What had originally been planned as a quick visit to LA for the
weekend quickly turned into an extended visit following my last day at
work on the 18th. I packed Jude and my bag for the short trip to
visit Grandma Shirley, Ray and other extended family only to learn
that Monday morning, en route to Portland, that the biggest storm in
40 years had struck the otherwise temperate city, shutting down all
major roads like clogged arteries.
Not that I'm complaining. Jude loved LA, being surrounded by Ray's
great-grandkids, all around the same age as he. Nicole, my 23 year
old cousin came over with her best friend and her friend's son Dylan
who is a tad older than Jude. Together, they scuttled about,
Dylan walking upright and Jude crawling on his knees and hands.
Each morning, Jude would awaken me by rattling the brass bedframe back
and forth while emiting a primal scream like Tarzan swinging about on his vine. We would then harass Grandma for a bit (she's easily excited and claims that she
doesn't need to take valium. If she doesn't need valium, then fish
don't need water and plants don't need sunlight, etc.) before heading
out along the manicured golf courses and parks surrounded by
clay-colored roofs.
On Christmas Eve, Ray drove through neighborhoods whose homeowners
compete with one another for the most decorated trees, roof tops and
houses, not to mention an array of Christmas lawn ornaments. One home
in particular looked shockingly like a gingerbread house. I
wondered if it was edible.
When a baby is nearly a year old, jingling a change purse and ripping
paper just doesn't suffice as a form of entertainment while on an
airplane. He'll toss the purse on the already littered floor and
just ignore the paper as if it say, "Really? You think I'm that
easily entertained, sucker?"
The squirming and back-arching infant weighs a great deal more, so
your arms feel like gumby after the flight. Jude hates to be
restrained in any shape, way or form, so I spent most of the "seatbelt
off" sign time allowing him to walk and explore the aisles in his new
"big boy shoes" from Grandma Shirley. At the Stride Rite, Jude fell
asleep in his stroller, feet sticking out so the saleswoman promptly
measured (size four, wide) and velcrowed on a pair of white tennis
shoes.
Aunt Steph offered a piece of advice concerning this matter and age. She adopted her then one-year-old daughter from China and to keep her entertained on the 20 hr flight back to the states, she resorted to stickers that inquisitive
fingers could peel on and off for hours at a time. Personally, I can
see Jude devouring the stickers, but if it keeps him occupied, I
really don't care.
Since becoming a parent, I've learned to prioritize greatly. Before everything was about my own comfort. For a typical plane ride, I would have included a book or two in my bag, a sweater, i-pod, gum, a less than 10 ounce bottle of water and maybe a
snack. Most of the ride would be spent chatting with fellow passengers or napping.
Now, it's not just all about Jude- it's all for him too. Bottles,
formula, juice, snacks (grapes, cubes of cheddar cheese and slices of
turkey-perfect), baby books with thick pages so they don't rip out,
car seat, stroller, clothes…The list could go on and usually does so
when you're in the airport, you look utterly disheveled and somewhat
loony hauling all that stuff around.
When we changed flights in Arizona, we had to walk from terminal A to
D to catch the connecting flight. I didn't bring a stroller, so I huffed and puffed, precariously balancing Jude while hauling a backpack, cosmic duffel bag and diaper-filled purse with the other arm. One singleton dressed to the nines looked
my way before remarking to her latte-sipping girlfriend, "I don't know how mothers
do it these days."
So busy was I rushing to the gate that I didn't notice Jude toss
his bottle. Recently, he's begun throwing things, just to see what
happens. He learned that glass shatters on Ray's stone tile kitchen
floor while in LA.
Anyhow, I realize an hour into the second leg of the journey that
there's no bottle and that he's thirsty. Trying to give Jude sips of
a waterbottle results in him gagging and sputtering out liquid then
you and he are drenched and the water is empty before he's ingested
any.
So, I took a big swig of water, then popped a coffee straw (think
really small and narrow) between my lips before squirting the contents
into his heart-shaped mouth. Gross? Definitely. Did it work? Yes, and that's all
that matters. I suddenly a kindred spirit with mother birds who lovingly regurgitate half-digested contents of their meal into the squawking babies' mouths. Not that I would go that far-
Or would I?
Once in Florida, surrounded by half a dozen potential babysitters, the
days melted into one another and somehow Christmas squeaked by amid
all the sunshine, reading and beach time.
Tomorrow we're visiting the East Coast and sending home our light
clothes in exchange for heavier ones.
Last year this time I was just praying he would come...five days and counting!

Just shy of his first birthday, Jude has transformed into a wielding Quazi moto with his wild blond fro and equally adventurous escapades. While bathing, one must pay particular attention otherwise he will manage to snatch every shampoo bottle and try nursing them. Although the soap’s acidic flavor is anything but sweet, he never seems deterred and can be found nursing Bumble & Bumble or a personal favorite, the lavender scented Johnson & Johnson bedtime bubble bath.

Speaking of baths, one morning I was taking a shower as Jude was munching away on some cheerios. I heard him toddling over to the bathroom, pausing to roll the fun toilet paper dispenser and explore in a few vanity drawers, then to the shower. Silence. A moment later, the curtain slides open and a giggling, rosy-cheeked baby is staring at his mommy. “Hi Honey!” I shouted over the spray of the water as I instinctively covered my private parts. Curtain slides back. Closed. Seconds later, pulled back again, water spraying across the bathroom and giggling ensuing…This activity lasted until I called for Matt to take Jude as the floor was rapidly transforming into a flood zone.

Jude knows what he likes, and doesn’t stop until he obtains his object of desire. Before, the philosophy of “out of sight, out of mind” ruled, but that has given way to an excellent memory that never forgets where I hide things. He is determined and isn’t afraid to show frustration when things don’t go his way. Unfortunately, it seems he is very similar to both of his stubborn parents.

One development I particularly enjoy is Jude’s ability to imitate and copy sounds and actions. His pediatrician informed me that we need to start brushing his teeth- even those four hard-to-reach back molars. At first, when I attempted to stick the brush in his mouth, Jude pitched a fit. I quickly learned that when a demonstration is provided- “See Jude, Mommy is brushing her teeth. Uma ham ijaihe nkano Jude?” – he’s highly inclined to repeat the action.

Ditto for exploring all things Mommy and Daddy use. Just last night, he climbed into the dishwasher and found a cup and immediately began “drinking” from it. I’m beginning to think he has quite the oral fixation.

Many people are now asking if Jude is beginning to walk. Well, while he enjoys pushing his block cart, but doesn’t quite understand the concept of bending his knees. Instead, he toddles about with his cart as though he recently received prosthetic limbs- stiff with no bounce.

Tuesday afternoon, I managed to obtain court-side seats for the Portland Trailblazers game. Our usual babysitter had a fever (later I learned she was hospitalized for dehydration), so we desperately called around until one kind-hearted friend signed up for Jude duty. It was only on the way to her apartment as we navigated our puttering car around on the frosty streets that I began to worry that he may become distressed over being in a new environment, similar to what happened when we first brought Jude to daycare. Much to my relief, upon arrival, Jude barely glanced back at us before heading off to play with Sadie, a sweet silky black lab/hound. “Later guys!”

After the game (Porter’s #30 was retired and we beat the Kings!), we arrived back at the apartment only to find Jude wide-eyed and cheerful having covered every nook and cranny of their home. Erica informed me that he ate (“devoured” was the term she used) all his dinner of sweet potato, beef and carrots, then “fed” Sadie and carried on with a little more exploring. Even though it was nearly 10, Jude showed no signs of slowing down until he was strapped in his carseat, blissfully asleep in the warmth of the heated car.

Portland also had its first snowstorm last Sunday, which was certainly exciting. We woke to a blizzard and virginal white, pillowy layers of snow, dulling sharp lines and dulling all colors. Although Jude greatly resembled the brother in “A Christmas Story” with his down snowsuit, he was certainly guarded against the cold. A neighbor loaned us his snowboard and Jude enjoyed his first “sled ride” down the backyard hill. One time he fell off the snowboard and gracefully rolled down the hill like the making of a snowball, all the meanwhile smiling.

My last day of work was on Thursday and I’m looking forward to spending lots of holiday time with Mr. Jude.

With his long, curly locks and oval visage, Jude is quickly transforming into a blond, nano-sized Ringo Star. His vocals aren’t so great but at least he’s got the look. As he inches closer and closer to his first birthday, I take note of his personality shining through with each passing day. For instance, on Sunday, Jude was in a cranky and irritable mood while eating dinner. We had to turn him around in his high-chair to face the sliding glass door leading to the balcony because each time we tried talking to him, Jude groaned, arched his spine and let out a banchee howl. Quickly, we discovered that Jude needed his alone time, away from our constant inquiries.

Another thing- he absolutely adores his daycare. Jude still clambers over his pals to reach me at the swinging door when I come for lunch, but the difference now is that if I stay to sing songs and play, Jude completely ignores me! The other babies toddle over to play catch or poke my face or just to sit in my lap, but Jude continues riding on the honk-honk car or on exploring the carpeted crawling area with a slide.

Jude still clings at times, especially when meeting older men with long, white beards and funny hats. Matt snapped a picture of me, Santa and Jude mid freak-out while on a Polar Express Holiday train; arms raised spastically, lips opened to expose 360 degrees of mouth, eyes crescent-shaped, cheeks rounded. Santa appears as jolly as can be, totally oblivious to the havoc his very presence caused. My arms are wrapped around Jude, as I try to temper my whooping laughter while other mothers looked on, likely condemning me for being the sadistic mother that I am.

On Saturday, OSMI offered $2 admissions, so I emailed a friend I’d met through a Portland new mom’s website. She arrived with her husband and baby boy. The only difference with this couple, or rather similarity to us, was that they were also just 25. It was comforting to be able to discuss upcoming concerts and teething in the same breath, without having to limit topics on either end due to either age differences or childless friends who can’t quite relate to having all the outlets in your apartment covered by plastic plugs or waking at 6 a.m. seven days a week.

