"When in doubt, spray it out!"
After St. Patty's day I came to realize the importance and validity of such an expression. For weeks I looked forward to the coveted Irish holiday where Matt and Jude would spend a "daddy and son" day while mommy would go out with friends. Indeed, my excitement got the best of me and after meeting up with friends, seeing the parade and many Irish carbombs, shots and beers I returned home with engorged breasts leaking alcoholic breastmilk.
Unfortunately, I had returned the trusty Medella breast pump back to the hospital so I resorted to manually pumping. In other words, I sat in a warm bathtub and squeezed my boobs until milk come shooting out into the water like a sprinkler system. Never did I ever imagine myself squeezing my own breasts, but ultimately that's what it came to as I milked myself in the increasingly Bacardi-scented bathwater.
While on the topic, I've begun supplementing formula with milk in order to appease the growing giant. At first I had reservations, but they were quickly cast aside when I realized I would get a lot more sleep if I tanked Jude up with formula (takes longer to digest than breast milk) at bedtime. Otherwise, he still wakes every three hours, ravenous and insatiably hungry for BB.
Over the past two weeks Jude has also become more familiar with his hands. Indeed, it's not uncommon to catch sight of him poking himself in the eye, nose and mouth with his fingers. On occasion, Jude gags, his eyes filling up with tears as he crams his fist into his mouth like a purging bulimic.
My favorite thing Jude does, by far, is the classic Jude scowl. It's a frowning expression with bent eyebrows that call to mind scoldings given by teachers as a child. Indeed, it's the symbol of disapproval that sends petty criminals before a judge into gut-wrenching anxiety. Sometimes, I'll nap when Jude does and it's not usual for me to wake and glance over at him in his rocking cradle only to see him scowling at me as though looking into the depth of my soul and judging my previous transgressions. While some would be frightened, I find it endearing.
Otherwise, Jude and I are both excited that spring is approaching so we can get out a lot more. I'm hoping to rub elbows with the Rowayton, CT moms and maybe they'll invite us on their yachts this summer.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
9 weeks down and 4,411 to go (if Jude lives to 85)! After arriving back in CT following our relaxing vacation in the orange juice state, Jude began eating more. A lot more. Hourly, in fact, for prolonged periods of time. I noticed he’d stopped pooping so much and at the other end of his body, he seemed to be producing a lot more saliva.
Rabies?
Nah, just a major growth spurt, according to the lactation consultant at my new mom’s group last Friday. Luckily, the eating binge lasted only three days. Had it been one more, I may have been forced to result to formula!
Unbeknownst to me, the group Jude and I joined had already been in session two months prior to our arrival. That could have been why Jude was, by far, the smallest and youngest baby until Friday when the old group moved to a different time and a fresh batch of moms and babies arrived.
For the first time, I realized how much Jude has grown, particularly compared to truly newborn babies. Amazingly, I seemed to have forgotten how Jude also used to lie like a comatose lump, crying at times inexplicably and never interacting. One of the new moms sitting next to me had raccoon eyes and kept blowing her nose into a tissue.
“I didn’t want to bring the baby because he just cries all the time!” She explained when it was her turn to introduce herself.
I found myself reassuring her that at four weeks that’s what they do. Being the seasoned pro that I am, I added, “Don’t worry, because in just two more weeks he’ll be smiling.”
She nodded, sniffing, and then met my eyes to muster a semi-smile.
It was also during that hour, as I expertly bounced my cooing, smiling, blue-eyed babe on my knee that Jude’s diaper leaked the contents of his explosive poop, the color of massaman curry (mustard, very yellow), onto the crotch of my pants. I suppose that is the punishment for hubris.
Inconveniently, I didn’t realize what happened until after Jude was changed and I stopped by the gas station to break my dollar into quarters for the vacuum. I received some odd looks then caught a glimpse of myself in the glass of the beverage case. Not a pretty sight, especially on beige khakis.
The question most are asking at this point is, “Does Jude sleep through the night?” No, he does not. He’s a big, growing boy who likes eating at three hour intervals. However, Matt and I have established a “bedtime routine” in preparation for the three-month mark where Jude is supposed to start sleeping six hours at a time.
