Wonder Baby Wednesday #16

Wonder Baby Powers, activate! Form of.....the next Jackson Pollock? Certainly an up-and-comer in the art world, anyway.

Yes, those are trash bags on the floor. Yes, we had to tape them down. Yes, the floor stayed clean, so the work to cover it with trash bags was definitely worth it.

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I need to post, but if I read one more thing about Thanksgiving....

It's been a while since my last post. Yes, I blame The Holidays.

It's fair to blame anything that happens between about mid-November and mid-January on The Holidays. (Because you are preparing from mid-November and still getting over them until mid-January; what? you aren't? Well I am, so I'm still blaming it the way I see it.)

I could certainly tell you a story about how fun Thanksgiving was (it was), and how all of the nearby (and a couple of the far away) family came to our house this year (12 adults plus Eme), but the cooking was really no problem (it wasn't; thanks for all of the help, family!).

I could also discuss all of the things I'm thankful for (really, too many to count) and what I've done with my blessings this year ("Not what we say about our blessings, but how we use them, is the true measure of our thanksgiving." ~ W. T. Purkiser).

I'm not going to do that. I have been reading about (talking about, thinking about -- you could say devouring) everything Thanksgiving related for the past few weeks, and I'm pretty much done now.

I know, it's Christmas soon so I have to be ready. I know I'm supposed to start decorating, and if we don't have a tree this year I expect some people will really be upset (although, frankly, I don't think Eme will mind; it's the people who think Eme shouldn't be deprived that you have to watch out for).

Truly, it's not that I don't enjoy holidays. I do.

I enjoy time with family. I enjoy sitting around the table and chatting, and seeing people you don't get to see often enough, and feeling that there really IS goodwill in the world.

It's when those things are overshadowed by the present-buying, and the "did-I-get-the-right-gift-for-them"-ing, not to be outdone by the "should-we-really-make-this-much-food-and-what-if-no-one-likes-what-I've-cooked"-ing, and the "my-neighbor's-decorations-look-really-nice-oh-crap-do-I-have-to-go-buy-Christmas-lights"-ing. While we're listing things, I also have trouble with the "if-you-don't-make-me-a-list-you're-getting-coal"-ing, and the "you-HAVE-to-have-a-Christmas-tree!"-ing, and all of the many variations (insert your holiday traditions here) of all of the above.

It is with all of the pressures we put on ourselves (and on our friends and family to fit into our notion of the right way to do things) that the holidays become The Holidays.

Now, please PAY ATTENTION for just a moment before I start getting phone calls and emails from family members asking if I'm talking to THEM and if THEY are the ones I'm talking about putting pressure on me because they certainly don't mean to.

I know.

Every one of us does it to every other one of us without meaning to.

I'm sorry that I wanted mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving last year and forced my sister to make them mashed even though she was planning to do it a different way because mashed is really the only "right" way to have them at Thanksgiving. I mean, if you're me. Or if you're my other sister who whined with me until we got our way.

I'm sorry to anyone who felt that pictures of Eme were a cop-out of a Christmas gift last year. Really, that's all we could come up with.

I'm sorry that I am even writing this right now, because I've got the feeling that even with my admonitions above there will be someone who thinks I'm talking directly to them. I swear to you, I'm not. If you can't see that this is all about me, then you haven't been reading my blog very closely. Everything's about me. Or about Eme.

When it comes down to why I'm publishing this post anyway (even though it makes me sound like a total curmudgeon, and I'm really not like that, am I?), I've only got one thing to say for myself....

I blame The Holidays.

And I love you all!

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Wonder Baby Wednesday #15

Wonder Baby powers, activate! Form of............ hey, even superheroes need a nap.

As Eme would say: "shhhhhhhhhh. Beebee ni-niiite." (Translated, that means "shh, the baby went night night.")

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Update: Bobkitty

Since Eme loved the Bobkitty so much (see her "driving" one in Wonder Baby Wednesday #11) Andreas found one that was more Eme's speed at a really cool toy store. It's made by Playmobil.

As you see here, she loves driving this one, too!

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I have a confession to make...

(Jen at Sprite's Keeper has made this week's Spin about parental confessions, so here's mine:)

I am a "comparer." I compare my child to other children.

Before you say so, I realize that this is not healthy. I try not to do it out loud because I don't want my daughter to learn to do it (because it wouldn't be healthy for her either).

I am a competitive person, and I'm often more judgmental of other people than makes sense in any given situation. Long story short, if I meet your baby, hear about your baby, or read about your baby, I am probably going to compare your baby to mine.

Yes, I'd say Eme is cuter than the Brangelina twins. She certainly has better manners than many of the kids at the library. She's also stronger than many of the kids we meet on the playground. Oops, is that my parental bias talking?

I think everyone does it now and then, and it's not always a bad thing. Sometimes I use other children as benchmarks to determine where Eme should be by a certain age. Other times I learn something from one of her contemporaries that I can try to teach her so that she will have learned it by the given age.

Sometimes it is a bad thing. Sometimes I'm thinking "Eme is so much nicer than that baby," or "Eme knows a lot more words than that baby." It's not meant to be a slight on another child so much as it is meant to make me feel like my baby is the best one.

The dumb part is that I will always, in every circumstance, think my baby is the best one, just as your baby will always be the best baby you've ever met.

As you see, I realize that my comparisons are unnecessary, unjust, and exceptionally biased. The most I can hope for myself is that I manage to keep my opinions inside so I don't alienate those people whose support I'll need on the days when my baby is the one who is not behaving.

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Wonder Baby Wednesday #14 (Halloween!)

Wonder Baby Powers, activate! Form of....the ladybug who will one day rule the universe!

At least, with a magic wand, you'd think she might be able to rule the universe. If she wants to. Or she might just wave her magic wand and create a nice big bowl of "maccheese" for herself. Yes, that would certainly make her happy.

Also, check out the jazz hand and the silver shoes. Maybe this is the ladybug who will one day star on Broadway?

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How did I become the mean lady?

You might think you know where I'm going with this, but my daughter still thinks I'm great. I imagine she might think I'm the mean lady some day, but not just yet.

No, it's Eme's little friend who thinks I'm the mean lady.

We had a play date at our house with a new little friend (she's just over 2 years old) the other day. The friend was a little shy at first, since it was all Eme's toys instead of her own and she had never been here before, asking her mommy to do things with her instead of interacting with Eme. This is exactly what Eme does in strange situations (wants me to do activities first so she knows they're okay), so I just smiled and encouraged Eme to keep playing near the friend until she warmed up.

The friend went to dump out the crayons. Her mommy gently said "no, we don't dump." I said that if she wanted to dump, that was okay with me. Eme dumps the crayons all the time.

Look at me, the cool mom who lets toddlers dump stuff!

By this point the friend had become a little bit frustrated and was throwing crayons. Her mommy said "we don't throw crayons!" I thought I was backing the mom up when I looked at the girl and said -- VERY gently, I might add -- "no, sweetheart, no throwing crayons." (Even cool moms have limits.)

The friend burst into tears. She hugged her mommy and wailed "nooooo. nooooooo!" miming throwing something. She wouldn't be consoled by her blanket, or by cuddling, or by distraction.

Here we were, ten minutes into the play date, and I had done something that made her so upset that she actually told her mommy she wanted to go home and attempted to open the front door to leave.

So much for being the cool mommy. All of a sudden I was the mean lady who chastises poor, defenseless little girls.

After a while her mommy managed to calm her down, and the friend even warmed up to me a little bit later when we played catch with a tennis ball (yes, I let her throw a ball in the house; I have a strong need for affirmation, so I couldn't go around letting her think I was uncool).

It felt so strange, though, to be the one that the friend thought was mean. I'm so used to my baby thinking I'm the best, calling for mommy when she's upset, and only willing to be consoled by me, that this came as a little bit of a shock. In fact, I wondered if it's how other people feel when my baby is upset and I'm the only one who can console her....

I don't like being the mean lady, even if it was by accident and temporary.

