Five months and counting...

Clearly babies like putting things in their mouths.  The world is a tasty place.  Espen has gotten to the point now that the final resting place of anything he gets his hands on is predetermined. It doesn't matter how big or small or stone or plastic the object may be. It's goin' in the gob.

Plastic spoon? Sure. Car payment? Yum.  Hairy cat toy? Yes Please. This is how the requisite pound of dirt eaten in a lifetime begins.

The Little Bear has also discovered that he WANTS and does not appreciate being held out on, taken away from, or otherwise redirected.  That zucchini the size of him is what he's interested and darn you to heck if you try to pry his lips off of it and give him a teething ring instead. I know how he feels.  After all, who doesn't like gumming an elephant squash.

Making sure he doesn't ingest biohazards and/or colonies of wasps is pretty much a full time job and I can only wonder how I'll develop the necessary cunning to keep up with him when he starts crawling.  Rolling over and scooting about on his tummy is tricky enough. Somehow, I do believe he will live to see twenty in spite of his grandiose oral aspirations...call it ignorant optimism, but that's what you need to think that things like "Discovering a New World" and "Raising A Baby" are a cinch.

Tasting, tasting, 1, 2, 3...

On Saturday, August 24, year of our lord 2013, Espen Camino Eld Mathis tasted his first carrot, cucumber and kale.

It was a day of hard "K" and easy gumming at the fine organic/vegan/gluten free cafe' Harlow on 36th and Hawthorne.

After reaching, pawing, and grabbing for edibles with great conviction for the last two months, we placed the Holy Kale in his paws to see what would happen.



The carrot and cucumber were equally magical, though when I had to fish out a piece of his carrot shaving from his mouth, he was less than euphoric.

I'm pretty certain he doesn't know how to chew or swallow yet, but he's ready to give it a whirl.

Behold, Espen, on the cusp of solid food. Majesty. Glory. Magic.

He grabs his toes and hates naps

I am writing this now listening to my astrological profile while listening to The Bear protest against his nap which he very clearly needs.

Yesterday he learned how to grab his toes and has been obsessively kicking his feet, grabbing them, and looking very pleased with himself.  There are so many things changing these days, so many new skills and milestones that it's no wonder sleep seems like the last thing he would want to do.

On top of that, he's also rearing and bucking around alot with nursing throughout the day...and forgetting to let go of my boob.  This is sort of like having a chinese torture chamber on your nipple that refuses to let go.  When the gravity of his head finally pulls him off, I swear you can hear the 'pop'. True.

Days like today remind me that sometimes the line between pleasure and pain is very fine indeed.  It is good to remind myself that I am in a situation entirely because of my actions so whether I enjoy the result or not, it is up to me to make more of the same or try something different.

The traction we had gained in easier bedtimes has been lost in the trauma of naptime and nothing really seems to be working consistently. I have tried to stick to an "Every two hours from when he wakes" schedule, but unless I want to let him cry for an hour straight, that philosophy doesn't always work.  Then we end up in an endless spiral of waiting an hour and trying again to see if he'll go for it this time.  Add that on top of a distractible eater and well, it could make the days abit, ahem, challenging.

Oh, The Bear loves being awake and playing, it's just the going down for naps and eating that he's not too keen on.  So right now, it looks like the sleepless starvation philosophy is what The Bear prefers. Unfortunately, I've got the dubious task of helping him discover the art of compromise. So far what we have landed on is 10-20 minutes of crying unless he miraculously passes out on the boob at one of the lucky feeding sessions that last longer than ten minutes.

As all good parents know, and to be honest, I'm starting to think that anyone who doesn't swear and cry  at their children are good parents, we just want our kids to have as gentle an experience of life as possible.  Some days this seems much closer than others.  Still, when Espen flashes his "MOM, you RESCUED me!" smile, I just want to keep him awake and feed him on sunshine as long as he wants. Lordy Lord.

My baby is awesome (er than all the rest)

Ok, moms out there know what I'm talking about. Dads too. We're all pretty sure our baby is the Supreme Incarnation of All That Is Amazing and Good.

But mine really is.  He has so much hair he makes boy bands look sad.  He giggles at four am when I pick him up in a dead cry and then chuckles contentedly to himself as I hold him.

He has dance moves that Michael Jackson would be jealous of.
He hates hats and isn't afraid to let you know.

He can lift whole baskets of toys BY HIMSELF.

He is cute with and without clothes on.

His poop even smells sweet.

So come on other parents out there. Let's see what your baby has.  I don't want to be elitist and sit on this Mt. My Babe Is FUCKING RAD alone. Do your worst. Or best.

But don't say I didn't warn you about the steep competition.

The Bear is on the Adwarable Path and he's taking names.

To Cry It Out or Not To Cry It Out-The First Test of Parental Mettle

One word. Hyphenated. Sleep-Deprivation.  One question. What to do?  A thousand answers. Cry it out! Gradual Extinction! No-cry method! Just hang tight!

Scenario.
The Bear is tired. He has red eyes. He rubs them. He stares into space. He tosses. Bucks.  Cries. And cannot sleep when you lay him down. Nursing to sleep is ok until his Moro reflex kicks in 30-45 minutes after Shut Down and it's SPREAD EAGLE ALERT! FALLING! FALLING! MUST. GRAB. SOMETHING. TO. ARREST. FALL.

Sleep over. Reset. Begin again. Boob please mom.

Sleeping arrangements up to week 14 had been pretty standard. Dad and Bear in one room. Mom in the other. Why? Mom can't nurse at night because it hurts too bad and can't sleep in same room as Bear and Dad because she wakes up at every rustle and jostle. SO. It's fractured, for sure, so when the build up to Jackie's wedding starts and the company arrives with it, we all move into the big bed together.

