Question

For those of you who are parents: when did your child go from two naps a day to one (at what age)?

Aside: my mom has trained Daisy to tap her temple contemplatively every time she flips open one of her board books to a picture of the statue The Thinker. It is pretty funny.

Too Much Water

I always knew that when Daisy got old enough to toddle along holding my hand, I would have to purchase a special pair of gloves. As the time is getting close (well, close-ish; you wouldn't believe how slow Daisy is on the gross motor skills), I need to start thinking seriously about what kind of gloves to get. The reason? I have horribly sweaty hands and I don't want to confront the pain of my child being repulsed by her own mother holding her hand. As a manicurist once said to me, clearly and visibly disgusted by my hands, "Too much water... too much water. You see doctor."

Tough and interesting times

I was going to call this "Tough BUT interesting times," but "and" seems more accurate, somehow.

A whole bunch of changes have been happening, all at once. A few days after she turned 12 months, Daisy started crawling properly. She was sort of dragging along on her belly before, but now she seems able to crawl on her knees. The odd thing is that she chooses not to do it very often or to go very far. She also pulled all the way up--once. We haven't seen her repeat it, but she does pull up to her knees regularly. She has been taking small steps (holding our hands) and cruising just a little bit. She still sits and plays with toys in one area, mostly.

Given these changes, I suppose it's not that shocking that we are going through one of the hardest periods we've ever had with her. About a week ago, she stopped sleeping through the night (she'd been doing 10-11 hours straight, and napping well, too). Overnight, it changed. She has been refusing to be placed in her crib; she sits straight up, and even tries to stand up, clutches at the bars, and screams and screams and screams. It is absolutely heartbreaking and horrible.

We dealt with this as best we could for four or five days. We'd go in and rock her, or I'd try nursing, but finally she'd end up in bed with us, because no matter how asleep she seemed to be, if we placed her in her crib the screaming would start again. Last night, we were finally so entirely sleep-deprived that we tried a different strategy-- letting her cry in intervals of about 20 minutes, then going in and soothing, then going for another 20 minutes of crying. It was one of the hardest nights we've ever had with her, emotionally. But we are feeling really trapped. If she won't sleep in her crib, what would that mean? Not only would it mean she's always sleeping in bed with us (in which case, none of us gets much sleep, including Daisy), but it also means I'd have to start going to bed at 7. This just doesn't seem like the answer.

After about 2 hours of our method last night, she finally went to sleep and slept for 8 hours, which is longer than she'd slept in five days. So it worked, in a way, but there was a little barf stain on her crib sheet this morning, propelling me into more agony over whether it was the right thing to do. On the good side, she was a bit more like her old cheery self this morning after having finally had some sleep. I know that she needs the rest as much as we do, if not more. I'm just not sure I have the fortitude to get through many more nights like this last one.

On top of this, she hasn't been eating. Foods she previously adored, like eggs and cheese, she now won't touch. We think this might be connected to her 12-month vaccines; she had a temperature of 102.5 the next day (although I have to say the sleeping problems began before the vaccines). This is particularly disturbing because our doctors have told us she needs to gain some weight. She had not gained even one pound since her last appointment at 9 months and was in the 6th percentile for weight (though she's up to the 47th for height). She doesn't look too thin to me, but she is light and it does seem maybe a little too easy to feel her ribcage. I don't know. All is a tired blur. I am worried and every night rolls round with a feeling of dread about what ordeal awaits me this time. It's definitely a tough, interesting time.

Daisy is one

I don't think I've posted many pictures of her lately. So here are some recent ones, in honor of the big milestone:

Daisy's birthday

Today Daisy is one year old. It's such a milestone that I feel I should have some profound things to say about that, or reflections on the past year, but it's so hard to express. Last night I kept flipping my photo album from the first newborn pictures to my recent Fourth of July pictures and marveling that this was the same child, with just one year's difference. The changes are astronomical. Hard to believe. Hard not to be extremely trite about it.

So, some brief and inadequate reflections:

During the first six months, which were so intense and hard, I thought I would never forget one second of it. I couldn't believe people who said it was all a bit hazy now. Not for me, I thought. It is all so incredibly intense, every second will be etched in my brain. Well, it turns out that I am much like everyone else. The details have definitely faded. And it makes sense: for her to have gone through so very much change, with so many different periods in between, how COULD I remember each distinct period? But it makes me sad that it's fading. It helps me understand why people are so eager to have a second baby. But if I had a second baby, it wouldn't be the same experience. It wouldn't be new and unprecedented, of course; and it also wouldn't be the same intense one-on-one that you have with a first baby.

It also seems to me that the first six months or so went by pretty slowly... I used to count the hours passing, some days, wondering just what to do with myself and the babe. But the second six months (roughly speaking) seem to have flown by. They are less well documented with photos and videotape, and it seems like I'm always struggling to keep up with my archiving.

