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!