Each night around 8 or 8:30, depending on various circumstances, we dim the lights and draw a nice, warm bubble bath for Jude in his toddler tub that he’s already growing out of. We dine on oysters, sip glasses of merlot and play Enya to fully adhere to the relaxing mood (kidding). Around 9, we set Jude into the bed and, amazingly, so far, he falls right asleep. Maybe it’s due to the brandy we rub on his gums (kidding again) or the Johnson’s Sleepytime bubble bath, but whatever it is, he goes right to bed. Such a beautiful thing. I would like to say that Matt and I stay up to talk, but I no. We’re usually in bed by 9 too.
Monday, we met our new pediatrician, Dr. Patricia and her lovely staff. Previously, after bidding good-bye to Dr Glassman I scheduled Jude to see a pediatrician at the Norwalk Community Health Center. Upon entering the building, I began regretting ever calling. The waiting room was packed full of angry parents screaming at their kids to shut up and I saw one woman feeding her baby coca-cola (definitely not the doctor’s orders). I shuddered. Luckily, our insurance was declined so we left without ever seeing the doctor.
Dr Patricia, on the other hand, just opened her private practice after working for twelve years in Darien. Her office has beautiful murals on the walls and hand-painted butterflies. The nurse who saw us was wonderful, too. Comforting and kind, Maureen has eight kids of her own. She confessed that the two-month mark is the toughest time because “all the adrenaline has worn off” and you’re really tired. I agreed with her assessment, especially after experiencing days where I wonder, “Is this really my life now?” as I’m surrounded by smelly diapers, a dog with a yeast infection in two ears and a disorganized house, not to mention a cranky baby.
She measured and weighed Jude, complimented him on his disposition and beautiful blue eyes. I wouldn’t have been surprised if real life carebears and butterflies came streaming in through the door. A chart appeared and Jude’s length wasn’t even on the rainbow-like curve.
“He’s in the 99th percentile for height,” she explained.
One of her sons was in that percentile too. At 19, he’s now 6’5”. Could explain why Jude has graduated from the 0-3 month clothes to 6 months.
All was well until the topic of vaccines came up. Upon reading more about possible causes of autism (www.healthrecords.com) and Robert Kennedy’s letter on the cover-up by the pharmaceutical companies, I asked if we could space out the shots and separate the cocktails. In addition, I did not want Jude receiving the Hep B shot since it’s only transmitted via blood.
She listened patiently and agreed so Jude’s left thigh was shot up with the Hib vaccine to ward off a deadly bacteria and the right thigh received a dose of the diphtheria vaccine. Normally, diphtheria is given in a triad with tetanus and pertussis, however, the last two will be administered when Jude is four months old.
After the initial crying, Jude fell asleep and slept for about an hour only to awaken, crying in pain. Baby Tylenol did nothing to alleviate the distress and for the first time in his short life, Jude refused Big Boob. I knew something was definitely wrong.
As I changed his diaper, I noticed Jude’s left leg looked red and upon closer inspection it was actually quite swollen. Back in the car seat, back to the doctor’s office, back to paper-lined table.
After stripping Jude down again and examining the area, Maureen explained he was experiencing a reaction, which also included a nasty black-and-blue mark. I was in tears, watching Jude’s chin quivering before unleashing another torrent of sobs.
Luckily, the swelling went down as I alternated icing his tender thigh with Stop&Shop select frozen veggies and Trader Joe’s frozen sweet corn. By the time Matt got home, Jude was all smiles again, laughing and eager for interaction.
On another note, I now see how fast Jude is growing. It’s incredible, really. Laurel and Natalie visited on Saturday and were in awe of how much he’s changed. In another month he’ll be completely different again. Sometimes, when he’s sleeping I catch glimpses of my brothers in his face, other times, when he cries I see Matt or when Jude frowns I see Grandpa Dave.
The hardest part of his body to wash is definitely his neck because there are tons of folds not unlike that of a retracted accordion. Sometimes, Jude squawks like a bird then pumps his arms and legs accordingly. Jude doesn’t like “tummy time”. In fact, just last night he managed to turn himself over in the midst of rebelling against having to lie on his tummy. Other times, he’ll just surrender and lie motionless, like a hit-and-run victim.
I think that Jude is training me well.
Rabies?
Nah, just a major growth spurt, according to the lactation consultant at my new mom’s group last Friday. Luckily, the eating binge lasted only three days. Had it been one more, I may have been forced to result to formula!
Unbeknownst to me, the group Jude and I joined had already been in session two months prior to our arrival. That could have been why Jude was, by far, the smallest and youngest baby until Friday when the old group moved to a different time and a fresh batch of moms and babies arrived.
