Gourmet FAIL

So there's still one parfait in the fridge, because Cayden was more interested in playing with his, than eating it. He got a few bites down, but Mama ate most of this one after scraping it off the tray and highchair.




But he really enjoyed all the other new recipes from this weekend!

A new phase of baby food

I gotta tell ya: cooking for a nine month old is way, way more exciting than cooking for a six month old.

Where we used to simply roast and puree to a silky-smooth texture appealing to new a palate, now we actually season, experiment and cook.

This afternoon I made some meals for Cayden so delicious sounding, Dad and I are actually eating baby food tonight. Or at least food made from recipes in Cooking for Baby, my new favorite cookbook.

Doesn't toasted barley with mushrooms and garlic, creamy asparagus risotto and potato-squash stew sound wonderful? We're having the barley with mushrooms alongside our pork and spinach tonight, after Chicken goes to bed; the three of us will share the asparagus risotto on Sunday. Mmmmm.

(Now Cayden has had a tiny bit of asparagus before, but I must admit I'm very curious to see if a dinner with a lot of asparagus will make his diaper smell like asparagus pee. Who knew having your own baby could be a personal science experiment at times?)

At nine months a whole new world of possibilities opens up, as we can now introduce cheese and yogurt into the mix. So dinners that used to be simply a pureed veggie with some ground turkey as finger food, now become more gourmet meals involving things like edamame-yogurt-parsley spread, goat cheese and roasted red pepper dip and all sorts of new ideas using beans!

Oh, and for dessert tonight? Cayden will try a ricotta-blackberry parfait, infused with a little cinnamon and nutmeg. And Mama will enjoy the other one. And how perfect do our little three-ounce Brewfest mugs work for baby parfaits?! Considering they've been collecting dust in our cabinet for almost two years, I'm glad to have discovered a new purpose for them.

Nine Months

Can't wait for group tomorrow (it's been way too long), to chat with the girls and Mary, and to see how much Chicken weighs at nine months old.

Only major news at this birthday is that we're packing up the swing this weekend. Monday morning Mama strapped the Chicken in the swing for a few minutes while she got dressed, and Daddy discovered the boy moments later, hanging forward out of the swing, the straps holding on for dear life not to tear out of the apparatus and release the baby headfirst onto the floor. Cayden was reaching for a toy below the swing, and apparently threw the balance completely off, thereby dangling himself from the nearly inverted seat for a minute or two. One scare was enough for us, so into the attic goes the swing.

A couple of photos from today, and a video from earlier this week...

Showing off the new, rocker hair-do we discovered works so well for the boy:


And showing off the sock/shoes Grammy got him for his nine-month birthday:


And here is Mr. Grabby hands, who now gets a real kick out of squeezing parts of your face as hard as he can, to get an "owie" reaction. I'm sure this is exactly what we're NOT supposed to be doing (encouraging him to squeeze, hurt, entertain himself through rough play), but his laughs get us every time, and we can't help but play along.

Mini Super Hero

I'm feeling just a little bit super-hero today, after not just making it through the past week and a half, but actually scoring some pretty satisfying personal and professional achievements along the way.

First, the professional ones: I made it through an extremely busy, full week of work last week, planning 'til my head hurt and cranking out pages and pages of PR work. Felt fantastic to be valued as an integral member of the team. All that work culminated in three successful events yesterday (hello, media blitz!), and a personal wish from the Governor to have a safe trip home from Philly. Nice touch.

On a personal level, not only did I succeed each day last week in pumping enough milk for Chicken's following day, but I raised the pumping bar on Monday. Two pumps at work before departing for Philly, then two pumps in the car on the turnpike. My hooter hider (super hero cape for the nursing mom?) covered up the hands-free arrangement beautifully, and although output was a little lower yesterday afternoon (since I couldn't massage the girls while pumping), I made it home safe and sound with a cooler of milk for the following day.

And, knock on wood, we may be out of the biting woods. Last week was tough, because Cayden bit me just about every time I offered him the boob: when I got home from work, before bed, first thing in the morning. I tried a number of tricks: reacting, not reacting; walking away from him, sternly scolding him. Never resorted to nose flicking, but I gave it my all otherwise. I started to doubt myself and became very frustrated with Cayden, knowing he couldn't understand the pressure and stress he put on me, but resenting him a little bit for it, nonetheless. I mean, here I was, trying everything under the sun to make pumping easier for me so I can continue to provide for him. Then when I got home and could take advantage of the beautiful and natural way nursing is supposed to happen, my son's repeated bites just made me sad and angry.

