.  Happy that he made it in the nick of time.  And really thankful to some higher power that made this happen.

Once he was fed, and washed, and swaddled, we moved to our Mother-Baby room.  It had  a window, and behind the window was the first snowfall of the year.   Beautiful, soft, gigantic snowflakes were rushing to the ground in the morning twilight, and Ingy and I stared at it for a while like it were a present.  "See", we said to Wallaby, "first snow of the season, just for you on your birthday".  He slept through it. :)

Nathan is here!

World, meet Nathan! He was born on 12/10/10, at 7:28am. December 10 also happens to be his grandpa's birthday, so I guess he really wanted to be the main gift. This gift will be hard to beat next year. (Coincidentally, the due date was on grandma's birthday).

After much deliberation, we named him Nathan Gabriel. Iggy looked at him and decided that he sort of looked like a Nathan. We really like the meaning of the name - "a gift from God". And this way both kids have Hebrew names, a matching set. (Iggy pointed out that it would be historically ironic to have one kid bear a Hebrew name, and another be a Roman. Ha.)

Nathan was born with blue eyes, chestnut hair (lots of it) and light skin. At 7 lbs 13 oz, he's about a pound bigger than Wombat at birth. So far, brothers are getting on ok. Elijah is very good with the new addition and is very concerned for baby's well being. He is also concerned with the baby taking any of his toys, but so far that's not in the cards.

And here we are, again.

My due date was November 27.

In surprise to.... no one, the baby has no intention of coming out on that date.  Or any date around that date.  Therefore, just like with Wombat, the midwives have launched their "WHAT TO DO WHEN YOU'RE POST-DUE" offensive.  As part of that exercise, I sat through a no-stress-test yesterday.

I'd like to mention that the no-stress part refers strictly to the baby.  The mother can get pretty stressed out by the test, and that's ok.  Like, for example yesterday, when Wallaby decided that the test is a great time to take a nap after some vigorous kicking exercises.  For the uninitiated, the no-stress-test is when they strap a monitor to your belly to check how often the baby is kicking (and how his heart rate does when he kicks).  If the baby does not kick enough (whatever enough is, I'm not sure), then you have failed the test.  I know. It's just like high school Presidential Fitness Test, but in utero.

Wombat was nice enough to kick like mad during the entire 20 minutes.  Granted, he spot-kicked the monitor, but still, he was nice enough to kick.  Wallaby, as I said, decided to ignore the test altogether and took a nap, which prompted the midwife to make a concerned face and send me to the hospital for a "semi-emergency" biophysical profile on the baby, just in case.  Of course, as soon as I sat down in the car, Wallaby started moving like a tape of aerobics exercises was playing in my womb in front of him.  Nice.

Anyway, a biophysical means an ultrasound, so I wasn't too against the whole thing.  I really liked getting a picture of Wombat's face when he was 41 weeks, and was kind of looking forward to getting a picture of Wallaby too.  I called husband to join me for this treat, and off we went.  In the hospital, they ran another no-stress-test (which they said worked out fine, even though I swear Wallaby wasn't moving more than at the midwives), and then shipped us off to the ultrasound.

And, as soon as the ultrasound was on, Wallaby did not move.  He was very still.  We had to zoom in on him, and when we zoomed on one of his hands, we saw.... him staring at his fist, folding and unfolding his fingers in a very contemplative manner.  Staring off into the distance.  Very poetic.  The poetic atmosphere was interrupted by the technician, who told me "Can you make him move, because if he doesn't, they'll keep you in the hospital".

I assumed "they'll keep you in the hospital" meant "they'll C-section this baby out of you", rather than, say, "They'll keep you and feed you lunch", so I became very motivated and sat up.  I've noticed that sitting up squishes Wallaby and he begins to squirm.  It worked, until he settled down again and (I assume) stared at his other hand unfolding.  Or something.  Finally, we got enough movement out of him to declare the biophysical a success, got our report and left.  Whew.