We all seemed to get along well and with promises of going snowboarding soon and then camping excursions during the summer, we said goodnight after a few hours at the museum. I admired how they drove across the country with the baby and now she’s taking night classes to get a master’s degree, just how I will as of January. If anything, I hope we can build supportive friendships where we can genuinely say, “No, I really do know what you’re going through!”

Another reason why Portland is so great- there’s a smattering of fun activities to do that are relatively inexpensive on any given day! I always reference the free monthly Portland Metro Parent to scope out activities for the weekend. Falling short of scheduling every waking moment, we always do activities that we can all enjoy, but never get around to all the various opportunities. I’m always telling Matt that in my opinion, Portland is the ideal city to live if one doesn’t have a job. There’s just so much to do!

Tonight, we’re going to decorate our Christmas tree and hope that Jude doesn’t munch on any ornaments in the process. One year, I do recall my brother William devouring a plaster pretzel when thinking it was real!

Since I last wrote, it seems there has been a recent baby boom. Friends and family alike, lots of babies have been born, especially of the male persuasion. Although I have tender memories from those early days, there is no way I am aching to return to the sleepless nights, sore nipples and endless crying. It seems Jude is quickly evolving from the helpless, passive infant stage into the little boy/toddler era.
Not that I don’t miss the baby stage- actually, I miss his baby breath because now if I forget to brush his teeth, he gets stinky breath just like the rest of us- but I’m just loving how inquisitive and interested Jude is in everything. He now “answers” the phone, pressing buttons simultaneously and cooing into the mouthpiece. When music plays, he claps his hands to the beat and he can mimic sounds and gestures. When he returned from New York last night, sleepy and smiley, he sat cross-legged on my bed and double-fisted a banana. Afterwards, he alternated sucking on an orange peel (don’t ask), the banana and a passifier. At one point, Jude tried shoving all three in his mouth. After gagging and nearly regurgitating, he tearfully opted to stay faithful to the mushy banana.
Blond ringlets forming at the base of his neck and behind his ears, I study my son as he sleeps peacefully at night. Usually the side of his face squashes his voluptuous lips, allowing them to part just so a hint of baby teeth are visible.
Recently, we found him sifting through the overturned garbage, shoving discarded contents into his mouth. Before that, he managed to swipe some coal from the fireplace. Even though this stage means that it’s important to watch him with extra vigilance, I love seeing what he’ll get into next. Indeed, Jude’s mental “door of perception” is wide open, absorbing the world around him with wonder and awe.
Because I had to work, Matt brought Jude to New York for Thanksgiving. In all honesty, you don’t realize how draining a baby can be until they’re gone! For a day and a half I soaked in a tub and read a book cover to cover, something I haven’t done since pre-pregnancy days. Then, I treated myself to two movies. Afterwards, I perused Powells bookstore until it was late at night, without caring to keep track of the time. The days felt decadent, but above all, I was ultimately grateful to have a bit of “recharge time”.
Too often, in my opinion, there’s too much pressure put on women to always be with their baby. Even when I meet up with a friend for the occasional drink or even more occasional dinner sans Jude, I experience a great deal of guilt. A nagging internal voice chastises me for missing out on Jude, particularly because I’m at work full-time. However, for the past four days even though I missed him, I knew he was well-loved and probably getting spoiled rotten by his adoring fan-club extended family in New York.
One of the more sobering parts to Jude developing is the realization that he’s going to get hurt and that I can’t always protect him 100%. For instance, one night he was toddling about and tripped on his sweatpants. A moment later, blood gushed from a slit on the top of his mouth after his face connected with an exposed corner of a chair. Short of destroying all pointy furniture and living in a giant bubble, it’s inevitable such things will happen.
As a mother is it painful to witness your offspring hurt- be it nearly 11 months or 11 years old or 111. Now, I have insight to the plight of mothers who wring their hands watching their children go face-first down slides, or the first time driving without an adult or going off to college. The mothers who watch their children go off to fight in the military- I cannot imagine their anguish, but my heart goes out to them. The more independent Jude becomes, the less control I will exert over him.
Jude, if you read this as an adult, I hope that as your mother I have provided you with the necessary tools to allow you to make own decisions and live up to choices responsibly even when you have made a mistake.
I will always be here to support you- I already know that I’ll be your biggest fan in whatever you pursue in life- but I don’t want to make decisions for you or pick up the pieces when you make a poor choice.
Similar to the Chinese proverb, “Give a man fish and feed him for a day but teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime,” I hope I can teach you that I’ll support you through thick and thin but that I have to let you sometimes learn the hard way: by making mistakes and learning through consequences.
If I bundled you up and never put you on the ground, it’s true you’d never fall. But it’s also true that you’d never learn to walk.

This weekend was like a diamond in the rough: a most beautiful and spectacular two days amid two weeks of grayness and intermittent rain. Saturday was devoted to exploring Forest Park, the largest of its kind nationwide within city limits. We explored perhaps five out of the 5,000 miles of land, stopping to admire the clear views of the glacial Mount Hood then Mount St. Helens in Seattle as well as the twin peaks ofMt. Batchelor.
On Sunday, my friend from high school, Mark, another recent Portland transplant, called to tell us about Dirty Birdy 5K mile run at Sauvie’s Island. Another gorgeous day, Jude observed boats speeding alongside us once we drove onto the island, then the enormous gathering at one of the local organic farms.
Many running teams were decked out in outrageous outfits, from the Super Mario Brothers (Luigi, Mario, the Mushroom and Yoshi) to Thing 1 and Thing 2 to a team in spotless white. Jude laughed and clapped his hands to the music as we socialized and met various friendly folks.
Unfortunately, I was told that due to all the mud, I wouldn’t be able to stroll Jude in his joggling stroller. Luckily, one of Mark’s non-running friends volunteered to watch him. Later, she told me that Jude grinned watching people hurl themselves into a big mud puddle toward the end of the race. The white team, in particular.
After the race, Jude and I chowed down on complimentary burgers and turkey dogs then watched real pigs stuffing themselves too. Jude stared, mouth ajar, as the rotund pink creatures rummaged around their pen in search of food. I noted that pigs have really long eye-lashes, seeing them up close and personal.
Jude napped as we drove back to Portland, again admiring the volcanoes in the distance, and stopping for drinks at an outdoor seating pub. We met another baby, Jack, with big blue eyes and black hair just like his dad, sitting at the table across from ours. By the time they got up to leave, we had a phone number for future playdates.
All along Jude was on his best behavior, clapping his hands-his latest accomplishment-and shaking or bobbing his head when hearing a catchy beat. Not once did he cry or fuss at all.
Speaking of new things, Jude is learning sign language at school! The first time he signed for “eat”, I didn’t quite catch on to what he was doing, although I understood from his growls that he was hungry. The next time, I actually saw one of his teachers ask another baby if she was hungry while signing. The teacher, the same one that endearingly refers to Jude as “Spazzy Baby” told me that they use sign language because babies develop motor skills faster than verbal ability.
Jude’s motor skills are certainly working well- whether climbing up on furniture, pinching my arms or howling like a banchee as he shakes the metal bed frame, he’s certainly motoring along.
Some babies at Jude’s age have developed a penchant for a particular stuffed animal or a blanket. With Jude, he loves his toothbrush and hairbrush. I frequently find the toothbrush on the floor of the car or even at his daycare because he refuses to surrender it after leaving the bathroom. Like the toothbrush, he adores his hairbrush and enjoys alternating the two against his tongue to experience the textures. If I didn’t know better, I would think that Jude embodies the interests of a typical toker.
Strangely enough when it comes to eating, he now refuses to devour anything on the spoon. First, he must test its topical qualities by mashing the food against his hands, then rubbing a bit on his face and hair. After the initial skin and hair test, then he can eat.
Never a dull moment in our lives...

I’m starting to wonder if Jude will grow up thinking his name is “No, no, no baby!” since it’s something he hears probably more than his own name these days! Ever since he began placing everything edible and non-edible into his mouth, we’re constantly prying UO’s (unidentified objects) from his chubby fingers.
“No, no, no baby! Put that down.”
Jude additionally enjoys testing the laws of gravity with each object after it passes the preliminary taste test. Does the scrambled egg bounce when it hits the floor? How about Mommy’s make-up? Hmm, how about a cell phone? Surely that will do something exciting!
Last weekend Grandma Sus visited, starting on Halloween day. Jude dressed as a little green dinosaur but then fell asleep before the daycare Halloween party. Later, we dressed him up and took a few pictures before he began panicking about having a dino face protruding awkwardly from his head.
Whereas even weeks prior it would have been purgatory trying to go out for dinner, we successfully ate out with baby one night. Although Jude behaved, the waiter commented that the table and floor looked as though a blender has been turned on without the top.
On Sunday, the zoo, just minutes from home, is one of the nicest I’ve ever seen, save for a lewd otter. Jude seemed amused, but I could tell he was starting to come down with something.
By Election Day, I stayed home from work to care for Jude as he battled a nasty ear infection. Thanks to daycare, he’s exposed to every slobber-spread pathogen known, so it’s no surprise he’s going to get sick occasionally.
Going along with the “Yes we can” motto, Jude climbed, he ate and he napped all day. I frantically cleaned the house like a mad woman while listening CNN and later burnt dinner as blue and red dots filled the USA map. Matt and I scared the daylights out of Jude around 8 as the election results come in declaring Barack Obama president. To say screaming and hollering took place would be a gross understatement. It was chaos!
I think that if I were jobless, Portland would be the ideal city to hang out in. Every day there’s an inexhaustible number of kids activities- many of which are free. Plus, with the number of mom’s groups available, it never seems like a bored or lonely day would arise.
One of the cutest things is now that Jude has graduated from the infant room at daycare, he receives daily report cards. The first one, I believe from this past Monday, read:
“Today in Wobbs, I enjoyed shrieking at all my friends! I was a silly boy today J My favorite toys were the cars and boats- the toy food was fun to chew on too! Love, Jude. I ate (the teachers circle either S, M or L) L+.”
The first few weeks leaving Jude at The Children’s Garden, I always developed a lump in my throat that never seemed to dissipate as the days went on. Once, I stopped by on my lunch break and he was fast asleep on his personal mat, covered with a blanket from home. For some reason I couldn’t stop crying as I walked back to work.
These days, when he isn’t crawling on his teachers or trying to mouth-kiss other babies, he’s smiling, playing and laughing! Jude definitely likes interacting and now seems to recognize fellow little people.
Today, we ventured across Portland to the Mt. Scott community play center. I found myself lost more than a few times and seriously considered calling it quits and just walking around Mt Taber park with Jude. Persistence paid off and we arrived, I was more than pleasantly surprised- I was impressed. For just $4.95, we had access to a massive indoor pool with a twirling yellow tube slide that I took Jude on numerous times, a tide pool, a play area with a mini-water park inside, and a shallow end designed for babies/toddlers.
Jude loved riding around on the brightly Styrofoam animals, like a little surfer dude, being propelled around the moat by powerful water jets. He befriended two eleven-year-old girls who became enamored of Jude and took turns holding him and bringing him to the mini-water park. I was able to relax and hang out with their grandma. In all, it was a wonderful day.
Looking back to a year ago, when I was feeling fat, disgusting and ready to just pop, I would have never guessed how much fun my baby would turn out to be.

