Operating Instructions

I’ve finally gotten around to reading Anne Lamott’s book about the first year of her son’s life, a book I think Andi recommended to me before Django was even out of my belly. If you ask me, it should be required reading for new moms. Especially new single moms. Especially new single moms with chequered pasts. I’ve completely dog-eared my copy, and my copy actually belongs to the public library, a temptation I usually resist out of respect for the next reader who might not share my taste in memorable passages. But I can’t help it. She tells it so much like it is – the good, the bad, the ugly, and the uglier still. In these last precious days before I return to work full-time, this is the paragraph I find myself reading again and again, and again:

“I feel like my mind becomes a lake full of ugly fish and big clumps of algae and coral, of feelings and unhappy memories and rehearsals for future difficulties and failures. I paddle around in it like some crazy old dog, and then I remember that there’s a float in the middle of the lake and I can swim out to it and lie down in the sun. That float is about being loved, by my friends and by God and even sort of by me. And so Iie there and get warm and dry off, and I guess I get bored or else it is human nature because after a while I jump back into the lake, and into all that crap. I guess the solution is just to keep trying to get back to the float.”

I keep getting caught between the urge to batten the hatches, hunker down in preparation for a big storm, and the impulse to throw open all the windows, let the weather pass right on through. So, I’ve given up nightime socializing in favor of an early bedtime routine, but I’ve also starting romping in the baby food aisle for fun little jars of pureed vegetables for Django to try, even though the authorities say we should wait another month.

What I wish I could do is cry. I think I’m in need of a really good cry. Maybe even one a day. But there’s no time for that. And I’m not yet ready to let Django see how terribly alone, overwhelmed and afraid his mama sometimes feels.( We can cover that ground once he hits middle school.)

I sure hope I don’t miss too much during the 6 weeks I’m only getting to see him a few wakeful hours a day. He’s already sitting up on his own for little stretches of time, and pushing his torso so high with his strong arms. I just know, any minute now, he’s going to figure out how to creep or roll. And I want to be there to shriek and clap and kiss, kiss, kiss when it happens.

I simply want to be there. All the time. Always.

Hittin' the Bottle

After our first sour-milk disaster with the bottle, I was worried Django would have a lingering negative impression of the thing. But, as you can see above, he's over it. He likes the bottle just fine, especially if he gets to hold it and I'm sitting nearby. We're still working on his skills at taking the bottle from other people. In fact, if any of you are in the neighborhood and would like to give him some practice, stop on by.

The other thing(s) he really likes to hold these days are his feet. Every time I turn around he's found a new way to grab at them. The other day he wouldn't even let me attach the toy tray to his Bebe Pod, as you can see. He was too busy twinkling his own toes.

Even though we've been keeping a full activity card -- cruising Costco again with Dragovich, lunching afterward with Gaitley, dining at Universal Cafe with Jen & Monique, playing infant-vision research subject at the Smith-Kettlewell lab, registering our new car at the DMV, enjoying a sunny afternoon at the Botanical Garden with Charly & Lera, whooping it up with a gang of moms & little ones at Vega's, eating Indian Pizza with Andi (after she babysat while I went to yoga!!), watching the fog roll in over a picnic dinner in the park with MDN, joining the Stonestown YMCA, visiting Joannie at City Hall, and sipping wine with John & Sachiko at Vino Rosso -- I still find time to worry about having to leave my little man and return to work full-time for 6 weeks. It's like a constant static in my brain, messes with my reception all day long. As soon as I can be clear and articulate about why it's so troubling, I certainly will. Until then, you'll probably find more photos and less words from me here.

Pitfalls of Single Parenthood

Until recently, not only did it seem reasonably manageable to be a single parent but sometimes even easier than having a partner to worry about, negotiate with, try not to scapegoat. In the last couple of weeks, however, I've discovered two things you really don't want to be handling on your own, if you can at all avoid it: 1) loading and unloading the car from a 10-day road trip; and 2) going back to work full-time.

