u8ashark

A sign that the pup is really into babygirl:

In the morning after her first walk, the pup used to race to the kitchen and sit quivering by the pantry door waiting for me to climb the stairs to feed her. Her first priority of each day is getting fed. We are talking about the dog whose goal in life is to fool my husband or myself into thinking the other one neglected to feed her supper.

Now in the morning, the pup races right past the pantry door and up the steps to the nursery. Seeing if babygirl is up is the new first priority of the pup. If the door is closed, then, only then will she come back downstairs for her breakfast.

Hubby at Babygirl’s same age

Every year the local alternative press has a “Best Of” the city contest where myself and my fellow in-towners can vote on everything from the “best restaurant” to the “best place to break up.” One category that’s always amused me is “best street person” where you can nominate your local home-impaired urbanite. The reigning winner is a man commonly known as Bicycle Shorts Man although he’s famous for something else. Rain or shine, from blistering heat to all through the winter and the occasional southern “snow,” this man stands on his corner wearing bicycle shorts. He owns the tight shorts in several different colors but his favorite seem to be the white pair. No matter what the weather, no matter how cold, Bicycle Shorts Man is on his corner in his bicycle shorts — often sporting a pair of dark sunglasses.

The paper was likely the one who gave Bicycle Shorts Man his name after hundreds of nomination forms were filled out with something to the effect of “they guy who wears the bicycle shorts” and it’s the most polite, and printable, name you could give the guy. That name is probably best because If I had been the All Powerful Giver Of Names I would have just called the guy MisterHorseNuts.

I am serious. It is NO exaggeration, and they fall low and decidedly to the left. You see, without his revealing trousers, mister Bicycle Shorts Man would have been just another nameless member of the homeless. I’ve often thought they couldn’t be real but then realized that if they weren’t, he’d have no place for a real set.

Over the years it’s been hard for me to tell if the man is blind or just wearing dark sunglasses. He lives just far enough away from my house that I only see him when driving by in my car despite the fact I walk many places in my neighborhood. When stopped at the traffic light near his corner I would wonder to myself “is he blind and does he know he’s being stared at” or “no, he DEFINITELY knows he’s being stared at and does it for kicks” or “damn those things are huge” but just as quickly forget him as soon as the light turned green. It’s not with envy that I’d watch Bicycle Shorts Man. It was with that sick fascination you get slowing down to look at a car wreck on the side of the road or watching an exceptionally, morbidly obese person eat a doughnut. There’s no turning your head away in shame around this homeless person. This man demands your notice.

Leaving the grocery store near my house tonight I saw him off his corner for the first time and I realized, as he crossed the parking lot, that I’d never seen THEM in motion before. No doubt was left in my mind; a sock just wouldn’t have that much jiggle action. Erasing doubt of his possible blindness, he apparently caught me looking (probably his favorite hobby) and pointed his walking stick at me and smiled. Caught, there was nothing I could do but smile back and turn as red as my hair as I jumped into my car. I didn’t mean to look; I really didn’t. I feel so dirty.

Driving home I began to think about how someday my tiny babygirl would grow up a little bit and see mister Bicycle Shorts Man and it would invite the kind of questions I’m not looking forward to answering. It’s humorous when I tell you about my observation but what about that of a two year old? I’m starting to see some of the challenges of raising a child in the city. When she asks the inevitable question, “mommy, what’s in that man’s pants?,” do I use the direct approach and just tell her “it’s his wiener schnitzel, honey” or do I lie and tell her “it’s his pet chihuahua” or do I use the distraction method and say “who wants some ice-cream!” How do you answer a question like that for a toddler? Thankfully we have a bit of time between now and then to come up with a good answer.

Now that the answer to the most frequently asked question, “does she sleep through the night?” is “yes, finally DEAR GOD,” it’s time to answer the second most asked question — “is the pup jealous of the baby?” To answer that question, let me tell you a few stories:

Story number one:
When we first brought babygirl home from the hospital it was Christmas time and my hubby took some time off from contracting to help me and spend time with our new daughter. I must admit that in the beginning weeks of babygirl’s life I was a terrible puppy mommy. I never really was the type who considered my furry friend to be “just like my child” (seriously, do you people who think your dog is your kid even have actual children because if you did you would realize there is no comparison) but I did afford the pup a bit of intense pampering and she did leave the house on more than one occasion dressed in a cute little outfit. (I know some of you are going to read that last sentence and never again read another thing I write.)