I don't know what happened, but suddenly Saturday morning, Cayden stopped biting. Hasn't bit me since Friday, and oh how I love nursing him again. Win-win, here.

We also loved our weekend away, which brought its own small victories. Planning and packing mindfully enough that we didn't forget anything we couldn't fix on the fly. OK, so we forgot Chicken's ENTIRE COOLER OF FOOD, but we found a supermarket and resorted to organic store-bought jars in a pinch. I succeeded in holding it together as the only Mama to bring her baby to Erin's baby shower on Saturday, perhaps even looking graceful doing it, at times.

Balancing on five-inch heels while bouncing a 24-pound baby slung to my hip? You bet I can.

Lactivist I am not, but we did opt to enjoy the entire shower using the Hooter Hider, rather than sneak away to another room to nurse. That was the first time I breastfed in front of a group of people that included gals I didn't know (outside BF group, where support is kind of inherent) and that could have included some people uncomfortable with nursing in public. But Erin is planning to breastfeed, so I figured I'd go ahead and make my mini-statement. My baby was fed, and I got to explain my present as Erin opened it. Double score.

We also celebrated the small victory of travelling just over two hours in a car, without so much as a single cry on the way to D.C. Cayden's patience ran out sooner on the way home, but it's amazing what a calming effect Mama moving to the back seat and plying the baby with apple pieces and mango puffs has.

So there it is, the past week-plus that inspired some gratifying "yeah, I can juggle it all" confidence.

OK, so my floors did NOT get cleaned this past week, but I'm ok with that. Because a full, rich life is all about striking a balance among work, family and friends. And sometimes chores have to be put on the back burner to enjoy the important stuff.

Now, if only I could convince Chicken to sleep in past 6:30 a.m. on Thursday, so I could perhaps catch up on sleep myself.

Puppy Love

Someone here sure likes puppies. Or at least the gentle Mr. Bixby, the first little dog Cayden has had opportunity to meet.




We had a wonderful overnight trip to Alexandria to celebrate Mike and Erin's baby-to-be. Chicken was a lamb at the shower (after one meltdown I thought would ruin bringing him to adult parties in the future; until I realized he had somehow jammed an entire container of Cheerios in his mouth at one time, then topped that off with an animal cracker, all of which sucked up his saliva like a sponge, leaving the poor unhappy kid with a mouthful of cement he couldn't move in or out), and he napped and slept in the pack-n-play like a champ. It was wonderful to spend the afternoon and evening with friends, reminiscing over the joys and minor annoynaces of pregnancy and sharing our experiences as new parents. Much needed laughter with friends we don't see enough. We're so excited to welcome the newest member of our Nittany Lion family of friends at the end of June!

A few more before & after pics

The deck when we moved in:


The deck now:



Our "yard" last week:


Our yard-in-the-making:

Money well spent

Before: The front of our house included an overgrown rock garden, a mess of a lawn that was half-regular grass and half soiza grass, truckloads of rocks lining the sidewalk, two half-dead butterfly bushes of some kind, dead pine trees intertwined in the cable and phone wires and a goofy, overgrown terrace garden built out of 4x4s.

We spent a weekend moving, transplanting and giving away all the rocks, flowers and plants worth salvaging, which left us with this on Sunday afternoon.



Fast forward to today, and here is the beautiful landscape we have now: a regular, blessed lawn in the making. And a perfect first sledding hill for a 1.5 year old next winter.



The far side of the driveway is even more impressive of a change, but Blouch's hadn't finished seeding that when I snapped a few pics. In fact, they're just wrapping up now, at quarter after 8. More pics of the destruction and evacuation turned manageable yardwork to come.

Yay for good customer service

Still struggling with the pump. Just not getting the production I was a few weeks ago. So I decided to replace all the flanges and valves, but I haven't seen or felt a difference. :(

So today I placed a call to Ameda, in a last ditch effort to diagnose a problem I'm still hoping is the machine's and not mine. Jodi the customer service agent was quick to help me identify that my motor is likely going bad prematurely: sometimes it won't turn off completely in "off" position, the suction feels different than it used to, and occasionally the motor runs in short, pathetic little whiny cycles even when it's turned up half-way. Jodi says my machine should definitely be working better than it is after only using it three days a week since August.