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Wonder Baby Wednesday #13 (and actually on a Wednesday this time!)

Wonder Baby Powers, activate! Form of.....The Incredible Shrinking Toddler!

Or is she still her usual size and just on a gigantic swing? I leave it to your judgement to decide. :)

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Wonder Baby Wednesday #12 (I couldn't let ANOTHER week pass by with no pictures)

Wonder Baby Powers, activate! Form of...........Static Electricity Girl!

(Also known as "the coolest girl at the park," or Storm from X-Men -- didn't her hair stand on end before she created a storm? Someone who knows more about X-Men, please confirm.)

Yes, Eme inherited her mother's fine hair, which stands up at the slightest provocation.

And before you say it, yes, I know it's Thursday. Wonder Baby Thursday doesn't sound as good.

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Update: Mr. Mewhansson

As an update to my post on coloring Hello Kitty, this is Mr. Mewhansson.

After I colored Hello Kitty's teacher's shirt pink and his tie pink and green, I added the goatee. I was already chuckling in my head at the resemblance to what Andreas wears to teach (that's why I colored the shirt pink in the first place), and then I practically burst with laughter when I came up with the name. I was laughing so hard that I failed to fit the whole name on the page.

I have to keep myself amused somehow.

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Another Nerd Handbook 2.0 moment

One of Eme's favorite restaurants, recently, has been "Big Cow."

That's what she calls Chick-Fil-A because of the poster of the big cow that stands at the entrance. It's probably not the food she likes best (though she likes both fruit and chicken, both of which she gets there). I imagine it's the play area.

She hangs like a monkey, slides down the slide ("beeeeeeeeeeeee!" Yes, that's her version of "whee"), and generally has a good time telling other kids to "go. goooooooooo!"

Recently, the toys that have been coming with the children's meal have been science-related, which I like. We have "collected" a graduated cylinder and a beaker, so far.

The other day (beaker day) I heard a mother asking what she was going to do with a graduated cylinder (even though she was holding a beaker). "What do I do, say 'here you go baby, here's a graduated cylinder?'"

A few points:
1) Technically, the science toys are for kids over 3; there are board books if you prefer a different toy for "babies." Since they're plastic, though, they're perfectly safe for Eme, which was why we didn't make a fuss about her being under 3.
2) What the mom was saying, that's basically what we did. We said "here you go, Emelie, here's a graduated cylinder" (about the actual graduated cylinder; for the beaker we said "here's a beaker"). She got really excited about it. What's wrong with that?
3) Eme had a fantastic time with her graduated cylinder and beaker. We gave them to her in the bath, and she spent her time measuring the bath water, pouring from one cylinder to the other. She became very sad when it was time to put them away.

I did mention to the mother (as I passed by her table) that I couldn't help overhearing and it happens that we use ours as bath toys. She just said, "oh."

I know. We're nerds. But we're okay with that.

It looks like our baby might be a nerd, too. We're certainly okay with that!

Turns out that the revision of the nerd handbook that she was working on in the womb has more science in it than my version did, though.

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Really? Disney?

I certainly never planned to introduce Eme to the Disney catalog.

Yes, we had a lot of Winnie the Pooh stuff (it's just such cute nursery decoration), but that hardly counts, right?

Then we got a set of pink books -- the Disney Princess collection -- as a gift. I figured I had years before she'd even be able to handle them because they have a lot of words and thin pages.

(This is the part where I discover that Eme will like what she likes no matter what I like.)

First she was attracted to the big box of pink books on her bookshelf. I opened the books for her, but she took a look and didn't really do much with them for a month or so.

Next she pulled the books out again and asked me to read them to her, and quicker than I would have thought possible she has made them her favorites. I (and everyone else who ever enters our house) is now subjected to a read-through of all 12 books.

She knows some of the characters by name, others by what they do in the books. She says "Dot" when she wants to read the story about Dot the ant from A Bug's Life, or "shoes" and "uh-oh" when she wants to read Cinderella. Mulan is "muuuuu" and "dagn" (for dragon), or when she wants to read about Jessie from Toy Story II she says "horse!" (they ride a horse in the book).

I have even started to seek out the classic princess movies so I can show parts of them to her.

I wonder why it is that these stories caught her imagination. Is it that everyone who reads them has fun with them (because we've all seen the movies) and that fun comes through in the telling? Or is it that there really is something magical about Disney that children (even 19-month-olds who don't get to watch more than an hour of tv per week) connect with?

Either way, I'm again amazed by finding myself crossing a boundary that I'd set (granted, it was a rather arbitrary one) to accommodate something that Eme finds to be interesting. I guess that's what mommies do.

(Although, I have been amusing myself by categorizing the stories by antagonist, or by whether the princess in the given story has any parents alive, etc. I'll share those musings in another post in the future.)

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Wonder Baby Wednesday #11 (is it Wednesday again already?)

Wonder Baby Powers, activate! Form of.......Landscaper/"Bobkitty" Driver!

Eme was so excited to see Daddy driving the "Bobkitty" (she extrapolated that one herself when we told her the machine, or "scheen," was called a Bobcat) as he rockhounded before we put in our lawn, that she wanted to try it herself. She'd say "Eme!" pointing to herself, then to the Bobkitty.

We told her she could sit in it, but she wanted to put on the safety gear first. She loves gear, just like her daddy.

Have you ever seen a cuter landscaper?

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Wonder Baby Wednesday #10 (on a Thursday. oops.)

Wonder Baby Powers, activate! Form of..........Tricycle builder!

This is Eme a few weeks ago helping Grandpa Guy to build her new tricycle. We're going to have to ger her a baby tool set soon because she loves "building" and "fixing" things!

She likes to call the trike her "bicycle," because she wants to be like the big kids she sees riding their bicycles down the street. Even cuter, when she says it she says the first syllable only (think "bicycle" minus the "icle" sound).

This should be funny to my Swedish readers, but in case you're not sure you understand I'll translate: it sounds like she's saying "bajs." This is the word for "poop" in Swedish.

I know it's juvenile, but I laugh every time she says it. (Which certainly doesn't make her say it less often.)

Like I said: juvenile. Maybe this post should have been called "I wonder when mommy is going to grow up." :)

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Why I like Hello Kitty in blue

It's very freeing to color with a toddler. So freeing, in fact, that I'm writing a second post today!

Actually, I'm writing a second post because I have other things done. Strange feeling. But I digress.

When Eme got her first taste for coloring (a few months ago with a ballpoint pen and some important papers, and then her leg) I got out the crayons and started coloring (in the Hello Kitty coloring book she got from the Lewis family) with her every day.

At first she was very timid with the colors, and I found myself taking time coloring the picture on the facing page, very careful to stay in the lines and make sure the colors matched. I was coloring like an adult. In fact, like an adult who has been pushed into particular boundaries and is stuck there.

Months later, Eme has learned to take a firmer hand with color and her colors appear all over the page, and on the facing page, and on the cardboard box we've set up for her to color on (to keep from getting crayon on her table). Until about a week ago I was still trying to color like an adult. Luckily, Eme saved me.

Eme likes to hand me a crayon and say "hep!" (that is "help" for anyone who needed a translation). I'll say "what should I color?" Eme will then point to a spot on the page (usually the Kiiii or the nossss -- that's the kitty or Kitty's nose) and I'll color it.

At first I was timid, still trying to stay in the lines. Now, though, under Eme's careful tutelage I have learned to scribble like a maniac. I've also kept my adult sense of humor throughout -- ask me about Mr. Mewhansson.

Sometimes I ask "what color should I make the Kitty?" and Eme will respond with "buuuu." (The only two colors she knows are blue and pink, and she gravitates towards blue.) Or I'll ask "what color should I make the teacher's desk?" and she'll hand me a lime green. The number of blue, orange, purple, yellow, and rainbow-hued Hello Kitties (not to mention Hello Kitty's friends and items around Hello Kitty's house and neighborhood) is astounding when taken all together.

Trying to color in the lines and pick "realistic" colors for things may have been very adult of me (and what am I trying to do if not teach Eme how to eventually be an adult), but it didn't exercise my creative side at all.

