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!