For the first time, I realized how much Jude has grown, particularly compared to truly newborn babies. Amazingly, I seemed to have forgotten how Jude also used to lie like a comatose lump, crying at times inexplicably and never interacting. One of the new moms sitting next to me had raccoon eyes and kept blowing her nose into a tissue.
“I didn’t want to bring the baby because he just cries all the time!” She explained when it was her turn to introduce herself.
I found myself reassuring her that at four weeks that’s what they do. Being the seasoned pro that I am, I added, “Don’t worry, because in just two more weeks he’ll be smiling.”
She nodded, sniffing, and then met my eyes to muster a semi-smile.
It was also during that hour, as I expertly bounced my cooing, smiling, blue-eyed babe on my knee that Jude’s diaper leaked the contents of his explosive poop, the color of massaman curry (mustard, very yellow), onto the crotch of my pants. I suppose that is the punishment for hubris.
Inconveniently, I didn’t realize what happened until after Jude was changed and I stopped by the gas station to break my dollar into quarters for the vacuum. I received some odd looks then caught a glimpse of myself in the glass of the beverage case. Not a pretty sight, especially on beige khakis.
The question most are asking at this point is, “Does Jude sleep through the night?” No, he does not. He’s a big, growing boy who likes eating at three hour intervals. However, Matt and I have established a “bedtime routine” in preparation for the three-month mark where Jude is supposed to start sleeping six hours at a time.
Each night around 8 or 8:30, depending on various circumstances, we dim the lights and draw a nice, warm bubble bath for Jude in his toddler tub that he’s already growing out of. We dine on oysters, sip glasses of merlot and play Enya to fully adhere to the relaxing mood (kidding). Around 9, we set Jude into the bed and, amazingly, so far, he falls right asleep. Maybe it’s due to the brandy we rub on his gums (kidding again) or the Johnson’s Sleepytime bubble bath, but whatever it is, he goes right to bed. Such a beautiful thing. I would like to say that Matt and I stay up to talk, but I no. We’re usually in bed by 9 too.
Monday, we met our new pediatrician, Dr. Patricia and her lovely staff. Previously, after bidding good-bye to Dr Glassman I scheduled Jude to see a pediatrician at the Norwalk Community Health Center. Upon entering the building, I began regretting ever calling. The waiting room was packed full of angry parents screaming at their kids to shut up and I saw one woman feeding her baby coca-cola (definitely not the doctor’s orders). I shuddered. Luckily, our insurance was declined so we left without ever seeing the doctor.
Dr Patricia, on the other hand, just opened her private practice after working for twelve years in Darien. Her office has beautiful murals on the walls and hand-painted butterflies. The nurse who saw us was wonderful, too. Comforting and kind, Maureen has eight kids of her own. She confessed that the two-month mark is the toughest time because “all the adrenaline has worn off” and you’re really tired. I agreed with her assessment, especially after experiencing days where I wonder, “Is this really my life now?” as I’m surrounded by smelly diapers, a dog with a yeast infection in two ears and a disorganized house, not to mention a cranky baby.
She measured and weighed Jude, complimented him on his disposition and beautiful blue eyes. I wouldn’t have been surprised if real life carebears and butterflies came streaming in through the door. A chart appeared and Jude’s length wasn’t even on the rainbow-like curve.
“He’s in the 99th percentile for height,” she explained.
One of her sons was in that percentile too. At 19, he’s now 6’5”. Could explain why Jude has graduated from the 0-3 month clothes to 6 months.
All was well until the topic of vaccines came up. Upon reading more about possible causes of autism (www.healthrecords.com) and Robert Kennedy’s letter on the cover-up by the pharmaceutical companies, I asked if we could space out the shots and separate the cocktails. In addition, I did not want Jude receiving the Hep B shot since it’s only transmitted via blood.
She listened patiently and agreed so Jude’s left thigh was shot up with the Hib vaccine to ward off a deadly bacteria and the right thigh received a dose of the diphtheria vaccine. Normally, diphtheria is given in a triad with tetanus and pertussis, however, the last two will be administered when Jude is four months old.
After the initial crying, Jude fell asleep and slept for about an hour only to awaken, crying in pain. Baby Tylenol did nothing to alleviate the distress and for the first time in his short life, Jude refused Big Boob. I knew something was definitely wrong.