Coloring stridently (lines? what lines?) and with no regard to whether that color ever appears that way in nature is much more fun. I feel like I'm better at it than I could ever be when I was trying so hard to make the pictures "right."

And it makes Eme laugh.

And it makes me feel free.

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Wonder Baby Wednesday #9

Wonder Baby Powers, activate! Form of.......her mother's daughter.

The top pic is Eme after she grabbed a whole tomato and just started eating it. The bottom pic is what was left when she was done.

This is something that I used to do as a toddler (my mom professes that she thought some kind of animal was eating her tomatoes until one day when she saw me toddle up to the tomato and take a bite out of it right on the vine). There's nothing like an inherited love of tomatoes!

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Wonder Baby Wednesday #8

Wonder Baby Powers, activate! Form of........Mama's little laundry helper.

This is what I get for turning my back after emptying the dryer: it fills back up by itself.

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Why I Heart Dr. Karp

I realized I never wrote the post I promised on why I heart Dr. Karp. Don't worry, my husband knows all about it. He hearts him, too.

Dr. Karp is the author of The Happiest Baby on the Block and The Happiest Toddler on the Block. The number of people (all of whom we trusted) who recommended these books to us before we had Eme made us very curious. Now that we've read and been using the information in them, we know what everyone was on about.

His theory is that the first three months are time when the baby is still developing as if it were in the womb, and what we think of as "colic" in babies who have no medical reason for it is just their shock at being out of the womb. He gives the 5 S solution. We discovered through trial and error that it worked very well when we followed the instructions. So well that we didn't wait until she was a toddler to run out and get the second book.

Dr. Karp's theory about toddlers is that they are like little cave people. When we try to talk to them like they are adults while they cry and scream, we can't possibly expect to get through to them. Rather, he says we should mirror our toddler's emotion, looking directly into her eyes, showing her that we understand that she is upset. Only once she sees we understand what she wants can we redirect her.

So far, this is also working very well with Eme. It's funny to see other people's reactions when we're out in public and we crouch down to Eme's eye level and say "Eme mad! Eme want to walk!" but she stops yelling. Then we can say "let's ride in the backpack!" or "here's a bunny cracker!" and she becomes much happier.

She's only a few months into toddlerhood, but we're excited about these tactics so far. We'll see how it goes as we continue to learn along with Eme while we help her learn how life works.

For all of these reasons, we heart Dr. Karp.

Wonder Baby Wednesday #7: Warning! Exceptional cuteness ahead!

Wonder Baby Powers, activate! Form of......Wonder Flower Girl!

Yes, the stinging in your eyes is caused by her overpowering cuteness. It will go away in a few hours. But the chest pain...that's from your heart growing three sizes larger (like the Grinch when he heard Cindy Lou Who singing). That change is permanent.

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Done and Done!

To follow up from the last post: The wedding gift is complete.

Totals:

• 48 total hours of work (the final 12 hours of which was a mad dash that kept us up until 2:30 in the morning the day before the wedding; thanks for your help when I needed you at the "11th hour," Amy!)
• 2 total months of days in which the work was completed (mostly during Eme's nap times)
• 168 total pieces of glass to make up the final product (though if you count the ones I mis-cut or accidentally broke while working on it, it was probably more like 180 pieces that I cut, total)
• 2 total photos for you to enjoy: the top photo is me holding it so you can get a sense of the size of the thing. The bottom one is just a straight shot of it when we laid it down on the table.

The second "done" in the title of the post is because I also got my laundry folded. :)

For next week's Wonder Baby Wednesday, I'll post a pic of Eme as Wonder Flower Girl.

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Things I don't have time to finish (in no particular order)

1. Folding the laundry
2. Rolling all the coins to bring to the bank (I guess I'll have to figure out how Coinstar works)
3. Loading the dishwasher
4. Maria's wedding present (is it coming up THIS Saturday already?)
5. Projects for my freelance work
6. Writing in Eme's journal
7. Listening to the most recent "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me..."
8. Changing the Brita filter
9. Grocery shopping (yes, I literally had to run out of the store yesterday; long story.)
10. Reading a library book (what happened to the days when I COULD finish 200 pages in 2 weeks?)
11. Responding to my backlog of emails (sorry if yours is one of the ones languishing...)
12. Blogging
13.
14.
15.

Mappen Kakken

Who knew I'd learn a habit from a 2-year-old?

Recently Andreas' cousin, his cousin's wife, and their 2-year-old son came from Sweden to stay with us for a couple of weeks.

I was nervous for Emelie. The time she has spent with other children is for an hour or two at a time, so I had no idea how she'd respond to having another toddler in the house playing with her toys, sleeping on a different schedule (and therefore being awake and running around while Eme was napping), and generally exerting his own will on a previously Eme-run household.

Actually, it was fine. Great, really.

Eme would get excited in the morning when she heard Viktor stirring in his room. She was very kind about sharing (really, she just let him have whatever he wanted, and came up with ways to trick him into wanting different toys than she wanted -- clever Eme). Nap times turned out not to be as big a problem as I thought. In general, everything went well.

What I didn't expect was that Viktor would teach ME any habits.

He had a little stuffed cat ("katten" in Swedish) and a pacifier ("knappen") that he wanted when he was tired or needed comfort. When he wailed "knappen och katten" (as in "I want my pacifier and cat, please") repeatedly, it meant he was upset or tired. With his 2-year-old Swedish it sounded to me like "mappen kakken."

Up to now, Emelie hasn't had a mappen kakken. I've been trying to keep her independent of props so that if we forget a particular animal when we go out she can still take her naps. In fact, I've been trying to rotate the animals she carries around, hoping that she won't become dependent on any one of them.

Seeing how much Viktor loved his mappen kakken, I have been rethinking. Now, every time Eme asks for "beebeeeee" (her baby doll) I let her have it (rather than trying to distract with something else). So far, she's still able to get to sleep without it, but she asks for it almost every night....

Have I started a bad habit?

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Wonder Baby Wednesday #6

I wonder where all of the Wonder Baby Wednesdays have gone? So as not to disappoint Joe, I thought I'd better make sure to get one up this week! Here we go...

Wonder Baby Powers, activate! Form of..........Joe Cool. Or is that Jane Cool? Certainly the coolest baby around, in any case.

(We all know Joe is basically just "Jae" with an "o" anyway...)


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Things Misheard

Emelie is learning things so quickly these days that I'm constantly surprised by words she knows.

For example, the other day I said "sleeve" (just in passing; I don't even remember what I was talking about) and she pointed to her sleeve. When did she learn sleeve?

Or how about "bean"? My mom calls one of her cats Bean, and we spent some time at her house calling for the cat. Later, someone mentioned beans (the kind you eat) and Eme called "beeeeeen! beeeeeeen!" just like when we'd called for the cat.

The number and variety of words she understands (and repeats) amazes me, but even more amazing are the connections I can see forming when she shares her understanding. We've had a lot of laughs out of things that Eme mishears or misunderstands as her brains makes these kinds of connections.

For example, we have a groundhog living out in the back of our yard. One day we were pointing out the window and telling her it was a groundhog. The next time it appeared and we said "groundhog" she said "hu" and hugged herself. She thinks we're saying "ground-hug."

Another good one was when Andreas was talking about planting bamboo in the yard. Eme practiced saying "baboo," "beboo," "babo," and multiple other forms of the word right in a row. Finally, she ended the performance by wanting me to kiss her on her knee. The knee that she'd scraped a few days earlier. Her "boo boo."

My favorite by far, though, is a new book we've been reading with her. She likes to act out the book (ask her what Findus looks like when he gets scared of the badger; the face she makes is hilarious!), plus it's in Swedish so I don't read the words so much as reading the pictures. Once as we were "reading" it I pointed out that the man is making coffee.

Eme made a noise in her throat that I didn't really think about. The next time we read the book, Eme got very excited when we reached that page, pointing to the coffee pot and making the noise in her throat again. She was coughing. She made the connection to a word she knew -- she understood that he was making cough-ee.