I love IKEA. I think that every store should model their philosophy off of IKEA’s. It isn’t just the rock-bottom prices or the prettily decorated rooms and mattresses with marshmallow-like consistency, but the overall philosophy concerning shoppers and their kids.
For starters, there’s an enormous daycare room with a plastic tree house for little ones to explore and play in. It reminded me of Discovery Zone with all the fun gadgets. You can drop your child off, provided they are potty-trained, for up to an hour.
Upon retrieval, there’s interactive puzzles and games at check-out then, if you’re hungry, there’s adult food and 99 cent kids meals comprised of grilled veggies, mac ‘n cheese, chicken fingers and fries. I was especially impressed with the jars of organic baby food near the check-out as well.
Before leaving the east coast, Jude and I made a trip into NYC for a last day with several of my college friends. All was going smoothly until Jude pooped and we embarked on a half-hour long detour in search of a bathroom or changing facility. Three restaurants claimed their bathrooms were out of order, and a fourth was so dirty and grimy with a particularly lewd illustration on the wall that I left within moments of stepping inside.
As a last resort, with Jude screaming after wallowing in excrement for longer than usual, I glided across the slippery-shiny floors of a mall. The cubish bathroom opened into an enormous space, with wall-to-wall tiles, halogen lights and mirrors that make one appear flatteringly thin. Long story short, there was no changing area and I had to hold squirming Jude with one arm over the toilet while maneuvering the diaper down his legs with the other. I remember wishing in that instant that I could sprout Octopus limbs to help. It certainly left an indelible impression in my memory.
IKEA, by contrast, has its own changing room designated for babies in addition to a separate washroom facility. A mobile hung over the changing table along with complementary sheets and wipes. Need an extra diaper? Not a problem- they had extras too!
Honestly, I can’t recall the last time I actually enjoyed shopping with Jude. Usually, it’s a matter of strategically planning a shopping trip around his meals/naps, otherwise a potential disaster could strike. At least I’m not breastfeeding anymore. Shopping trips turned a lot of heads when I began lactating upon Jude rooting against my chest.
After feeding Jude some veggies, I commented to an IKEA employee about how accommodating the store is towards children.
“You’re never been to Sweden if you think this is great,” she replied.
Later that day, I began doing some research on Sweden’s maternity laws, as compared to the USA and other countries throughout the world.
In Sweden, according to Wikipedia and a much more credible NYTimes source, parents receive 18 months paid time off. Dads must take a minimum of four weeks off. I remember Matt not even having one day paid time off after Jude was born, plus he missed most of our prenatal doctor’s appointments because he wasn’t covered to take off any time during the day. The beauty behind Sweden’s system is that employers don’t have to personally pay out of pocket for their employees time off- it comes straight from taxes.
Other European countries have generous maternity policies it seems. Norway offers 52 weeks at 100% coverage, as does Denmark. Hungary and Finland tie at around six months paid leave and most Eastern European nations provide between six months and a year. The UK provides 39 weeks.
What about other, less developed countries? Afghanistan has a pretty generous policy at 90 days with 100% pay, along with Iran, China and Cambodia. Zimbabwe offers 90 days as well and Brazil gives 120 days, five of which are for dad. I’m sure that our Brazilian friend who recently had a baby girl in the states wishes the US followed the same policy as her home country.
Even Guatemala provides 84 days.
In fact, scrolling down the list of countries, we’re one of the only ones that offers no guaranteed pay for time off from work. Could this perhaps contribute to American’s overall dissatisfaction with quality of life?
Looking to our neighbors to the North, those lovely Canadians who always seem to be globe-trotting the world, they provide 35 weeks, upped from 30 at the start of the millenium. The more I looked, the more countries I saw that offered some form paid maternity time off.
Unless you live in the United States, Liberia, Swaziland or Papua New Guinea, you will receive some form of parental paid time off. In short, we are one of the only four countries in the entire world that doesn’t provide any time off.
Clearly, we are not as progressive as we claim to be when even third world countries are leaps and bounds ahead in this respect not to mention the whole healthcare/educaiton debacle we've gotten ourselves into over the past eight years.
Obama, please win and do something about this!

As each day passes, I feel that time is going by increasingly fast. One morning Jude will be standing up, supporting himself with a tentative hand on the chair then the next evening he’s walking around the room, leaning against his block-cart. Since the bulk of the day is spent away from Jude, I notice changes much more frequently than before.
One evening Jude seemed extra crabby and, peering into his mouth, I noticed another tooth had come in. With his previous teeth, I always noticed the swollen nubs before the actual tooth immerged. A tooth isn’t a big deal, but I know I’d be crushed to miss Jude’s first steps or another major milestone.
In many respects, this hyper-awareness has made me value my time with him even more. I’m acutely conscious that for five days out of the week I only spend an average of three hours a day or a third of his waking hours. Instead of obsessively cleaning the house or catching up on phone calls, I’m a lot more vigilant about reading, playing and just spending time together.
One thing we enjoy doing together now that we live in Portland is exploring all the beautiful parks in the area. When I write park, I mean in the national forest sense, with mountainous terrain, trees abound and visibility for miles from the top. So far, we’ve explored the arboretum, Washington and Taber Park.
As always, Jude enjoys eating. Adding to his food repertoire, he ate salmon tonight; practically inhaling chunks of the stuff while screaming in frustration when more didn’t materialized.
In downtown, we stopped at a food cart where Jude dined on Vietnamese pho (is the pronunciation “fo” as in “fo sho!” or “pooh”?) with sweet sauce from the chopsticks I used. When it comes to food, Jude never hesitates for a moment nor does he discriminate in any way.
By far the most exciting event this past week was the Portland Mom’s group meeting. The meeting was held around 7 p.m. at a nifty brewpub on the east side. Jude tagged along so Matt could get some work done. Once I walked inside, it dawned on me that most mothers probably wouldn’t dream of bringing their baby to an establishment that makes and serves alcohol.
After I walked through the bar and said hello to the other patrons who didn’t so much as bat an eye, I then entered a room full of women with beers in their hands, laughing and talking in small groups. Still, no babies in sight.
Within minutes, I was entirely at ease, chatting with the leader, a quirky woman named Lynda originally from San Francisco. Jude began digging into some humus and pita bread as we sat down to talk. Across the room, I spied another mom with an adorable Scoobina nestled in her arms, and we briefly made eye-contact as though saying, “I too am crazy enough to bring my baby at bedtime to a brewery.”
Somehow, Lisa and 6-month-old Sadie drifted over to me and Jude. Sadie was dressed in an adorable blue-and-white knit sweater and even had a bow in her blond hair. I wanted to take a nibble right there.
During the raffle and group introduction, Jude and Sadie made bird squawks back and forth to each other, and Jude even going so far as to flap his arms like a proud peacock showing off his plumage.
After a few beers and talking with the other non-pretentious and friendly moms, Jude and Sadie began making out. Seriously. Lisa and I placed them together and in response to recognizing one another as fellow little humans, they simultaneously opened their mouths and…mouth-kissed. I even noticed Sadie throwing in a little tongue action. One woman gagged on banana bread as she convulsed with laughter watching the event unfolding before her eyes.
Another mom grabbed her camera phone and swiped a grainy shot of them in the midst of a passionate embrace, ideal for future blackmail.
Lisa and I promised to meet up for future make-outs.
Having shed a few tears over the scene Jude and Sadie caused in addition to hearing stories of three-year-olds salivating over Victoria Secret’s bras and an elementary aged son’s self-exploration in the supermarket, I felt like we’d made a good decision in coming to Portland.
As I coasted over the Hawthorne bridge to the west side, I experienced great sense of affirmation; the decision to move 3,000 miles to Portland was really for the best. Even though it’s been a struggle removing ourselves from family and friends, it make this experience all the more unique and challenging.
I find it reassuring to meet down-to-earth women who are open to new friendships, regardless of age differences. It was also impressive to learn numerous women run their own businesses, many of which focus on mental and physical wellness.
So far, I’ve experienced an openness and willingness to meet others in Portland, rivaled only by Thailand, but certainly more affable than any other major city I’ve visited in the USA.
On another note, for my birthday, we’re getting professional pictures taken of Jude. Whenever I found places on the East Coast, the fees were outrageous and would have required months of fasting or homelessness in order to pay. This time, my cousin’s husband’s brother (phew!), a professional photographer, will be cutting us a break for the session.
Given the recent explosion of vibrant foliage cropping up around the Hoyt Arboretum, we’ve opted to stage the shots there. The weather has been perfect- crisp but not too chilly, warm but not humid- so we’re hoping it’ll hold up for tomorrow. Bring on the cuteness, Jude Lei!