With the no stress test and the ultrasound (biophysical) behind us, now we wait.  Just like before.  Except hopefully not as long as before.  Next Monday is another no stress test, and 9th is the induction (with the 10th being the expected latest date of birth).  I don't know if we'll make it that long though; unlike Wombat, I think I am getting some contractions with this one already and the baby is riding lower.  I think he is going to head for the exit once he has finished doing long division using his fingers or whatever it is he is working on in there.

This experience makes me a little bit concerned about this kid's personality, I must say.  Wombat is cooperative.  Very.  Other than forgetting what his due date was (or possibly just being too busy with his personal womb beautification projects), he has cooperated the entire time and continues to do so.  Not Wallaby, it appears.  I think this will be the child that will have me going to the principal's office, explaining his latest shenanigans while he stands there angel-faced wearing an expression of deepest piety.

Nurture Shock lecture this Thursday

If you are in Bethesda area this Thursday night, go to this lecture!  The Nurture Shock book is very insightful and reviews many recent studies to suggest that you should not tell kids they are smart, or that self-esteem is overrated.  Po should be great to listen to in person.

Well Dressed Boys

Common wisdom dictates that boy clothes are just not as cute as girl clothes.  But I think that most boy clothes have way more personality than most girl clothes do.  To me many girls look like easter eggs, with over-the-top dresses and pink colors and ruffles and bows.  It seems impossible to find a girl outfit that has any edginess or personality or coolness to it.

But lots of cool clothes are available for boys in colors other than baby blue.  I just found Little Boy Chic, and am totally in love with the shop.  It carries many things that would look great on any guy - little or big.  As there is probably no chance to convince your husband to put on a jacket like this, let's try to get your son to appreciate it.  Start them early. :)

Appaman Moto Jacket

Music Shades Zip Hoodie by Mini Shatsu

 

 Fire Truck Half Zip Pullover by Dogwood

Union Jack Wrinkled Denim Jeans by Smash

Electric Guitar Del Sol 2fer Tee by Mini Shatsu

There is so much more in the shop; you have to go and check it out.  No girls allowed, ruffle-free zone. :)

Oh-oh, he might be catching on.

Yesterday, we had this conversation.

Elijah (holding his toy dump truck): "fffffff-uck".
Me (cringing): "No, no, T-ruck.  Teeeee-ruck".
Elijah (giving me a sly look): "fffffffff-uck".
Me: "No! Teeeee-ruck!"

Elijah(with sly look turning to sly joy): "Fffff-uck teee-ruck!!"
and, before I can say anything else, he looks triumphant, throws up his hand and says:
"Ha! HIGH FIVE!!"
... and he high-fives me.  He looks very proud of himself.

I folded over laughing.  I couldn't help it.
So there you have it.  Not only does he say it, he now clearly gets that it sort of gets a rise out of people. Great. HIGH FIVE, Mom! Awesome job.

Except I didn't say "Fudge"......

Elijah loves trucks right now.  For months on end, he's been screaming "TWUCK!! TWUCK!!" at the sight of any large vehicle.  Really cool.  He's into it. We got him loads of twucks.  All was well.

But now his pronunciation of the word "truck" has changed.  He is replacing the first two letters of the word "truck" with a clear, drawn-out, loud, well-enunciated F.
To further complicate things, he started speaking in short phrases at around the same time.  Which, so far, has produced some delightful gems.  Replace the first letter with a loud "FFFFFFFF" and you get the gist.

"Mommy, *uck!"
"*uck down!"
"*uck home!"
"Dump *uck!" (sounds a lot like 'dumb *uck', especially when mumbled while wondering off)
"Big *uck!"
"Fire *uck!"
And, of course, when he is really excited about a truck,
"*uck! *uck! *uck!!"

We have tried to practice prounouncing "truck" with him, but all that has done is made him yell "FUCK!" even louder.  So we stopped.  Now we just try to avoid the topic, but it's difficult given that the stupid things are all over the roads.  Who knew that things usually used to describe trucks in phrases are so interesting when applied to, um, this area.  We totally are at a loss for what to do - the only thing we can do, and probably will do, is to try to record him saying it so we can play it back someday for our grandchildren.

Someone please help us.

2!!

Elijah is 2!!

A big kid. He used to be a baby. Now, I look at pictures of him and do a double-take: is that really my kid? That's a big boy in the picture!  That's not a baby!  Yep.

