Mondays, Tuesdays Sleepy Days, Wednesday, Thursdays Sleepy Days….
Despite battling constant exhaustion on the part of Matt and myself, Little Jude is developing into quite a character! After a night of restlessness and intermittent shrieks, all Jude has to do is flash one of his smiles that even Julia Roberts would have trouble competing with and it’s all worth it. Honestly, when you’re about to throw the towel in, shave one’s head and call it quits (oh, wait, already been done by Britney Spears), they begin smiling and melt your heart all over again. In my humble opinion, I believe nature /God intentionally designed babies that way or else none of us would make it to adulthood.
Have I mentioned that Jude likes motion? Two weekends ago, we stayed for the weekend in NYC just as I was about to scale the walls of our tiny Norwalk apartment in sheer restlessness. During the day, Matt strapped on the Baby Bijorn (reminds me of the Ghostbusters’ apparel) and Jude slept his way through Little Italy and Chinatown, only to turn nocturnal once the sun went down. Sleepless in Seattle? Try Up-All-Night-In-New-York version without chipper Meg Ryan to talk on the phone with.
I truly felt like a reluctant participant in the NYC version of “The Shining” into the wee hours in the morning as I treaded Zombie-like around the interior perimeter of the mustard-yellow wallpapered, parquet floored apartment. Many a time, I scared myself to pieces entering a room only to face a frazzled brunette holding a wailing baby. Damn those wall-to-wall mirrors!
By Saturday morning, my arms were on the brink of falling off from rocking Jude in an attempt to emulate the motions of his beloved swing. From that experience, I learned that desperate times call for desperate measures even if it means using a treadmill, suitcase and pillow to create soothing rocking sensations (see below instructions).
Matt and I received some suspicious stares the next day on the subway as we discussed the merits of placing the baby in the suitcase, however, it saved us from another sleep-deprived night.
We’ve also been back to visit our favorite Dr. Seuse character, Dr. Glassman, for Jude’s 6 week check-up. Whatever that man eats for breakfast must be laced with crack, for he was really on a roll, giving demonstrations of inquisitive children by rapidly switching off and on the facets and swinging medical equipment about. After dropping a few non-sequitors such as, “Don’t worry when parents say, ‘When are ya going to feed the baby a sausage?’” we were amused by a 25 minute reenactment of three-year-old Dr. Glassman playing in the gutter. He then removed his belt, but luckily halted the demonstration of what his father did upon learning of his son’s gutter antics.
Quite a peculiar man and I’m sad to write that we’re going to be finding a new pediatrician closer by now that we’ve switched insurance companies. However, before leaving Dr. Glassman wrote another “Keep up the good work” inscription on his prescription pad after Jude weighed in at 10.5 lbs with his height in the 90th percentile, weight in the 85th and head circumference in the 80th. I’m not quite sure if this means Jude’s head is slightly smaller than the rest of his body, but I’m still pleased that overall he earned a B+ at his six-week mark.
When it comes to your own kid, it’s always better safe than sorry, even when your prior philosophy was that anything goes whether it be zipping around in Thailand on a motorbike, helmet nowhere in sight or considering alcohol a serving of “grain” on the food pyramid. On Friday, at my new mom’s group some of the women were discussing the dangers of using plastic baby bottles. Jude had been especially cranky that morning, so I was engrossed in holding off on an eruption and not focusing on the conversation. Back home hours later, Matt calls, insisting we buy glass bottles.
Known for my frugality, I questioned him as to why we need to invest in glass bottles when we have a set of 30 brand-new plastic ones. Long story short, after researching online I learned that the brand we’ve been using contains high levels of BPA, a compound found to cause brain-damage in mice after the plastic was heated. Frantically, I combed through as many articles as I could find online, all of them confirming the dangers of using plastic bottles, particularly Dr. Brown’s Evenflow. With my heart in my throat, I recalled boiling and sterilizing the bottles upon receiving them, then re-heating them each time after Jude uses one to kill bacteria.