I have loved it all, even the hard parts in a kind of bittersweet way, but I think I am one of those people who enjoys the process more as the baby gets older. Don't get me wrong--I am already deeply nostalgic for the infant days and I try so hard to recreate the moments with memory, feeling a terrible sense of loss when I can't get the exact sensations back. But, with a cooler head, I have to admit I am enjoying her more and more the older she gets. This moment, right now, of her being 12 months old, is probably the most fun I've had so far. I love the babbling and the great signs of personality and even temper I see from her now. She had a little fit yesterday at the top of the Lyon Street steps when I tried to take a bag of Cheerios away from her. It was a very minor tantrum (perhaps foreboding bigger ones to come), but it was interesting to watch.

Anyway, I am enjoying her more as she becomes more and more a person. But I still love the baby-ness of her--the fat little knees and nonsensical sentences, and being able to pinch her butt without her making me stop--and I'll miss it terribly when it's gone. (Does anyone else have an overpowering desire to pinch their baby in the butt? Gosh, I hope it's not just me. Mark and my mother say they don't feel like doing this, actually.)

I think that's all for now. Maybe I'll try to post a picture later.

Rest in peace, Doc

Our family cat, Doc, died today. He was 20 years old and I know, really, that it was time for him to go. He had gotten very, very thin and pretty mangy, with scabrous skin and no teeth. My parents said it was too painful for him to eat anymore or even drink water, but he'd be crying because he was hungry. The saddest part of all is that Dad said he made an attempt to escape--to run off in the bushes somewhere, which is what cats do when they are ready to die. My dad brought him back but I guess he knew what Doc was saying.

I am sure my parents did the right thing in having him put to sleep. But I am sad. I keep thinking of the journey he took in his life; he was a cat from Long Island who ended up dying in the wine country of northern California, so far from home. Most of his good years were spent in our spacious two-acre yard on Long Island. He loved being outside and used to get into plenty of fights. It was funny because he was a very sweet, laid-back cat around people, not feisty or aggressive at all. But we noticed that when he came back inside after a long day in the yard, he often had scratches and injuries right on his face--which means he was facing his opponent squarely, not running away. (As a contrast, Mark's and my cat Claude has only ever had injuries on his back, from running away! Not that he goes outside anymore.) Doc was very territorial and would fight other cats who wanted to come into our yard.

I'll always remember how we got Doc, too, back when I was twelve or thirteen years old. He was a stray who would sit by my mom's car, in the parking lot of the law college where she worked. He clearly had chosen her and wanted to go home with her. But she didn't take him home because she was allergic to cats and didn't like them. I think she shooed him away from her car for weeks. Finally, she did take him home, but on the premise that we'd find somewhere else for him to live. He was to stay confined to one room in the house, not roam about spreading his dander, because of her allergies. Well, this must be the oldest story in the book. We did let him out... and he did roam about... and we never found any other home for him. And in the end, I think Mom was fonder of him than anyone. He was really a good kitty. He was calm and affectionate, and liked to eat and sleep (his other, more warlike side must only have been known to the other cats in the neighborhood).

Another oddity is that we thought he was a girl and named him Emily. We called him that for months. When a vet told us he was a boy, we had long discussions about what to call him. I think I was for the male version of Emily (Emilio?). I am not sure how we came up with Doc, but I think it was Dad's idea. (Our family had a problem with this; we once had another male cat named Penelope.)

I still feel sad about our other family pets who died, the dogs who were buried in our yard. It comes back to me sometimes, how their graves were there, but the people who bought our house completely changed everything-- put in lawns and tennis courts and who knows, maybe a swimming pool. It makes me sad to think of the forgotten dogs there.

It must be shared, for it is cute

Daisy loves bridges. She has a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge and when she sees it she says, "Bridge!" (Okay, it sounds more like "bidge," but she definitely tries to say bridge.) Today when we crossed the actual Golden Gate Bridge, she got so excited she almost jumped out of her carseat. She pointed out the window, excitedly shouting, "Bridge! Bridge!" What can I say? She likes bridges. She really, really likes bridges. She still does not say "mama," but she says "bridge."

She also plays ball now. When you roll a ball to her, she can roll it back.

Daisy's birthday, and friends

Today Mark, Daisy and I hosted the baby playgroup that has been meeting on Tuesdays on and off for the last few months (but more regularly as of late). At the playgroup, our friends surprised us with an impromptu birthday party for Daisy! (Well, I guess it wasn't impromptu for them, since it was clear a lot of caring preparation had gone into it.) They brought champagne, chips and salsa, vichysoisse (spelling??), cake, ice cream, and presents. It was all very delicious, and it's hard to express how moving the surprise was--just such an outpouring of celebratoriness for the Daze's milestone. I had a wonderful, wonderful day. And there were 9 babies in our apartment! Nine babies and eleven adults, if my math is correct. Pictures really need to be posted, but I don't think I have one that captures all nine babies. Pictures have been attempted with five babies sitting in a row, but the thought of trying to get all nine to sit together long enough for a picture was just too daunting.

