First of all, let me make one thing clear. One should never be separated from their baby for more than a few days. Period.
For one week, seven days, or one hundred and sixty-eight hours, way too many seconds to count Jude stayed in New York with his Grandparents and Aunts while Matt and I ventured to Portland, Oregon.
In my opinion, the first and last nights are the most trying. The first because it’s the beginning of experiencing the acute sense of loss or something missing that begins in the pit of your stomach and travels up to the dangly thing bobbing in your throat. You can barely process that you still have six unbearable nights ahead.
The last night is equally enduring because I knew it was a matter of hours before I’d be seeing Jude again, but first I had to get through the last twelve hours. The result? A heart-wrenching sleepless night as I lay awake, wanting to hold and cuddle him.
For the most part in Portland, Matt and I were both occupied, dropping off resumes, avoiding saturnine vagabonds begging for spare change (one guy took a really straight-forward approach by asking, “Can you help me get intoxicated today?”), learning the geography of the city and going for job interviews. I still missed Jude, but daily phone calls to his doting Grandma sufficed as I was provided with a run-down of each day’s activities.
I’ll admit that initially I was somewhat exhilarated by the concept of having time to myself; the ability to catch a movie at night, to peruse Powell’s the country’s largest independently owned bookstore, without a cumbersome stroller, the freedom to do what I wanted on my clock.
The euphoria quickly faded, as I found myself drawn to young families with babies in the numerous Portland parks, squares and riding around on the free public transit. To a stranger, I must have looked like a sappy, somewhat deranged woman as I salivated over chirping and drooling babes alike. I nearly cried buying a sling to transport Jude in, as I perused a photo album displaying gleeful infants, babies and toddlers attached to their back-pain free parents.
Yesterday morning Matt and I drove over to Becky’s house to retrieve the baby. I could hardly contain my excitement as I’d woken up at 7 a.m. and occupied myself by doing countless loads of laundry, cleaning out the refrigerator and returning calls. In other words, I was anxious and jittery, not knowing what to do with myself.
By 10 we were in the car, remarking on the trees changing colors, and by 11 we arrived at Becky’s house in Ridgefield, where we were greeted by the barking, short-legged dogs. Although Jude was asleep when we arrived, after chatting with Becky, Matt snuck upstairs and retrieved him.
First thing that struck me was his hair! No longer thin, it seemed to have thickened and grown overnight. His face, less baby and more boy, was still flushed pink from recently waking up had more of a solid look. I was shocked that in addition to looking older, he must have gained about a pound or so. Becky told me what a little piggy he was, shoving food into his mouth while grasping an apple slice as though it were his last meal.
Smitten with his daddy, Jude refused to come to me initially, much to my dismay. I began worrying, “Does he not remember me?! How could he not know his mommy-the person who didn’t sleep for the first four months of his life...who breastfed at all hours and endured a horrendous labor!” From the kitchen as she prepared lunch, Becky yelled out to me on the porch, “Jude is mad at you!”
Finally, I won him over with Big Boob, and as he tucked his legs into his belly and his eyes rolled back in bliss, I marveled over how much he changed during my week of absence.
Back at home, I discovered a third tooth emerging, next to the bottom two on his lower gum line. Jude’s scootering skills have also been perfected, as he expertly maneuvers his rotund body to slide, as he crawls and shimmies to the desired destination. Although Jude still greatly resembles Matt, I’m seeing more of my brothers, particularly blond-haired, blue-eyed Chris.
Cozy in his new green JUDE blanket, Jude is fast asleep upstairs as I write this. Even though I am grateful for the opportunity to have gone out to Portland, I can’t imagine leaving him for a week again at least not until he’s a teenager and by that time I’ll be grateful for a week away!