Needless to say, we’ve switched to glass and I’ve subscribed to a “medical alerts” email that warns me on a daily basis of the evils we’re unintentionally subjecting our children to. OK, I’m being a bit factious and yet in all seriousness as a parent I’ve become more cautious, be it to my own wearing a seatbelt religiously to paying a bit extra to eat organic.
Next Monday, Matt, Jude and I leave for Florida-can’t wait. Godmother Ryan got him the cutest pair of sunglasses to rock for the occasion, plus we have cute swim shorts from Emily and her mom.

Worst Case Scenario: How to Create Motion When You Don’t Have Your Swing
Materials:
Treadmill, pillows, suitcase with wheels
Directions:
Place the suitcase on the treadmill with the handlebar extended so that the wheels connect with the runner. Rest the extended handlebar on a pillow that should be at the base of the treadmill or on the metal covering where one’s foot would face if walking on the treadmill. Next, remove clothing from one’s suitcase and place another pillow in the cavity of the suitcase. Turn on the treadmill and place it on a low setting. Place baby in the suitcase, preferably with pacifier in mouth, swaddled and relatively calm. Observe as rotating motion soothes cranky baby. Do not attempt to run on apparatus. Rest.

Already five weeks have flown by since Jude entered the world on that frosty January night of ’08. He’s becoming increasingly more aware of the world around him, unlike that of a “fetus” as Dr. Harvey, the baby whisperer, claims as the state of all infants under the age of three months.
On Monday (February 4), Jude smiled for the first time. Unlike the fleeting gas smiles, he looked me in the eye and opened his mouth fully with the corners turned up. Maybe he grinned in pleasure that the Giants won the Superbowl on Sunday or that Obama has a good chance of restoring the dignity to the country, but either way it was gum-filled, big and definitely not a “I want the big boob” gesture.
Later, he repeated the smile as I videotaped him propped up next to his plethora of teddy bears. Matt manages to get the rare grin out of him too, as he shoots Jude into the air, an action that terrifies and excites the baby.
This week I’ve taken to sleeping Japanese style on the floor with Jude. Not exactly on the hard, bare surface because I throw down the featherbed with curious red stains on it, then pile pillows and blankets on top. I find that I sleep much better this way with Jude instead of waking every ten minutes in a panic that he’s either fallen off the bed/couch or somehow suffocated in his bassinet.
Yesterday, I napped with the baby only to wake as Pedro nuzzled and inched his hairy brown body between us, his tongue lapping at Jude’s unsuspecting fist and then working its way up to his face. At least dogs have cleaner mouths than people, or maybe that’s just an urban myth.
Last Friday, Jude and I attended our first “New Mom’s Class” at the Norwalk Hospital. In spite of the rain, at least ten women and their babies filled the room, which I realized after about 45 minutes was the same place Matt and I attended our Lamaze class in November. How strange it felt to be back in the very room where we learned about Edward Scissor-hands forceps, the 1-2-3 breathing method and the plastic crochet-look-alike needle used to break one’s water months later with baby in tow.
A lactation consultant acted as moderator, asking everyone how their week was and explaining how to lessen engorgement or how to deal with cradle cap. At first I felt hesitant and shy, most of the other women seemed to already know one another, but it wasn’t too long before I began talking to the lady next to me with her 7 week old baby. I’m happy to report I wasn’t the youngest mom there and Jude behaved himself for the most part other than a brief crying spell after I nursed him.
Other than the beginning of college, it’s been a long time since I’ve made friends based on similar situations, rather than mutual interests. It’s not hard bonding with people all the same age, away from home for the first time, thirsty for alcohol versus forging a friendship with another female solely contingent upon both of us having babies…which brings me to another point. Although I do feel older and more mature, I don’t think of myself as “a mother” in the stereotypical sense that the thought of driving a mini-van makes me want to puke (sorry Gloria), I still like to go out, travel and see the world and both Matt and I feel no pressure to buy a house (not like we could right now, but still) with a white picket fence and trade Pedro in for a pedigree pooch. In the words of Mrs. Palay, “Life is too short to be bothered by petty formalities.”