Amazing.

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Where did it all go??

I know, I know, I haven't been posting much lately. I assure you, though, that a lot has been going on!

I just wanted to leave a note saying that I plan to write some posts soon (how about one on things misheard, and another on why I heart Dr. Karp; any other subjects you want to hear about?), and post some more beautiful but hilarious pictures.

Now that I've put this here for all to see, I'll have to motivate myself to find some time for blogging soon!

Super Powers

As you know, Eme has super powers.

I wouldn't want to reveal all of them (so there will still be surprises if an evildoer should happen to read this and then go up against her), but here is a short list of some of my favorites:

1) Multiple Forms: She has the ability to make herself look like many different, usually hilarious, things. (See Wonder Baby Wednesday posts for some examples.) She can cause laughter, confusion, or an evil-doer to stop in his tracks with one raise of the eyebrow.

2) Heart Melting: Really, I've seen it happen. We'll be walking around, minding our business in the grocery store/restaurant/neighborhood/etc when someone walks past looking grim. One look at Eme and they break into smiles. You can practically see their hearts melting. And don't get me started on the first time she said "DaDa" to Andreas and really meant it; it was like that scene from "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" (the cartoon version) when his heart grows a bunch of sizes and bursts through the frame. If she were to come upon an evil castle, I think she could turn the inhabitants to good with this power alone.

3) Laser Vision: She can spot a bus or a dog from all the way down the block. Sometimes she can tell us the school bus is coming even when it's around the corner. Either her vision (and hearing) are fantastic, or she is summoning the bus. We'll have to see how this one develops before I can be sure of all of the applications.

4) Animal Sounds: She makes excellent animal sounds, currently including a meow, bark, neigh, pant ("tired dog"), elephant trumpet, and sometimes an owl sound. I imagine more sounds will be forthcoming soon. This could be useful when she needs to imitate an animal to cause a diversion or alert someone to the presence of a bad guy.

5) Blinding Cuteness: Self-explanatory. I mean, how many times do you find yourself rubbing your eyes after looking directly at her face? The use of this one should also be obvious, and when combined with the ability to melt hearts, almost unstoppable.

6) Cat Herding: She can get cats to run in the opposite direction when she comes close, so if she gets onto the correct side before she starts to run at them, she can get them to go the way she wants. She usually ends up herding them down the basement. If she can perfect this (maybe in combination with the sonic scream), I feel like cat herding could be of great use when fighting evil, assuming the cats choose to show up to the fight (that is, as long as it's not during their sleep time).

7) Extreme Empathy: She feels sad when someone else is sad. This happens to the extent that she sometimes begins to cry herself, or at least looks concerned and tries to determine the cause. When cousin Viktor was visiting, he bumped his head the first day here. After that, every time he started to cry she'd point to her head, wondering whether he'd bumped it again. Could this one be used to bend evil warlords to her will when they realize that she really DOES care that their parents didn't understand them?

8) Sonic Scream: This amazing sound emanates from deep within, and she uses it to attempt to stun animals, other children, toys, dada, machinery, or anything that is moving that she would like to get a closer look at, or is in any way excited about. For now, the scream sometimes causes people/animals to scatter rather than to freeze in place, but she's working on it. A lot.

How have you been applying your super powers lately?

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Wonder Baby Wednesday #5

Wonder Baby Powers, activate! Form of.... Wonder Bread Baby!

We don't feed her the stuff*, but labeling her with the sticker from the novelty sandwich box was a great opportunity for a funny Wonder Baby Wednesday picture.

*Particularly after an experiment where a number of slices of the "bread" lay in the yard, stubbornly not decomposing, for over a month.**

**I want to be clear, after having read an article about whether mommy bloggers are in the crosshairs for doing "product reviews," that this is in no way meant to be defamatory; anyone who still wants to eat it is certainly welcome to do so. In fact, I know many people with fond childhood memories that involve a slice of enriched white bread, some butter, and a coating of sugar. I'm just saying that I don't want to eat it, and therefore Eme will be missing out as well. :)

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Percents and Percentiles

We recently went to the Doctor for Eme's 15-month check-up and it has inspired me to think more about percents...

• 10th-25th The percentile of Eme's weight
• 25th-50th The percentile of Eme's height
• 50th-75th The percentile of Eme's head circumference ("It's like an orange on a toothpick")
• 90 Approximate percent of me that now feels confident as a mother (I still have my days)
• 75 Approximate percent guilty I (still) feel when Eme gets her vaccinations (100% of me knows it's best, but only 25% of me believes it right at the moment she gets the shot and looks at me as if to say, "mommy, how could you?")
  
• 70 Approximate percent of my time that I spend doing housework and taking care of Eme (the other time is me sleeping, working, or having a quick, rare moment to relax with Andreas)
• 50 Approximate percent of my time that I thought I'd be devoting to housework and Eme (but it's never an equal split, is it? Silly mommy.)
  
• 25 Approximate percent of my own identity that I feel I have left (I sometimes even refer to myself as "mommy" in my own head)
  
• 10 Approximate percent of me that can remember life before Eme
  
• 1 Approximate percent that cares to try to remember life before Eme
  
• 99.9 Approximate percent chance that Eme is the best baby that has ever existed (I've left the .1% for possible parental bias)

What percentages have you been experiencing in your life?

...

Wonder Baby Wednesday #4 (I wonder when I'll find time to post again?)

Wonder Baby Powers, activate! Form of.......a firefighter!

We're putting out "fires" everywhere! Mostly they involve crayon eating, but they're fires nonetheless.

On the day of this picture, we were touching trucks at the library.

Mommy goes to the prom

I'm going to be 30 in a few weeks. That means a lot of different things. Some people feel old at 30, or like you've reached the "real" barrier to adulthood.

As you may have guessed by the title of this post, I went to Prom on Friday night. 30 wasn't making me feel old before, but I did at the prom.

The biggest thing that made me feel old? Some of those dresses were WAY too short. All of a sudden I was seeing things as a parent and I thought "did their mothers see them in those dresses?!"

I'll post them if I can get a hold of some of the pics (surprisingly, we didn't even bring a camera, but lots of other people from whom we can probably get some did, including both of our moms taking pics of us before we left -- yes, just like old times -- and the teacher in charge of yearbook took plenty during the evening).

A few other things that made me feel old:

• All of those kids (yes, I called them kids) looked like they were playing dress-up.
• But they still looked better than me in many ways. (ways that Andreas is too good of a husband to ever point out, but which I noticed anyway)
  
• Plus, I thought about what it was like at my prom and remembered taking it very seriously. Prom is such a big deal to high school students, but for me it was one night in a string of nights where I've gotten to get dressed up and be with Andreas. (Granted, this was the first big night out we've had since before the baby, but still a drop in the bucket compared to how the teens must have been feeling that night.

I've been to prom three times as an attendee, and now once as a chaperone. The first time is hardly worth mentioning (I was a sophomore, and split up with my then-boyfriend not long after prom). The next two times were with Andreas (yes, he and I were High School sweethearts), and chaperone duty was because he is a HS teacher, so I've now been to prom with him three times.

First prom with Andreas:

• Spent a lot of time worrying about the dress.
  
• Wondered whether he'd have a good time (we'd only been together for a few months).
• Worried about every detail including dinner (at Amy's house -- her mom's a great cook!), makeup (went to get it done at a Clinique booth at the mall), hair (sisters helped me get it right), pictures (ordered a bunch to share), dancing (how much to dance? would he want to dance with me at the slow songs?), etc, etc, etc.
  
• Had a great time.

Second prom with Andreas:

• Spent less time worrying about my dress and more about Gillianne's (it was her prom that year, too).
  
• Spent less time worrying about my dinner and more about Gillianne's date's (he chipped a tooth).
  
• Worried exactly the same about makeup and hair (I've never been great with those things).
  
• Danced about the same amount as last time, and ended up getting a hilarious video of us dancing with each other and singing to "Brown-Eyed Girl" onto the senior video.
  