So Ameda is shipping me a new motor in a day or so, and they want the old one back for a look-see. No questions asked, and a pleasant conversation on the phone, to boot!

I did think, as I waited on hold and my pump hruumph-hruuuumphed along, how many moms must call the company as they are pumping, because that's when the issues are top of mind and that's one of the few calm windows in a day where such attention can be focused and action achieved. So I bed Jodi hears a lot of pumps in a day's work.

Keep your fingers crossed for me and my new motor.

Because the paltry eight ounces I got over four pumping sessions today just isn't going to cut it for my Chicken-chunk. And it's really frustrating for me to spend all that time pumping, massaging, hoping, squeezing, jiggling, worrying -- for such a small reward.

Oh, and on the biting front, we may be making progress. Only one bite after my post from last week, and I tried the react-loudly-ending-the-feeding-and-walking-away approach. Which was met with wailing disapproval from my son, of course, but he may be getting the message.

Here, but busy

So, so busy. Busy at work, busy at home. Keeping my chin up and knowing that although the next two weeks are going to be really tough, we'll get through them. Because time does pass, no matter how much is going on.

The deck on the back of our house is now not on the back of our house. Rather, it's in a pile in our backyard. Step one of demolition is complete. Now we (and when I say "we", I mean Brian and whoever he gets to help him) move to Step two, tearing the sunroom to the ground. Then Jeff can start re-building the room and deck from the ground up. Doing it the right way, not the half-assed, leaky-roof, rotting subfloor, nowhere-near-enough-support-beams way some previous owner did.

And we certainly didn't plan it this way, but we just happen to have one other project about to commence. Monday or Tuesday, professional landscapers are coming to completely tear up the crazy, overgrown gardens, rocks, railroad ties, etc. in our front yard. Then over the course of a few days they'll backfill everything with topsoil, grade it nicely and seed and fertilize a lawn. Oh, how excited we are for a front lawn! Two years of staring at the atrocity in front of our house was enough, so we finally bit the bullet, dug into our pockets and decided to get this project done and overwith, once and for all.

So there's a lot going on here.

Not to mention that the next two weeks may be the busiest of the year at work. So busy, in fact, I'm working a full, Monday through Friday week, this coming week.

We can do it, we can do it, we can do it...

The battle of the bite

In just over a week, THREE new teeth have popped out on the top gum, and I have a feeling that fourth one is just under the surface, ready to complete the front quartet of incisors.

First he got his outside incisor on the left side, followed a day or two later by the middle incisor next to it. This morning we discovered the outside incisor on the right side, so I can't imagine that whole in the middle will remain for too long.

No big deal, other than a couple of crying fits and a few nights where, for the first time in months he sought snuggle snack comfort at 3:30 a.m., right?

I'm afraid we may not be that lucky.

Turns out intentional bites to the nipple -- with teeth on the top and bottom -- are impressively more painful than the oops-I-was-half-sleeping-and-couldn't-have-intended-to-bite-you bite from a month ago.

He's bitten me a handful of times in the past week, but only sporadically. It is clear to me, however, that he is testing his boundaries with these new toofers, because each time he bit me it was after he had gotten his fill of milk and while he was looking straight up into my eyes, as if to say, "let's just see what THIS does."

And I have tried to scold gently and without sudden jerking or screaming. That, in and of itself, proves quite a challenge.

However, he has gotten me really good twice so far. Twice he has bitten so hard and so suddenly I swore bloody little bite marks must remain after such bolts of white-hot pain. And twice I have been unable to refrain from yelping. The first time, just before bedtime, Chicken put on his unhappy weenus face only briefly before my nearly on-key rendition of "Mary Had A Little Lamb" lulled him back to drowsy comfort. (No idea why, but that song nearly always works to calm him down.)

The second time, this morning, was different. I howled so loud at his second chomp (he smiled at me as he tested the waters with his first little nibble, after which I calmly but firmly told him, "Mama ouch, NO bite," and then I let him reattach, like the masochistic idiot I am), I scared the bejesus out of the little guy, and he immediately dissolved into an inconsolable sobbing mess, alternating desperately between frenzied wails and frantic hiccups for air.

So we both have some learning to do here: Chicken has to learn that biting is NOT OK, and I have to learn some more effective ways to deal with his experimental nipping of the nips.