Still, it’s intimidating knowing that while I’m still 24, Matt, Jude and I are entering into a different phase of life apart from that of our friends. I write this without regret or sadness, rather awareness that our lives are evolving and changing enormously.
Today, Jude joined the 20% of Americans who are in possession of a passport. It will arrive in the mail anywhere between a month and two months, and my only fear is that Jude may change so much between now and when we leave for Europe that his picture won’t look like him anymore.
Speaking of picture, it was quite an experience getting the passport photos done at CVS. For one, when we arrived, Jude was comfortably asleep, pacifier in mouth, swaddled in his car seat, oblivious to the happenings around him. The technician informs me that I can’t hold Jude for the picture, instead I must place him alone on a huge sheet of white poster board. Half of the store must have witnessed me unraveling Jude, like an exposed mummy, only to place him on the floor, then pry the binky from his lips under the harsh glare of halogen lights.
In a thick Indian accent, the man commands me to “please engage the baby’s eyes” so I whistle, cluck my tongue like some kind of deranged bird and clap in an attempt to wake my peaceful son. His eyes flutter open momentarily and the man doesn’t snap the picture soon enough, so more clucking/whistling/clapping ensues until Jude is fully awake, his lower lip quivering on the verge of an explosive howl.
The final picture is of Jude looking like a little bandit, his arms raised above his head, hair disheveled, lip puckered, eyes wide, but at least we got it.
While at Norwalk Hospital, I rented a Deluxe Symphony Breast Pump, a highly advanced contraption that enables me to gather milk from my two boobs simultaneously. Imagine a yellowish colored box with two tubes extending from the top. You then hook up the tubes to the “horns” that cover one’s boobs and collects the milk in tiny bottles connected to the horns. In addition to harvesting milk, this also provides an opportunity to determine which is the superior boob as they rarely expel equal amounts of milk.
The only problem is that it’s hard to adjust the degree of suction when both your hands are in use, holding up the receptacles. I made the mistake the other night of cranking the switch up before the “dancing” period finished because I didn’t want to release the horns in order to turn up the machine. The dancing period is when the machine preps ones nipples for the suctioning by gently applying pressure that results in the little thimbles contracting and retracting in unison.
Within seconds, the black arrow on the suctioning odometer shot up and I quickly learned that at top force one’s breasts are pulled so hard that in addition to causing a great deal of pain, the boobs become stuck in the narrow horn piece much like the way large objects can cause an obstruction in a vacuum! It wasn’t until I turned the Symphony off that I got my tender boobs back and luckily the bulbous form returned in seconds. Even though I collected 4 ounces (two feedings worth of boob juice) in about five minutes, I learned the virtue of patience with the breast pump.
This weekend we’re heading into NYC for our first night away from home (Pawling doesn’t count because it’s our second home), something I doubt Jude will appreciate but I know Matt and I will immensely.

After 3 and a half weeks of motherhood, I’ve learned a few things. First, prioritize, prioritize and prioritize. If it’s 2 p.m. and I’m still in my pajamas it might be a better idea to jump in the shower once Jude is fast asleep rather than cranking out a few more thank you cards at least two weeks late/throwing in a load of laundry/vacuuming up the dog hair imbedded in the carpet/returning phone calls and emails/plucking my out-of-control eyebrows.
Yes, by the end of the day if the baby is dressed, fed, diapered and content and I’m showered and dressed, and the dog hasn’t been poisoned/starved/constipated, I feel like superwoman, deserving of a silver star. Dinner earns another star and if the kitchen and family room don’t look like they’ve thrown up on themselves add another star. Maybe even a golden one. I don’t know how people have multiples, nevertheless one baby after another!
Another thing I’ve learned over these weeks is that Jude Lei likes the big boob. Really likes it. So much that there’s a narrow window of time between when he communicates to me that he’s hungry in the form of either a commanding shriek or mild whimper and when he becomes frustrated in a full-on, clenched-fisted-red-faced screaming stitch that makes me confident my son could be employed as a highly effective alarm system. While on the topic of eating, I’ve had my nose nursed by Jude Lei more than a few times, which produces an odd sensation for both parties involved. Never a good idea to kiss a hungry baby.