• Had a great time.

Third prom with Andreas, this past Friday:

• Worried a little about my dress (how formal are chaperones supposed to be?).
  
• Worried a little about my hair (mom and I went to get our hair done; too much?).
  
• Worried a little about my makeup (I just chose not to wear much at all).
  
• Didn't have to worry about dinner -- Andreas' school provides dinner at prom, and it was very good.
• The most worrying I did was about whether Eme would go to sleep for Grandpa Guy. (Thanks for taking care of her, Dad!)
  
• Didn't dance at all (don't want to come off as inappropriate when you're a chaperone, and plus it was threatening to turn into a mosh pit), but got to watch the dancing from up on the balcony and it was amazing to see the crush of high school bodies gyrating with abandon from that angle; did we look like that at our prom?
  
• Had a great time.

...

Wonder Baby Wednesday #3

Wonder Baby Powers, activate! Form of..... Cinderella.

"Must... scrub... this... spot!"

Wait, does that make her Lady Macbeth?

...

Things you never thought you'd say

Have you ever heard something come out of your mouth and realized you were turning into your mother or father? Yes, this happens to all of us at some point, and not surprisingly seems to happen even more often once we have children of our own.

That's one group of things I told myself I'd never say. There's another group, though, of things that are totally ridiculous. Things that you know as you say them are going to be ridiculous, but need to be said anyway.

Time for Part 2 in the series of "Things I Never Thought I'd..."

This time, it's a list of things I didn't know I'd say once I became a mommy:

• Anything that sounds like something my parents said to us (e.g. "we're not paying to heat the outside," and "if you're not in the room, you should turn out the lights." Both of those were to Andreas; imagine what I'll find myself saying once Eme is old enough to understand?)
• One that I've been using a lot recently: "Books are for reading, not for eating." (I actually have to tell Eme that lots of things aren't for eating -- shoes, toys, cell phones, pets -- but I say the books one often because it rhymes, so I, being especially nerdy, especially like that phrase.)
• Anything that I say that is grammatically incorrect (see my post on The Most Beautifulest, Stink-pantsiest Sleepsing Bee Ever for more on the topic of Mommy grammar); for an example that's not in my grammar post, I've recently been saying "make" sometimes in place of "take" (as in "let's make a little nap"). I hear it come out of my mouth and I think "wow...what am I saying?"
  
• As if I don't already know the answer, I often find myself asking to the room at large (which usually means just me, Eme, sometimes Grandpa Guy, and the cats) "who filled their diaper?" (The answer is always Eme, in case you were wondering.)
• I make more animal sounds than one would think would be necessary in any household that's not literally a zoo. I can do a pretty good cat and dog, but I'm also branching out into horse, goat, sheep, pig, lion, duck, goose, frog, bee, rooster, chick, and any other animal that comes up in any of her books. I'm getting really good at monkey (see my post on things you never thought you'd do for more on monkey/chimp sounds....).
• I sometimes call myself "mommy" even in my head. That is, when I can't possibly be talking to anyone else but myself, I still sometimes refer to me as "mommy."
• I often narrate things that are happening as they happen in order that Eme can learn what is going on. Sometimes I even sing (often to the Winnie the Pooh tune) things that are happening. It's funny when Eme is in the room, generally embarrassing when she's not.
  

I'm sure I will think of more. How about you? What is something you have found yourself saying that you thought "man, I sound like my parents!" or "I can't believe I just said that..."?

...

Things you never thought you'd do

I find myself talking more about bodily functions now that I have a baby than I ever did before.

No surprise, given that whether, when, and what quality of evacuations my baby makes are the best indicator of her health. So from birth on, all doctors, nurses, and grandmothers who talk to you about how your baby is doing are interested in her diapers.

The other day some friends (who do not have a baby themselves) were over. I saw Eme make the face (you know, the red, teeth-clenched, "I just made a surprise for you" face). Without considering my audience, I lifted her so that her bottom was at my nose height and had a good sniff.

To the credit of my friends (they could have gasped in horror), their response was, "you know you're a parent when you don't think twice about smelling your baby to see if there's something in her diaper."

That is merely the first in a long line of things I never pictured myself doing. (I have another whole blog post planned on things I never thought I'd say.) Here are a few more -- many of you will have seen me do these things, but I hope the list will entertain you anyway.

Things I didn't know I'd start to do once I became a mommy:

• Smell my baby's bottom, even in public, and enjoy it (not the stinkiness so much as the smell of a baby)
• Run to the window at the sound of a truck or bus (holding Eme, of course; I wouldn't want her to miss seeing a good truck)
• Put food in my mouth before putting it in my baby's (to bite it in half, suck off too much sauce, or just make sure it's not too hot for her tongue)
• Eat leftover food that she has mashed and mangled because I feel bad wasting food (my guilty secret is that sometimes I throw it away anyway when she's really squished everything together and I just can't imagine putting it in my mouth)
• Clean off my baby's hands by sucking on them (that scene in Baby Mama where Maura Tierney's character asks her son whether the brown spot on his arm is poop or chocolate, and then licks it off of his arm and says "it's chocolate" -- that's what I mean. Tina Fey responds with "What if it had been poop?!" -- so true, but the point was that it doesn't matter, as a mommy I'd probably check anyway.)
• Dance around my living room with abandon every morning (Eme does it, and her enthusiasm is contagious)
• Spend hours thinking about the perfect outfit....for Eme. Even though she's too young to remember what she wore for her first dinner with her friend, who is also too young to pay attention to what she's wearing.
• Go out of my house with a tiny handprint made from blueberry yogurt on my shirt and cottage cheese in my hair.
• Run up and down the street to make Eme laugh (she thinks running is funny)
• Pretend to sneeze 10 times in a row to make Eme laugh (sneezes are also funny to her)
• Jump around and make chimp noises to make Eme laugh (thanks, Dr. Hamrick!)
  
• This last one is something I saw Andreas do (Happy Birthday, Andreas) that I can't imagine he ever thought of doing: trying to get her to lay still for a diaper change, he took her clean diaper and put it on his head to get her to laugh. (She laughs at the craziest stuff....)

When I find myself doing these things, I think that being a parent is part surreal, part too real, part frustrating, and part fantastic.

What have you done that you never thought you'd do as a parent? Or what can you remember your parents doing? Please share...

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Why I'm Suddenly Afraid of an Apocalypse, Among Other Things

What am I doing up at 5 in the morning on a Saturday?

There are a lot of funny things I could say about being a parent, but the truth is that I couldn't get back to sleep because of worrying.

It's like there's a magical screen that blocks your view of all of the terrible things that could happen, and when you become a parent that screen is lifted away so that you can proceed to worry about all of the terrible things in the world and how they'll affect your baby. Some of them are real and some ridiculous, but you worry about all of them.

Yes, the constant fear can be draining (especially in the first few months; after a while you get used to it) but it's probably an evolutionary thing. Or it might be because I read too much and take things too seriously.

Some of the things I have worried/worry about:
1) For the first year of life I was in constant fear that Eme would stop breathing while she slept.
2) I'm always worried that something is going to fall on her head, but now that she's old enough to be the one pulling things down on her head I'm also worried that she's going to break things
3) The first few times I took her out in the stroller (when she was just a tiny little frail thing), I was afraid that a random car would jump the curb and hit us, and I even worked out a plan (it involved me pushing her stroller out of the way and taking the full force of the car myself) for if I ever saw that particular disaster coming
4) I worry about what we feed her -- I don't want to feed her anything unhealthy, and that's no easy task because everyone and their mother has a theory on what is healthy or not
5) I'm afraid that by the time she grows up the combination of disease and financial collapse will have caused an apocalypse and that she is not going to be able to live in comfort but will instead have to survive in a Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome-type world. (I don't think about this one a lot, but it has crossed my mind.)
6) I worry that kids are going to pinch her at the library (but as you know, my fears on this one come from a strong foundation)
7) I'm pretty sure she's going to turn out to be bossy (she's already reminding me of Lucy from Peanuts, and she can't even talk yet)
8) I think more about money now than I ever did before -- how will we pay for her braces, trips abroad, college?
9) I don't think I was ever really afraid of dying before (not that I thought much about it, but just that if I did, I've lived a good life and have people who would care that I was gone), but now I am constantly afraid that something will happen to Andreas and I and Eme will be an orphan. I know there are plenty of people who would take care of her, but who knows what kinds of junk they'd feed her?
10) I worry that coyotes, which have never bothered me before, will all of a sudden decide to show up at my house and make off with my baby, or a tiger from the zoo will break free and Eme will be snatched up in the resulting melee
11) Now I'm starting to worry that if I don't stop writing soon it's going to cause me to think up more things to be afraid of

I rationally know that, from an evolutionary standpoint, a healthy dose of fear keeps us alive. From the standpoint of someone who has just been given the best thing they've ever had, I can't keep myself from waiting for the rug to be pulled out.