However, once the smooth-skinned, tiny, wailing, lump of human nugget arrived on the scene I was too occupied and a bit exhausted and forgetful to sometimes take care of the pups basic needs. Often I would go many hours before asking my hubby, “where’s the dog?” The answer to that question will give you the first bit of insight to the relationship of the pup and the nugget. We came to find that if we didn’t know where the dog was, chances were she was lying on the floor behind the closed door of the nursery, while babygirl slept, keeping watch. Often times she would sneak behind us into the nursery because where the baby was, that’s where the pup wanted to be. If we didn’t realize through the fog of new parenthood that she’d snuck in we would just close the door behind us when babygirl was napping and the pup would be shut in. Similar to how the cat I inherited from my grandfather used to sneak into the closet and then I’d shut the door — only later rescuing her when I heard her muffled mews. Except the pup wouldn’t scratch by the door or even wait beside it. She would just lie down on the floor in the “readiness position” with her head up and her paws towards the crib.

Story number two:
When I nursed babygirl I would sit in the glider in a dimmed room and the pup used to lie at my feet. I was aware of the possibility of jealousy so I kept a small container of biscuits to feed the pup, which I did liberally at every opportunity. Basically I tried to ‘catch the pup doing something good’ while around the baby. Lie at my feet without barking — here’s a biscuit. Gently sniff the baby’s head without putting puppy paws on her chest — here’s a biscuit. You’re not barking right now — here’s a biscuit. Make me a turkey sandwich because I haven’t eaten all day — here’s a biscuit. Basically acting calm around the baby earned the pup treats. What a doggie bargain!

Story number three:
Babygirl used to sleep well but would wake up ravenously hungry. She would go from sleeping to wailing. Often I would barely have heard the first whimper when the dog would come tearing around the corner and stare me down. Then she’d turn around and run up to the nursery. If I didn’t come IMMEDIATELY (which I was) she would poke her head around the corner to stare me down again as if to say, ‘don’t you hear the baby crying? Come, let’s rescue her.’ If she saw me coming she would run ahead to the nursery door and then run around the floor next to the crib once I opened it till I made the three strides to get there. It’s like Lassie without all the barking.

Story number four:
Babygirl loves to reach out and touch the pup’s soft fur. Loves to. She absolutely thinks the pup is the funniest thing on the planet and will burst into a big baby laugh on first sighting the pup enter the room. If I put babygirl down on the rug near the pup she will try SO HARD to crawl towards the pup so she can touch her fur. Who knew a dog could be the biggest motivator for infant development. Babygirl and the pup will be the best of friends.

Story number five: (OK, at this point they’re not really even stories anymore but just factoids. However ‘”factoid number five” just doesn’t flow with everything else.)
The pup will BRING HER TOYS TO THE BABY. Bring her toys to the baby and LET BABYGIRL PLAY WITH THEM. . . and lie there and JUST WATCH. if when the pup puts the toy down in front of babygirl it seems too far away she will even nose or bat it closer with a paw. From this –

. . . to this.

Need I say more?

Before I had a baby I had certain assumptions about motherhood. Some turned out to be absolutely true. Some turned out to be false. Some just didn’t turn out to be as big of a deal as I thought they would be. Take the following, for an example:

A mother is out in public with her baby on her hip. While the mother is distracted, usually talking to someone, the baby has her hands ALL OVER the mother’s chest. ALL OVER it. Everywhere. Playing with her chest. Kneading her breasts into different shapes. Like it’s the Playdough Fun Factory.

I really thought that this would annoy me. . . really, really thought this would annoy me and I always said to myself, actually I screamed it inside my head, “why don’t you stop your baby from playing with your boobies?! Don’t you CARE that she’s holding on by your nipples?” The mothers wouldn’t even seem to notice that their child was squeezing them like a Harpo horn. Often times I would offer to hold a friend’s baby and they’d see my chest and their face would light up in delight at WHAT FUN I had to offer their tiny baby hands. It was like a game of keep away — keep my breasts away from the baby hands.

Fast forward to me having my own child.

First of all, your baby enters this world (in most cases) through your vagina. They can call it the “birth canal” all they want but seriously, they’re not fooling anyone. It’s a vagina. Va – gi – na. Baby comes into the world through the vagina. If that’s not intimate contact, I don’t know what is.

Second, shortly after birth the baby is presented with one of your boobs — big, round, porn star sized boobs, and not only does baby get to see them but suck on both to boot. Yep, suck on them for hours, and hours, and hours. Many times those tiny baby hands are going everywhere. All over your chest. This whole breast sucking and hand roaming routine continues for anywhere, on American average, from 6 weeks to one year. Every three hours. Sucking on the breast. Groping with the hands. The breasts BELONG to the baby.

By the time your baby gets old enough to ride on your hip, you just don’t care if she gropes you like a teenage boy. You probably don’t even notice.