On Thursday, when Grandma Sus was visiting I “went out” (errands to CVS for Mylicon don’t count) for the first time since Jude’s arrival. I haven’t mustered the courage to leave him with anyone other than family, even though our doting neighbor Wanda offers frequently. Call me prejudice, but her relentless touting of the freaky exotic clown collection in her family room doesn’t necessarily conjure feelings of confidence in me.
Immerging from the chrysalis of my home over 21 days after Jude’s arrival into the sweat-drenched habitat of tightly-muscled body-builders and trim, spandex-clad women at the gym, I experienced massive over-stimulation similar to how Jude becomes rattled with too much handling and just needs time to himself.
As my excess skin jiggled with each upwards motion of the elliptical, I read (a.k.a. looked at the pretty pictures since my brain has trouble digesting anything longer than a blurb) that Christina Aguilera and Nicole Richie had their babies…on January 12th, ten days after Jude was born. Suddenly, I became aware that the world didn’t completely pause as my life did with his birth. In fact, I was paying bills for the first time on Wednesday and realized, half way through, that most of them would be late because it wasn’t still January 2nd, but January 20-something.
A card sits on Matt’s bureau that reads, “When baby arrives/The world can wait.” While I might still be reeling from the shock and elation of Jude Lei’s birth, the world still continues on. Simply said and yet hard to comprehend especially when time has essentially stood still for the past three weeks like a diaper-filled version of The Twilight Zone.
I was happy to return back home to my baby, studying his ears, fingers, and nose under his new, stern-faced gaze that reminds us of Grandpa Dave. Sometimes at night, Matt and I marvel at how amazingly perfect he is in every way. Even in the midst of a gas-induced meltdown, I’m in awe that he’s here with all ten fingers and toes. I never really allowed myself to fantasize about his arrival when I was pregnant, perhaps in fear that I would jinx it and something would turn out wrong.
Jude seems to favor his left hand and at times I notice him propping his face up against the hand, like a pensive, miniature “Thinker” that would make Rodin proud. My grandma Janet first noticed Jude Lei’s inclination toward his left hand (she’s a lefty too!) and the more time goes on, I see that this hand is often flung around more than the other, even though Jude Lei is not aware that he is in control.
A lover of warm baths and music, (did I mention long walks on the beach too?) Jude Lei receives a daily dose of Konstantin Krimets’ Globalis Symphony Orchestra. I tend to play O Mio Babbino Caro often because on the 2nd, Grandma Janet heard it in a shop and she instinctively knew I was in labor. Stay tuned for the next blog where Jude Lei will be conducting his own piece in Italian…
We’re still receiving boxes upon boxes of gifts for Jude Lei! Home-woven blankets, booties and hats, a Guiding Eyes jean-jacket with “Jude Lei” engraved on the front pocket with a slightly misshapen Golden Retriever, a furry camel-colored papoose for the outdoors that would draw jealous stares from a kangaroo, gliding contraptions that save my tired arms at night and countless outfits show up daily on our doorstep. Matt jokes that Jude had better be appreciative of all the attention now, because once puberty hits, he won't be such a hit...might Matt be speaking from experience?
At the risk of sounding ungrateful, right about now I’d truly appreciate a few presents in the form of a full-time cook, a back-massager, a baby masseuse for Jude when he has bad gas, someone to come clean poopy diapers in the middle of the night, an extra big boob to feed him when I’m sleepy. I can wish, can’t I?

Exhaustion has hit, but at least I have relief in the form of a certain French Las Vegas dame, my grandma June who, to date, has moped the kitchen floor, cleaned all the counter tops, appliances, stove, etc. She has also scrubbed the mold off the bathroom floor, fixed the broken towel rack, vacuumed the tufts of dog hair that accumulate daily and purchased us groceries. Then, when I'm sleepy, she takes Jude Lei as I fall into a slumber until the next feeding. I don't know what I'm going to do when she leaves on Monday.