Life is now that much more vivid. The fear I feel is stronger than ever because I have more to lose. But the joy I feel is also stronger because there is more to live for and be thankful for.

It's a tricky load to carry as a parent, the fear and the joy, and the constant hoping. One that I didn't understand or appreciate until becoming a parent. One that I never realized my parents were probably going through as my siblings and I grew up (thanks, mom and dad). One that I'm looking forward to learning to balance as Eme and Andreas and I grow as a family.

...

Wonder Baby Wednesday #2

Wonder Baby Powers, activate! Form of..... an Ikea furniture repairperson.

Because what Swedish baby would be complete without an allen wrench?

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Accidental Housewifery

I was taking my third sheet of cookies out of the oven earlier today when it hit me: "since when do I bake cookies?"

I have been saying lately that if I'm going to be a housewife, I may as well do it right. This is tongue-in-cheek, of course -- a way to explain my sudden desire to learn to make casseroles, bake cookies, put together Ikea furniture, vacuum, etc. The truth is, I have more (and less) time on my hands than I have ever had before, and I'm not sure how to organize myself.

Until my company decided that they no longer needed any of the people to continue doing my job function at my level at the end of last year, I was planning on continuing to work full-time. I was lucky enough to telecommute, so I could have someone (usually Grandpa Guy) come in to watch Eme during the day, and I could break away to nurse her as needed (sometimes during a conference call, but who else would know anyway?).

When my company tried to retain me as a full time employee by offering me different positions -- none of which were particularly good fits for various reasons, and all of which would have taken me outside of the house to work -- I thought "I can do better than this," and took the severance. This took much soul-searching as Andreas and I had just bought the new house a couple of months earlier, thinking we'd have both of our salaries to pay for it. I began to search for a job.

Combing the job boards, I realized that I probably could not find a position that would allow me to work from home full-time. I had been "spoiled" by my last job. I didn't want to give up seeing Eme during the day. What could I do?

The solution, simple and elegant, and not at all what I thought I'd be doing, was to not go back to full-time work. I took up freelancing -- writing, editing, proofreading, teaching -- all things I'd considered, but never had the desire to try given my steady income. Now, I wonder every day whether I'm going to have enough work to pay the bills. I wonder whether I should have given up so soon on looking for full-time work.

I'm also conflicted about being a person who "stays at home." I never wanted to be a "stay at home mom," or a "housewife." There's nothing wrong with either of those titles, but they are things that I don't associate with my view of me. And yet here I find myself, with no time for commuting to work, but lots of time to learn how to make casseroles, and the desire to clean and organize the house.

(To be clear about how strange this is for me, Andreas has always been the cook in our relationship. He still does a lot of cooking, but I have taken over a good bit of it too. I'd feel like I wasn't pulling my weight, like taking care of Eme, though full-time, wasn't enough. I had to replace all of the conference calls that I'm now missing with something, and it's a strange feeling to not have finite tasks to do, so I created myself some tasks.)

My biggest argument against going back full-time is that I can't imagine giving up seeing Eme every day. I have become addicted to viewing the world through her eyes. I am amazed by the things she picks up from listening to and watching me. And I love knowing that I am the most important person in her world. (Sometimes this is very inconvenient, as it means she sometimes won't behave when someone is watching her who isn't me, but it's still a good feeling to know that I am her comforter, her role-model, her superhero, her mommy. Also, I think it's true for mommies that aren't home full-time that they are still the most important person in their babies' worlds, but it only lasts for so long, so I'm making the most of it.)

Some days I think that if my old company were able to find me a position full-time that would allow me to telecommute, I would take them up on it just to have the steady work. Other days I think that if I can make it doing freelance work (meaning I can do my work after Eme is asleep and therefore spend the maximum time with her) then why would I ever give that up?

I don't know how my year will go -- whether I'll make enough money to stay home, whether I'll even be able to get a full-time job if I can't make enough -- and not knowing scares me. But I hope to discover that it was not a mistake to take the chance of not working full-time.

Either way, this invaluable time I have been spending with Eme will stay with me for the rest of my life. If it is a mistake, my time as a stay-at-home mom will still be one of the best things I've ever done.

...

The most Beautifulest, Stink-pantsiest, Sleepsing Bee Ever

Anyone whose grammar I've ever corrected, please stand up. (Yes, you too my third grade teacher. And probably my second grade one as well.)

Now that you're all standing, you are welcome to laugh at me for the title of this post.

I have always been a curve-wrecker, and a grammar (and spelling) corrector, and I have a little bit of a nerd-crush on Grammar Girl for her ability to solve those few tricky grammar issues of which I'm unsure (em dash vs en dash, anyone?). Since becoming a mommy, my grammar has seriously gone downhill. And my spelling. (And doing part-time copywriting doesn't help -- ads are generally riddled with grammar issues! For example, starting sentences with "and.")

After mentioning mommy grammar in my post on The F Bomb, I have been thinking about doing a whole post on the topic. Today I placed Eme in her stroller so I could take her on a walk to get her to go down for her nap, then proceeded to say "it's sleepsing time!" This made me realize that today is a mommy grammar kind of day.

A few "rules" for mommy grammar:
1. It's okay to make anything plural. In fact, pluralizing things just makes them cuter. Examples include milks ("Who wants some milks?"), sleeps ("Are you ready to go to sleeps?"), poops ("Did you make a poops in your pantses?"), etc.
2. If something is already plural, stick some extra letters at the end, but only if it makes the word cuter rather than more awkward. (see above: pantses; also, feeties, handsies, toesies, etc., but NOT fingerses -- that's just hard to say)
3. Remove any prepositions, or any parts that would normally be a necessary part of a sentence, that make the sentences cuter if you take them out. (Example from The F Bomb post: "Did you fart your pants" where the normally necessary preposition "in" has been removed. Also, "Eme want to go store?", etc.)
4. Add extra words, or rearrange the normal order of the sentence, if that makes it sound funnier. For example: "Who does goes to the outside?", "Eme is the most stinksiest baby!", etc.
5. Have fun! I had often been annoyed by hearing other mothers butcher the English language to their babies. Turns out it's much cuter and funnier to use incorrect grammar when it's your own baby.

Yes, eventually I'll need to make sure that Eme understands the appropriate grammar (though I'm pretty sure she has The Nerd Handbook 2.0 -- in fact, I think she was revising my original version while still in the womb), but for now I'm not going to worry. We'll get there.


...

The Boy at the Library

The two little red marks stayed bright on Eme's right cheek until late into the evening. I think we'd put her to bed before they went away. I don't know if she remembers it -- she doesn't behave as if she does (although, who knows what she'll do if she ever sees that boy again) -- but I can't stop thinking about it.

Eme's first "real" trip to the library (she'd been there in her stroller with us before, but it was to check out books and videos for us, not to play in the children's room; we were all very excited) was about a week after she turned one year old.

As you know, I am at home with Eme during the day most days. Even when I go somewhere for work I'm only gone for a few hours, and she has Grandpa Guy with her then. Given that she doesn't go to daycare, she doesn't meet with many other children. I had been thinking for a while that I wanted her to start getting some social interaction.