Thank you for today. I'll never forget it.

Anniversary and birthday

I meant to mention this in the last post: my anniversary with Mark, July 14, is also Arwen's birthday (and we are the same age, less than two months apart); and Arwen's anniversary with Dave, May 24, is my birthday. I think it's also accurate to say that she and Dave have been together ten years, too, though hopefully she'll correct me if I'm wrong. Anyway, I think those are some pretty big coincidences. (I am on Elaine's side in "Seinfeld," in the argument with Rava in the elevator in which Rava says there are no big or small coincidences, just coincidences, and Elaine maintains there ARE big and small coincidences.)

Daisy likes Baby Einstein videos

Should I be horrified? She thinks Vincent Van Goat is high-larious. She sits there mesmerized and laughs her butt off at his antics.

I think I'll settle for being horrified at myself for occasionally sticking her in front of Vincent Van Goat so I can do something else. It's only half an hour long... unless I play it twice.

We had some one-year (almost) photos taken of Daisy today and I had the opportunity to make a complete, beautiful ass out of myself, leaping around behind the photographer singing, in no particular order, "Hava Nagila," "The Wild Rover," "Baa Baa Black Sheep," and a variety of French children's songs, all the while waving a sock monkey over the photographer's head. I wish each and every one of you could have been there. Except then I would have to assassinate you.

Daisy's musical taste is quite varied and interesting. She's a big fan of "Baa Baa Black Sheep" and "Bingo" and a bunch of other silly children's songs. She also, we recently learned, LOVES Irish drinking songs. She beams and bops up and down and claps her hands to them. She likes the Elizabeth Mitchell CD our friends Chris and Erin gave us, particularly one in which little kids make bird noises. And today we noticed that she tries to sing along to a Bob Marley song on that CD.

If Mark reads this, he's going to write in and say I'm lying, but I think he has been trying to steer her subtly away from music he doesn't like and toward music he does. I really think we need to let her develop her own bad taste (and I know Mark agrees with me, at least in principle. It's a little harder to practice).

I know I'm biased, but Daisy is the sweetest darling in the world! Gross gross gross gross shut up Mama. Well, I am allowing myself to say it, because I've been worrying about other things. At 11.5 months, she is still not exactly crawling. She can drag herself slowly across the room on her stomach to reach an object, but she doesn't last for long up on her knees. She can stand, in a very wobbly way, holding onto a table, but can't pull herself all the way up to standing (she pulls up to her knees, then gives up). She is not cruising, either.

She talks a lot and has actual words that you can understand--"bus," "dog," "duck," "hi," and others--and I swear to God she has a sentence: "Who's this?" She understands a lot of things, too. Today we were looking at her CDs and she said (swear to God), "What's this?" I said, "It's your music." And she pointed at the CD player. So I think she knows the word "music." For a long time now she's known "clap" and "feet" and "socks" and other things that she can demonstrate.

Soooo, yeah. Slow on the gross motor skills, though pretty good on the fine ones-- she can zip and unzip, turn a light switch off, page through her books very precisely (she adores books and hardly notices other toys nows), feed herself finger foods well, and she's trying to snap her own clothing together, though still has some distance to go in succeeding. She is good at sitting and focusing. I guess none of this should be all that surprising; she's probably a lot like me, which means she'll have a lot to say but not be winning any Olympic events any time soon. Hmmm. Or maybe she'll surprise me and get up one day and start pole vaulting. She'll be the first baby who skips both crawling and walking and goes straight to pole vaulting.

Too long away from blogging has made me blathery. I think I'll go turn off Vincent Van Goat now.

Today I realized

that I had better stop swearing loudly in front of Daisy (usually this occurs in the car and is directed at other drivers); she really is listening

that Daisy has more or less outgrown baby food, would rather eat the same food we're eating, and is therefore almost not a baby anymore

that I really and truly want to get over some of my superstitions, like being unable to look at the number thirteen; I think all that not looking at it is just giving it more power, so I have been forcing myself to look at thirteens when they pop up, like on digital clocks or treadmill timers

that I am getting older (actually, technically, I realized that yesterday, when I saw a certain picture of myself)

and

that I haven't been blogging very often or very interestingly lately. Guess I'll work on that.

Fourth of July

Thank you, Charles and Dena, for the picture (why do I always forget my camera on occasions?)