Somehow, in the last year, he developed a sense of humor, a naughty side, a prankster attitude, the sweetest hugs and kisses, an eyelash bat that stops waitresses in their tracks and gets him great service at any restaurant, and the requisite strong will that comes standard in our family package.  With the strong will it seems negotiating skills came included, which is handy. :)We are overwhelmed by his cuteness and coolness and sweetness.

He had a great day being two. His party was at our MyGym (on the way to which, in the car, he hummed 'Happy Byouthday to E-ya-ya' in the sweetest voice possible, all while holding his birthday balloon). He got to have bubbles, a zip line ride, a ride-on toy, ball pit and a puppet show for his party. Not to mention all the friends!

And, of course, there was CAKE! We ordered a Bob the Builder one from Liz's Bakery next door, and boy did they do an amazing job.  The cake was so tasty! It had fruit in the middle (hey, no one can get mad at me for serving children fruit, right?) and not too much frosting, and the tastiest yellow cake layers.  But best of all is the cake design! Wombat was very excited about it.  He liked the taste of the cake as much as the toys on it. :)



We've been practicing blowing out candles with Wombat for weeks, and he's been doing it with no problem! Until, of course, he was put on the spot in front of everyone.




"Daddy do dat".  So Daddy helped blow out the candles.





There are more birthday pictures on Fotki, if you know the password.  If you don't, email me to ask. :)

We tried to ask for no gifts, and tried instead to do a used-book exchange. Of course, only our close friends believed us and everyone else interpreted this as "please bring a brand-new book for my child, wrapped." Oh well. May be I'll try again next year. :) Elijah definitely loves all his new books though! Lucky boy.

We just didn't want everyone to bring a trinket, given how our house already looks like a storage facility for FAO Schwartz.  But of course, we bought him gifts ourselves.  And, with a little help from our family, we got him two BIG THINGS. 

And, after the party, he was so excited that he refused to take a nap.  It's like he knew that there were gifts waiting for him downstairs.  So, napless and sugar-high, we unwrapped the BIG THING NUMBER ONE.

A BIG, VERY LARGE, ENORMOUS TRUCK.

We saw Bruder trucks in our local toy shop.  Wombat tried to take every one of them out of their boxes and went wild over them.  I went on Amazon to see if I could procure one, of course.

And I found a truck that was half-off! The reviewers for it said "it was larger than I thought...." and "my kid loves it!!". I figured, oh, it's as large as the ones in the toy store, that's not too bad. I ordered it.  It arrived.

It's very large.

It's larger than the ones in the toy store. It's larger than Wombat. I'm pretty sure. But he can't ride it.

Mostly because there is already an excavator riding it.

No, seriously.

Here it is.



The smaller truck is in the foreground.  The large truck is in the back, and I didn't want to switch to a wide-angle lens to get it.  And I'm only half-kidding about the wide-angle.

Iggy wrapped it, and it was the largest box and the first box Wombat reached for. And after the paper was torn off, Wombat lost track of space and time for a little while and got to know his new truck. The first thing he did after the truck was out of the box is say "baby rul'!" and "baby digger!" and got 2 Little People figures to drive the equipment. Smart.



Wombat is sitting ON THE TRUCK.  He is sitting where the excavator (foreground) would normally sit.  Check out how his bum only takes up like 1/3 of the available trailer space.  Here he is adjusting his digger-holding spacers on the platform trailer.  Truck maintainance is complicated business.


After hours of playing with it, Wombat decided to take a lyrical pause and asked for his la-la-la and a song to play along to.  So, instead of bringing out the Wii plastic guitar, we opened the BIG THING NUMBER TWO.

A REAL GUITAR.

Wombat has been music-obsessed for months now. He's been sitting on the couch, listening to Russian cartoon songs and strumming the Wii guitar. For his birthday, we decided to get him the real thing.



He loved it. The new "la - la - la" is awesome.

There is only one problem: it has steel strings. They make a much nicer sound than vinyl, and the guitar comes with a pick for them, but Wombat wants to strum with his hand. He already tore up his thumb using it, and he still won't use the pick. So we are sort of hiding it until we figure out a way to get him to pick at the strings.