Anyone have some tips for breaking a nipple-biter of the habit? Let's keep this PG, please.

Chicken is eight months, two weeks old.

Life in our Home, in an Unexpected Place

Kelle Hampton encouraged readers to think this week about where life occurs in their homes, celebrating lively places through pictures and words. So I started to do just that, thinking about our daily routines and exploring my photo files. And our lively place kind of surprised me.

Because it’s the bathroom, a room Brian and I have hated ever since we moved into our house. Hated it for the crummy, can’t-scrub-the-mildew-stains-out-of-the-cracks tub; the old and so, so 70’s linoleum floor; the, umm … interesting, lamps hanging from chains above the sink; and the frustratingly mismatched hardware all over the place – antique bronze tub and sink fixtures, cheap silver cabinet knobs and black vanity door handles, to name a few.

I know, I know, there’s some potty-humor (pun intended) statistic about how long the average person spends in the bathroom, but our bathroom time over the past eight-plus months is more than that.

Our bathroom has become a comfortable – albeit in need of renovation – home to daily routines and rituals that bring smiles to our faces, laughter to our lives and joy to our hearts.

Each day, after the morning’s first snuggle-snack (the best of which are still occasionally enjoyed belly-to-belly in bed), Chicken and I head to the bathroom. First we say good morning to the impressively cute baby and the needs-some-cleaning-up Mama in the mirror, admiring each other as we wish our reflections a good morning and a fun-filled day. Then there in the bathroom I prop my little one in his rocker, as I have nearly every morning since he was just a few weeks old, where he sits while I prepare for the day. In the early days he’s simply fall asleep, lulled to dreamland by the hum of the bathroom fan and drumming water. In recent months, however, our routine starts with me plying my little boy with an assortment of toys. Excitedly introducing each, one at a time, with a big smile, silly faces and playful encouragement. Once my boy is covered with four or five toy options, I figure I have a window of ten minutes or so where I can disappear behind the shower curtain and he can entertain himself.

But without fail each morning, I hear the toys drop – one by one, a minute or two between each thump or klunk or knock – until they are all on the floor, just out of reach of the little boy strapped to his chair. So then we chat. We play games of call and response through the shower curtain, where each of Cayden’s coos, shouts, syllable-strings, grunts, songs and shrieks are met with maternal replies that are as close as I can get them to the original.

So the bathroom hears an interesting serenade most mornings.

Then, as I put on my face and watch my hair air dry (I still can’t get back into my pre-natal hair straightening or curling habits), we continue our chatter until Chicken has simply had enough sitting still to warm up his day.

And our days proceed through various locations, errands, work schedules, social opportunities and chores. But Mama or Daddy usually returns a couple of times a day to that special room, to admire baby poop – the way only two first-time parents can, still trying to wrap their heads around the fact that they made a little person; a person who eats and grows and chatters and now poops some darned impressive ploppable poops – before disposing of it in the toilet.

After dinner (the baby’s, that is; Daddy works on the big-kid vittles during the bedtime routine) and before jammies, my son and I return to that annoyingly ugly yet oh-so-special collection of walls for bath-time giggles and rubber-froggy splashes and tooth-brushing smiles. Unless we have company over, of course, in which case a cast of characters crowds into those few square feet to peek over shoulders and around elbows to catch a glimpse or two of the Chicken in his boisterous and naked glory. And the Chicken, of course regularly satisfyies his eager audience with a bath time performance cranked up a notch or two from his Mama-and-me splash battles and conversation.

Inevitably through all that fun-having, the Sand Man sneaks in, and Cayden starts getting sleepy. And he rubs his water-laden eyelashes with clean, pruny little hands and lets escape a big little-boy yawn or two. So Mama quickly does the last of the buns and berries washing (very important, according to Daddy), and wraps the Chicken up in his hooded towel for one more look in the mirror.

There we stand, drinking each other in again in the third person, wondering aloud what wonderful dreams those two have in store for the night ahead.

So that’s it: our hideous bathroom is a heretofore unappreciated place of liveliness, magic and delight in our home. A place as interwoven into our daily routine as any other, and a place that, despite its unattractive appearance, is home to loveliness and the beauty of young life every day.

A very good weekend

A weekend of first and photographs. So many photographs, in fact, I don't know how I'm ever going to get through them all.