Today marked Matt’s 25th birthday and Jude’s first Portland Trailblazer’s game against the Utah Jazz. Initially Jude’s blue eyes crinkled and lips puckered as he sobbed whenever loud blow-horns resonated in the arena. However, once he received his Trailblazers blow up boppers to distract the other team from shooting, he became quite animated; smiling, laughing and jumping as each “bop” “bop” occurred.
Aside from basketball and birthdays, Jude has been spending much time exploring his new environment. After Matt installed a baby gate, the family room has essentially morphed into the official playroom, filled with various toys and books. A black chair in the shape of a comma provides the perfect opportunity for Jude to pull himself to a standing position before flopping back down. We’ve also had to baby-proof all the light sockets after we learned that Jude finds the tiny holes in the walls particularly intriguing.
Anytime I’m home before dark, Jude and I sneak away to the gorgeous arboretum less than half a mile away filled with Redwoods, Spider monkey trees (I’m serious!), a whole assortment of pines and arrow-like Douglas Furs. The whole place smells like Christmas and gives off a whimsical, fairy tale aura. No matter if Jude had been cranky or cooing like a parakeet, he’s immediately quieted upon entering the woods. I think he likes the solitude and feeling the coolness of the ground.
Did I mention that he eats everything? Since arriving in Portland, Jude has dined on Indian curry and Nan bread, sushi and vegetarian pizza. He’s enjoyed sampling the worldwide cuisine, although he was disappointed when the sushi wouldn’t roll after he removed the nifty seaweed wrapping.
Because I’m working (if you consider data entry and stuffing envelopes working) full-time, Matt has become Mr. Mom, a seriously arduous and underrated duty. The first day on the job, when I arrived back to the apartment it looked like post World War III had struck, plus Jude was crawling around naked with powder all over his bottom. Matt appeared bewildered and shell-shocked as he explained how Jude had eaten a few too many pears and as a result explosive diarrhea occurred.
Another afternoon Matt and Jude met me for lunch downtown. Jude’s clothes were on backwards and the middle of his diaper was hanging, very unfashionably, between his legs. In all, Matt claims that a day alone with Jude can be just as tiring as a day driving across the country.
We decided this past week, with encouragement for Grandma Sus, that daycare might be a viable option to free up some time for Matt to search for jobs. Each morning on my way to work, I pass a little Montessori daycare where the kids are actually smiling and not screaming hysterically.
One afternoon, I swung by and spoke with the director, a girl not much younger than me, whose parents began the school when she was just three after they felt dissatisfied with the Portland daycare facilities. The seed for the Children’s Garden was then potted.
For two days I visited on my lunch break, scrupulously observing the teachers (they’re not called daycare providers or babysitters) reading to the babies, playing and holding them. Tessa, the director, was patient as I peppered her with questions and seemed very excited about meeting Jude.
Even though they all seem perfectly nice, I still have a bowling-ball sized lump in my throat when I think of leaving my baby with people I don’t know. Until now, Jude has only been left in the care of family or close friends. I try rationalizing this decision by telling myself that it’s good for him to socialize and that Matt needs the time to find a much-needed job, but I can’t seem to ameliorate the lump.
On Friday, Matt and Jude visited the Children’s Garden. I dropped them off before hurrying back to work. That evening, Matt told me how Jude, short of mauling the other babies, mouth-kissed and slobbered on them. Teachers all seemed really sweet and one is from Cambodia. Matt apparently talked about Southeast Asia with her as Jude was on the prowl.
When I held my son and asked if he had a good day, he replied by attacking my chest then making some delightful farting sounds as he blew against Mrs. BB. That’s about as good as it gets in Jude’s terms.
Time for bed. Since working, I’ve come to realize how important it is to get a good night’s sleep because there’s no more napping in the middle of the day!

(written 10/2/08)
9 months after birth: new coast, new state, new zip code and, oh yes, mommy is now working. Today marks Jude’s nine month “birthday”, which also represents our second round of separation as he matures and grows. First, after nine months of gestation, Jude became his own little person and now, another nine months later (how I wish I could say all my baby fat has evaporated!) I’ve become a part of the working mother’s coalition as Jude spends the bulk of his day with Dad. I like to think of our time as a sandwich. All the meat, lettuce, tomato and butter or mayo is spent with Matt, while the start and the finish, the bread, is with me. I wake up in the morning with Jude, feed him his breakfast, cuddle, hang out then upon returning back around 5:30 p.m., we follow the opposite routine where we first hang out, then eat then bedtime. Although the sandwich ends may not necessarily be the most delicious or fun, they’re definitely essential for holding the sandwich together. At least that’s what I tell myself.
Let me back up a bit, however. After Virginia, Jude and I boarded an airplane not for Portland, but for Phoenix due to flight delays and cancellations. Along with a crowded flight of disgruntled passengers, we occupied a middle seat for the arduous 5 1/2 hour flight. Note to self: Never, never ever again fly with a non-breast-fed child. It is my definition of hell if you also throw in waiting in line at the DMV. Jude couldn’t understand why Mommy wouldn’t let him lunge at and mouth-kiss the two men on either side of us, not to mention why I wouldn’t allow him to squeeze and play with the great, fuzzy fur-ball of kinky hair peaking above the seat in front of us. He couldn’t understand that the new toy was attached to a cranky man’s head who preferred to not have his locks smeared with apple sauce, biscuit crumbs and saliva. Much back-arching and food-spitting took place as a result.
In Phoenix, we were bumped from our connecting flight and spent the night in a hotel provided by the airline. Jude was exhausted and hot and somehow I realized the next morning that I’d stripped him of his clothes and now had no idea where I’d placed them. Long story short, Jude arrived in Portland sporting Arizona Wildcats apparel and a DC sweatshirt from Grandma Janet.
Similar to how Goldilocks searched until she found that “just right” bowl of pourage, I experienced a “just right” moment as Grandpa Dave picked Jude and me up at the airport in the midst of sunshine, luscious pine trees and a van full of household goods. I’ve never been so grateful for help in my entire life, particularly when he took over Jude duties to allow me to eat and sleep.
The new apartment is gorgeous and on top of a mountain that overlooks the city. Two bedrooms, two full bathrooms and my favorite, a sliding door leading out to the balcony overlooking a plethora of trees, grass and shrubs. From the kitchen, it’s possible to cook a meal as Jude plays in the family room without craning one’s neck to make sure he hasn’t electrocuted himself, as the kitchen overlooks the carpeted family room. Our manager was accommodating enough to give us the unit after the one we originally signed for resembled something akin to a cellar or dungeon.
Matt’s mom, Grandma Sus, always cautions that Jude will start walking soon since Matt walked at ten months. Although the thought of my toe-head tottering about terrifies me, I’m impressed with how Jude pushes up against me as I sit on the ground to a standing position. The official name for this is “cruising”, although he’s really doing anything but that. Once his legs straighten, he’s like a newborn colt as he totters and collapses on his bottom, then looks around with a bewildered expression.
The two front teeth have come down a bit more, so now Jude’s rocking the homeless look as the very visible bottom four steal the show compared with the nubs. He’s still cute as ever, especially when exploring empty boxes and doing his grunts that sound half dishwasher and half weed-whacker.
Between all the jabbering, crawling, eating and pooping there’s never a dull moment in our lives! Destination biking for this weekend with Jude in a baby trailer.

“Ma-ma has to go find ba-ba, OK, Wa-Wa?” I ask, as Jude grins back up at me, exposing two brilliantly white nubs of teeth on the top gum.
We’ve begun speaking in Baby Tongue, a mongrel language, bred by Jude’s very limited vocabulary and, of course, English.
“Da-da go with Wa-wa!” Matt exclaims.
“Da-da, ma-ma, wa-wa,” Jude chants, clapping his hands, before lunging for his bottle, ba-ba.
With only three “words”, we certainly do try our best to communicate with Jude even as the Teach Your Baby Sign Language book sits, collecting dust.
There’s also the flashcard method as seen on Montel, Opera and the other daytime networks aimed at paranoid housewives.
You buy these flashcards for $14.99 that supposedly help speed up the learning, speaking and reading process. Charts demonstrate the “rapidly closing window of opportunity” for learning and you can even watch a video of a nine-month old pointing to his body parts and objects around the house. The proud mother of a two-year-old girl says her daughter is already reading at a first grade level and may be eligible to skip a grade. The little girl sits prettily on a couch, reminding me of beauty queen pageant contestants whose mothers duct-tape their daughter’s waists to appear curvy.
For me, I’m in no rush to accelerate Jude’s learning achievement track. Rather, if he’s happy on the floor, exploring everything in sight, eating most everything that touches his lips during meal times and loves interacting and being read to, then he’s great in my book.
I’m perfectly happy watching him learn to feed himself a bottle without necessarily knowing how to spell B-O-T-T-L-E in French and English or playing Peek-a-boo with the car seat cover.
His achievements, big and small make me proud. In fact, just last week, he received two vaccines, one of which was notorious for causing pain. As our favorite nurse Maureen crossed his pudgy sausage-linked legs, and the needle entered, Jude merely puckered his lips. With the second shot, he held his gaze on Maureen and didn’t so much as bat an eye. Minutes later, he was in her arms, mouth-kissing and cuddling, oblivious to the matching band-aids on either thigh.
These past few days have been filled with good-byes as we’re officially Oregon residents as of the 26th. Jude was definitely a good sport as Ma-ma toted him along to NYC to say goodbye to all his doting Aunties, then tried drinking Erin and my beer on the train ride back to CT.
Marnie (Matt’s maternal Grandmother) threw us a going-away dinner and plenty family members wished us luck on our journey before we took an additional trip back to Pawling in a UHAUL to deliver the rest of the borrowed furniture.
Between packing, friends stopped by and we additionally visited Becky in the hospital, New Jersey for Christine’s baby shower and Bethel to meet Rosie’s new baby girl.
By yesterday, I was quite frankly relieved to board the plane with Jude to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Jude sucked down some apple juice before passing out, strapped to his seat, legs and arms sprawled like a star-fish.
Upon arrival, Grandpa lunged down the terminal, baby in arms, like something out of PreFontaine. We’re grateful for a little R&R before Portland…