Anyhow, I gave using a breast pump a try a few days ago. The device reminds me of one of those obnoxious fog horns that high school boys like to blow at football games. I read over the directions and washed it out before placing the mustard yellow valve up to my boob and turning the appliance on. Odd slurping sounds quickly overrode the methodical hum of the motor and I watched in semi-fascination, semi-horror as milk squirted into a bottle with each sucking compression. After about five minutes I turned it off, my nipple a shade of Barney purple and throbbing, and decided that breast-feeding is much better when it's the baby sucking and not some machine.
Jude Lei has really woken up in these past few days. When he's not pooping, eating or sleeping, his big eyes roam around as his face contorts into a variety of expressions. Sometimes he purses his lips, sticks his head up erect and makes these, "Oooh" sounds. It wouldn't surprise me if he threw in an, " E.T. phone hooooome!" with his index finger pointing toward the heavens. Other times, he head-bangs against my breast, mouth open, gargling and cooing to himself, until he comes into contact with the food source. He then snorts like an excited piglet before taking the plunge, face first, into my melonous bosom, latching on and sucking away. I wonder about brain damage and often put my hand behind his head as to buffer the bobs, but he finds this annoying and often shrieks so I permit the bouncing ritual.
Our great family friend drove all the way from Boston and visited for two days. She and Grandma June hadn't seen each other in 18 years, since they both lived in Atlanta following the arrival of my brothers.
At night, I had made a dinner reservation at a fondue place and we intended on bringing Jude Lei, but last minute Matt was tired so he opted to stay home with the baby. I made sure to feed him before leaving, but upon returning home two hours later Matt's shallow eyes, stooped posture and the condition of the family room communicated that Jude Lei had screamed the entire time. It made me realize how truly tethered I am to the baby and that there's no guarantee he'll sleep when he's supposed to or be content. We have to surrender to the spontaneity of his schedule and the complete lack of our own.
Today, the last piece of Jude Lei's belly-button cord came off. I was startled by a disgusting odor and assumed he'd pooped, but instead another ring of greenish matter appeared. Whereas we thought he was going to be an outie, it looks as though he may actually be an innie!
I'm relieved the belly-button stuff is over with because we're now able to wash him in his baby tub. Jude Lei sits in this blue hammock with his bottom submerged in warm water. Grandma helped me with his first official non-sponge bath and it went really well although I'm not sure I would be as confident if I were alone.
Randomly, there's this really annoying bird outside of my bedroom window that sounds surprisingly like Jude Lei crying! I have to nap downstairs with the baby because if not I wake every few minutes to the screeching animal.

A certain green-stemmed bandit wreaked havoc in our house last night, and I’m not referring to any environmentalist group zealots, rather a culprit in the form of broccoli. Yes, what was formally one of my favorite servings of the essential greens also pickled Jude Lei’s digestive system so badly that he howled like a banshee for hours on end. Much to my embarrassment, I was warned by Grandma June that broccoli is likely to upset the sensitive workings of a newborn tummy, but I ignored her warnings and stubbornly downed the greens at dinner.
Matt and I alternated holding and attempting to relieve him of the pain until around 11 when I took over full time. Each time I set him down in his bassinet following an episode of inconsolable shrieking, I’d close my stinging eyes for a few moments before the inevitable explosions on par with those released during the 4th of July resonated from my son’s diaper.
With each sonic boom, Jude Lei arched his back in agony, his face turning a crimson hue, hands clenched in little fists, legs kicking furiously. I frantically read my baby book and wrote down a list of items I can no longer eat if I ever want to get an ounce of sleep again in life: cauliflower, onions, tomatoes, pizza and green pepper. Then, I posted the items on the fridge, as so to never forget in the midst of an eating binge. I also swore to never forget Grandma’s advice...