We ended up having a fantastic time on the road visiting Nana, Aunt Jenny & Uncle Steve plus The Cousins on the Central Coast, as well as Poppa & Laura in Bakersfield. Laura took us on a special trip to the local wildflowers and Toys-R-Us -- evidence of both pictured here. Uncle Jon drove up from L.A. for a rendezvous, too. But since our return a week ago, I've been careening between depressively exhausted and maniacally preoccupied. I'm not due back at work until 5/1/08, but the idea of leaving my little fella with a stranger for 9.5 hours a day -- nice as that stranger may be -- is looming large and ugly in my mind.

The boy, I'm pleased to report, isn't anguished in the least (yet.) He's happy and healthy, and charming the pants off everyone he meets. Dr. Bojorquez said he was "perfect" at our 4-month checkup. Since our 2-month checkup he had gained just over 4 lbs to weigh in at a hefty 15 lbs 12 oz, and had grown 3.5 inches to a total length of 26 inches. His head's expanding. Brain, too, I'm willing to bet. His eyes twinkle at everything around him. You can tell, he just can't wait to be able to propel himself on all sorts of more in-depth explorations of the world. Lately, he's been arching his back like crazy. And just yesterday, after MUCH effort, I witnessed him using this move to help turn himself over, from back to belly, for the first time.

Now, if only I were so focused, determined and productive.

Sp'ilt Milk

I have an ambivalent relationship with breastmilk.

Don’t get me wrong, I love breastfeeding. What could be more convenient and less costly? (Note that I did not use the word “fast” or “easy.”) It’s so mammalian, and that is so cool. I can’t imagine a better way to enhance a bond with an infant child. At the same time, it also counts as a small step toward letting go, a titrated way to separate from the new entity that for nine months could only be counted as an integral part of me. And, of course, it’s nutritionally the absolute best thing for the baby.

Here’s my problem: it’s juice that comes from my person. That’s just plain weird. Think about it – people juice. Doesn’t quite have the same easy ring as, say, orange or grape, does it? Even V-8 is a more appealing idea. But when I discovered, at the beginning of last week, that my entire supply of pumped, frozen “me-juice” had been inadvertently spoiled, you would’ve thought I loved the stuff as unequivocally as one might love liquid gold.

Sparing you the details of my own discovery of the problem, suffice it to say, I seem to have too much of an enzyme called lipase in my system. It makes the milk go bad immediately, unless flash pasteurized. Poor Django figured this out a day before I did, when Nana tried to give him a bottle full of the nasty stuff while I was beginning my Birthday Week celebrations at Kabuki Hot Springs with Cousin Marin. He wouldn’t have any of it, screamed inconsolably and made awful faces at Nana for the better part of two hours, as she tried and tried again. She says she still catches him giving her the stink-eye for it.

Nonetheless, I managed to get my Birthday Week facial, hair cut and massage, while Django got to stroll in Noe Valley with Nana & Cousin Marin, cruise Potrero Hill with Gianna, and take in the SFMOMA with Brad & Joey. We also squeezed in a lovely ferry ride and walk to Andi’s temporary home in Belvedere, and a quick tour of the de Young Museum. Not quite the week of extended babysitting I envisioned, but I’d be a fool to complain about having extra time with a dreamboat son like mine.

Trials & Triumphs

We started this week with a really exciting triumph -- our first fun run!

Django had not been loving last weeks trials in the fancy jogging stroller. I didn't want to mention it here because the thought of him hating exercise was just too frightening to utter. So I was quite relieved when we had such a lovely time with MDN & friends on Saturday during the 25th Annual Run for the Seals (to benefit the Marine Mammal Center) in the Marin Headlands. It was a gorgeous day out there, and Dj was all snuggled in his little fleecey bag, reclining under the yellow shade of the stroller. He complained for about the first and last 2 minutes of the course, but the middle 36 minutes he was happily napping. And it only took me those three, prior, completely miserable jogging experiences to realize his head had been bouncing in between two hard plastic buckles with every step I took. Duh. Sorry, baby.