After I penned my last entry, that day I received a call from the March of Dimes in Portland. They offered me a job and five anxiety-filled days later they specified the start date: Grandma Shirley’s 80th birthday or more commonly known as the 1st of October.
Making moving arrangements is undoubtedly stressful, but even more so with baby. For instance, Matt and I are now trying to decide on whether he should drive our Hyundai, with a trailer attached, across country alone and I should fly out with Jude and meet him in Portland or whether we should go together or whether we should ask a family member to fly out with Jude or whether we can juggle coconuts and turtles while flipping pancakes and weaving on a loom. Yes, it’s gotten that chaotic.
Luckily, Jude’s cuteness provides the ideal comic relief for an otherwise nerve-racking time in our lives. Although he still crawls like a wounded war veteran- one leg does all the pushing while the other stays rigidly straight- his speed is only increasing. One moment he’s in the family room, happily gnawing on blocks, pausing only to scowl, and the next he’s grinning, cooing and hunting me down along the carpeted hallway toward the kitchen.
Now, along with his signature “wa-wa-wa-wa” sound, Jude also belts out, “Da-da-da-da” alone with other strings of vowel tones.
My favorite progression is his love for playing “Peek-a-boo”. I sat in the backseat with Jude as Matt drove a few days ago. Grasping the padded side cover of the car seat, Jude placed it over his face, only to reveal himself seconds later, giggling away, his three teeth exposed like little ice caps amid red gums.
It’s also ironic how babies will be presented with an assortment of play-things: from rattles, to reflector-mirror devices, to teddy bears, noisy toys and books and yet they’re always interested in the most inane of the items. In Jude’s case, he most enjoys a purple cup with a green octopus sticker on the side. He alternates between clenching his fists and stretching his fingers like little stars before flicking the cup on its side and watching as it totters and rolls about. Leg motor propelling against the carpet, Jude lurches toward the cup, chest on ground, head erect like a seal. Upon reaching the now sedentary cup, he repeats the process all over again.
The only problem with all of his crawling, aside from newfound vigilance about not leaving liver medications on the floor, is that he hasn’t figured out how to back up. When the cup rolls under the couch, Jude delves right under as well, except that, moments later upon realizing he can’t get out, a frustrated shriek ensues. While he’s mastered first gear, he still can’t quite grasp the concept of reverse.
With all this moving about, it’s no wonder Jude rebels against having his diaper changed. No matter how stinky, wet or downright nasty the contents of the diaper may be, he wrestles and contorts his body like Houdini when I’m trying to dispose of the old one and replace it with a new one. His agility and flexibility never cease to amaze as he’ll squirm despite me pinning down his limbs, his back arched, privates thrust into the air. For this reason, it’s not much of a surprise that I’ve been urinated on more than a handful of times.
Sometimes I’ll be spooning cereal into his mouth and he’ll catch my eye. Still holding my stare, he’ll rest his head to the side, the same way dogs cock their heads when they’re attempting to decipher a command. Jude will sigh as though saying, “Yep, this cereal is pretty bland, Ma,” before resuming the consumption of his meal. He’s a character like that.
I’m still reeling over how quickly the move is unfolding. One minute I’m researching about Portland, then we visit and now it’s going to be home. In the past when I’ve moved somewhere, I find myself greatly relieved once I’ve arrived, mainly because of how stressed-out I feel attempting to squeeze in good-byes with family and friends. Somehow the pressure is still there, but on top of caring for Jude it doesn’t seem quite as monstrous. We’ll see how it goes in a few more days.
Less than a month until I start a job after a year of not working….although that’s not entirely true. I have been working- although definitely pro bono. Personally, I think that motherhood makes for the best qualifications for any and every job. Learning to multi-task, think ahead, always on one’s toes, responsibility for something other than yourself, editing of one’s language, ability to perform under pressure and on little sleep, commitment, working even on weekends, etc. make one highly qualified for any position.
I think I’m qualified.

First of all, let me make one thing clear. One should never be separated from their baby for more than a few days. Period.
For one week, seven days, or one hundred and sixty-eight hours, way too many seconds to count Jude stayed in New York with his Grandparents and Aunts while Matt and I ventured to Portland, Oregon.
In my opinion, the first and last nights are the most trying. The first because it’s the beginning of experiencing the acute sense of loss or something missing that begins in the pit of your stomach and travels up to the dangly thing bobbing in your throat. You can barely process that you still have six unbearable nights ahead.
The last night is equally enduring because I knew it was a matter of hours before I’d be seeing Jude again, but first I had to get through the last twelve hours. The result? A heart-wrenching sleepless night as I lay awake, wanting to hold and cuddle him.
For the most part in Portland, Matt and I were both occupied, dropping off resumes, avoiding saturnine vagabonds begging for spare change (one guy took a really straight-forward approach by asking, “Can you help me get intoxicated today?”), learning the geography of the city and going for job interviews. I still missed Jude, but daily phone calls to his doting Grandma sufficed as I was provided with a run-down of each day’s activities.
I’ll admit that initially I was somewhat exhilarated by the concept of having time to myself; the ability to catch a movie at night, to peruse Powell’s the country’s largest independently owned bookstore, without a cumbersome stroller, the freedom to do what I wanted on my clock.
The euphoria quickly faded, as I found myself drawn to young families with babies in the numerous Portland parks, squares and riding around on the free public transit. To a stranger, I must have looked like a sappy, somewhat deranged woman as I salivated over chirping and drooling babes alike. I nearly cried buying a sling to transport Jude in, as I perused a photo album displaying gleeful infants, babies and toddlers attached to their back-pain free parents.
Yesterday morning Matt and I drove over to Becky’s house to retrieve the baby. I could hardly contain my excitement as I’d woken up at 7 a.m. and occupied myself by doing countless loads of laundry, cleaning out the refrigerator and returning calls. In other words, I was anxious and jittery, not knowing what to do with myself.
By 10 we were in the car, remarking on the trees changing colors, and by 11 we arrived at Becky’s house in Ridgefield, where we were greeted by the barking, short-legged dogs. Although Jude was asleep when we arrived, after chatting with Becky, Matt snuck upstairs and retrieved him.
First thing that struck me was his hair! No longer thin, it seemed to have thickened and grown overnight. His face, less baby and more boy, was still flushed pink from recently waking up had more of a solid look. I was shocked that in addition to looking older, he must have gained about a pound or so. Becky told me what a little piggy he was, shoving food into his mouth while grasping an apple slice as though it were his last meal.
Smitten with his daddy, Jude refused to come to me initially, much to my dismay. I began worrying, “Does he not remember me?! How could he not know his mommy-the person who didn’t sleep for the first four months of his life...who breastfed at all hours and endured a horrendous labor!” From the kitchen as she prepared lunch, Becky yelled out to me on the porch, “Jude is mad at you!”
Finally, I won him over with Big Boob, and as he tucked his legs into his belly and his eyes rolled back in bliss, I marveled over how much he changed during my week of absence.
Back at home, I discovered a third tooth emerging, next to the bottom two on his lower gum line. Jude’s scootering skills have also been perfected, as he expertly maneuvers his rotund body to slide, as he crawls and shimmies to the desired destination. Although Jude still greatly resembles Matt, I’m seeing more of my brothers, particularly blond-haired, blue-eyed Chris.
Cozy in his new green JUDE blanket, Jude is fast asleep upstairs as I write this. Even though I am grateful for the opportunity to have gone out to Portland, I can’t imagine leaving him for a week again at least not until he’s a teenager and by that time I’ll be grateful for a week away!

Since I last wrote, there have been many firsts, especially in the culinary sense. Jude has expanded his palate to include cheddar cheese, egg, Thai spring rolls, red beans, rice, cereal and, his very favorite and much to the detriment of his budding teeth and the kitchen floor, jiggly jello. In fact, many a morning is spent raiding the refrigerator in search of food to appease my son with his bottomless stomach. More input and, in turn, much more output as we go through approximately 30 diapers a week . I also puree a few pounds worth of fruit and veggies, not to mention a tin of formula a week( 31 bottles worth of 6 ozs each). At this rate, if eating were an Olympic sport, Jude will certainly be a rival for Phelp’s eight gold metals.
Speaking of sports, yesterday at the beach Matt threw a squishy palm-sized stress ball to Jude. Midair, Jude snatched it and immediately shoved it toward his mouth. For the rest of the afternoon, Matt and Jude played “catch”. Matt is already talking about Little League.
Another first: playdate last week with Briggs, a ten month old down the street. Usually gregarious and playful, Jude retreated to needy mode at Brigg’s house. It just so happened to be a rainy day and as each clap of thunder roared overhead, Jude’s arms and legs coiled around me tighter and tighter like a corset. Briggs laughed.
Their only interaction was where passifiers were concerned. They both seemed to recognize that the other had a pulsating plug in mouth, so what did they do? Grabbed at each other’s passifiers and switched. A little saliva never hurt anybody. Otherwise, the two boys completely ignored each other.
One afternoon over lunch in a Thai restaurant, Jude kissed the waitress. An attractive woman with delicately painted fingernails and a soft voice, Jude initiated the contact by grinning coyly at her. Within a matter of moments, he was in her arms, smooching her cheek! She spoke to him in low tones as he responded with coos while batting his luscious eye-lashes. Weeks prior to Jude’s conception, I lived in Thailand and maybe as an androgynous floating egg, he was somehow exposed to the beauties of the “land of smiles”. Either way, it was love at first sight. My seven month old was smitten.
How could I forget the two day camping trip to Hammonasset state park in Madison, CT? After ingesting much sand, Jude quickly learned that it's better to stick with food. I kept having to clean out all of his crevices and folds, for the sand has a way of imbedding itself in the trickiest of places to access. Jude and I both loved the early morning sunrises, as we strolled along the shore. We were especially diligent about lathering Jude up in sunscreen and providing much water. He enjoyed the waves lapping at his sausage legs, spraying him with salty water in the face. For us, it was an ideal budget get-away, especially because Jude could scream all he wanted and we never had to worry about disturbing anyone since we were outdoors.
We leave Wednesday for Portland, Oregon. A metaphoric knot sits pregnant in my belly over the thought of leaving Jude to fly cross-country. Waking in the morning to his gummy smile, I cannot imagine an entire week without him. What was life prior to the baby?