And then, of course, there are all the books, there are the toy trains, there are many other gifts that he got and is still going through.  Thank you all so much for such outpouring of love for our little guy.  He feels proud to be two; we feel amazed that two years have already passed.  Time does fly when you are having fun.

Happy Birthday to the best Wombat in the whole wide world.  If we could find words to tell you how much we love you, they would make the most beautiful song ever sung.



Yeay 2!

What's a good name for a Wallaby?

 Now that we know Wallaby is a boy (and we are pretty sure. Just like Wombat, Wallaby left little doubt as to what he is during the sonogram. He might as well have been surrounded with frogs, snails and puppy dog tails).

It took us a while to come up with Elijah's name; we absolutely love it and think it's a perfect name for him, but boy, it was not easy to get. In fact, I think if he had been born a girl we may have still named her Elijah just to not let all that effort go to waste. But I digress.

The point is, we don't have a good, ready-to-go name. So we need to do all that work all over again. We have managed to narrow the name list down to what we think could work. We prefer names that have an equivalent nickname in Russian or at least can be pronounced by Russian speakers. Below is our exclusive name list.

Help us name our Wallaby! Which name do you like best? Or, suggest your own in the comments!

Roman   ("Roman" in Russian)

Gabriel   ("Gavril" in Russian)

Anton     ("Anton" in Russian)

Ivan        ("Ivan" in Russian)

Timothy ("Timophey" or "Timoshka" in Russian)

George   ("Georgiy" in Russian)

Luca       ("Luca" in Russian)

Finn           (Russian has no such thing :( )

Ryan      (Russian has no such thing :( )

Jacob     ("Yakov" in Russian)

Dante       (Russian has no such thing, although Dante Alighieri is quite well-known. :) )

Dominic ("Dimitriy" in Russian would be the closest)

Pictures to prove it

We had our 20-week ultrasound, and all appears to be ok.  This time the baby is actually dated correctly, or at least the ultrasound date matches the due date so good news there.  So.... who wants to guess the sex of the baby?  Here are some more ultrasound pictures below, with one of them a clear illustration of the evidence.  Did I just give it away?

I don't hate it.

The New York Magazine this week made a lot of noise with its "All Joy and No Fun" article (conveniently subtitled "Why Parents Hate Parenting", just in case the hint in the title was lost on anyone).  The author, Jennifer Senior, did a very good job of presenting a anecdotal-yet-thoughtful account of modern American parenting and a review of all the happiness studies that seem to show parenting is a lousy job.

She comes to the same conclusion that I wrote about a few months ago in this post, which makes me feel that I'm not crazy: it's not about happiness, it's about fulfillment.  Happiness studies ask questions like "at any moment during any given day, how happy and content do you feel?"  I think that the way to get a max score on this question is to sit on your couch, eating chips and watching re-runs of Project Runway.  It would make every moment pretty enjoyable, but also pretty pointless.

Also (and un-surprisingly), the article also shows that parents in countries with more socialized services (longer parental leave, subsidized preschool and so on) are much happier.  May be, in addition to chilling out about daily annoyances, it would help us to put our money where our mouth is as we say "it takes a village to raise a child".  In America, it's definitely more like "everyone for themselves as you try to pay someone else to raise your child".  If it changed, we may find more happiness and more meaning in the not-so-happy moments of parenthood.

It made me sad that in the article, many parents would recount the things they find tough about raising kids (the chores, the activities, the irrational behavior, the whining, whatever) and then say that those annoyances had more impact on them than the great stuff about having kids.  Like hearing questions that you forgot you used to want to know answers to.  Like having permission to be silly.  Like (sort of) becoming a kid again yourself. 

The cost of having kids is so minor compared to the joy they bring, yet it seems many choose to focus on the cost much more.  I wonder why? We don't do it too many other places, if you think about it.  If someone went to see a movie, and when asked "how did you like it", the person said "oh my Gosh, the ticket was so expensive, 10 dollars, can you believe it, i hated the whole thing", you'd find that strange, right?  I mean, the ticket is just a price to pay to see a show - and a small price at that.  The ticket is not the point.

