Put Me in the Zoo

Peapod had her first-ever school field trip today – they went to the zoo. This was something that had been scheduled once before, but it had to be postponed because big rain showers were predicted for the original date. When I shared that particular information with Peapod, she sank into her car seat and considered it thoughtfully for a few brief moments. Then she declared “I’m ok with that Mommy” and moved seamlessly onto the topic of whether baby ducks were wild or not. Which is actually not that easy to answer if you think about it.

Anyway. The re-scheduled zoo field trip date was back upon us and this time the weather would cooperate. Unfortunately my brain would not. It went sort of like this:

8:00pm the night before: tucking her in for the night.
Peapod: “Mommy, will the polar bears at the zoo be able to get me?”
Me: “No Sweet Pea. The zoo is actually designed to be very safe for people to look at the animals.”
Peapod: “But what actually stops the polar bears from getting me?” (She really likes to use the word ‘actually.’)
Me: “Well, they built a moat around the place where the polar bears hang out.”
Peapod: “What’s a moat?”
Me: “Um. It’s like a big, long hole. Sometimes they fill it with water, like a river. The polar bears would fall into it before they could get to you.”
Peapod: “What about the gorillas?”
Me: “I think the gorillas are in cages, Sweet Pea.” The gorillas are definitely not in cages.
Peapod: “Ok.”
Me: “Ok my angel. You’d better get to sleep fast because tomorrow’s a big day! Your first ride on a real school bus!”

10:15pm – 1:35am.
I repeatedly dream that the school bus inexplicably rolls over on the freeway.

8:37am Field Trip Day.
I walk her into the classroom and am paralyzed by the decision of whether to leave her jacket on or off. It is too chilly to go without it, but it's supposed to warm up later. Plus the jacket is very special – a gift from her godparents (and quite expensive) and I am sure she’ll lose it if she brings it. Why I did not consider this before, I cannot tell you. Her track record on being in charge of past jackets is 0/1. In my own defense, I am not the only mother behaving like a complete spaz over the jacket decision.
8:41am. Still in the classroom.
I gather The Edge, who is flirting like a madman with his favorite teacher, Ms. Dangerfield, up off the classroom rug and decide to take Peapod’s jacket with me. I kiss her goodbye, wish her well on her field trip and spend the walk back to the parking lot wondering if I imagined those goose bumps on her neck.
9:00am. Back at home.
I tromp down to the The Esposo’s basement office and bust through the door. He instinctively rolls his chair to me and reaches his arms out to take The Edge. And waits for my story.
Me: "I’m freaking out. I dreamt last night that the bus crashed. Help me."
The Esposo: (smiling) "In the history of LA Unified there has been only one school bus fatality and that was because a garbage truck malfunctioned right at the moment that a school bus was crossing it’s path. A total freak accident. It’s going to be fine."
Me: "She doesn’t go to an LA Unified school."
The Esposo (still unfazed by my lunacy): "You get the idea. Buses are safe. They’re huge and the drivers are very impressive. You don’t need to worry. Really."
Me: "But it’s cold and she doesn’t have a jacket and I have to put The Edge down for a nap right now..."
The Esposo: "Do you want me to go bring a jacket to her?"
Me: (incredulous, handing him one of Peapod’s less precious jackets) "Would you?"

I’m not sure what he said next, but there was some mumbling and eye rolling and sighing but then for some reason he hugged me and then would you believe that fabulous Esposo drove right back to the school to take that jacket to Peapod!

12:30pm. Picking up Peapod at School
Me: "So what did you see at the zoo?"
Peapod: "Um. Monkeys that were big and black and maybe they were actually gorillas. And I saw a walrus that swam past us in the water. But Mom I didn’t see any bears."

It was sunny and warm by then, but she was still wearing the jacket.

Applause, Applause!

The Edge just learned how to clap and it is totally delightful.

Since Big Sister Peapod is now almost 3 and a half years old and can sort the mail, make a cappuccino and use Bank of America's online bill pay feature, it's easy to forget how fun it is to watch a baby learn how to do new baby things.