Since I last wrote, there have been many firsts, especially in the culinary sense. Jude has expanded his palate to include cheddar cheese, egg, Thai spring rolls, red beans, rice, cereal and, his very favorite and much to the detriment of his budding teeth and the kitchen floor, jiggly jello. In fact, many a morning is spent raiding the refrigerator in search of food to appease my son with his bottomless stomach. More input and, in turn, much more output as we go through approximately 30 diapers a week . I also puree a few pounds worth of fruit and veggies, not to mention a tin of formula a week( 31 bottles worth of 6 ozs each). At this rate, if eating were an Olympic sport, Jude will certainly be a rival for Phelp’s eight gold metals.
Speaking of sports, yesterday at the beach Matt threw a squishy palm-sized stress ball to Jude. Midair, Jude snatched it and immediately shoved it toward his mouth. For the rest of the afternoon, Matt and Jude played “catch”. Matt is already talking about Little League.
Another first: playdate last week with Briggs, a ten month old down the street. Usually gregarious and playful, Jude retreated to needy mode at Brigg’s house. It just so happened to be a rainy day and as each clap of thunder roared overhead, Jude’s arms and legs coiled around me tighter and tighter like a corset. Briggs laughed.
Their only interaction was where passifiers were concerned. They both seemed to recognize that the other had a pulsating plug in mouth, so what did they do? Grabbed at each other’s passifiers and switched. A little saliva never hurt anybody. Otherwise, the two boys completely ignored each other.
One afternoon over lunch in a Thai restaurant, Jude kissed the waitress. An attractive woman with delicately painted fingernails and a soft voice, Jude initiated the contact by grinning coyly at her. Within a matter of moments, he was in her arms, smooching her cheek! She spoke to him in low tones as he responded with coos while batting his luscious eye-lashes. Weeks prior to Jude’s conception, I lived in Thailand and maybe as an androgynous floating egg, he was somehow exposed to the beauties of the “land of smiles”. Either way, it was love at first sight. My seven month old was smitten.
How could I forget the two day camping trip to Hammonasset state park in Madison, CT? After ingesting much sand, Jude quickly learned that it's better to stick with food. I kept having to clean out all of his crevices and folds, for the sand has a way of imbedding itself in the trickiest of places to access. Jude and I both loved the early morning sunrises, as we strolled along the shore. We were especially diligent about lathering Jude up in sunscreen and providing much water. He enjoyed the waves lapping at his sausage legs, spraying him with salty water in the face. For us, it was an ideal budget get-away, especially because Jude could scream all he wanted and we never had to worry about disturbing anyone since we were outdoors.
We leave Wednesday for Portland, Oregon. A metaphoric knot sits pregnant in my belly over the thought of leaving Jude to fly cross-country. Waking in the morning to his gummy smile, I cannot imagine an entire week without him. What was life prior to the baby?

One of the things I particularly like about babies, and obviously I have Jude in mind when I write this, is how in-the-moment they perceive life. Never will I see Jude burst into tears when we tell him we’re going to leave the room. Instead, it is in that very moment of leaving the room that he cries in defiance. Likewise, if something mildly traumatic happened yesterday- such as a favorite toy breaking and bopping him upside the noggin- it’s all forgotten about in a matter of a few cuddles.
Jude celebrated his seven-month milestone in style, spending the day swimming about our family friend’s pool in his ducky yellow blow-up ring and tie-dye suit. When Jude sports the full-piece suit, I can only describe it in terms of a miniature jiihadist with the rectangular Styrofoam pieces, eerily resembling explosives, sewn into the sides. It ensures that even in the event that the ring somehow capsizes, he’ll still be buoyant. Jude even has pairs of water diapers that deceivingly look like regular ones. We very quickly learned the difference when my middle ended up soaking wet as Jude wrapped his long legs around me as I carried him around when the three of us stopped in town for lunch.
I always enjoy hearing stories from grandparents about how back in their day there were no car seats, floatation devices, or any safety standards for that matter. Now, we practically gift-wrap our little ones in the event that a natural disaster strikes in the supermarket. However, as the old adage goes, “Better safe than sorry.”
Recently, Matt brought back to our apartment a tub of my clothes I had been storing at his parent’s house. As I rummaged through, I was delighted to discover that I can fit into all the size 8 pants I wore last summer teaching ESL in Boston. Even two weeks ago, I had to really shimmy, huff and puff to squeeze into the lone pair I kept at my apartment. After I managed to get them on, the button never wanted to cooperate and I would walk around in fear of sitting as my excess tummy skin threatened to come pouring out like molten lava.
Feeling quite tickled, I also found a pair of stretchy GAP pj pants that I wore non-stop during the last week of my pregnancy when I could no longer put my shoes on without assistance. They’re size XL, with pink flowers against a maroon background. Holding the waistline up to my stomach, I felt like Subway’s Jared after he began devouring low-cal sandwiches in place of pure, unadulterated lard. I’m going to keep them just to remind myself of how big I once was.
Other news is that Matt and I bought tickets out to Portland for August 20th to scope the scene out. We're going just the two of us for one week, which means it'll be an easier trip without the baby and all of his accessories, but at the same time I can't imagine not being with him for an entire week!

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.