One of the things I particularly like about babies, and obviously I have Jude in mind when I write this, is how in-the-moment they perceive life. Never will I see Jude burst into tears when we tell him we’re going to leave the room. Instead, it is in that very moment of leaving the room that he cries in defiance. Likewise, if something mildly traumatic happened yesterday- such as a favorite toy breaking and bopping him upside the noggin- it’s all forgotten about in a matter of a few cuddles.
Jude celebrated his seven-month milestone in style, spending the day swimming about our family friend’s pool in his ducky yellow blow-up ring and tie-dye suit. When Jude sports the full-piece suit, I can only describe it in terms of a miniature jiihadist with the rectangular Styrofoam pieces, eerily resembling explosives, sewn into the sides. It ensures that even in the event that the ring somehow capsizes, he’ll still be buoyant. Jude even has pairs of water diapers that deceivingly look like regular ones. We very quickly learned the difference when my middle ended up soaking wet as Jude wrapped his long legs around me as I carried him around when the three of us stopped in town for lunch.
I always enjoy hearing stories from grandparents about how back in their day there were no car seats, floatation devices, or any safety standards for that matter. Now, we practically gift-wrap our little ones in the event that a natural disaster strikes in the supermarket. However, as the old adage goes, “Better safe than sorry.”
Recently, Matt brought back to our apartment a tub of my clothes I had been storing at his parent’s house. As I rummaged through, I was delighted to discover that I can fit into all the size 8 pants I wore last summer teaching ESL in Boston. Even two weeks ago, I had to really shimmy, huff and puff to squeeze into the lone pair I kept at my apartment. After I managed to get them on, the button never wanted to cooperate and I would walk around in fear of sitting as my excess tummy skin threatened to come pouring out like molten lava.
Feeling quite tickled, I also found a pair of stretchy GAP pj pants that I wore non-stop during the last week of my pregnancy when I could no longer put my shoes on without assistance. They’re size XL, with pink flowers against a maroon background. Holding the waistline up to my stomach, I felt like Subway’s Jared after he began devouring low-cal sandwiches in place of pure, unadulterated lard. I’m going to keep them just to remind myself of how big I once was.
Other news is that Matt and I bought tickets out to Portland for August 20th to scope the scene out. We're going just the two of us for one week, which means it'll be an easier trip without the baby and all of his accessories, but at the same time I can't imagine not being with him for an entire week!

Excerpt from an email I sent to my pregnant cousin:

Anyhow, here's a few things I came up with that are musts for the new babe (any name ideas, by the way?):

swing- there's great Fischer Price ones with different sound settings, etc. Jude used to sit in his for ages when he was first born otherwise he'd scream.

changing table/bureau- makes life so much easier to have everything together when changing diapers, dressing, etc.

MacLaren stroller- very compact, reliable and great for the city. Make sure you get one that's good for infants, toddlers, etc. Get a rain covering too.

glass bottles-plastic ones have been found to contain a harmful chemical (BHP), released when heated....we only buy glass now and have yet (knock on wood) to break

Infant Bath- we'll give you ours, however, ask for the Johnson & Johnson bath set that comes with a purple lavender sleepy bubble-bath, q-tips, lotion and shampoo.

Diapers- you'll go through tons and they're pretty expensive

gift cards to restaurants- I was so exhausted the first month, as was Matt, that we never cooked and as a result ordered in a lot. I wish we'd had gift cards.

Wait on a breastpump....see if you're going to breastfeed then after a month or so get one. I tried using one before my milk came in and it was soooo painful!

Pack 'n play- it's a portable playpen. Comes with a changing table and a mobile. Good if you're going anywhere.

First Aid Kit with Milicon (for gas), baby nail clippers, baby tylenol, thermometer, etc.

Dreft- a detergent that is made just for babies clothes. Really gentle on their skin.

MANY passifiers and the strings that attach the binky to the baby's clothes.

Nursing bras and nursing pads....otherwise, you'll lactate through your shirt which is definitely not sexy. They have great nursing bras at Target.

Diaper Geenie- otherwise, the diapers will stink up your apt.

Baby Bjorn- so great and it calmed Jude a lot. Plus, you have your hands free.

clothes- duh.

The irony of course is that the smaller the child, the more things they require!

To wean or not to wean: That is no longer a question.
I’m surprised by how stress-free the weaning process has been. When we returned from London two weeks ago I began supplementing formula at regular feedings. At first, as expected, my melons swelled up, angry and bloated as though protesting against my plans. Within two days, however, my body had readjusted itself to stop producing milk at those times. After a week and a half I cut breast feedings to just twice a day and now BB makes an appearance solely once the sun has gone down to help Jude fall asleep. My initial fears were that a breast infection would ensue, but I have come to realize that with a more gradual approach my body quickly catches on. With the wedding weekend I went from feeding six times a day to pumping a few times sporadically, resulting in breast engorgement.
Since cutting out breast milk and introducing solids, Jude gained one pound in two weeks. The pediatrician confirmed this fact as Jude tore apart the office, his busy hands pulling at the paper covering the table in the examining room last week.
Sometimes I muse, “Such a big boy, sitting up in his high-chair, eagerly inhaling spoonfuls of the latest fruit and veggie concoction I make, when just six months ago he was utterly helpless and incommunicative except when screaming, pooping or sucking.”
Now, I can easily distinguish between a deafening “Don’t leave me alone” scream, the whiny “I’m exhausted and crabby” scream and the most common, defiant “Feed me now, woman!” scream. There’s even the recently added, “I’m constipated and red-faced” howl.
Even though formula definitely has downsides, such as the cost, I’m happy to report that I’ve been losing more weight, perhaps because I’m less hungry. Indeed, it’s amazing to me that after over a year of my body helping to support another life it’s going to be all mine again. For me, six and a half months of breastfeeding was the perfect amount of time because it allowed bonding between us but didn’t go on too long…especially with Jude’s protruding teeth!
Jude is also able to sit up on his own, although he does still totter backwards if his head tilts too far to gaze at something above him. Even though there are no discernable words yet, Jude can make sounds like, “ba-ba-ba-ba” that nicely compliments “wa-wa-wa-wa-wa.” He grins when Matt and I copy him as though the three of us are privy to the secret world of wa-wa’s and ba-ba’s.
One thing I haven’t written about much is the impact of a baby on a relationship. In all honestly, Matt and I give of ourselves to a great degree, both emotionally and physically, to Jude that by the end of the day we’re cranky and hostile with each other. When Jude is awake, much of our time is spent enjoying him or relaying funny stories about the baby when one of us is absent. However, when we should be relaxing after Jude is asleep, we end up fighting.
Maybe it’s different with other women, but with me I know that I need to have a life outside the house in order to keep my sanity. There are days that go by when I wonder, “Is this what I went to college for? Diapers, laundry, dishes…”
I’m feeling much more confident about actively searching for a job now that Jude is not breastfeeding. In fact, we’re both looking in Portland, Oregon, a decision that came about after the trip to Europe. Matt and I sat down and had a few serious discussions about what our next step should be since we’re no longer restricted by circumstance and now have the ability to find a place that best suits our needs. For a few days we thought about going overseas again, but ultimately with a baby, it would prove to be a hassle.
We each wrote down a list of attributes we would ideally like to see in a location. My list went something like this: “A place where people are laid-back, plenty of outdoor activities year-round within the proximity of a city that has excellent public transportation, opportunities to meet other young families, affordable cost of living, good job availability and schools.”
After comparing our lists, we compiled a list of eight US cities and started researching. One by one, we crossed them off as they did not meet some of our important requirements e.g. Oakland, CA has one of the highest crime levels in the country, we would need a car in Boulder, CO and we would have to send Jude to private school in San Francisco, not to mention we would both have to work full-time to afford an apartment.
By the end, Portland was the lone survivor and the more research we’ve done, including talking with people who live in Portland, the more confident we are of the decision to follow the Oregon trail. According to the Moon handbook, “Portland is known as one of the nation’s most livable cities… with trails connected to Forest Park, the nation’s largest urban forested park, with over 70 miles of trails.” It also mentions that “the city’s easy-going and quirky spirit make Portland feel like a much smaller town…currently the West Coast destination for ‘young creatives’…plenty of high-tech business ventures, top-notch cultural institutions, likely the best mass transit in America…Portland is more a city that you explore for its way of life.”
Sold.
Ideally, if Matt found a well-paying job, I could either work or study part-time so Jude would only be in daycare for half of the day. If both Matt and I were in better places in regards to jobs, I am confident that our relationship would improve. There’s no such thing as a perfect place, a perfect relationship or even a perfect baby (although Jude is pretty damn close), but I finally feel like we have the ability to start doing something about enhancing our situation and ultimately our relationship.