It happened very suddenly during breakfast, sometime last week. Peapod was at the kitchen island eating Apple Cheerios, and I was at the sink, with my back turned. Then, out of nowhere, like balloons and confetti dropping from the ceiling to celebrate a store's millionth shopper, The Edge burst into applause in what I'm pretty sure was a commemoration of the millionth time I'd washed the high chair tray!

I'm not sure how he's been keeping track of it all this time, but it would explain that tattered notebook and pencil in his crib. Anyway, the effect was quite magical. Peapod and I both stopped what we were doing, looked at each other and shouted "He can clap!" We then spent the rest of the morning making fools of ourselves in an effort to get him to do it again.

What I Ate Today (By: The Edge)

My parents have me on a very strict diet because I am a baby and I think also because I have only two teeth. I also have a dog named Sapphira.

I think they should let me eat more things like they do and I also think they should let me operate the microwave because it spins things around and dings and I am pretty sure I could do it as it looks quite simple. Here is a list of what I ate today so you can see for yourself that I am ready for more.

• Formula
• Bits of bread. Why do they tear it up for me first? I can tear it up myself! Have they not seen my prior work on catalogs?
• Something mushy that tasted like oatmeal and apples mixed together which my Mom then mixed with more oatmeal. Why?
• Star-shaped puffs.
• Lint from under the dining room table. My Mom thinks she Swiffs a lot, but she doesn’t.
• A Frosted Mini Wheat. Note that I had to get this myself from under the dishwasher. My Mom eats them – the hypocrite! – yet she will not share them with me. But I noticed that when she caught me with the Mini Wheat, she let me keep it and she also seemed sort of impressed.
• Formula
• Organic butternut squash and corn. Not that you could tell by the taste, but it said so on the container.
• More pre-torn bread.
• More star-shaped puffs. She puts them in a contraption that she calls a “snack trap” that she claims is meant to keep the stars from spilling out. But I really think the device on the top of this “snack trap” is meant to be a delay tactic to buy my Mom just enough time to do things like pay the cashier at Target or fish the wipes out of the diaper bag. She cannot fool me, as I was not born yesterday.
• Two pieces of Styrofoam from the blocks at Kidspace. My Mom got the first one out of my mouth, but she does not know about the second. I plan to poop it out later as a surprise. Ha ha!
• A rock.
• Formula. They feed me a lot of this. I think it is why I am chubby, but I am not sure.
• Organic chicken and pasta dinner. I wonder why they buy all this organic baby food for me? Maybe they think it will balance out the lint and the Styrofoam.
• Part of a catalog.

You see? I am experimenting with all kinds of things on my own and am doing just fine. If you have the time and would like to support me, please send an email to my Mom and tell her that I am ready to move past baby food and try things like waffle irons and mustard and fruit. Yeah!

He Speaks

For the first 6.8 months of his life, we thought our new baby boy, whom we shall refer to lovingly as "The Edge," might actually be a rooster. He crowed. He grabbed things with his claws and threw them. He was messy. He flapped his wings.

But yesterday, completely out of nowhere, he spoke to me like a little baby human. Just like that. Not actual words, mind you. He's still much to young for that. But it was that sweet baby babble where we had previously only heard screeches, grunts and howls.

The morning started just like every other morning: I went into his room and lifted him out of his crib, greeting him with a cheerful "Good Morning!" and "How was your sleep?" I engaged in what has become diaper-changing jiu jitsu. We settled into the rocker for his morning bottle.

After he'd gotten a few ounces into him, I propped him up onto my shoulder for a burp. Then I held him out in front of me to get a good look at his sweet baby face. And that's when it happened. He just started talking!

"Gaa gaa daat daat daat. Yeah I had a pretty good sleep but I have some boogers stuck in my nose as you can see and maybe you should change my crib sheet. Gaa ga daat."

I stared at him in amazement then hugged him so hard that I foooshed all the air out of his little body.

Since then I have been dropping pots and rushing to his side every time he does it, just so I can hear what he might say next. And I changed his crib sheet.

Hang On...

There is a picture, among my parents’ zilliondy pictures of our family, that I have a crystal clear memory of being taken. My Dad took it of my Mom and me. We are in the driveway of our house, with our backs up against the car. My hands are stuffed into my pockets, and I am leaning slightly away from my Mom, stifling a grin.