When we complain about these mundane annoyances of kids, I think it's kind of like complaining about the movie ticket cost above - and we should find it just as weird.  It's not about that little cost - it's about what you got to be part of.  It's not about what got broken while playing ball in the house, or how many times you had to say "now, please" to get your kid to clean something up.  It's a really small, not-worth-mentioning-it, movie-ticket kind of cost.  That's just the price of getting the awesome privilege of watching these people grow up and help them be the best of what they are.  

Here we go again

18 weeks.  And, just now, things have started to not belt, tie or sit in their usual places.

Just like with Wombat, this is what finally tells me that it is real. :)

So what's your favorite word?

Loading Wombat in the car a couple of days ago, it's the usual scene: he is wriggling and screaming and kicking as he resists being strapped into the seat, and I'm talking at him mindlessly while folding all his flailing limbs into the straps:

"Blah blah blah.... Now now come on now here we go let's go to daycare it's a short ride. Don't you want to go to daycare? Blah blah blah blah...."

And, at words "don't you want to go to daycare" my baby stops wriggling, stops screaming, stops flailing, looks straight at me and says, quite clearly, "No".

My 'load-you-into-the-car' talk before was always more of a soliloquy. So, I am more taken aback by his response than Hamlet would be if someone came up to him and, during his 'to be or not to be', said "I'd say: not to be". So, still in shock, I say to Wombat:

- No?

- No.

- You.... don't want to go to daycare?

- No.

- But....

- No.

- You.... don't want to see your friend Evan?

- No.

- Emma?

- No.

- Ronald?

- No!

- What about your teacher, miss Marilyn?

- No, no, NO!

At this point, Wombat is clearly frustrated. The look on his face says "Listen, lady, how many times do I need to tell you NO for you to get the idea that I mean No? Jeez. The people in this place!" But, still in shock, I continue:

- You don't want to see anybody in daycare?

- NO! No no no no!

- Hm. Well, I'm sure they want to see you though!

Wombat makes an incredulous "Naw" noise.

- Sure they do!

Wombat makes a skeptical-looking face.

- Yes! Every time we come in in the morning, they scream "Elijah!" and are so happy to see you and run to you and want to play with you!! They really want to see you! And you don't want to see them? That doesn't seem nice! They want to be your friends!

At this point Wombat becomes lost deep in thought and contemplates his social network all the way to daycare. He still looks thoughtful as we come in, and once he sees all his 'friends' (whose names above have been changed to protect the innocent), he sighs, pulls up a chair to his snack table and looks resolute to get through whatever social interactions he must.

I know, kid. I know. You don't see yourself as part of any group. I am the same. But both of us have to try. Just try. Make friends. You don't have to be part of a crowd. But you do need people by your side, and do get there you will need to make an effort. Pull up your chair to the table, share your snack and ask them how THEIR car ride to daycare went. Ask them if THEIR mother can understand what they say in fewer than 15 repetitions. I bet that will get you a lot of common ground with anybody. Give it a try.

A message from your friendly developmental psychologist

Snow!

Pictures from the most awesomest snow fall I've seen in the United States.  Yeay for snow!

It's nap time. No, really.

It's 2pm.  Do you know where your Wombat is?

He usually goes to nap around noon.  So today, around noon, we headed upstairs after some eye-rubbing and zonked-out-lunching.  And as soon as we got upstairs and got ready for nap, we snuggled up and looked ready to pass out.  And then.....

We jumped up! And jumped around! We yanked on power cords! Climbed on the heater! Lifted the top of the humidifier and swirled the water around while giggling and making Mom worried about water and electricity combining in very bad ways.  Mom told us to stop.  We laughed in Mom's face.  We ran to the monitor.  We lifted the top of the diaper pail and stuck our hand in.  We had our hand sterilized.  We climbed behind the rocking chair.  We.... would have probably swung off a chandelier if the room had one.  Finally, we agreed to watch a Russian cartoon with a very, very fitting theme. Just replace "lunch" with "nap", and this could be us.



All that, for this moment.  Aaaaaaahhhhhhh. :)

Plumbing Services Available

Affordable and Reliable from Olya on Vimeo.