As I changed his diaper, I noticed Jude’s left leg looked red and upon closer inspection it was actually quite swollen. Back in the car seat, back to the doctor’s office, back to paper-lined table.
After stripping Jude down again and examining the area, Maureen explained he was experiencing a reaction, which also included a nasty black-and-blue mark. I was in tears, watching Jude’s chin quivering before unleashing another torrent of sobs.
Luckily, the swelling went down as I alternated icing his tender thigh with Stop&Shop select frozen veggies and Trader Joe’s frozen sweet corn. By the time Matt got home, Jude was all smiles again, laughing and eager for interaction.
On another note, I now see how fast Jude is growing. It’s incredible, really. Laurel and Natalie visited on Saturday and were in awe of how much he’s changed. In another month he’ll be completely different again. Sometimes, when he’s sleeping I catch glimpses of my brothers in his face, other times, when he cries I see Matt or when Jude frowns I see Grandpa Dave.
The hardest part of his body to wash is definitely his neck because there are tons of folds not unlike that of a retracted accordion. Sometimes, Jude squawks like a bird then pumps his arms and legs accordingly. Jude doesn’t like “tummy time”. In fact, just last night he managed to turn himself over in the midst of rebelling against having to lie on his tummy. Other times, he’ll just surrender and lie motionless, like a hit-and-run victim.
I think that Jude is training me well.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
In the words of Erin's beloved Jimmy Buffett, "Changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes" especially when you leave the miserable, glacier East Coast for the simple, sunshine-filled existence in Florida where heavy blacks and browns are traded for pastels, shorts and bathing suits. Initially, I worried the airplane ride would prove traumatic for Jude, instead the blond boy behind us shrieked while our cooing babe charmed the stewardesses then slept much of the way without much interruption. Upon arrival, we dumped Jude into the pool after lathering sunscreen on. He loved it, likely thinking to himself that at last he managed to return to utero where he was immersed in warm water, cozy and well-fed without endlessly pursuing Big Boob.
Speaking of which, Matt brought the rented Breast Pump in its official Inspector Gadget plastic suitcase. It had its own compartment aboard Jet Blue and has allowed us to escape to dinner and the movies.
The second day in Florida when Matt and I ventured out to see "Definitely Maybe", I felt what can only be described as a huge void walking through the ubiquitous Florida mall, sunshine spilling through the glass ceilings, without Jude in tow. Passerbyers smiled politely, but certainly didn't stop to coo and stare as I had become accustomed in public places. We were babyless and on one hand it was liberating not hauling the stroller, diaper bag and Jude about praying all the meanwhile he wouldn't fuss or poop, and on the other I experienced a dull pain in my chest as I was without the inhibitor of my belly for nine months and constant companion for the past two. After the movie, we drove back to the "mouse house" condo immediately.
A year ago this March Natalie had flown out to meet me in Thailand. I had just finished teaching in the northern mountains and I was itching for an adventure. For a month, we traveled through Malaysia and the south of Thailand, burning to a crisp on the beaches, sleeping in sketchy huts and constantly on the go: rock climbing, hiking, exploring strawberry farms as well as marketplaces where we ate anything under the sun fried up.
The self I was only a year ago would have balked at spending a week in Florida just "relaxing." I wanted constant stimulation, challenging encounters, adventures...you get the idea.
With an eight-week-old infant, one's definition of vacation is no longer limited to cascading limestone when it now includes merely grocery shopping without the ordeal of bundling the baby and trudging through snow and ice while futzing with a stubborn shopping cart. A great afternoon is when Jude doesn't cry endlessly and a successful dinner just means that he slept through it.
Gramps and Dee Dee's (Matt's paternal grandparents) condo on the beach is now burgeoning with baby items: a swing that lights up, plays music and creates imitation ocean wave sounds that make me have to use the bathroom, a stroller and a rocking bassinet rented for a week from a place nearby. In short, there's enough items to keep Jude occupied and happy. Many a time, Dee Dee gets her daily exercise by strolling Jude throughout the apartment, singing a song about a tattooed lady, as I swim and Matt edits on Tina, the computer.
We take endless pictures of Jude in the water, Jude with a balloon, Jude cooing, making the owl expression named so after watching "Into the Wild" and noticing how much he resembles the bird.