Thus, Emelie's debut in the children's room at the library.

There were a few other children there -- one baby, about 8 months old, his mommy sitting right next to him. Two boys, one about 3, the other about a year and a half, brothers. Their mommy sitting on a sofa a little ways away chatting with another mommy. One little girl, maybe 2, who belonged to the other mommy.

Eme went right up to the older boy, who was standing at the model train, and the boy handed over an engine. I said "say 'Thank You'" (reflexively; I'm trying to teach her to say thank you, but she doesn't say much at all yet, and even less when she was just a year old).

She tried to grab the other train engine from his other hand. I said "we don't take toys that someone else is playing with." (I've also been saying a lot of "we don't" sentences to help her learn appropriate behavior: "we don't hit the cats with drum sticks. Pet them gently. Geeeently. Good girl.")

The boy gave her the train anyway. The look in his eye said he was smitten with my tiny, beautiful little daughter. The mother saw this and said "that's my nice son; look out for the other one."

I didn't know what she meant, but I figured, I'm right here and grandpa is on her other side. What could happen?

Turns out the 20-month-old thought Eme was a doll. Not the way I think she's a doll, but the kind to play with. We went to the playhouse. He toddled right up to her and before I knew what was happening he had her cheek between his pudgy fingers and was pinching.

Eme's eyes opened wide with shock, maybe a little fear, and definitely pain. She let out a loud cry followed by a series of gasping sobs that broke my heart. This cry said both "How could that boy be so mean?" and "Mommy, why did you let this happen?"

Of course, as soon as I saw him reach out I was reaching for him, but it all seemed to happen in slow motion. Or maybe too quickly to comprehend.

I grabbed his little hand away. I said to the boy who wasn't mine, "No. We don't pinch people." And I had Eme up into my arms to comfort her. His mother, 10 feet away, glanced over, then went back to her conversation.

Fear. Would this scar Eme emotionally? Probably not, given that lots of kids get bitten and pinched by other kids all of the time at daycare and still turn out to be reasonable people. (See my post on Horses and Sealions, and Heartache and Love for more on this subject.)

Outrage. Where the hell was that mother? Why wasn't she looking after her own child?
Someone really needed to teach him some manners.

Frustration. Was it really my place to discipline someone else's child? I wouldn't want someone else to discipline mine.

Understanding. He probably wasn't old enough to know what he was doing. Or if he was, me yelling at him wouldn't help the situation anyway. The best I could do was what I did -- say no firmly and tell him why -- wasn't it?

Disappointment. But if it wasn't my place, then why wasn't the responsible party taking charge? As Eme starts socializing will I be doomed to one irresponsible parent after another raising children who don't know not to hurt my tiny, defenseless angel?

Caution. Is this what it will be like for me if I have a second child? Will I become less watchful, and take more breaks than I do with the first? Will I rely on the first to pass manners down to the second rather than taking the time to do it myself? And what if his mother really had been trying with him, and my choice not to draw her attention just set her progress back?

Minutes later Eme was back to playing. She wouldn't get near the boy (good for her), and when he tried to come close to her (to do something else nefarious, I'm sure) she would edge behind my legs and hide from him (good for her again). She still played with the older brother, who kept trying to give her toys, and later played with a friend of hers who came to visit us, so that boy hasn't made her scared of all boys.

Those two little finger marks, though. I felt like they were staring at me all day. I told Andreas about it when he got home and he said he would have pushed the little boy away (rather than my slightly more gentle "pulling away of his hand and chastising" method). Would that really have helped matters?

My experience with Emelie is that she learns from everything we do. We model eating with a fork, she figures out how to eat with a fork. We model affection towards eachother -- lots of hugs and kisses in this house -- and Eme is affectionate towards us. Even if she doesn't know what the words mean, we have to model that it's not okay to hurt others.

What did Eme learn? Did my modeling of how to behave to a bully teach her the good manners that I'm trying to impart, or did the bully's behavior teach her that you have to pinch first or risk being pinched? What did the boy's mother's non-intervention teach him? That it's okay to just pinch whomever you want?

And if she had pinched him back, would I have stopped her?

Yes. No matter how satisfying it would have felt to let her make good on those two little red welts he gave her, I would have stopped her. I like to think I would have stopped my conversation and come over and told her that "we don't pinch." Granted, this is a fantasy -- I might not have even seen it happen and so wouldn't have known to do this -- but it's my fantasy and I choose that this is what I would have done.

I'm sorry, boy at the library, that your mommy, for whatever reason, wasn't able to do this for you. I'm sorry, mommy of the boy at the library, that you come out so badly in my story when you might not be bad at all. I'm sorry, Eme, that there are boys at the library who don't know manners, and that there will be lots of boys and girls, men and women, whom you will meet throughout life with the same problem.

I'll do my best to make sure you're not one of them. We can each only do our best.

...

Horses and Sea Lions, and Heartache and Love

(I know it's been a while since my last post -- the perils of being a mommy, I guess.)

Over the weekend, Eme saw a horse up close for the first time. A total happenstance where we happened to be near the Stow Community Gardens and a couple of guys with horses happened to be plowing the ground with an old-fashioned horse-drawn plow.

The smell, the feel, the sight of such a different animal than she was used to must have been overwhelming, but she took it in stride.

I brought her right up to the horse, and tried to get her to pet him (his name is Cody, by the way). Fear was evident in her eyes, so I showed her that "look, mommy pets him!"

She allowed me to bring her a little bit closer, but still wouldn't touch his muzzle. "He's so soft. Mommy pet's the horse's nose. Nice horse, nice Cody."

She tried to pet him with her feet, kicking out to touch his nose. I pulled her away so that she couldn't reach far enough to actually kick him. "No, no kicking the horse. Do you want to pet him?"

By this time, the guys were ready to set off with the plow for another round, so we waved the horses away. The further away they got from us, the more excited Eme became. She squealed and waved and wanted to run after the horses.

As they came back down the line, getting close again, she again became apprehensive (or was that me?). Again, they stopped, and again we walked over to pet Cody. We finally convinced her to touch him briefly on the nose, but she kept trying to wiggle out of my arms.

I recently read a book called Wit's End by Karen Joy Fowler (the author who wrote The Jane Austen Book Club). The only thing about it that is important to this story is one tiny little scene. One of the main characters remembers witnessing her uncle, who was as close to her as a father and was a fisherman, shoot a sea lion. The animal seemed friendly to her, and she is horrified that he has killed it. To him it's perfectly natural -- if he hadn't killed it, it would have eaten his catch and destroyed his net. This experience deeply affected her view of her uncle.

What does this have to do with Eme's visit to the horse? I have been thinking about how many things I take for granted that might be shocking, amazing, incomprehensible to little Eme.

What must it feel like to be so small, and confronted with an animal that is so large, and smells like a horse, and your mommy (whom you are pretty sure you trust, though we'll just see how this horse turns out before we decide for sure) is trying to get you to touch it?

How does it change your feelings about your mommy when mommy lets you pet the cat and the cat scratches you? Are you betrayed by your mommy, the cat, or both?

What must it feel like when mommy seems to disappear for a minute in the library -- you can't see her (she can still see you, but you don't know that) but she was just right there?

It's both amazing and humbling to know that everything I do, even the things that seem inconsequential, can shape the way Emelie looks at life.

What keeps me from being frightened every moment of every day that I will accidentally do something that will damage her permanently? It's the knowledge that there are few things that can permanently damage her when all of us provide her with enough love to get over life's little heartaches.

She will learn that horses don't have to be scary because mommy (or DaDa, or Grandma) holds her. She will learn that sometimes you just have to be cautious around cats. They're sharp. (In fact, she's well on her way with this lesson; if Milky Cat looks sideways at her, she pulls mommy over to have me pet Milky instead.) She will learn that mommy goes away, but always comes back.

Still humbling, though. Even with love in my pocket, on my sleeve, and exuding from my every pore, I feel humbled every day.

And blessed. More than I ever thought possible.