Friday morning my Chicken met the Easter Bunny. No tears, no giggles, just a strange "what the hell is this all about" kind of stare. And the photos started.

Saturday morning was Chicken's first swimmin' lesson, and oh my how this boy loves the pool. Lots and lots of giggles and smiles, and at least one picture for each of the forty minutes we spent in the pool. A few tears when Mr. Mike took him to make him the first example, but those tears didn't have a chance against the splashing, floating, singing and bouncing that ensued. And the doting Daddy got it all on video. And I do mean all of it. All forty minutes on video. With Daddy manning the video camera and Grammy and Grandude each snapping away the whole time, Chicken and I had our own little paparazzi pose in tow.

And while Chicken was too little to dye Easter eggs this year, he enjoyed the colors Saturday afternoon. He broke three eggs within five minutes of playing with them.

Easter Sunday was beautiful. Even moreso because we had a little madras munchkin to show off all day long.


And I'm not sure how the Easter Bunny travels, but I'm thinking he's got to have something similar to Santa's sleigh. Because I don't know how else that rascally rabbit got all those Easter baskets and presents to Cayden on Sunday.


What a wonderful weekend.

A bittersweet goodbye to the two-toothed grin

After a particularly fussy day -- one where Cayden's mood repeatedly swung from one extreme to the other, one minute laughing heartily and uncontrollably, the next whining a "nnnaaa nnnaaa nnnaaa" whimper-song -- and a day that included only 1.5 hours of napping, total, we realized a third toofer has appeared on the scene.

Interestingly enough, not one of the top middle teeth (at least I hope not, or this kid is going to need some SERIOUS dental work), but one of the next-to-the-top-two-middle-teeth. Just peeked through this afternoon.

Chicken's fussiness tested me pretty hard today. I knew he was uncomfortable and I coddled him with all I've got. But at the end of the day, as I struggled to zip his jammies up as he whined and whined and whined, I hit my limit. I nursed him before bed and cried to myself in frustration and exasperation. Too tired and drained to read him a poem or two, I just let the tears fall as we rocked.

And then I propped my little boy up on my shoulder as I do each night, to whisper his bedtime prayer into his ear, and he turned his tired little face towards me, resting his head on his blankie.

And suddenly, as I looked at his little face and drowned in the beauty of his cheeks, his eyelashes, his rosebud-lips, his baby lotion musk, my tears of exhaustion and self-pity turned into tears of love and hesitation and joy and longing and pride and overwhelming awareness. Awareness that these moments -- good and bad -- are fleeting. And understanding that even the moments that seem so incredibly hard, well, in the moment, can be appreciated so very shortly after they have passed by, forever, for their simple beauty in demonstrating growth and development.

My baby is growing up. And I'm excited and sad and relieved and terrified, all at the same time. And I'm trying to maintain perspective, appreciating and celebrating each moment for what it is for me, for Cayden, for our family.

How timely for Lauren to introduce me to a beautiful sentiment just a few days ago, one that will most definitely be incorporated into Cayden's first-year book prominently:

One day at a time -- this is enough. Do not look back and grieve over the past for it is gone; and do not be troubled about the future, for it has not yet come. Live in the present, and make it so beautiful it will be worth remembering. ~ Joan of Arc

Thank you, my first-born love, for teaching me these simple lessons and reminding me of God's blessings every day. Here's to creating and recognizing beauty worth remembering every day. Even on the tough days.

And to close, here's my munchkin, so tired at bedtime tonight he didn't even last long enough for me to put his chickenleg down and zip up his sleepsack.

crossing my fingers that my boobs aren't wising up

Because all of a sudden over the last two weeks of workdays, it's taking a LOT longer to pump a smaller quantity of milk, and now my pump hurts a little.

Talked to LC Mary about it this morning, and she confirmed my initial thoughts: that it's time to change some pump parts. I had convinced myself that since I only pump three days a week, I didn't need to replace parts. But four pumpings per workday add up over the weeks and months, so I decided to order new diaphragms and flanges earlier this week. Mary said not only can the rubbery parts stretch, but they can also become coated with a thin layer of milk fat that makes the pump less efficient, thereby making letdown harder.

So here's hoping my parts arrive before work on Monday, and that the pump is the problem, not the boobs. Because if my boobs start out-smarting the pump (wising up that the plastic horns aren't actually a baby), it could make for a tough last four months before cow's milk.