At eight weeks or two months old, Jude has indefinitely entered into a new phase of babyhood. He's graduated (hopefully) from the erratic crying through the night, days when I couldn't eat anything other than bland chicken, bread and water (seriously) to interacting with others, smiling and cooing, and waking just to eat. Like clockwork, Jude serenades Big Boob every three hours. We sleep together, Jude and I, and nursing requires me to only be half-asleep so I'm nowhere as exhausted as I was even two weeks ago. Each stage seems better.
Last night he vomited on me, likely a result of devouring too much seafood on my part, and as I was cleaning the milky substance from my shirt Jude erupted into a cackle. He laughed, turning his head from side to side, evidently quite pleased with himself.
Another component to Jude's newest stage consists of his gaining awareness of his hands. Before, in the midst of a meltdown, Jude's fists would find their way to his head and clasp down on a lock of hair, fueling Jude's rage as he didn't realize he was the culprit orchestrating the pain. Now, I've noticed him examining his hands in sheer wonder. Placing his fist or finger into his mouth, Jude is starting to learn that he has control of his appendages.
This discovery goes hand-in-hand with Jude's neck muscles strengthening under the support of his head. A month ago Jude was still a bobble-head, his cranium swinging dangerously about without assistance. Now, I'd classify him as just semi-bobble headed as he, particularly when excited, can hold his head erect for a few seconds without flopping backwards or forwards.
A week before we left for Florida I received news that my cousin Joe who I'd grown up with died unexpectedly after drinking while taking painkillers for his back pain. We used to catch frogs together as kids, later he lived with us when I was in sixth grade for a year. Blasting Lauren Hill's rendition of "Killing Me Softly" from his car as he drove me and my friends to the mall on occasion, Joe felt more like an older, rebellious brother than a cousin.
At the funeral, his mother wept, expressing all her regrets, lamenting that she should have called more, made greater attempts at keeping in touch, even remembering the last moments of her pregnancy with him when she watched the fetal heart monitor at the hospital nearly thirty years ago. It was that last part that really got me. I began thinking how empty life would be without Jude Lei, the greatest surprise in my life and my greatest joy. I know Matt was thinking the same as tears ran down his face for a person he never even met.
I don't really have much of a direct point for sharing this other than how it's made me more sensitive to the fragility of life and the passing of time. Sometimes I feel a bit down and isolated. The winter can do that to you, as can motherhood, especially when you're young and not entirely sure of yourself and you suddenly have a life to be responsible for.
This week in Florida, I've been able to more fully appreciate Jude, thanks to doting family members who eagerly pitch in when a break is needed. Taking in all those seemingly insignificant moments, kissing his rose-bud mouth or his froggy-like belly, smelling his hair and melting into his buttery cheeks, I don't want to live with regrets about not spending enough time with Jude as a baby.
Dee Dee and I have also been talking a lot. Both she and Grampie are sagacious and openly admit to their past mistakes while never passing judgement of others. From what I understand, during the 50's and 60's when they were raising their five boys, there wasn't really an emphasis on appreciating babies. They were simply a component of life resulting from marriage that demanded time, money and other valuable resources. Watching Dee Dee and Grampie interact now with Jude, I can sense that their views have evolved as they have an entirely different approach. I hope to not get too bogged down by worries and instead be appreciative of these special times.
Off to work on my tan....enough for now.
Speaking of which, Matt brought the rented Breast Pump in its official Inspector Gadget plastic suitcase. It had its own compartment aboard Jet Blue and has allowed us to escape to dinner and the movies.
The second day in Florida when Matt and I ventured out to see "Definitely Maybe", I felt what can only be described as a huge void walking through the ubiquitous Florida mall, sunshine spilling through the glass ceilings, without Jude in tow. Passerbyers smiled politely, but certainly didn't stop to coo and stare as I had become accustomed in public places. We were babyless and on one hand it was liberating not hauling the stroller, diaper bag and Jude about praying all the meanwhile he wouldn't fuss or poop, and on the other I experienced a dull pain in my chest as I was without the inhibitor of my belly for nine months and constant companion for the past two. After the movie, we drove back to the "mouse house" condo immediately.
A year ago this March Natalie had flown out to meet me in Thailand. I had just finished teaching in the northern mountains and I was itching for an adventure. For a month, we traveled through Malaysia and the south of Thailand, burning to a crisp on the beaches, sleeping in sketchy huts and constantly on the go: rock climbing, hiking, exploring strawberry farms as well as marketplaces where we ate anything under the sun fried up.