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Wonder Baby Wednesday #1 (I wonder what baby will do next?)

Wonder Baby Powers, activate! Form of ..... Olivia Newton John.

Let's get physical, physical..... the only thing missing is the pink tights.

(sorry, meant to post this last night and forgot; I'm leaving the title, though, because "Wonder Baby Thursday" doesn't sound as good.)

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Because of....

For anyone who is counting, today is Andreas' and my 6 year wedding anniversary. That makes it the 12 year anniversary of our first date. (Yes, we did that on purpose. Too cutesy?)

Back at the very beginning I created a phrase that described how I wanted to love and be loved, and Andreas and I have subscribed to this philosophy ever since. I said that I wanted someone who would love me "because of, not in spite of" the way that I am, and I'd do the same in return.

If I were to love everything about him except the one or two things, then I'd constantly be trying to "fix" him. If he were to love me "even though" I am one way or another, then he'd wonder when I was going to change. Instead, we try to accept each other exactly as we are, and love all of those things that are the hardest to love.

Andreas has loved me because of my big heart, my love of animals, my joy of life, but also because of my (occasional) sharp-tongued jabs at his expense, and the way I smell (stinky) after two days of not showering because being a mommy sometimes means I forget to be a (clean) wife.

In return, I have loved him for the way he sees humor in everything, his ability to keep me calm and sane, and the way he can make friends with anyone, but also the (sometimes maddening) way that he volunteers out his time to anyone who needs help even if I need him at home, and how he (usually, but not always, correctly) thinks he knows the best way to accomplish any task.

Now we have Eme (whose 14 month "birthday" was yesterday) in our lives. There are days (though they are very few) when we might wish that she would be different than the way she is (please, please, PLEASE sleep through the night). But we love her. Just as she is.

We love Emelie because...

she is very good at making us laugh.
she is amazingly smart.
she almost never lets us take naps.
she learns new things every day.
she gets excited by anything that moves by itself (trucks, cats, leaves, whatever).
she says "mama" and "dada" and means us.
she loves us.
she sometimes stinks.
she knows how to spit her food out (see Cuffs and Peaches).
she enjoys singing and dancing.
she enjoys spinning around in circles until she falls down.
she enjoys doing very unladylike things even when we're in public (see The F Bomb).
she's usually sweet and gentle.
she's sometimes not sweet and gentle.
she's awesome.

For all of these reasons and more, we love our beautiful, stinky angel.

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The "F" Bomb

I wasn't sure if this was a topic that I should really discuss here. In fact, I hope it doesn't cause anyone to become uncomfortable.

I feel like it's a topic that all mommies have to address sooner or later, though, so here goes...

The F Bomb.

I don't mean the one you may have thought of right away, but I am talking about one of my least favorite four-letter words: Fart.

It just sounds gross. And in general terms, it is gross. Yes, a necessary bodily function. But when adults who should be able to control themselves let loose out in public (like your dad or grandpa) it's a little bit embarrassing.

I agree that it's natural. And that everyone has to do it sometimes. Don't get me wrong -- my husband knows that I have some pretty stinky moments myself and he loves me anyway. Everyone knows that it's better to overlook someone's stinkyness for the good of humankind, even if they do it in public.

In fact, when we got "crop dusted" (a walk-by farting) at Home Depot the other day, we did not follow them into the next aisle to get a closer look at the people who would do that when they obviously saw us there. We rather let the matter drop. Like adults.

Now to the mommy side of things: when my baby farts, it is one of the cutest things I've ever heard. Not so great on the smell side, but she's a tiny, cute baby so it doesn't really matter. I've begun calling them Angel Farts because I think that if angels do fart, that is what it would be like.

In fact, Eme has been one of the fartiest babies from the day she was born. (Our friend Joe used to call her "windy.") I've never been afraid to eat anything I wanted while pregnant or nursing (broccoli, a good burrito, you name it) and the first solid food Eme was willing to eat was broccoli, so I don't think it has hurt her any. We've never had problems with her crying because of gas, she just lets loose. And she doesn't worry about whether she's in public.

When she is sitting in her high chair at dinner and the characteristic grin appears to let me know she's about to break wind, I'm not grossed out at all. In fact, it makes me smile. I even say things like "are you farting your pants?" (not "farting in your pants" -- my grammar has gone out the window since I've become a mommy.)

I've started occasionally using words, both in conversation with other adults and with Eme, that I would have avoided before. Fart, for one. Toot. Stinky. (As in "making a stinky, are we?") Stinkypants. (As a single word.) Stink bee. (I mean, really? "Stink bee?" Since when can bees be stinky?) The list goes on and on.

Even this thing that grosses me out -- by deed and by name -- is made cute when Eme does it. How does it happen? What is the magic that makes anything a baby does 9 million times cuter than it would be if an adult did it?

If I could bottle it.... I'd have an angel fart in a bottle.

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What is the "perfect" number of children?

I know, mom (and anyone who thinks like my mom). The "perfect" number of children for any given family is the number that is right for that family.

I've always thought I'd want to have two, but I've been thinking a lot about it lately and I'm starting to reconsider. I'd love to get some opinions.

Have you thought about how many kids you'd like to have? If you've already had as many as you intend to, what made you stop where you did? Or what decided you that you wanted more? Is it the number you thought you'd end up with?

If your answer is that you don't have or don't want any, that's cool too, and I'd also love to hear why.

If you've never thought about it before, here's your opportunity.

What's the right number of children for you?

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Cuffs and peaches

I am short. I don't consider it to be a big issue, but it's important that you know this about me.

Being short means that pants never fit me right. Even the "short" jeans are too long for me. I always have to roll the cuffs. I know, I could get them tailored, but I don't know how to sew and I don't really want to pay someone to do it, so I take the easy way and just cuff them.

This presents few problems. I don't think I have to wash them more often than other people -- I mean, when I go hiking and get a bunch of twigs and leaves caught in the cuffs I have to wash them (even if I've only worn them for the hike), but so does everyone wash their pants after wearing them into the woods, right?

Since becoming a mommy I have found more strange things in the cuffs of my jeans than ever before. My daughter has a way of dropping toys at the right angle and velocity so that I'll find a little Elmo finger puppet in the cuff of my pants. Or a block. Not that they stay in there for long, nor that it's a problem, but it's a funny side effect of being a mommy.

This morning, my daughter discovered the most beautiful word in a toddler's vocabulary. She's been testing the word out over the past few days, but today she really nailed it.

It's something like "fffpphhhthhhh." (I may have added an h too many, but this spelling pretty much captures it.)

What made it so beautiful today, and what caused a fit of giggles in my daughter to rival those when mommy tickles her belly with mommy's sock-covered feet, was that her mouth was full of food at the time. Cottage cheese, to be precise. You may think you know where this is going, but I assure you that there was no cottage cheese in the cuffs of my pants.

Just all over my shirt, hands, glasses, table, the high chair tray, and my daughter. It's not breakfast if she's not covered in cottage cheese, so that last one is actually pretty usual.

She innocently -- wide eyes and all -- opened her mouth when I again offered a spoonful of cottage cheese. I was thinking "now that's out of the system, she'll be hungry enough to eat some of it." Silly me. You can tell I'm a first time mom, can't you?

Again the word, but this time more like "pppfffffffthhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

The books say not to laugh at "bad" behavior. I tried not to laugh. I did not succeed.

By this time I had determined that I'd best stop feeding her as she was clearly too enthralled with her beautiful sound to want to eat. I took her out of the high chair and hosed everyone off, cleaned my glasses, changed my shirt. We went to play with something non-food-related.

Later, what do I find in the cuff of my pants? I already told you it wasn't cottage cheese. It was a piece of the peach I'd given her to go with the cottage cheese.

This begs the question: exactly how cunning is my girl? Did she distract me with the show in order to slip a peach into my pant cuff? When did she drop it off the tray? How did I not notice it? All I know is that I have never laughed as hard in my life as I've begun to laugh since having a baby.

Stinky baby. Stinky, beautiful, wonderful angel baby.

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