Momma has to admit, Nugget, she didn’t take as many pictures of you as she could have this month. You did so many cute, ADORABLE things but the perceptive, unforgiving lens of the camera could see you had nasty nose. Snot, terrible snot, awful snot, snot that was green in the middle and crusty on the edges, snot that blocked your ability to breathe, gross, nasty snot was all in there plugging your nose and running down to your upper lip. You were a snot faucet. You quickly became leery of any cloth or paper item in momma’s hand coming towards your face. Sorry, kiddo. The snot and the momma nose wipe are a byproduct of teething . . . and that you did. Oh, yes, little Nugget. That you did. Four teeth. Four teeth in a very short period of time.

Momma took you to the mom and baby nursing support group/socialization time/baby play hour and you were gnawing everything within baby arm’s reach, as usual, and you grabbed a hold of one of momma’s fingers, as usual, and you stuck it into your mouth, as usual, and you bit down, as usual, hard, as usual except this time it hurt, really hurt because you had cut your first tooth and proceeded to sink it into my flesh. Whoever said ‘vampires are sexy’ is just plain wrong.

If it weren’t for the teething Momma would say this was the easiest month to take care of you. Because you can sit up by yourself without falling over yet lack the means to motor yourself away from that spot, Momma could put you down on the floor, go to the bathroom, grab something from the other room, or write a novel and when she came back you were right there in that same spot. Momma could do this for nearly a whole month. This is where momma was able to reap the benefits of your development. If it weren’t for the cranky teething fits, the ones in the car were the worst, momma would have to say you were perfect. So close, kiddo. Better luck next time.

Seriously, Nugget, you are an angel. You only cry when you’re hungry or tired or there’s bone ripping through your flesh — otherwise you’re easygoing. Momma understands that, kiddo. Those are the same things that make momma want to cry as well. You seem to have inherited her temperament. Just as long as you don’t rebel by growing up to be a hippie we’ll do just fine. I have no problems with organic values and alternative medicines, it’s the no bathing that gets to momma. You can be a hippie as long as you still bathe . . . as long as you still bathe and groom your feet. Foot grooming is very important.

You can pull yourself to a standing position but have only done it twice thus far. One of the funny things you still do is you don’t understand the need to remove the pacifier from your mouth before putting the bottle nipple in. Once you’re on all fours you can scoot just a little and have made the first attempts at crawling, albeit commando style. You’re eating prunes every day but when we tried both sweet potatoes and carrots they ripped up your little butt and you had your first ever diaper rash. White potatoes were fine. You made funny faces each time I gave you a rice check or a fruit puff. My favorite skill of yours is the bye bye wave, often turned inwards so you can watch your own fingers wave. You made four more airplane trips and this time two of them were while teething and one was with the “no liquids in carryon” restrictions. Your bald spot is completely grown in and the soft blonde hair is long enough to blend into the others. Momma used to look at your bald spot and think she couldn’t wait till it had grown over. Now that it has she just thinks about when you would be swaddled in your crib with your face towards the wall and Momma would come in and see you there looking so helpless with your little bald spot and her heart would just go out for you because you NEEDED her to make sure you didn’t sleep too much in one position. That bald spot was a symbol of your sweet, helpless, innocence. She can’t believe she misses it now. You don’t need her to roll you over anymore.

Can we repeat this month, nugget? Momma kinda liked this one with you. Just this time don’t punch through any more teeth and everything will be effin’ awesome. Momma may miss the fact that she used to be able to make an appointment for the doctor or a haircut without having to find a sitter first and she may long for the days when a few simple errands took an hour to accomplish instead of a week but she wouldn’t go back for anything in the world. Thank you for making everything in momma’s life much bigger . . . including her heart.

Love,
Momma

*People who like rims

I logged on to post you a picture of this –

(Babygirl is up on all fours and that’s the first stage of crawling)

. . . but before I had the chance, THIS happened –

Here’s the story:

I met a friend of mine and her adorable little boy for lunch today. Here’s a picture –

and my normally so-sweet-you-can-take-me-anywhere babygirl was a real fuss bucket. She cried and fussed nearly the whole time we were eating. (Yes, honey I gave her the infant Tylenol and Oragel. . . AND I fed her.) She just refused to take her nap today and I was paying the penalty. Unfortunately at the same time my body was producing a huge dump that I was just going to have to hold in.

Fast forward to getting home and by that time I was in a great deal of pain. I dropped babygirl off in her crib and dropped everything else on the floor as I shot for the bathroom adjacent the nursery. After I sat down I stuck my head out the door (for the uninitiated, mommyhood often means you don’t get to have a bowel movement in peace) and called out to babygirl to keep her entertained long enough to relieve myself of some intense pressure. She saw me in the bathroom through the bars and giggled in delight. Before I knew it, to get a better look at me she pulled herself to a standing position — a first. My camera was in my purse on the floor where I’d dropped it earlier so I was able to memorialize this momentous occasion.

Her daddy will need to lower the mattress TONIGHT.