It's interesting how babies can either bring out the best or worst in people. I've come to believe that for the most part it's the best in people, particularly women who are mothers themselves. Others, especially in confined spaces like airplanes, are seen taking deep breaths or inundating themselves with pillows to block out any cries. I consider myself lucky to have mainly encountered the former.
In the airport on the way over to the Czech Republic, we met a family from Quatar, a tiny cornflake of a country extending off the eastern part of Saudi Arabia. Attempting to feed Jude veggies while scarfing down Chinese food is never a good idea, and although the mother knew little English she managed to communicate that she wanted to feed my squirming son. Within minutes, she had him laughing and cooing all the meanwhile spooning in mouthfulls of dinner. Her daughter, just fifteen, showed me pictures on her i-phone of the family riding around on ATV's in the desert at home. In Arabic, the daughter explained, Jude means one who is kind to others.
Once in Prague, the manager of our 15th century hotel/hostel played "Paddy Cake" in Czech with Jude then allowed him to sleep for three hours in the cavernous downstairs kitchen room after we had already checked out. She also hauled a portable crib and a high-chair up the five flights of stairs for us. No wonder the Czech stay in such trim shape despite a diet of goulash, meat and potatoes.
One evening out at dinner, a little Spanish girl played with Jude and gave him several nicknames in reference to his blond mohawk. Her father grinned as he sipped from an expresso. Matt and I attempted to recall our rusty Spanish from our trip to Guatemala when Jude was just a peanut in my belly.
Since the last blog, Jude has fallen off the bed- twice. The first time was off of our bed at home, which is low to the ground since there's no base. I was packing for the trip and when I looked over, I saw Jude gracefully rolling down the side of the bed, buffered by our long blanket, as though a piece of dough.
The second time was far less graceful as he was on the bed in Prague, pumping his fists and arms, in anticipation of dinner. Thinking that Matt had an eye on him, I turned to open the mini-fridge stocked with Czech baby food just in time to hear a cacophonous crash. Matt had lunged in an attempt to catch Jude, but ultimately missed and tripped, leaving them both upturned like turtles on the floor. Much crying took place for all of us, but ultimately Jude was fine. Lesson learned: do not leave baby alone for even a second on the bed.
Another lesson: once baby's teeth come in, breastfeeding becomes a Russian roulette-like since you don't know if he's going to nurse or chomp. Someone once told me that babies instinctively know not to bite. Somehow Jude never received that memo as he smiles in response to my ensuing scream, as though he's entered a fun house.
At this time, Jude has also "discovered" himself, grabbing at his dangling ornament and squeezing as though it were a piece of gum in one's mouth. Concerned for the safety of future generations, I asked the doctor if I should be doing anything to discourage the behavior. "Oh, he'll figure out what hurts, but for now he views it as another toy to play with." Hmmm....so begins the male's life-long infatuation his manhood.
I'm also grateful to have been able to travel so extensively with Jude as an infant. Once he's mobile, I know it will prove much more difficult as he'll be into everything. I befriended a British woman on our flight back whose 20-month-old took a painful head-dive into a table as she was unloading items for security. The egg-shaped swell on his forehead was a constant reminder that little guys must always be watched vigilantly.

With two pearly whites immerging from Jude’s bottom gum, he’s officially six months old today (also, it’s Grandma Janet’s birthday!). Recently, I came across a picture of myself at six months, dressed in a colorful Japanese komodo, grinning with two teeth peaking out from the same location.
No longer reacting to his environment, Jude now interacts with it, grabbing at anything in sight, straining upwards when placed on his back, like a muscled body-builder. Months before he was content to sit placidly, now we can’t leave him on the bed even for a second in fear that he’ll fall off, nor can we leave anything that may end up in his mouth within arms length.
I’ve learned that he doesn’t care for string beans but when disguised with pear and banana, he’ll swallow otherwise it’ll end up in the tub. Jude likes to eat. Now, he lunges at whatever goes into my mouth, be it a turkey wrap or a popsicle now that he grasps the concept of eating.
On Saturday, I spent my first night away from Jude since he was born, although technically much longer if you include pregnancy. Showing off his picture to any willing viewer, I began missing Jude more and more as the day turned into night. Around six I thought about how Matt must (hopefully) be feeding him in the bath then around seven I thought about him falling asleep.
With the handy breastpump, I stuck off during Saturday’s wedding intermittently to expel breast milk. Later, I sat on the bed, talking to friends, or in a chair in the room. Indeed, I no longer have any shyness about my body.
In the morning, I slept in until 10 a.m., the longest since Jude’s birth. Even though I spent the night on a crinkling, plastic-wrapped twin bed, it was a treat to not wake at 5:30 a.m.
Ryan came home on the 30th and we spent the day with Jude, kayaking (Becky, Ryan’s mom watched him) and swimming in her pool. I began experiencing a sharp pain in my right breast (Big Boob) that increasingly became more painful as the day wore on. By the early evening I started experiencing headaches and dizziness. Big Boob felt inflamed and scorching hot. When I called the doctor’s office a nurse informed me that it sounded like I’d developed mastitis, a condition in which the breast tissue becomes infected. Whereas it doesn’t sound like something to worry much about, in the ominous words of the nurse, “You’ll feel like you got run over by a bus.”
By 11 p.m. I was running a 104 degree fever, switching between sweating and shivering and completely immobile. All night and into the morning, the fever raged on: a combination of a horrible hang-over like headache, my body feeling like a pinata after a beating and utter exhaustion that robbed me of all coordination. I couldn’t muster the strength to hold Jude and my breast felt as though shards of glass were inside. He still nursed on Big Boob, but not without Matt pinning down Jude’s arms to ensure he didn’t swipe at it.
By the time I visited the doctor that morning, the fever had subsided slightly, but I was still lethargic and delirious, forgetting to fill out the medical forms and falling asleep on the examining table. With a prescription of antibiotics, the fever quickly went down and all that was left was the pounding headache and dizziness. Once August rolls around, I’ve decided to start weaning Jude, especially after this horrible infection.
On the upside, I think that six months is the best time because of all the reasons listed above, plus Jude hasn’t developed stranger anxiety that tends to plague babies as they get a bit older. He has the ability to recognize me and Matt, but without always preferring us, per se. Jude has also begun saying, “Wa-wa-wa-wa” which would make for a cute Wa-Wa store commercial.
In all, I’m in disbelief that so much time has passed and I can’t imagine my life without Jude. It’s amazing to think that so much has happened and changed over these few months.

Six months just around the corner and I’m starting to feel like pieces of my own life are once again in my control- dually a daunting and exhilarating concept. Even cuter and more animated than I had ever anticipated, Jude’s antics fill the day with much amusement.
Just a few days ago, I was bolstered up in bed using my computer, Jude to my right resembling a Michelangelo cherub in sleepland. A furry object rubbed across my arm and I, assuming it was a stuffed animal, ignored it. Again, five minutes later something rubbed against me. This time I looked down to meet Jude’s thousand-watt grinning face. He had woken, shuffled across the bed and rubbed his head against my arm to obtain my attention, an antic perhaps adopted from Pedro.
Another morning, after playing with Faux Scoob, the puppet Matt found for him with a tuff of blond hair and blue-button eyes that eerily resembles Jude, I was running around, dressing for the day.
I glanced over at the baby as I struggled to shimmy into a pair of jeans only to notice Jude sucking away on the puppet’s fake passifier while resting his head against Faux Scooby’s chest! A Kodak moment for sure.
A friend of ours advised us three weeks ago that if Jude wants solids he will let us know it. Just days later, as though on cue, Jude began lunging toward all edible objects, swiping at them if given the chance and shoving them into his opened mouth.
The next evening, I pureed a pear on the otherwise protein-shake dominated blender, added a little water and rice cereal with a plump baby on the box, and stirred. Remembering how messy feeding a baby could be from my babysitting days, Matt and I dunked Jude in his blue bubble bath where he promptly picked up a green plastic duck and began nursing on it, as though anticipating what was to come.
Much to my delight, Jude immediately took to the food, although I found it amusing watching him learn how to eat, a concept that never occurred to me that one had to learn. Instead of sucking, he quickly discovered that clamping his mouth on the baby spoon would allow much more food to enter his mouth and subsequentially fill his bottomless belly. Now, Jude associates bath with food so after the ritual of peeing in the water he pumps his arms in anticipation of dinner.
As a result of the introduction of solids, Jude sleeps much more through the night, only waking when disturbed, but otherwise he’ll be out from 7 p.m. until 6 a.m. Sometimes I don’t know what to do with myself after he’s in bed, now that I’m so unaccustomed to having any alone time.
With summer in high gear, Matt and I are now able to take advantage of eating outdoors for early dinners, as opposed to gorging ourselves in hopes Jude wouldn’t erupt into a torrent of cries in the depressing winter months. Everything about summer feels wonderful, particularly with a baby like Jude.

Lessons Learned While Traveling for Ten Days with Baby
1) When destination is in another time zone, anticipate the loss of at least three days and don’t anticipate getting baby back on his routine until you’re home.
2) A stroller is essential, especially if you don’t want to break your back carrying baby in the bjorn all over the place.
3) Bring nail clippers. Just because you’re on vacation, it doesn’t mean his little finger and toe nails are.
4) Always, always bring spare sets of clothes on the airplane. For whatever reason, explosive, volcanic poops seem to strike just as you’re waiting to board. Be prepared.
5) A pebble inside an empty water bottle. A change purse. Crinkly magazine paper. All of the above can be improvised as substitute toys, especially when a meltdown is eminent.