The self I was only a year ago would have balked at spending a week in Florida just "relaxing." I wanted constant stimulation, challenging encounters, adventures...you get the idea.
With an eight-week-old infant, one's definition of vacation is no longer limited to cascading limestone when it now includes merely grocery shopping without the ordeal of bundling the baby and trudging through snow and ice while futzing with a stubborn shopping cart. A great afternoon is when Jude doesn't cry endlessly and a successful dinner just means that he slept through it.
Gramps and Dee Dee's (Matt's paternal grandparents) condo on the beach is now burgeoning with baby items: a swing that lights up, plays music and creates imitation ocean wave sounds that make me have to use the bathroom, a stroller and a rocking bassinet rented for a week from a place nearby. In short, there's enough items to keep Jude occupied and happy. Many a time, Dee Dee gets her daily exercise by strolling Jude throughout the apartment, singing a song about a tattooed lady, as I swim and Matt edits on Tina, the computer.
We take endless pictures of Jude in the water, Jude with a balloon, Jude cooing, making the owl expression named so after watching "Into the Wild" and noticing how much he resembles the bird.
At eight weeks or two months old, Jude has indefinitely entered into a new phase of babyhood. He's graduated (hopefully) from the erratic crying through the night, days when I couldn't eat anything other than bland chicken, bread and water (seriously) to interacting with others, smiling and cooing, and waking just to eat. Like clockwork, Jude serenades Big Boob every three hours. We sleep together, Jude and I, and nursing requires me to only be half-asleep so I'm nowhere as exhausted as I was even two weeks ago. Each stage seems better.
Last night he vomited on me, likely a result of devouring too much seafood on my part, and as I was cleaning the milky substance from my shirt Jude erupted into a cackle. He laughed, turning his head from side to side, evidently quite pleased with himself.
Another component to Jude's newest stage consists of his gaining awareness of his hands. Before, in the midst of a meltdown, Jude's fists would find their way to his head and clasp down on a lock of hair, fueling Jude's rage as he didn't realize he was the culprit orchestrating the pain. Now, I've noticed him examining his hands in sheer wonder. Placing his fist or finger into his mouth, Jude is starting to learn that he has control of his appendages.
This discovery goes hand-in-hand with Jude's neck muscles strengthening under the support of his head. A month ago Jude was still a bobble-head, his cranium swinging dangerously about without assistance. Now, I'd classify him as just semi-bobble headed as he, particularly when excited, can hold his head erect for a few seconds without flopping backwards or forwards.
A week before we left for Florida I received news that my cousin Joe who I'd grown up with died unexpectedly after drinking while taking painkillers for his back pain. We used to catch frogs together as kids, later he lived with us when I was in sixth grade for a year. Blasting Lauren Hill's rendition of "Killing Me Softly" from his car as he drove me and my friends to the mall on occasion, Joe felt more like an older, rebellious brother than a cousin.
At the funeral, his mother wept, expressing all her regrets, lamenting that she should have called more, made greater attempts at keeping in touch, even remembering the last moments of her pregnancy with him when she watched the fetal heart monitor at the hospital nearly thirty years ago. It was that last part that really got me. I began thinking how empty life would be without Jude Lei, the greatest surprise in my life and my greatest joy. I know Matt was thinking the same as tears ran down his face for a person he never even met.
I don't really have much of a direct point for sharing this other than how it's made me more sensitive to the fragility of life and the passing of time. Sometimes I feel a bit down and isolated. The winter can do that to you, as can motherhood, especially when you're young and not entirely sure of yourself and you suddenly have a life to be responsible for.
This week in Florida, I've been able to more fully appreciate Jude, thanks to doting family members who eagerly pitch in when a break is needed. Taking in all those seemingly insignificant moments, kissing his rose-bud mouth or his froggy-like belly, smelling his hair and melting into his buttery cheeks, I don't want to live with regrets about not spending enough time with Jude as a baby.
Dee Dee and I have also been talking a lot. Both she and Grampie are sagacious and openly admit to their past mistakes while never passing judgement of others. From what I understand, during the 50's and 60's when they were raising their five boys, there wasn't really an emphasis on appreciating babies. They were simply a component of life resulting from marriage that demanded time, money and other valuable resources. Watching Dee Dee and Grampie interact now with Jude, I can sense that their views have evolved as they have an entirely different approach. I hope to not get too bogged down by worries and instead be appreciative of these special times.
Off to work on my tan....enough for now.
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