Situation unfolds as follows.
Mom sleeps next to Bear. Dad sleeps next to mom. Bear, as is his custom, squirms about in his sleep from time to time. Mom offers the boob as a comfort nursing gesture. Bear, ever the gentleman, accepts.  Soon it is customary for the Bear to wake up every hour or two, demanding the boob, as is his new-found right.  Cries if boob is not forthcoming. Sleep deprivation returns to the farm.

Mom tries to cut back on the boob at night. Bear is unimpressed and demonstrates this by crying loudly.

What to do.

Around this time, Dad has his first business trip to Wisconsin, leaving Mom and The Bear to test the waters.  Mom doesn't sleep much, and now The Bear is uninterested in napping without some serious persuasion. Now everyone is sleepy, cranky and beside themselves. Mom researches how to get on a sleep schedule and opts for the No-cry method which involves picking up the baby and soothing them every time they cry when being put down for bed.  This takes weeks however, and they will both be complete zombies by then so she opts for the lying next to The Bear while he works it out.

The Bear shows his feelings over this method by crying for nearly two hours before winding down and passing out.  Much of this crying seems to say, "What the HELL mom?! You're RIGHT THERE. I'm CRYING. DO something!" Mom was not expecting this kind of stamina.

Next night, same story, 15 minutes less crying. That's still a LOT of crying. Mom is starting to feel like a bad parent, despite patting, cooing, and speaking gently to The Bear as he works towards sleep. By the third and fourth night when dad returns, she is broken.

Just pick the baby up. Do whatever it takes. Just. Make. The. Crying. Cease.

Trouble is, they're back to spending hours getting the Bear to sleep again and it's making everyone batty.

Still, we do not want to Permanently Scar The Bear's Spirit For Life by allowing him to cry unchecked just because we, selfish parents, want some sleep stretches of more than 2 hours.

We consult the experts. Read books. Obsess over the internet. Log sleep. Realize the Bear does not prefer having someone there if they aren't going to soothe him. After agonizing and debating and bar graphing and consulting astrology cafe's we decide to do the graduated checks. Starting Friday. As in, two nights from now.

I'm telling you. Being a parent in the stages of laying groundwork for your child's long term success is hard when they doth protest much.

Somehow, over a glass of wine and chickens jumping on our table, Tobi and I realized that we are parents to our baby. Not friends. We are there to provide respectful structure, stability, love and support. Buddydom can come later, but we are the ones who have to make the choices that our children may cry about in the beginning, but, hopefully, thank us for later...or at least forget that they cried for several nights because of it.

Either way, here's hoping we  all get some consistent sleep soon and that we're all closer because of it.

Nicknames of The Bear

Kid, you got a mom that looooves words, particularly around designating YOU.

1. The Bear
2. Beartomous
3. Beartolomeo
4. Espenoza
5. Esp
6. Bearracuda
7. Little Scoundrel (and derivatives thereof...Scound etc)
8. Captain Bear Ginger Hair
9. Wah-Oo Milk Howler
10. Chickachow, Chicks
11. Baboo, Babs
12. Bubbaloo, Bub, Bubs
13. Bearly
14. Little Turkey
15. Munch, Munchy
16. Smoosh
17. Big Legs
18. Big E. Big
19. Bigs
20. Tig

Fourth Trimesters and The Rise of Mr. Bigs

Oh Espen! You are getting so big! Your personality is coming out more and more every day and man, is it fun to watch.  Just LOOK at you yaawwwning at the camera, staring at the camera, having sleepy face, and funning around naked in the grasses on sheepskin like a little Pan.  

You are generally a happy little dude unless there is something you NEED...FOOD! NAPS! CHANGING!  We've had a lot of fun figuring out how to give you what you're asking for, though if you feel like something traumatizing happened in early infancy it probably revolved around having to wait several minutes for milk while your dad stumbled around the kitchen at 2am. Sorry about that.

You have absolutely LOOOVED standing on your legs since about the second or third week, leading me to nickname you Mr. Big Legs.  This is one of your favorite games and a pretty surefire way to get you happy in the midst of meltdowns.  "Bear Big Legs" is becoming a popular reference around the property and we have documented proof that grandpa is helping you with the process. Grandma too.

And what is this? You're starting to discover how flipping RAD HANDS ARE.  Particularly around your long haired aunties.

I must admit, you grow more complex and engaged every day and I am completely enamored with your consciousness.  Such a little individual comes through with your interactions and it is clear that you are fascinated by the world around you and all its wonders.

A few fun facts about your first three months are:

1. You loved "Jumping Bean" for the first couple of weeks. It would stop you crying in your tracks.

2.  You developed an unstoppable loathing for your carseat. LOATHING. Stupid Car Seat. Hence, you now have your own driving song called "The Bear Boogie" which makes you smile and fall asleep about 90% of the time.

3. You love baths and stomping around the water with me.  You don't mind putting your ears under only get upset when it's time to get out, which has resulted in the awesome appearances of 

4. The "Scoundrel In the Mirror." He always elicits a smile and a look of intense curiosity from you.  

5. You want to SEE the world and not be tucked away in some carrier.  Unless you are sleepy. Then it's fine. But WOE UNTO YE if you try to Put The Bear In A Carrier when he wants to Engage With the World. Moby? Screw you. Fancy Saturday Market Carrier? No thanks.  Ergo Baby?  Maybs. 

6. You TALK!  Since very early, like the first three weeks, you've been staring deeply into our eyes and "Go-ing" and "Ahh Ohhhh-ing!" with great feeling. It's adorable and also clear that you have a lot to tell us! Exciting!