If you looked carefully at the photo, which I am describing now from memory, you’d notice that the car is packed to the ceiling with all my belongings. We are about to drive to my college campus, where they will drop me off, for good. And if you looked carefully again, you’d see that my Mom’s arms are wrapped tightly around me and that she seems to be hanging on for dear life.

Peapod’s first day of preschool is tomorrow. And now I know for sure that in that photo, my Mom was in fact, hanging on to me for dear life.

Pregnancy Sucks

There, I said it.

Yes, I know we are lucky to have a second child on the way, especially given my Advanced Maternal Age. And yes it will all be worth it when I hold the little bugger in my hands a month from now. But at 35 weeks along, I swear I am ready to scrub up and perform the c-section myself.

I am aware that there are plenty of women out there who just loved being pregnant and sailed right through with no more than an amused shrug toward their Flintstone Feet, saggy pants and gas. I just happen to think that they are all either incredibly lucky to have had minimal symptoms, or they are clinically insane. Either way, I take my hat off to them. Which, by the way, is the only garment that still fits.

Again, for those who may rush to judge a blog entry by its title, let me repeat that I know I’m lucky to be pregnant and I know it will all be worth it and quickly forgotten in the end. My first pregnancy also sucked, but it was worth every second and unquestionably the most important and wonderful thing I’ve ever done. I get all that. It’s just that the physical symptoms of pregnancy suck enough to merit some venting, no?

Ok then, here we go.

1: My stomach is so painfully distended that it feels like I might literally rip open at any moment.
2: My ugly, over-priced maternity clothes don’t even cover my belly anymore.
3: I grow weary of watching everyone else savor sushi, mojitos, ceviche and that fancy cheese over there, while I sip my fizzy water and feign happiness.
4: My pants won’t stay up.
5: I cannot tie my own shoes.
6: Every time I attempt to fall asleep at night, my baby boy (whom shall now be given the pseudonym “The Edge”) insists on moving around so spastically that I’ve begun to suspect he has somehow gotten hold of an ice cream scoop and is plotting to scrape his way out. Then when I do fall asleep (often more than an hour later), I wake up because I have to pee and the whole charade begins again.
7: My feet are stinky. Ok, my feet have always been stinky, but as long as we’re venting…
8: I still get bouts of nausea, which at this point just seems a tad ridiculous.
9: Carrying a basket of laundry wears me out. Put this in the context that I used to be athletic enough to walk across the end zone at Michigan Stadium on my hands and you’ll maybe understand why this is particularly insulting.
10: I am gigantic.

There. Now that that’s out of the way, I hereby vow not to vent again about pregnancy symptoms on this blog.

Stay tuned for future venting about baby poop.

The Big, Fat Envelope

Rare is the occasion I get giddy about the mail. But among this week’s delivery of bank statements, Pavillion’s circulars, and duplicate Restoration Hardware catalogs, there was a big fat envelope from our top-choice preschool for Peapod! And for no reason at all, I attributed the enclosed acceptance letter to her sheer fabulousness.

Never mind that no one at the preschool has ever actually met Peapod. And never mind that she, herself, has never even set foot on campus. Her karma must just be so good that it seeped onto the application form and tumbled out for everyone in the school’s admission office to behold.

Ok, maybe not.

But when I skimmed those magical opening five words “It is with great pleasure…” my level of happiness was on par with that of the day I got my own fat envelope from Go Blue U.

Of course we immediately shared the happy news with Peapod. We explained to her about all the fun things she would do in preschool – Finger paints! Tricycles! Story time! -- and that classes would start in the fall. But because she has no sense of time and has been known to confuse “after your nap” with “the 4th of July,” she has taken to repeatedly asking “Can we go to preschool now?” and “Is this preschool?” when in fact it is the Target parking lot. But regardless of her confusion about the time-space continuum, she does seem genuinely enthused about the idea.

Let’s just hope that when the big first day of preschool arrives, we can be equally as excited then as we are now. And that I can actually let go of her hand and watch her walk in the door by her bad little self.