For Grandma June’s 80th birthday bash, Jude flew across country to the smoke-filled casinos of Vegas and swam in swimming pools filled with drunken adults drifting about on blue floats. Somehow it felt incongruous to be visiting my pious Grandma and celebrating with family amid the vices of Sin City. With sex shops unabashedly advertising their services in bloodshot neon on the sides of the road along with building-size boards luring get-rich-quick wanna-be’s with the allures of playing poker while being served free drinks by women clad in thongs, fish-net stockings and high-heeled shoes, there was plenty of opportunity to entertain any whim.
Personally, I took note of the gas prices ($3.75 was the lowest around) and the inexpensive food, as compared to the East Coast. Otherwise, we focused on spending time with the rest of the family, many people I hadn’t seen in 18 years, not since the last family reunion when many of the now new parents were just kids themselves.
I found myself in the company of my older cousins, with their toddlers, and not my cousins closer in age who downed shots of cheap liquor and gambled for most of the trip. Pre-Jude, I reflected, I would have still been a part of that cohort, but now I have a lot more in common with other new moms.
Matt and I left Jude in the care of Grandma one evening to investigate the strip, specifically to walk on a crowded pirate ship and ride a rollercoaster in a casino. All of which occurred on zero sleep since the time difference did not sit well with Jude, compounded by birthday events that interfered with his napping times.
By the time we reached the inviting, sunny oasis of San Francisco both Matt and I were on the brink of exhaustion. While admiring Bonsai in the Golden Gate Park one afternoon, I experienced an overwhelming urge to lie out on the enticing grass. Unbeknownst to me, several hours passed before Matt and Jude returned after having lunch together and doing some shopping.
We were fortunate enough to stay with my friend Alex’s family while she was away. With three kids under the age of eleven, we were enveloped into the folds of their day and enjoyed a relaxing stay in the pinnacle of hippiness in the Haight-Ashbury area.
Despite tumultuous nights, days were dedicated to venturing out in the city. Jude cried then surrendered at Alcatraz (we took many cute pictures of him behind bars…I only hope it isn’t a prelude for things to come!), visited with Aunt Meg in Union Square and hung out at the beach on the last day before checking out Union Street.
The thin, ornately decorated Victorian townhouses with opaque bay windows immediately won me over, not to mention the whole laid-back attitude and the triad of having city, ocean and mountains as one. With Thai restaurants galore as the cherry on top, I could easily see us raising Jude in San Francisco…
After screaming fits at night, we would place Jude between Matt and myself as so to prevent Jude from toppling right off the bed. In the middle of the night, I often awoke to Jude head-butting my chest as he managed to shimmy his way over to me in a gimp-like way since he hasn’t quite mastered the crawl yet. I ended up sleeping with my back to him, otherwise my boobs would be constantly violated.
Once at the Stanford Park hotel, Jude and I luxuriated in long baths together and he giggled when I blew bubbles and never once protested to having his head dunked. In spite of many activities (visiting Google then hearing Oprah speak at Stanford’s graduation ceremony) and interaction with many people (in addition to 10 members of the Daniels family, Jude also met my two cousins and saw Grandma Shirley and Ray), Jude laughed and played most of the day. I shudder thinking back to the early months when he cried inexplicably and never smiled.
One morning I woke up to Jude lying on his back, thrusting his pelvis upwards as though a puppet connected by a marionette’s string. The pelvic thrusting continued for about half an hour before he turned to Matt’s arm and began sucking furiously. After farting noises ensued, Jude laughed loudly. Matt and I exchanged knowing glances: he’s definitely our son.
Luckily, the flight back was much shorter and no bachelor parties were taking place (on the way to Vegas, the plane was delayed an additional 45 minutes because drunk guys kept getting up to pee before take-off). Now, I’m looking forward to getting Jude back on his schedule and catching up on lost sleep!

“brrrrrr brrrrr brrrrr!” I smile coyly at the other library patrons before explaining to no one in particular, “He likes doing this new thing with his mouth….” Otherwise, I worry that people will assume the rude whoopee-cushion noises are coming from Jude’s other, highly gaseous end.
Aside from noises, Jude has “discovered” his feet. Often, I’ll be holding him as he struggles to face downwards, enraptured by the very existence of his swinging appendages, marveling, “My loyal friends! You follow me to the ends of the Earth and back!” In the mornings, when I retrieve Jude from his pack ‘n play, he’s on his back like, foot and sometimes feet in mouth. Literally.
Since learning he has complete control of his hands and fingers, Jude enjoys latching onto objects, particularly my hair, with a superman grip before shrieking like a deranged scientist. After the rooster cry, he quiets and suctions to my chin, nose or forehead. It’s endearing in a scary sort of way, especially when he refuses to release my tuff of hair.
At Jude’s five month milestone, the family room is a Scooby-playpen filled with fun bouncy machines, the cosmic strawberry playmat, his vibrating chair and an exersaucer that reminds me of a spaceship switchboard. All of his new toys are due to the convenience of craigslist, where I barter and buy toys just months old then sell them back. I honestly don’t know what people did before such an invention and I doubt Jude would have much of anything since I can’t justify dropping hundreds of dollars on a new toy that will last him just a few months.
Lately, I’ve been debating whether to look for a full-time job again, or even a part-time occupation. The extra cash would be helpful and it would give me a bit of time to myself, and yet I don’t want to miss anything concerning Jude as he’s changing so quickly.
At the read-aloud on Thursday mornings at the library, the room is filled with light-skinned children, all accompanied by a nannies straight out of a United Colors of Benneton advertisement. I hear many of them beckoning the kids back to their seats in syrupy Jamaican accents when they toddle off.
After read-aloud last week, I struck up a conversation with a girl my age named Ana from Venezuela. Five days a week Ana nannies for a two-year-old girl with strawberry blond hair pulled back by barrettes, wearing a complimentary Lily Pultzer red jumper. Ana admired Jude then asked how many days I nanny.
“He’s actually my son,” I reply.
“Oh! He’s eyes are so blue!” She says, bending over for a closer look as Jude’s eyes peer out from under his octopus hat.
Yes, he looks nothing like me with shiny emerald eyes and light hair. Whoever said dark eyes and hair were dominant?
We continue talking, me asking about Venezuela and in the midst of conversation, Ana proclaims, “I think it much better you stay home with Jues. Mad-son don’t even know her mommy is her mommy. She think I am her mommy!”
It takes me a second to realize she’s talking about Jude and no longer about her father’s liquor business back home.
“I first one to see Mad-son walking and now she talking to me. She know Spanish and her mommy only see her Saturday and Sunday and sometime Mommy and Daddy busy on Saturday so I stay for six days!”
“Peoples around here, they crazy. They got so much money, but no time with they kids. They kids grown up by other people!”
I nod, thinking of all the youngsters and their nannies I encounter on my walks, women from South America, the islands, Europe and even Asia, hired to care for other people’s kids. These are not children placed in daycare by necessity. These are the offspring of the .001% of Americans who can afford full-time help, designer clothes for babies and vacation homes overlooking the Sound.
After the conversation, I reflect on my anxiety concerning a career and decide that a few more months at home would probably be best for Jude. Certainly, as I’ve heard before, nobody will love your baby the way you do.
Happy five months, Pumpkin!

This week we headed down to the dirty South (judging from Jude's explosive poops) to visit with Grandma Janet (great-grandma technically) and Grandpa Gene for one week. I appreciated the time away from the constant inundation of computers, cable, cell phones to relax and, oh yes, attempt to study for the GRE's.
Jude and my grandparents immediately bonded. Grandma, many a morning, could be found downstairs in the finished basement composing songs on the mini keyboard with Jude or reading aloud about a recalcitrant bull named Ferdinand.
As his neck muscles are now fully developed there's barely any risk for the infamous head-banging. When I informed Grandma of the tornicollis, she simply remarked, "Well, the Dumpling needed quite strong muscles to hold up such a large head."
A burly firefighter correctly installed the baby seat since Jude's legs had begun dangling precariously from the ends. Like Jack's magical beanstalk, Jude's growth knows no limits. Grandma also snuck bites of macerated banana into Jude's forever rooting mouth. Initially, he made a disgusted face, but still managed to get some down.
Two days ago I decided to take a study break and venture out from the woods and into civilization. Fredericksburg, with its ubiquitous historic brick buildings and trendy shops provided the ideal hiatus from antonyms, FOIL and square roots. Grandpa happily strolled Jude from store to store as Grandma and I searched for a dress for her to wear to my cousin's wedding. It was a sunshiny, blithe day until I headed into an Irish-American store.
Maybe it was my own fault for wearing a flowing blouse that buttons up around my chest, which protrudes mightily, or because I assumed my grandparents were behind me, stroller in tow.
The lady, like a sly Cheshire cat, smiled at me before asking if she could be of assistance. I answered that was all set, thank you. Somehow my response got muddled as other customers entered the shop, the door chime ringing loudly.
"I think there may be some things you like over here," She tells me, assuming I need help.
She takes me to a room of green baby bibs, blankets, and hats. A shirt read, "Give me a pint of milk!"
"Oh, these are adorable," I say, examining a pair of clover-laden socks.
Then it happened. A response only five months prior that would have brought a smile to my lips, but today a source of great embarrassment.
"So, when are you due?"
What would have been just a check on the sheet of stores I visited, this particular one will forever be tattooed in my memory. Proverbial neon lights flash through my mind like the "Applause" queue at an SNL performance.
Literally, I was so shocked I fell speechless. I mumbled something about four months, not wanting to make her feel guilty over the prickly awkwardness of the whole situation. Then, I ran out.
Outside, I found my Grandparents sitting peacefully in front of a row of pansies on a bench eating dripping ice-cream. Jude barely glanced up at me as he nibbled the furry musical lamb Grandpa bought him. I could barely catch my breath.
Do I really still look pregnant? Yes, I recognize I'm not svelte thin and off my original weight by about 20 lbs, but pregnant?
When I told my grandparents what happened Grandma consoled me by saying that the top I was wearing looked like a maternity top, regardless of who wore it.
Neurotically, for the rest of the afternoon, I studied my reflection in the windows like a narcissistic attention-monger. Would I think I looked pregnant if I saw me going down the street? Her words haunted me.
Once, in Thailand, I did it too. My brothers and I rented motorbikes from a friendly couple who gladly threw in a few Singhas from their refrigerator without so much as batting an eye. She was thin all around save for a protruding belly.
I asked her in Thai how many months and she laughed, "I no have baby!" At least the Thai are far less sensitive to such matters, but I was mortified nevertheless and apologized profusely for my error.
Since, I have recovered, but I have to admit that it is a first I am not pleased about.
Once I finish breastfeeding Jude a major diet will ensue. Yes, major. Until then daily walks will have to suffice.