We went to Zeitgeist's patio to celebrate after the fun run. I was thrilled to learn we could be there, together, since it's one of my favorite places to drink, eat & people watch in San Francisco, especially on a sunny day. As you can tell, Django was all tuckered out from the run, too. I don't think I'd ever noticed the "BIKES.BABES.BEER" sign above the door, or at least not with double entendre attached.

The rest of the week I was a bad photographer. I didn't manage to get any pictures of Django meeting 7-month old Lera on our walk around Stow Lake with Charly, Magarita & Nona on Sunday. Didn't snap any of Joannie & Luna loving on Dj while making us dinner at their *new* (to me, since I think they've lived there 3 years) townhouse in downtown Oakland on Monday. Got no shots of he and 11-month old Zoe, when she and Tori came over to play on Tuesday. None of our Bernal Babies Gang that meets for Wednesday Wine & Whiners Hour at Vino Rosso, the neighborhood wine bar. Missed all the great ones at Book Club on Thursday, too, when Rebecca, Jessica and Jeanna took turns fawning all over him -- you should've seen him flirt! Likewise, no cute photos of Dj meeting my old friend Chris Ho on Friday, or volunteering at the SPCA with the bunny rabbits on Saturday. I did try to get a good shot of him on Julian's lap at their St. Patty's Day party as Saskya and Kate were singing and dancing for him, but I have to admit I didn't do such a great job.

There's always next week...Nana & Cousin Marin are here visiting now. Maybe we'll be able to make some Kodak memories together.

Baby Needs a New Pair of Shoes?

No problem. They've got a bucket of pre-owned ones at Chloe's Closet down the street from our house.

See, aren't these the cutest?

But "Mama Needs a Used Car" is a problem for which I have absolutely no easy solution -- especially since I was really hoping to get to the end of my days without ever having owned one. Thing is, in investigating childcare arrangements I've come to the conclusion that I'll absolutely need one, unless I'm prepared to send Django to boarding school at the ripe old age of 5 months and just limit my time with him to weekend & holiday visits. So, if anyone knows someone selling an old, reliable 4-door, fuel-efficient, compact/mid-size car for less than $4500, give me their number. I'm ready to wheel-n-deal.

Reach, Grab & Roll

People talk a lot about the moment your baby reaches 3 months old. There's definitely good reason for that. Django's eyes are brighter, he's bigger all over, he burbles is so many more voices, and his hands hold a whole new fascination for him -- and me. You should see the way he sticks his arms straight out and just stares at his own little fists. Maybe it's a mom thing, but it makes me laugh every time. Especially when he has them in the "gotch'er nose" shape, or attempts to bring one to his mouth but lands it in his eye instead. Loads of fun.

One thing for sure -- now that he has a lot more to say, do and feel about his world -- I think I'm going through a growth spurt, as well. I can do a lot more things one-handed: go to the bathroom, open the mail, eat a hamburger. (No, seriously, you try it; it's not easy, especially if it's not in a wrapper of some sort.) I can turn any chore into something akin to a Broadway musical. I also have the ability to get through a bigger checklist in the same amount of time. It's no longer, "Let me see if you're hot/cold/hungry/need to be changed/or burped." Now it's, "Oh, you must be bored/frustrated/annoyed/sore/tired/confused/
hot/cold/hungry/need to be changed/or burped."

I'm telling you, we both have mad skillz now.

Another change is that I have started thinking of 2:30-4:30a as good, productive hours. It's a nice time to tidy the house, catch up on my magazine reading, change the rabbits' litter boxes, send email, eat breakfast -- basically, a nice time to do anything that needs to be done and can be, without waking the baby. Really, you should try it.

Oh yeah, and I've started the search for daycare for Django when I have to go back to work in the beginning of May. Everything about that sucks ass, pardon my French.