“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…
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
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.
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.
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