Only after Chris came over around 2 in search of a couch to crash on did Jude Lei at last surrender to his captor, gas, and fell into an exhausted slumber. I did the same and for the bulk of today I’ve forgotten topics of conversation mid-sentence and I even drove up to the wrong side of the gas pump despite owning my car for three years. Sleep deprivation is tough since there’s no real way to catch up since he eats every two to three hours or so.
Luckily, the broccoli digested and for the majority of the day Jude Lei was a happy, cherubic babe. Dr. Glassman pronounced him healthy after weighing in at an impressive 8.8 lbs (thanks trusty boob juice).
The doctor also explained how to massage the clogged eye-duct responsible for the excess goo collecting at the corner of Jude Lei’s eyes.
Striking a pose, Dr. Glassman, Jude Lei and Grandma smiled for pictures once the visit commenced. I promised to bring copies next visit. Undoubtedly, Dr. Glassman will add them to the collection of paper towel pieces patients have written messages on taped up on the cabinet doors like scout badges of honor.
Tonight, when Matt was changing Jude Lei into pajamas, his umbilical cord “fell” off a.k.a. Matt picked at it. A repulsive rotten cheese aroma emanated from the area and it also bled a bit. There’s still a part left in the middle, like a cork, which I suppose indicates he’ll be an outie. Either way, I can’t believe some parents would want to save the piece of umbilical cord. I’m much more content to cut a few pieces of hair rather than a mummified, stinky stump. Yuck.
We also tried out the bouncer from Aunt Lori. Jude Lei is able to focus a lot more, despite his going cross-eyed frequently and Dr. Glassman suggested having him look at various spinning objects while in the crib. We took it a step further and stuck him in the bouncer to gaze at the slightly scary Barney-esque octopus and other sea critters. I think he enjoyed it or at least liked the motion.
Not to be too graphic, but I’ve graduated from Bam-Bam status (loss of bladder control is one of the lovely side-effects of pushing out a 9 lb + baby…Laurel, please thank your mom!) to a much more refined state. Now, Matt doesn’t have to buy adult Depends and infant swaddlers when he stops at CVS. Big moment in time.
Well, I’m delirious with exhaustion so that’s all for now folks.

Happy 10 days old, Jude Lei! Great-grandparents Dee Dee and Gramps visited today along with Aunt Jennifer and cousin Eliza. My brother Chris had stayed over on the couch so by noon we had quite a full house! Luckily, Jude Lei was on his best behavior with only minimal fussing so the visitors were able to paparazzi it up for a while.
According to Matt, the baby didn't cry for the first time ever for a diaper change. It was a momentous event.

Top Five Best Things About Not Being Pregnant Anymore:

1. Ability to see my toes, put on my shoes, shave legs, etc. Basically re-acquainting myself with the region of my body extending beyond my knee-caps
2. Sleeping on my back...actually,sleeping in general even if only in short spurts
3. Taking a bath without the water overflowing everywhere due to my mammoth proportions
4. Beer. Magic Hat #9. Only once in a while
5. Heart-burn free at last!

The baby smells like popcorn. Weird. My stepmother, a.k.a. The Queen of Darkness, and my father descended upon us today two hours after they said they would arrive. I literally felt ill watching her with my son and I vowed to never again allow her near him. It was quite a contrast having my dad and Juliette over compared with last night's amusement with Grandpa Dave and Grandma Sus. Last night over sushi we joked about Jude dreaming of "ten thousand virgins" from his past life as a Muslim prince. Then, the grandparents half-kiddingly fought over who would get to hold him! Tonight, tension clouded the air and no laughing took place. My dad barely acknowledged the baby, his grandson, as Juliette helped herself to food in my kitchen. Luckily Matt come home shortly after before I could explode and kick her out. They didn't even bring a single gift! From other people I would never expect anything, but my dad is Jude's biological grandfather...
On the upside, my Grandma June is currently on her way to our house from Las Vegas. She took care of me and my brothers after my mom died so we've always maintained a special bond.
Jude smiled at Matt not too long ago and we're convinced he's going to be a genius since he's so alert and interested in his surroundings when he isn't gulping down milk.